Lloyd Cole Small Ensemble tour Day 4 - The Magic Bag - Detroit, MI (1/28/10)

This early morning load out was a bit whiter than the others. There was already at least an inch or two on the roads outside our hotel. And there were almost complete white out conditions in the air. 40mph wind gusts turned snow into blankets. I was grateful that everyone wanted me to drive. It was my van for one, and I am a hideously nervous passenger in inclimate weather. Heart palpitations and such. We were all worried that we wouldn't arrive in Detroit until load in time which means

1) No relaxing meal or downtime of any sort
and
2) We wouldn't be able to check into our hotel until 1AM.

Well, someone in our company was obviously owed by the karma police. As I turned the ignition in the van the sun appeared and the snow just flat out stopped. What had Oakes and I nearly blowing down the street only moments before, just upped and left. It was a blessing in disguise and we were able to make it to the beautiful and sleek Westin Hotel at our planned time of 2PM.

It was a combination of general wear and tear, a little bit of earlier stress from wondering if we were going to have to go 25mph from Cleveland to Detroit that led us all to the restaurant in the hotel for some Americana lunch. We all then agreed that it was time to just hit our rooms and rest up for the hour or so that we had before load out. Oakes and I shared a room each night, and during this break we were just flipping through the tube and landed on some hideous looking film that would just provide sonic wallpaper for our heavy eyes. It was called PS I Love You and it starred Hilary Swank and that 300 guy. The only reason I mention it is the song during the opening credits was Camera Obscura's "Lloyd, I'm ready to be heartbroken".

A song these Scottish indie-popsters wrote in direct response to "Are you ready to be heartbroken".

Alanis would call this "irony". And again, she'd be wrong.

The Magic Bag in Ferndale was only a fifteen minute drive from our hotel and we arrived right on time. Terry (the clubs in house soundman) was there to greet us and we were loaded in and set up within no more than 15 minutes. We were really starting to get this down. Here's what the Magic Bag looks like from stage.


And this during Mr. Cole's soundcheck...



Nice place! Turns out that the show sold out as well. Which was exciting to hear. After soundcheck we had about an hour or so before stage call. Matty and Oakes tried to figure out the score in the "That's what she said" game. I believe it was 9-6, Cullen at this point.


Lloyd adjourned to the balcony where the soundboard was. It was warm up there and he was really fighting not feeling well. Oakes and I ran out to an Irish pub that was no more than a block away. We smoked our cigarettes in the freezing cold evening air only to walk into the pub and find ashtrays on the bar. Matty joined us after finishing up some battery checking back at the club. We sat and chewed the fat while listening to Radiohead and The Pixies on the pub stereo. I think there was some B-52's on there too. However, as fast as we got there, it was time to go back for the show.

We got ready in our punk rock dressing room. I had a brief chance to listen to a couple of Lloyd's solo songs before we all went on. I'll tell ya, the guy could barely talk all day because his voice was so shot from the cold that he had. And he walks up there, plugs in and absolutely kills it. I really don't know how he does it. Quite impressive.

We all took the stage to a very receptive audience, including a bunch of people in the SRO section right in front of the stage that were singing along to every word. Man, his fans are great. We played a fun set and did all the running around we had to do after the show and then finally had a chance to meet a bunch of folks. Once again, everyone we got to talk to was completely welcoming and incredibly kind and friendly. We even met a few people that were at the show in Cleveland the night before. That's a cool feeling. There are three videos of us from this show. First one is set opener "No Blue Skies". Followed by a solo version of "Rattlesnakes" and finished with a short clip of "Why I Love Country Music". Check 'em out.





Can't wait to get back to The Bag!

That's what...ahhh, you get it.

We got back to the hotel around 1AM and we all immediately parted ways because we had a pretty early get-outta-dodge call in the morning. The drive to Chicago was a little longer than the other two, and Oakes had to catch a train. Had a great time in Detroit Folk City!

On to Chicago.

Stay tuned!

Lloyd Cole Small Ensemble tour Day 3 - The Winchester - Cleveland, OH (1/27/10)

Another yogurt, banana and glass of OJ are staring at me. It's 8:30AM and Matty just pulled the van around front. Six guitars, two banjos, a mandolin, several bags of gear and clothes and all five of us somehow fit pretty well in my labored '96 Plymouth. Lloyd is at the wheel. Dan as his navigator. Matty, Oakes and I settle into the back bench for the trip to Cleveland. The three of us in the back are sad to be leaving Pittsburgh, we had such an unexpected good time in that city. But we're all equally excited to play again tonight in Cleveland.

Thanks to the glories of modern technology, Oakes whips out his portable DVD player (that's what she said) and the three of us nuzzle up to a few episodes of season 2 of The Office. Before we know it, there is a gigantic billboard of Lebron James in his grandest Jesus pose. We waved hello to Jacob's Field (actually, it has a new name now and none of us knew when that happened) and lo and behold, Lloyd has driven us to the hotel. We were staying at The Renaissance in downtown Cleveland.



We were all stunned with the magnitude of the place. For instance, this is what we walked into...



Sure was a long way from sleeping on some guys floor that you met at the show. With your head in a pizza box and bong water spilled at your feet.

We loaded in, checked in and took a scant few minutes to gather our thoughts before we were downstairs having dinner at Sans Souci in the Hotel.



I had an excellent tortilla soup for starters and a grilled swordfish salad with fresh arugula, chopped red onion, yellow pepper and roasted grape tomatoes. So good. Lloyd, Dan and Matty wanted to catch a little downtime after lunch and before load out so Oakes and I decided to peruse the mall that was connected to the hotel. We had a moment of thinking that we might be able to squeeze in a movie, but we were just barely too late to go to anything that would get us to the lobby on time. So we settled for this photo booth.



Yup. The original plan was for me to leave this on Lloyd's music stand before the encore. But I forgot. So I handed it to a random fan that was waiting in line for an autograph and asked him to ask Lloyd to sign it. Best part is, Lloyd actually signed it. Brian's got that copy.


I snagged a gag gift for Jen in a sports store (I had the goal of getting her some random souvenirs in every city that we were in). And it was back to the hotel to crap out for an hour. Speaking of crap, look at how big our bathroom was.



Another load out about an hour later and we were on our way to the gig. We were playing at The Winchester. It was only a few miles from our hotel. No more than a 15 minute drive. We arrived at 5PM. We were instantly greeted by Rebbecca. She was the multi-tasker of the night. Bartender, host, server. She was incredibly nice and went well out of her way to make sure we had everything we needed. The owner of the club was equally as welcoming. Jim, I think? Shit, I hate forgetting people's names. But I do it all the time. Anyway, their club was really nice too.



The dressing room was a little small, but it had a great collection of posters. For some reason, I just love this photo.



I really like the blue wall, for starters. And there's just something about the juxtaposition of the giant Chicago poster, Lloyd and an iphone. Sounds like the start of a joke. Lloyd Cole, an iphone and a giant Chicago poster walk into a bar. That's what she said.

Can suits rock? Matty thinks so. And I agree.



We had a great night playing. The crowd was receptive and warm and the people that we met after the show couldn't have been nicer. The only thing that ruined the night was the opening act. A self proclaimed "master of metal on mandolin". He called himself Pegasus Vending. I took this photo of him during his take on Shadows Fall's "Crushing Belial".



What a douche.

But in all seriousness, if you want to relive some of the night there are some videos from Dan (who came all the way up from Florida with his wife for the show!) that you can watch by clicking here! There's even a sneak peak at a song from our forthcoming record on there. Thanks for everything Dan! Send Dan a nice message if you watch some of the clips, cause he's a heck of a nice guy.

We ended the night listening to the Louvin Brothers and various other country acts on the XM Bob Dylan radio show. Just the five of us and Jim and Rebbecca. Such nice folks. But alas, it was back to the hotel where I nearly ruptured Oakes' spleen by making him laugh. I wish I could share the joke, but I don't really think I should. Maybe if you really want to know...

Off to Detroit tomorrow.

Stay tuned.

Lloyd Cole Small Ensemble tour Day 2 - Club Cafe - Pittsburgh, PA (1/26/10)

At 9AM I found myself standing in front of the breakfast bar in the hotel lobby. Pleasantly rested and ready to kill this yogurt, banana and orange juice. We received a complimentary USA today (why does anyone buy that paper?) that I flipped through at lightning speed. I remember reading something about Tim Tebow's mother. And during the Super Bowl, he is doing an ad for some pro-life outfit. Maybe that means that he'll squeeze a couple more touchdowns out of Jesus when he gets to the NFL. Pardon the sarcasm. Actually, wait. No. Don't.

Dan Dryden (Philip Glass' sound man of nearly 30 years) arrived safely from his home in NYC and checked in. Brian, Matt and I had a handful of hours to ourselves before load in so we decided to go check out the Warhol museum and PNC park. To our excitement, we learned that the hotel's shuttle service would drive us there for free. We were picked up by Mr. Chip. A little guy, that we could tell was loaded with Pittsburgh history. On our drive over we noticed a woman holding a cardboard sign outside of a city building. There were a few people gathered around. Upon inquiring with Mr. Chip we learned that fairly recently a African American student with dredlocks was beaten within an inch of his life by 3 plain clothes cops. They thought that the 20 oz. Mountain Dew bottle in his pocket was a gun. Whoops. As we drove by the woman with the sign, we finally got a look at what it said. In bold, magic marker letters it read "FUCK YOU PIGS!". We all know that there are alot of good cops out there, but as far as this goes? Fair enough.

Mr. Chip dropped us at the door of the Warhol museum. We had a few hours before lobby call so we didn't feel rushed. There was a Shepard Fairey exhibit throughout the museum which was fun for me. I remember being in NYC in '89 and '90 and seeing those Andre Has A Posse stickers popping up everywhere in the village. He's come a long way since. Even designing the now infamous Obama:Hope poster that was everywhere. I was never much of a Warhol guy. I mean, I had a great appreciation for him for his role in contemporary pop art, but I was never really intrigued by his work. This visit changed that. I still don't really get the urinating-on-a-canvas thing amongst a handful of other pieces. But as a whole, the museum really helped me realize how important he was as not only an artist, but as a politician in some sense. He really helped force a new identity upon what was seen as taboo in this country.

One small pack of refrigerator magnets from the museum later, we were around the corner and down the street to PNC park. Being an avid baseball fan, I have heard from more than a few people that PNC is one of the nicest, if not the nicest park in the MLB. Well, if it's not the nicest, there sure is an argument to be made for it. Sitting at the convergence of the three rivers, you'll be hard pressed to find a prettier view at any park with the exception of the park in San Francisco. We were greeted by huge statues of Willie Stargell and one of my personal heroes, Roberto Clemente.







My brother has been a Pirates fan his whole life, and being a Sox fan, I always found myself rooting for the Pirates as my favorite NL team. Nepotism is a bitch though, for the Pirates haven't had a winning season since the invention of steel. There is a certain charm in that though. The game is almost more pure that way. Without the fair weather fans and whatnot. It's just baseball. For baseball fans. I'll tell ya, I already liked the Pirates before this visit. And now it's safe to say that I love them. Can't wait to go to a game there next year.



Mr. Chip was as prompt as could be (he even ran an extra errand for Matt and sang him a tune on the way!) as we made our way back to go grab a bite to eat (a Lebanese restaurant where I had a excellent falafel sandwich!). And then back to the hotel to start loading the van. We loaded into Club Cafe at 3:30 and immediately went to work. It was great to see Dan again. He came out to do sound for us at our warm up gig at The Brass Cat. And that guy knows his way around a soundboard like nobody's business.

There was a great second floor dressing area that had two separate rooms and a full bath. Everything seemed to be in place. Matty, Brian and I ran down the street to a sports bar and got a pre-show snack. When we returned to the club we met Doug Seymour, who has done work with Lloyd before with the Folksinger series CD's. He is an amazing photographer who has worked with some pretty heavy hitters. Most importantly, he was a hell of a nice guy. He snapped a bunch of photos of us and even a video. This was the last song of our set. And you can hear from the video that the crowd in Pittsburgh was really excited all night long. Hooting and hollering along at all the right times. Click here to see and hear "Lost Weekend".

We had a great time playing, and after the show we met some really nice people. After the meet and greet Dan and Lloyd went back to the hotel. Dan was a little beat from the trip and Lloyd officially seemed to be getting sick. Matty, Brian, Doug and I went back to the bar that we promised to return to. The bartender from the night before wasn't working, but the guy that was heard that we were coming in. What great people. Damn, I wish I could remember the name of the place. Something with a K. On the same street as Club Cafe. I think?

A great time was had. We saw great things, shared great laughs, played a great show. It was official. We might be pretty good at this.

That's what she said.

Off to Cleveland in the morning. Stay tuned!

Lloyd Cole Small Ensemble tour Day 1 - Traveling to Pittsburgh (1/25/10)

It was 8:30AM on Monday, January 25th, 2010 and the big blue van turned over on a dime. Regardless of the subfreezing temperature that acted like a nuanced taunt. I swear I could hear the wind whisper "You think it's cold now?". Knowing that we were about to drive along the Great Lakes for hundreds of miles. But first it was off to pick up Matt Cullen (guitar/banjo), Lloyd Cole and Brian Oakes (a close friend of ours that helped out on the whole trip in numerous ways). We were packed and on the road minutes before 9AM. Pittsburgh, here we come.

We made a pretty long drive (through some really horrible rain and wind) go by very quickly. Thanks, in large part, to a game that Lloyd introduced us to called "Botticelli". A game where three of you (you can play it with as many or as few people that you wish) are detectives who are trying to hunt down the famous person hiding in the gray matter of the fourth's head. Montel Williams was deemed the most difficult to get on that first day. And thanks to the length of the game, it essentially took us directly to the three rivers. We arrived in Pittsburgh somewhere in the vicinity of 7:30. We checked into our downtown hotel, and around 8 we were out to look at the venue, and more importantly, out to find food. We were playing at a place called Club Cafe and the people there were very kind and let us poke our heads in the door as there was a band on stage, just to check out the feel and size of the room. Lloyd had been to Pittsburgh recently, but Matty hadn't been there in 15 years and Brian and I had never been before. Each of us felt an immediate great vibe from the city. We had heard how it had quickly turned into one of the cooler cities in the East and that is most certainly the truth. People said hello to strangers on the street and there was a real big town feel to it rather than that of a big city feel. We left the club and headed out in search of Nakama. It was very easy to find and it turned out to be the best hibachi restaurant I have ever been to. The grilled vegetables, mushroom miso soup and the grilled sesame chicken were of another planet. The other fellas equally enjoyed their food. Highly recommended if you're ever in Pitt.

We walked back towards our hotel (Pittsburgh was the only city we played where the hotel was within walking distance of the venue) and stopped by a hole in the wall pub that was the perfect place for us. There was hardly anyone there and it had a real blue collar feel to it. And there were ashtrays on the bar! Something that made Brian and I really happy. Lloyd and Matty? Not so much. The bartender was extremely friendly and when he found out what we were doing in town he threw us a bunch of free drink coins for the following night. We promised him we'd be back the next night.

Back to the hotel. Our abs had a substantial work out all day thanks to the endless hours of laughter. My recent obsession with the the television show The Office (US) led to numerous "That's what she said" jokes that were both raunchy and mostly, completely obtuse. Brian, Matt and I had plans to head to the Warhol museum and PNC park in the morning. Lloyd was starting to feel a bit under the weather and was planning on hanging in and waiting for our amazing sound man, Dan Dryden who was flying in from NYC in the morning.

Pictures, videos and stories about all of our days and shows to come very soon.

That's what she said.

Lloyd Cole and the Small Ensemble hits the road and makes a live record!

This is a blank sheet of screen. Sorry for my vapid promise to write more. I always have the best intentions with these types of things, but it's easy to let other things take over. And for me, once I stop writing I find it really hard to go back to it. Basically, writing is the closet that I've never cleaned. Unless I am forced, it's going to be hit or miss.

Figured this might be a good time to scribble again. About to leave for 7 days to play 4 shows with Lloyd Cole and the Small Ensemble. We're playing in Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Detroit and Chicago. The actual places and times can be found on that link to Lloyd's site. We also recorded a live record at Slaughterhouse Studios, which will be available at these shows, and at some point, on the aforementioned website.

The band is a 3 piece (Lloyd, Matt Cullen and myself) and we are traveling with an amazing soundman named Dan and a good friend of all of ours, Brian. Not sure if we will have a laptop on the tour. If so, I'll be posting daily. If not, I will get after it when we get back. Should be great fun.

Type you all soon!

Congrats to the admiral.

Congrats to the truest gentleman to ever play the game. Thanks for giving me years of enjoyment in my little world that is 1500 miles away from all your fans. You always played the game the right way, and set an incredible example for everyone around you. You're the best...



...and I kinda secretly need to ask you a favor. Can you throw all that nice guy shit out the window for me for just 2 seconds and kick Stockton in the balls for me? I hate that guy...

Things I learned on my summer vacation.

Things I learned on my summer vacation.

1) Salem pretty much rules. This bookstore (pictured above) and Harrison's comic shop are pretty much the coolest two stores ever. You pay for your books at this bookstore through a six inch break between books that are piled ten feet high. You actually can't see the entire face of the person ringing you up. Part creepy, part complete nerd-cool. And Harrison's comic shop could easily kill four hours of my day at least once a week. And that lady in the picture above? She pretty much rules too.

2) The Red Sox are really boring this year. But they are also kinda funny too. So that makes up for it.

3) Scooter digs his naps more than he did when he was a kid. So do I, for that matter.

4) Lloyd Cole is an amazing songwriter and arranger.

5) Cracking a rib is so not fun. Don't make me laugh.

Open letter to the librarian.

Dear Eric,

It is only because of things like Facebook that I have any idea that this was even said. And anytime that two of my close friends have any sort of exchange it can be kind of fun. Especially when, as in this case, I was responsible for their introduction to each other. I noticed that you recently posted a response to our friend Abby's status on Facebook. Her post, I believe, was the name of a tennis player that she was cheering for. Your response was, and I quote:

Abby-you know how much I love baseball-but tennis might be THE perfect sport.

Believe it or not, I am not about to go haywire on you. Just the opposite, really.

Golf is great. I have really come to enjoy the sport. I enjoy the completely baffling notions behind it. The ball isn't moving but I only know where it's going 1 out of every 3 times I hit it. I still don't understand how people can be good enough to make the ball spin backwards etc etc. I love the outdoors in the spring, summer and fall. Spending 4 or 5 hours with just a good friend (or 2 or 3) in the green, green sun. I love the fact that you can be competitive but never really piss anyone off with it. Because you should truly only be competitive with yourself in that sport. I love stark white shoes with brown stripes. I like visors. Yes. Visors. I even enjoy watching it on TV from time to time. I hold professional golfers in the highest regard. Do you have to be an athlete to be a golfer? Not really. Athletically inclined? I suppose. But it still takes an incredible amount of dedication and practice to reach their level of expertise.

Tennis is cool. In fact, I could totally learn to love playing that game. I dig the raw elements of it. Dirt. Sweat. It's a primal workout in alot of ways. And it does take a massive amount of stamina, coordination and serious athletic ability. It's competitiveness can also be self contained more than some other sports. Most days I am sure that your biggest enemy in tennis isn't the person on the other side of the net, but more the little person in your head. And, like golf, it has stupid outfits that are fun. Headbands. All white at Wimbledon. I admittedly don't 'get' tennis like you do. But that's completely fine. I definitely give you tennis all day long. No sarcasm there. I would hope that you would give me golf for the same reason.

However. There is one reason and one reason alone that baseball is the only perfect sport. Just one reason. Hold on to your racket here.

Comedy.

Yes, there are funny moments in tennis and golf. John McEnroe's courtside fits. John Daley's smoke dangling from his mouth while he putts. And sometimes these guys/gals even say funny things. And in the NFL you have the brilliant comedy of people like Plaxico shooting himself in the leg and Leon Lett storing half of Cuba in his ass. The NBA, as we both know, lends itself to more funny moments than any of these aforementioned sports. Stephen Jackson and Ron Artest are the best examples. But it's truly more Porky's than it is Royal Tennenbaums. I am sure that you could tell me quite a few funny stories about the NHL (a sport that I very admittedly know next to nothing about). But there is nothing like the humor in baseball.

Sure, we all have these stories. Stories of legend and emotion and histrionics. I wept in my Father's arms when the Sox won it all in '04. And you wept in his arms the day the trophy made its way into our very own Brass Cat backyard. We have shared all of the rage, blinding anger and fury that only the Yankees can bring. We have experienced the nearly excruciating excitement when one of us stops and says The wolves are gathering...the wolves are gathering. We've endured soul pummeling losses and the simple and quick elation of the walk off home run. And of course, there's the game itself. So simple. So complex. So painfully slow. So explosively fast. Like a stand off at gun point. Serene, vast and peaceful. Loud, small and devastating. And we all know that it's the most difficult thing to do in all of sport. Having a bat, that small in circumference, hit a ball that small at a rate of speed between 65 and 100 miles an hour without knowing which speed or which way the ball will break. Being able to stab that ball without any more than a fraction of a second to react. Being able to throw that ball by one of the most skilled hitters on earth. Running the bases quickly and well. We all know that it is, quite literally, the most complicated sport there is from a mental stand point. Mickey Mantle once said "It's unbelievable how much you don't know about the game you've been playing all your life." And it's pitch perfect. It's the grandest of theater. Ever morphing and bizarre. Even when the teams are as boring as the '09 Red Sox, it is still the most entertaining drama on TV.

But...

Given all of those things, the one thing that still makes baseball the perfect sport is comedy. As aforementioned, there are funny moments in other sports. But in baseball?



Chapter One
On the field.

Milton Bradley catching a routine flyball and then striking a pose for the crowd before he threw the ball into the stands with only two outs. Or the pitcher who just last week rolled a ball to the dugout expecting a new one from the ump who never gave him one, allowing a run to score. Who can ever forget Manny Ramirez (and if there's a comedic bible of baseball to be written, Manny would get his own section) diving to cut off a ball thrown from center? Or listening to his Ipod during an inning. Or not being able to zip his pants fast enough and barely make it out of the monster in time for the first pitch of the inning. Back to back walk off home runs by Jeff Frye and Darren Lewis. Did that really just happen? Izzy Alcantra's best Bruce Lee imitation to that AAA catcher's chest (and then what's truly lost in that footage is Izzy charging the mound and then turning to take swings at literally anyone near him. Including his own teammates). Pedro Martinez swinging a bat or flinging a Zimmer. Mark Grace, pitching relief in a blowout doing his best, hilarious imitation of the Diamondbacks then closer, Mike Fetters. Mariano Rivera at the opening day ring ceremony in 2005 received a standing ovation at Fenway and thereby solidifying himself as one of my favorite people ever when he couldn't stop laughing like a 12 year old.

Chapter Two
Off the field.

Where to start?
Ozzie Guillen saying that the Little League World Series teams are better than his White Sox.
Tommy Lasorda's take on catcher Mike Scioscia's wheels "If he raced his pregnant wife he'd come in 3rd."
Or Leo Durocher's classic "God watches over drunks and third baseman."
One of the masters, Casey Stengal saying "The trouble is not that players have sex the night before a game. It's that they stay out all night looking for it."
Harry Caray and his glasses once said "What does a mama bear on the pill have in common with the World Series? No cubs."
The legendary Vin Scully on Andre Dawson "He has a bruised knee and is listed as day-to-day. Aren't we all?"
Dizzy Dean speaking about his head injury "The doctors x-rayed my head and found nothing."
Or reliever Lefty Gomez' worries "A lot of things run through your head when you're going in to relieve in a tight spot. One of them was, 'Should I spike myself?'"
Of all the Bill Lee gems, this one best sums him up "I think about the cosmic snowball theory. A few million years from now the sun will burn out and lose its gravitational pull. The earth will turn into a giant snowball and be hurled through space. When that happens it won't matter if I get this guy out."
Roger Craig on catcher Choo Choo Coleman's smarts "He would give you the sign, then look down to see what it was."
And my all time favorite, when Yogi Berra once failed a high school science test with the score of 23 his teacher asked him "Yogi, don't you know anything?" His response? "Sir, I don't even suspect anything."

Chapter Three
Amongst friends.

In America, and I suspect that New England is the hub of this, there is no sport that will continually make a set of friends gathered at the local watering hole, or in a living room, laugh as continually and as hard as baseball does. Just think of the times where you and I have almost had to have stomach surgery because of this game. Just last week, King Hewsie yelling "Can't throw a curveball from your knees, bitch!" at Pena's kid warming in the bullpen. Or my Dad turning to one of several hundred people and saying "I've forgotten more about baseball than you'll ever know." Or Toonz once pontificating on Craig Grbek's DL status "I'm pretty sure that he's not hurt, I think El Guapo ate him." Levels needing an oxygen tank after laughing himself to the floor with the thought of "that old Sox reliever that looked like he had cancer every time he took the mound." Jimy (one m) Williams? Good Lord. That guy made us all laugh for 24 hours a day. Andy Sheets, Morgan Burkhart, Creighton Gubanich, Enrique Iglesias or whatever. I could write about this for 8 hours a day for a month straight and still have tons of moments that I have forgotten about.

Tennis is funny. As is golf, basketball, football, hockey and soccer. No doubt about that. And they are all really fascinating and exciting games in their uniqueness.

But baseball is fucking hilarious. And THAT is what makes it perfect.

Funniest movie ever? No question about it.

The Bad News Bears.

Nuff said.

Love you like a brother.

Yours,

Butch Huskey

Labor Day and the Six Degrees of Facebook.

So we're off for a couple days. The Mrs. and I are disappearing for a little day and a half 2nd anniversary excursion. She doesn't know where yet. Can't wait.

I will return to writing on Tuesday. I have an idea to start writing completely fictional short stories about 6 random friends on facebook. You know how it always shows 6 random photos of your selected friends on the lower left hand corner of your page? Well, I was thinking of taking whomever that may be on any given day and write an intertwining fictional piece. If I started today, for instance, the story would contain a best friend from back in the day, a musical comrade of current times, my first girlfriend's college roommate, one of my oldest friend's Dad and two people that I don't really know much about. Could be fun. Think I'll call it "6 degrees of Facebook." Yeah, sure. That works I suppose.

Hope you all have a great holiday, and thanks so much for checking in with me!

Waxing children, wet feet and the power of Arby's.

I was walking barefoot down the damp sidewalk outside of the old Rt. 20 home of Platterpus Records. I never walk barefoot anywhere other than in my house. And even that doesn't happen very often. I arrived only to find out that it was closed. Scooter was with me. But not on a leash. I was pleased to see that the Rite Aid was still there. I was dying for a snack. I noticed that my feet were slightly damp from the sidewalk. The sky was an ominous gray, but it wasn't raining. Still there was the overwhelming feel of wet. The kind that you can smell. Scoot and I shuffled into the fifty by fifty foot Rite Aid that only seemed to sell diapers and other plastic, sealed items that were anything but edible. There was a soft pink/yellow hue just behind the first racks of less than desirables. So I told Scoot to wait there while I checked to see if there were any food products in back. There's never actual food in places like that. Just food products. As I rounded the corner I noticed three men in doctors shawls. Facing away from me. Their heads down towards their patients. Concentrating. They each had dark hair and white robes to the knees. I could see the legs of what appeared to be very young children on all three lily white space age tables. It was as if these little legs jettisoned from the doctors stomachs like some languid version of the film Alien. The doctors were all moving very slowly. At the counter, to the left, stood two women. They were perfect looking. And by perfect I don't mean attractive. They looked like flyer models. Not Victoria Secret. More like Sears. One was handing a brochure to a man who was very shiny and also perfect looking. He was probably from the Marshalls weekly. Turns out that the back of the Rite Aid had turned into a place for body waxing for toddlers. Of course it did. Three bored mothers sat in waiting chairs flipping through magazines while their six year olds were having their bodies waxed. I was hardly surprised to see the shallowness of Hollywood making its way to Wastefield, MA. I can only assume that body waxing six year olds is more common than baptisms in LA. I told Scooter to stay inside and wait while I continued to search for food.

I was hoping like fuck that no one would wax him.

In the parking lot outside of the Rite Aid sat a twenty five foot high, bright yellow vehicle. The windshield was no more than an average length and height, but it sat at the very top of the vehicle's giant frame. The front end moved sharp and distinctly to a triangular point at the ground. It resembled an oversized Boba Fett helmet painted the most vain of yellows that I had ever seen. Even in the gray murk of the wet sky. A window opened from far above and Lesa Beso leaned out. She already knew I was about to ask for food. She simply pointed down the road towards the bridge and said

You're never going to believe what's over there. Finger pointing due East.

Really? What is it?

You'll see. She answered. I could see Henning in the passenger seat. He was reading something.


I took no more than two steps to my right and there was Miranda Brown. Her hair was shorter and kinda hip-ly greasy. And it was much darker than I had ever seen it.

I'm wicked psyched. She said without the slightest sign of being so. I am fucking starved. It was obvious to me at that point that Miranda had moved from Austin, TX to somewhere in shithole Jersey. And she had been there for quite some time.


Whoa! When did that get there? I asked Miranda.

Standing in front of us, just across the street where there used to be a Roy Rogers there was a brand new Arby's. But this was no ordinary Arby's. It was at least twice the size of your average Arby's. It was encased in ground to ceiling pillars. The entire building was painted a bland yellow/brown earth tone. The lights inside were dim. A giant, script-printed sign bearing the name of the restaurant hung alone in a deep green pool against the yellow/brown castle. A stark beam of sunlight hit the top third of the building. Wastefield's new Mecca.

I just drove by here last week to play golf with my Dad and that wasn't here. I announced to no one, really.


There was drool. I could feel it. I rolled slightly to my left and my ribs screamed at me for a second. I grazed the side of my lip with my right hand to clean the spittle from my mouth.


I was now on the top step of my parents basement. I closed the cellar door behind me and was greeted by a fake elbow punch to the stomach by JJ O'Connell. I stood for a moment, somewhat unsure.

He laughed. Oh relax! It's not that fucking bad.

I felt my whole soul relax.

C'mon. Spouse is playing up here tonight.

I followed him into an attic room in my parents house that doesn't exist. There was a round table in the middle of the room. There were three people seated at it. Jose Ayerve and a guitar. Abby Barlow. And one other woman that I can't seem to recall. I sat down at the table and took in the room. It was littered with an old rock/folk club vibe. Somewhere between Bruce Tull's old haunt on Woodmont and CBGB's. There were nameless show flyers covering the walls. Ashtrays and old beer cans covering the table. Cables and amps and guitars covering the floor. Abby and the other woman I can't recall were talking. Jose was encased in a lucite tee-pee. It was half Boy-in-the-bubble and half Cindy Crawford Designs presents See-Through-Bed-Sheets. He began to play an announced "new song." I looked away from him for a moment to find that Abby was gone, but there were several photos of her still on the table. A framed 5x7. A couple of cut out high school photos and some old Hospital news clippings. Peter Davies was now talking with the woman I can't recall. He was showing her pictures of Abby. He had one of them that he had ripped and placed around his left ear like we used to do with 45's when we were kids.

Everyone starting singing along with Jose and his new song. Jose seemed to be donning a tattoo on his left arm that was barely visible due to the tacky white silk shirt he was wearing. And it was hard to see things too clearly from the outside of his Cindy Crawford/Boy-in-the-bubble cave. The song was so lucid. So deeply arranged and produced. There were several more instruments audible but oddly there was only the one guitar. The song itself was pretty bad. I remember wondering if this might be the first time I had heard Jose write a bad song. He kept singing the same refrain over and over again.

Release me...release me...release me...


More drool. From the other side this time. Jen is up. Maybe I should get up too. And maybe I should remember to dream more often.

NEW BLOG!

Hi all,
I really appreciate the hell out of everyone that has supported this site for so long. I was recently picked up by masslive to write for them. Therefor, this site is probably going to take a backseat. The only differences between the new blog and this one is the lack of swearing. Which is probably a good thing. So if you wish to continue reading please click on this :

http://feedback.blogs.masslive.com

Word.

twinkie and a flashlight

Friday, Oct. 20th 2006
8PM

PACE

www.pioneerarts.org

MARK SCHWABER with ROB CONNELLY and JOSHUA CHURCHILL (formerly known as home.)
with
STEPHEN BRODSKY of CAVE IN
and
OWEIHOPS

$5 in advance at Night Owl Records
www.nightowlrecords.net
or $7 at the door.

I had this realization a few weeks ago. It hit me like a ton of bricks. The entire notion of world peace is a completely humanist faux pas. (This is especially crushing for me having been heavily influenced by beauty pageants since I was little.) As animals we are not meant to be entirely peaceful. By nature we are protective, self-indulgent and ambivalent to the all encompassing halo of peace. (Seriously. Relax. Whatever it is you’re worried about is just something that you should be taking prescription meds for. At some point, probably very soon, the earth will swat us away like the bug that we are.) Take what we’ve earned, we fight. Harm our young, we fight. (Give us 3 bottles of Zima and 2 Percosets and we knock down newspaper boxes on Main St. on our way to the bench in the park where we’ll spend the night hoping that the morning won’t bring stifling sunshine and a warm puddle of urine on our Ipod.) Whether it is with fists or words. We are not unlike bears, sharks, crickets, dogs etc etc. It is not in our genetic makeup to be entirely peaceful. I know that as a highly evolved creature (Justin Timberlake), capable of backing our decisions from an intellectual stance, we are much more probable to avoid cruel interactions by looking to our brains to serve us right from wrong. (You would think that it would also afford us the probability detector capable of telling us NOT to drink that 15th beer on a Tuesday.) To help us sway those nasty, adrenalized passions. This may be the case on paper, but it rarely happens. The exception to prove the rule. The rule that we are incapable of really getting along. (Except for American Idol winners. Flawless beings, they are.)

That made me feel better. Made me breathe a little easier. Made me realize that our president and his cohorts are just a bunch of assholes. Terrell Owens, an arrogant schmuck. Every Yankee fan in or surrounding the Bronx, an impish rube. People who use the word “resolve.” Motorcyclists that run their bikes for 10 minutes before driving them away. I guess the closest I (or you) can come to peace is through an inner one. A self imposed cleansing of the conscience. (If you’re going to perform this cleansing yourself I highly recommend using a flashlight and a twinkie. And for God’s sake, please read the instructions first).

You can't see planes

I went to the movies last week. The girl with the twitch that waits on me most afternoons actually asked me what I was going to see. Our usual interactions are “Would you like the extra large for 11 cents more?” or “Any M+M’s or Raisinetes with that?” I inevitably reply “No thanks.” I see her most every week. Long, dark hair. Very nerdy, like myself except she’s not trying as hard as I do. Her hat is always crooked and she has a notable twitch. I’m told that those kinds of slight facial ticks are related to one of several things. Tourettes. Abuse. Crashing a car through the window of a Denny’s at 4AM. You know.

Anyway, I feel strangely connected to her. She doesn’t really want to be working there. I don’t really want to go to the movies by myself all the time, but I do. I’m an addict. You could produce a movie about a piece of shit that speaks French and slays dragons while simultaneously being a debt collector and I’d go see it. Actually, I already saw that one. It’s called “Wedding Crashers”.

I’ve never talked with her, but I kinda consider her a friend. We interact privately. She’s quiet and seems nice. I’m quiet and don’t. But she threw a whole new step in our relationship the other day. I wasn’t ready for it. What was I going to see? Wait, you really want to know. I can tell. She’s made a breakthrough. I can tell she’s really reaching but I’m too much of a jaded prick to help her with it.

I was so used to her being one of those corporate employees. Where they make you say the same shit every time someone walks up to the counter. “Hello and welcome to Pride.” being one of my favorites. You can see these people programming themselves not only to say this ad nauseum but to keep themselves from biting off their own arm.

Does she like me too? Does she finally recognize me? Or has she been there long enough now that she’s starting to feel a little more comfortable? Could be a little of all those things. I can tell though, this is hard for her. To be socially gracious in general. Not because she isn’t kind. But because something in her doesn’t fire quite right when it comes to being comfortable and confident. I can completely relate.
“World Trade Center”
I wasn’t going to see that movie, so I don’t know why I even said it.
“Oh, it’s really good. I really liked it.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
I went into my movie 10 minutes early so I could listen to Phil Collins’ “Take me home”. For some reason that song sounds fucking amazing in a giant empty theater. Probably not the review that Phil would want, but it does. I was so disappointed in my movie girlfriend telling me that World Trade Center was “Really good.” Not because I’m being the leftist indie-rock judgmental asshole because I’ll gladly go see that movie. I thought about it actually. I thought that every 15 minutes I would jog out of the theater isle decorated with blue cloth walls and dim red lights and into the one playing Snakes On A Plane. Swapping out every 15 minutes. WTC. Snakes On A Plane. One to the other and so forth.

I think I was disappointed in her because I think she gave me a milquetoast response. She says that same thing to everyone, I thought. An extension of the sales pitch. I really thought we were going to the next level, and I’ll be honest. I was scared. But excited. You know what? I’m not just going to sit here and take this bullshit. We HAD something. I knew it would grow and I know deep down somewhere in her, she knew it too. I just can’t let this go. And I need some Twizzlers. I leave my seat with my half eaten nachos, large Coke and New Edition song (Mr. Telephone Man, for the record, sounds fucking amazing no matter what listening environment you’re in) and make a break for the stand. Nervously, I ponder how I’m going to do this. How can I approach her again? After what she’s done to me. There are two people in line in front of me. Two teenagers (the male hitting his girlfriend in the head with a wrapped straw) and some surfer/80’s looking kid. The new Indie Rock, I surmise. Read about it in SPIN. Basically, a threesome of douchewhistles. That would make a great band name. Anyway, “I’m just trying to pass your class, Mr. Hand” is finally done getting his blue Slurpee (a movie theater faux pas) and I’m there. Frozen. Smiling though. It’s hard to smile I’m thinking. It’s almost physical, the pain. She looks at me. Twitches. She always twitches. She’s smiling too. I wonder if she’s fighting it like I am.
“May I have some Twizzlers please?”
“Sure”
No apology. Nothing.
“You can’t see planes crashing into buildings without Twizzlers.”
Just like that, it came out. Shot like a bitter, sarcastic bullet. I’m such an asshole.
“That’s true!” she says, smiling.
She still didn’t get it. She’s just selling this place. We’re done. I can’t believe it’s over. I’m never going to the movies again. Well, until Tuesday.

Cereal says it all.

Cereal says it all. 



Not often do you live in a time where art and entertainment are impacted in such ways as to immortalize a certain performer/writer/musician/athlete/artist. I’ve been lucky enough to watch Michael Jordan perform from start to finish. Manny Ramirez. Roger Clemens. Pedro Martinez. Lucky enough to listen to Elliott Smith. Bad Brains. Read David Eggers. Etc. Last night I went to see Lady In The Water. The new M. Night Shyamalan film. I must admit, first and foremost, that I’m not much of a superfan of the horror genre. Not that I despise it, it’s just normally not my thing. People regularly pan M Night’s films for being too predictable. Which I find hilarious. I know that plenty of people enjoy going to these types of pictures to crown themselves the next Sherlock Holmes. I regularly hear “I figured it out in the first half hour.” Well, good for you. I choose to let myself get lost in the art form and try not to turn it into a project for myself. Most of the people that claim to “figure out” these films are the people that can’t find golf balls in a golf bag. So I guess it’s some sort of reasoning/logic fulfillment that they lack in other aspects of their lives. Or maybe they just enjoy the challenge. Fine. Regardless, it drives me nuts when people use this formula as a benchmark for their review of a film. It’s kind of like saying “I knew the chorus of the song was coming, it was so predictable that it took something away for me.” Knowing the chorus of “Jealous Guy” by John Lennon is coming makes it no less a perfect song. I guess I’m just a fan of letting art cradle me and carry me off.


Lady In The Water officially makes M. Night a monster in my opinion. It is one of the smarmiest, smartest and most beautifully filmed movies I’ve seen in quite some time. He takes the best complicated neurosis of Paul Giamatti (son of former baseball commissioner, and huge Sox fan, A. Bart Giamatti) and pairs it with the stunning subtlety of Bryce Dallas Howard. The rest of the nameless, faceless cast is flawless and wonderfully understated. Well, the insanely talented Jeffrey Wright isn’t nameless but is just as transcendently humorous as his counterparts. It’s also a cinematographers dream. Now, I know nothing about filming a movie but I do appreciate innovative and intrinsically, esthetically pleasing landscapes. This film is loaded with them. Pieces at the start of the film that were shot in moonlight and nothing else. Dark and mysterious? Sure. But more importantly, real. You feel yourself standing in Giamatti’s shoes. There is also a scene that is in a shower where the curtain is used as the centerpiece. Separating the crossword-puzzled interpreter and the guild of conjoined hearts (which happens to be 5 stoners) from the alien mermaid figure in the hotel tub. I’m not making this up. Smart, moving, cryptic and strangely peaceful and uplifting. This is the first piece of art that Hollywood has funded since Eternal Sunshine. M Night Shyamalan is the finest of his peers. Someone that I will refer to in the same breath as Michael Jordan, David Eggers and Elliott Smith when weighing in my opinions of the true greats in entertainment of our generation.

6 in 6

June 10th 2006 at the Elevens in Northampton, MA 

Half way round the world. Well, half way round the year at least. So I figured I’d throw out my favorite records/films of 2006 thusfar. Let’s see what gets bumped by the end of the year.


Sounds

Gnarls Barkley – St. Elsewhere
Flaming Lips – At war with the mystics
Dave Chappelle’s Block Party – Soundtrack
Quasi – When the going gets dark
Shadows Fall – Fallout from the war
Tool – 10,000 days


Sites

V For Vendetta
Dave Chappelle’s Block Party
Match Point
The New World
Munich
Mission Impossible 3


Busy lately. Just finished a mini tour with Matt Bachand of Shadows Fall. Much fun was had. Everyone treated us very well. I had to cancel a handful of shows because of a flare up in my allergies like I haven’t had in over 15 years. I use to get shots for them. Looks like I might have to again. My apologies to those that came out to support us. I feel horrible about cancelling but hopefully we’ll reschedule soon.


My record is getting some great reviews. I’m so thankful. The most recent one is on babysue.com. Here it is:


Mark Schwaber - The Killing Card (CD, Pigeon, Progressive pop)
This is an intriguing album that immediately caught our attention. Mark Schwaber creates uniquely entertaining music from a different perspective. His tunes combine highly melodic thoughtful vocal melodies with abstract musical passages...and the end result is extraordinarily effective. Instead of predictable tunes and cute arrangements, Schwaber writes and records mature, intellectual tunes that are sometimes reminiscent of Sufjan Stevens. There is a wealth of material to take in here. The Killing Card presents sixteen thought provoking compositions that flow by seamlessly...combining classic elements with unpredictable spontaneity. This man is bound to be a major player in the years to come. Cool reflective tracks include "The Pressure It Feeds," "Torture Ground," "Island of the Burning Trees," and "You Are Just Like Me. You Will Never Be Free." Recommended. (Rating: 5++)



You can read the others, as well as buy a copy of my new record “The Killing Card” by clicking here.


Spouse has wrapped up its first round of mixes for its forthcoming record. Wow. This might be my favorite record of theirs/ours yet. Which is big props coming from me, since “Nozomi” essentially changed my musical landscape.


Check out this magazine if you get the chance. My name was in it! Thanks to the great friends in Shadows Fall. You can get a copy here.

Horns! 

Please feel free to let me know if you have any records or movies that I left off my shortlist. I’m always game for new sites and sounds.

I promise nothing.

So I committed the official kiss-of-death foul. I said that I would be writing much more often on this site. As you can tell, that didn’t happen. My apologies. I have, however, been quite busy with many, many things.
The record release show we did at PACE was a huge success. Thanks in large part to several different folks. The Yucky Octopus guys and their fashion show were absolutely amazing. Chris (the band’s keyboardist/vocalist) really has a vision that seems to be shared by the rest of the band. I still say they sound like the Dead Kennedys. If the Kennedys started in 2005. So much cooler than all that other dime-a-dozen crap metal that plagues today’s airwaves.
I guess they turned away upwards of 60 people that night. Maybe we should do the show again? I don’t know. Probably not.
One of the highlights of the night for me was not only the sold out/highly attentive crowd but the fact that my friends Rob and Josh and I reunited for an impromptu performance of a song called “under them” from a band that we were in together from ’93-‘96 called “home.”. It was surreal for me, to say the least, to be performing a song with those 2 guys 11 years after the fact. Actually, our performance that night was literally our first in over a decade. We didn’t rehearse it and actually didn’t decide to do it until 3PM that day. I still say that of all the great bands I’ve been a part of “home.” was the one that I had the strongest connection with. We bonded on another level. An unexplained one. Almost as if we were born to make music together. It’s truly a feeling I’ve never had reproduced. That night brought back some of that fire. It was truly inspiring.


I’m looking forward to these upcoming shows that I have with old friend Matt Bachand. I guess it’s all over the internet now. Turns out that Matt is pretty famous.


I went to see The Roots last night at the Mullins Center with good friend and drummer extraordinaire JJ O’Connell. Mind blowing. I have to say, it was the most impressed I’ve ever been at a live show. They were easily the most talented, driven, inspired and creative band I’ve ever scene. Only Bad Brains moved me more. I suggest that everyone see them, regardless of what kind of brand you’ve stamped on hip hop. Their stuff is spiritual.
I have to go. Time to watch my DVD of Superfuzz. Don’t see red.
I promise nothing.
www.markschwaber.com

Fashion show

Friday, April 21st 2006 at 8PM. PACE. "The Killing Card" is officially released. Full band show with many crazy surprise. Yucky Octopus (and their fully realized fashion show) open. Tickets are $5 in advance at Night Owl Records. You can buy my new record at the show on this night or if you can't wait you can get it directly from me here : www.markschwaber.com


I'll be on tour with Matt Bachand of Shadows Fall at the end of May through June. Hope to see you at one of these shows.

chamber of water

Block party.
On March 14th I filled my day with music. You would think that most days of mine are filled with music. Owning a record store and playing in 3 bands. Even working at a bar with a great jukebox. I guess that theory would be correct in some ways. Although I think I tend to let music slip through one ear and out the other most days. It’s hard to get invested in the true spiritual element of music when you’re working. It becomes more of audio wallpaper for me. Yesterday I got to truly submerse myself in two wonderful arenas. I picked up the new Ben Folds DVD. It’s a concert in Perth where it is just him on the piano and a ninety piece orchestra. The arrangements were all done by various Australian composers/arrangers/performers. Whether or not you enjoy Ben Folds music (which I ecstatically do) this is one of the most moving things around. Just the sheer girth of ninety people pushing gorgeous air at you from a Petri dish shaped stage is quite an impressive thing. There is a moment between the songs “Annie Waits” and “Brick” that floored me. There is a moaning, groaning, living sheet of animal-like sound coming from at least forty or so string players that sets a enigmatic tone. A subtle, swaying beast crawls on the floor. Amazing.


Just a handful of hours after watching that DVD I went to see Dave Chappelle’s Block Party. I was in tears at least four times during the course of the film. I have a whole new appreciation of hip hop now. I think I easily wrote it off for a long time because of my insatiable appetite for melody and simplicity. But hip hop IS melodious. And simple in its groove by nature, hip hop leaves very little to still desire. Sometimes, I think I pigeonholed many rappers as misogynists/racist power mongers. I think that is still true of many mainstream performers. In all forms of music and art. However, the fearless leaders of the true spirit of the hip hop underground paint a very different and intriguing picture.


Kanye West exudes pure passion during his performance of “Jesus Walks” (which is simply one of the most powerful songs of the last decade). Talib Kweli and the multi-talented Mos Def do their best at shaking the crowd into a frenzy. Dead Prez ignite a hardcore fire much in the same way that early Public Enemy or MDC or The Dead Kennedy’s did 20 years ago. Lauren Hill and Fugees re-unite for the first time. I once spoke with Archie Shepp about many a great jazz players. He spoke of Coltrane, Miles and several other monsters of that genre with such great ease and familiarity that it was mind blowing for me. The only person he said was feared by everyone in the genre was Billie Holiday. She exuded this presence of respect and sheer and utter once-in-a-lifetime talent. She was the only person that made everyone shake in their collective shoes when she walked in the room. You get the feeling that Lauren Hill is the Billie Holiday of our time. She just drips of something above and beyond everyone else in her field. Wyclef Jean gives an uplifting performance and speech backstage to an all black marching band from Ohio. Telling them to never blame the white man. That it is a huge copout. Urging them by slamming his hand on the table to make their lives what they want them to be and never make excuses. Demanding that they go to the public library everyday and create their own betterment. The Roots are the backing band for the whole thing and I’ll tell you, there might not be a better drummer on earth than ?estlove. Groove and feel just fall off that guys hands at all times. Dave Chappelle has a sort of manic poetry running through him. Of course he’s funny. And gimmicky. He has everything that most successful comedians have. Great timing (which he credits Thelonius Monk teaching him), a funny voice, great facial ticks and a genuine “this is a good guy” feel to him. Deeper, however, I felt a somewhat turmoil-ridden man trying to discover what it is that he is here for. I read of his recent disappearance to Africa. Cutting off ties with his Comedy Central contract. Turning the comedic world on its ear. He lives in Southern Ohio. Roams the streets of his quiet, very white rural town with a sort of general glaze of a man searching for something more. He visits children in foster homes and makes you truly feel that he’s the person he comes across as. Genuine. Sweet. I felt that if this movie was never made you would still be able to find him doing all the things he did in it. Nothing seems forced by industry pressure. His actions seem real. His interest in throwing a party for those who might never get to be a part of something of this magnitude seem completely realized and pure. Seeing what this music did to the people in attendance was extremely moving. Then it hit me. Three quarters of the way through the film. Oh my God. He’s the next Richard Pryor.


I walked out of it thinking a lot about how lucky I was. How lucky we all are. We have such great access to such great art at all times. I felt like a better person somehow. Just by spending my day with these two very different portrayals of music and their respective environments. It made me wonder what it was about music that can shape our days in such overwhelming ways. Are we just chambers of water and muscle reflecting and absorbing sound waves? Do we live on a spiritual plane that is higher than anyone can comprehend? Where sounds create golden envelopes for us to file away emotions only to be able to open them and re-live them at anytime? Is it science or God? Why did I leave with these questions in my head? Well, isn’t that the beauty of music? You just never know what it will do for/to you.

be a paypal, would ya?

My new CD "The Killing Card" can be purchased online by simply going to paypal and entering this address:
night.owl.records@verizon.net
and sending $12.99 shipping and handling included. I will send one to you the following day. Thanks so much everyone.
Or if you live in Western Massachusetts you can simply stop by here to pick one up:
www.nightowlrecords.net

Just thought I'd share

These are 2 pictures of Spouse outside a early morning radio show in Maine in early 2005. I like them, however I don't think I ever noticed how much taller I am than the collective Spouse.
Just thought I'd share.