That isn’t the point, though.  The point is they “resurrected” a deceased rapper and ‘he’ put on a performance.  Yep.  A “real life” hologram performance–is that an oxymoron?  Like recently.  People liked it and it raised all kinds of questions on whether the hologram would go on tour.  Would he need a bus?  Could they trust him to not party too hard?  Would his tour rider include all types of ill shit?

Incidentally, if you’ve been living in an internet free cave or simply don’t use the internet for anything other than kitty cats in clothes or porn, the rapper in question is the late, great Tupac Shakur.

I linked enough stories a paragraph or so ago for you to know ALL about this by now, so I won’t be bothered to explain further.  You’re welcome for the I-have-a-boring-job reading; I know I just gave you enough reading material to get you to your first smoke break.  Yes, yes, I rock, I know.

Moving right the hell along…

Basically, the internet exploded with everyone weighing in on hologate–HA!  I coined it, bitches!  I know, I know… I hate the GATE-suffix as well.  I can’t lie, though; it does raise some interesting questions.

Should a hologram tour?

Who would you see it if a hologram did tour?  Most people start their holo-wishlist with Nirvana, Michael Jackson, John Lennon and The Beatles, but you get the idea.

Is it really cool to make a hologram of a deceased artist, musician, political figure, etc?

Is it ethical?

Is it creepy?

Who should get paid?

Is it a money grab?

Is it fair?

You probably have thought of a few yourself by now so we’ll move on.

By the way, feel free to ask your own questions in the comments or answer the ones already presented as you see fit.  I’m interested in what you think as well as anyone else who reads my blog (HI GRANDMA!).

Moving right the feck along!

I suppose I see it from both sides…

Side one:  Meh, it’s harmless.

Side two:  Dear Cthulhu!  We’re all gonna die!!!

As a musician who is struggling to be heard and book shows and tell someone other than my grandmother that I’m alive making music, I suppose it does give a slight knee-jerk reaction that unsettles the tummy.  If there are already so many frigging bands out there that you damn near can’t book your own tours due to all the above frigging bands having booking agencies–how will it be when everyone just goes to mega concerts featuring The Beatles, Elvis, Tupac and Jesus?  Is it even a concert at that point?  Or are you just watching a movie?  Does it matter?

Is being entertained just that?  Does dancing at a club with a newly “formed” ‘N Sync comprised entirely of different ‘aged’ holograms of Justin Timberlake carry the same amount of entertainment value as seeing a real live band being the only age they can possibly be–because that’s their age?

Strokes long wisdom beard…

I believe this calls for the Chamber of Understanding!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCZbb85R0B0&feature=my_liked_videos&list=LL16_FwQoqjqZYwK5KhwxjNg

Yeah… No closer to knowing the answer.

Sigh.

Yet, I do have a few thoughts I can phrase in a form other than a question.  Let’s delve in, shall we?  (last question for a moment, I promise)

So dig this…  As an artist/musician in this new age of the internet, I find myself social networking and just generally internet-ing more than I’d ever care to or especially care to admit.  Truthfully, I don’t love it, I really don’t.  I do it, well, because I HAVE to if I ever want to be heard.  (It’s not the people that I’ve met or meeting new people or even the people at all–it’s just… I frigging hate having to check in ANYWHERE!  I became a musician to get AWAY from set schedules and being accountable!)  Trust me, I’m working hard on getting some booking and booking more shows on my own until such time as I do have booking; but I can only play so many shows, ya dig?  Gas is expensive and I am only one person–this shit is time consuming, yo.

The point is, I come across frigging metric shit-tons of people complaining about there being no good music or about there having been no good music since -insert whatever year/band/genre was new/etc-

Is it the easy thing to say?  Well, sure!  But shit has changed rapidly and you really can’t blame people too harshly just yet.  The internet hasn’t really been around that long and people are only now really getting the hang of it.  Everything is different now.  Most people have not come around to finding their music in ways to which they are unaccustomed.  Radio is FAR less patronized then it once was and there are also literally metric shit-tons of people who lambast poor radio decrying it as corporate schlock.  Well… What do you expect?  The listener numbers have decreased in huge proportions.  They really can’t keep up and be the taste makers and all that, yada yada.

If you’re saying good riddance or anything like that–just make sure you aren’t one of the ones screaming about no new good music; also, make really sure you aren’t saying that and still listening to traditional radio!  We’ll pretend we’re all reasonable people here and say you’re not one of those.  But they ARE out there.  Some of them are very loud as well.

Now, I feel their pain; but you can’t say there’s nothing good if you don’t open your eyes and look around.  If there’s no more water in the pool, you can’t sit in the concrete hole and say how nice water used to be–you have to go find another swimming hole, dawg.

But that there is a whole nuther internet-worth full of rants, raves, opinions and reasonable discourse resulting in completely reasonable internet rage, I’m sure.

The point is, you get those folks together and when they realize they can slap down their fat rolls (of money of course) and demand a “Beatles ‘Reunion’” tour–what do you think some promoter is going to do?  Why, order his or herself a holo-band, dawg.  (I may have just coined “holo-band” as well–dibs, bitches!)

*Incidentally, I realized just now that I have not stated I have nothing but love for Snoop and Dre and Pac–I honestly didn’t have any problem with the Tupac hologram and it was really well done.  Pretty fucking cool, honestly and I thought Snoop did a great job rolling with his homie up there.  I’m sure it was a pretty cool moment for Snoop and I in no way mean to detract from that.  I’m just asking questions, ya dig?  Love to Snoop and Dre–you guys made some of the best rap albums of my childhood.  Just so you know I didn’t forget about Dre, or Snoop either.  Between those cats and Eazy, I had more albums to hide from my parents than I could keep up with most days.  Nine deuce and all that shiz.  Ahem… Sorry, I had a flashback.  OOOH!  OH!  OH SHIT!  YOUR AUNTIE CLARICE!!!!

We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog…

OH SHIT!!!  I CAME UP ON LOOT!!!

-Gun shot heard-

We NOW return you to your regularly scheduled blog.

Yeah.

Coolness notwithstanding and the fact that the Tupac hologram cost anywhere from $400,000 to one million dollars (depending on the blog), the question does tend to tickle the noodle–brains, people, brains… Get your minds out of the pants-region.  The internet raged that, in time, cost-prohibiting factors may become a non-issue.  Is possible, yes?  Meh.  Who knows?

I suppose, it all boils down to what you want your future to look like, not your past or your present.  Which is, has been and probably will be MY PERSONAL question to you.

What will the new classics be?

Who are the new classics?

Behold! Mozart 2.0

There is, of course, no need to replace, reinvent or rework the classics.  They’re classics, for crissakes!  Hence the fucking moniker!  We don’t need another Jimi Hendrix or another John Lennon or another Mozart or another Bob Ross or another Tiny Tim.  We had them.  Their art endures.  I’m always amused when someone, some writer, some movement claims that so and so is the next or the new so and so.  What the fuck for?  Let them be the now them.  It’s all good, baby!  We’re only setting ourselves up if we really believe that there is such a thing as passing the torch.  It’s all bullshit.  The torch doesn’t get passed; it gets held until it goes out–THEN a new fucking torch is brought to light.

Nevertheless, I return to the question:  Where are the new classics?  Are we so fragmented and easily distracted and busy shouting our lunch menu from Baja Burrito on our Facebook pages that we are unable to get behind and give the arts the same level of attention from the days of Yore?  Or are we in simply in a state of flux waiting on the next Nirvana, Prince, Metallica, Dylan, Beatles, R.E.M., Stevie Ray Vaughan, Sex Pistols, Radiohead, Stone Roses, Rolling Stones, Eric Johnson, Smokey Robinson, Pavement, Pantera, Robert Johnson, Velvet Underground, Black Sabbath, Depeche Mode, Benny Goodman, Kraftwerk, Van Halen, Queen, Django Reinhardt, Bruce Springsteen, Beethoven, Ravi Shankar, Madonna, Johnny Cash, Michael Jackson, Bon Jovi, Shania Twain, Oasis/Blur (sorry, I love em both equally), Elvis (meh), New Kids On The Block, Justin Bieber, Glee and so on and so fucking forth?

Does the fact that I can name a shitload of mega-popular, mega-well know, mega-influential (mega-everything) bands/artists/musicians and so on negate my question about no “new” classics?  Or does the fact that aside from Justin Bieber and Glee (not an artist but some sort of weird American Idol-esque-”important”-’classic’-influential… ummm… thing?) none of the other artists were birthed after the labels ‘died?’

I’m now confusing myself.

This is now getting into “real blogger” territory and I honestly don’t know what to say.

But I cannot let the question die…

Are we making new classics?  Or are we sliding into a bit of a stale period where no one band/artist can make the kind of dent that the majority of my mostly-mainstream, known-to-most list has?  Question within a question:  (Inception-style, bitches)  Did the artists on my list make the kind of dent that will last?

I don’t know why, but I feel this itch that someone is going to say, “Lady Gaga” for some strange reason.  Maybe I’ve just got the L-gag’s on the mind for some reason?  Nah.  Probably just drunk on blogging beer.  Anywho… Moving right along…

If indeed you WERE thinking the G to the A to the G to the A, then let me point out… She’s really no bigger than Katy Perry or Rihanna or Chris Brown or Bruno Mars or Train with that “Soul Sister” joint.  Okay… Maybe a little bigger; but Michael Jackson big?  I think not.

So who are the new classics?

Have we information-super-highway-ed our asses into only digging what we hear on commercials?

Fact:  Many bands are now pursuing licensing.  I.E. commercials.  They are actively TRYING to write shit that will end up on a commercial.  Why?  Only way to make some fucking bread, dawg.  Sure, sure… Plenty of bands are making music they dig or want to be seen making; but the world has moved on–in the words of The Gunslinger.  Nothing is Ka-tet anymore and we’re getting to a point where if it ain’t jingle-jangly, it ain’t shit.

Here’s an old chestnut that should ruin your day unless you’ve been assimilated:

Boom.

Are we there yet?

Are we to that point where Denis Leary’s line rings true?

I’ve seen the future… You know what it is?  It’s a 47 year old virgin, sitting around in his beige pajamas drinking a banana-broccoli shake singing, “I’m an Oscar Meyer Wiener.” 

Is resistance futile?

Why the fuck should it be?  The Borg aren’t any scarier than zombies… Get some treadmills, bitches!

All joking aside…

There are a lot, a lot, A LOOOOOOTTTTTTT…. HUGE AMOUNTS… LOOOOTS!!!!

As Xandir would says, "a lot, I mean A LOT A LOT A LOTTA, I MEAN A LOOOOOTTTTTT" of bands out there...

of good bands out there.  There really are.  But are there so many that their efforts are diluted?  What the fuck does a “diluted effort” mean, anyway?  How do YOU find new music?  What constitutes a “classic?”  Are people so inundated by music that they can no longer distinguish the “keepers?”  What the fuck is a “keeper” band anyway?  Who stole my taco?  What are you wearing?  Where’s my beer?  Why are you looking at me?!!

I NEED CHEESEBURGERS!!!

We apologize to everyone everywhere for everything…  Jas is normally somewhat normal and we will be monitoring him day and night.  Until then, please feel free to download his new album for FREE using the following link:   http://bit.ly/Agjn74 

Or you can simply go to www.jaspatrick.com and get whatever free music he’s offering at the time of this reading.  He always gives some music away for free so don’t bitch if the above link doesn’t work.  If you’re so far in the future that you’re jamming to commercials anyway, a four minute song will sound like Rush and early Genesis had a freaking prog-rock love child!

…

Rush and Genesis were bands that made non-made-for-commercial-music, you future dill hole… Music.  You know, MUSIC!  Stuff that didn’t include the price of some item and the phone number and the address where one can purchase the…

Oh, never mind.

Right then.

On Saturday, April 7th, 2012, I played an “opry-type” show in Edmonton, Kentucky.  The name of said show was Scott’s City Limits.  I was approached to play the show by the fire breathing steel guitar god, Jeff Peterson–normally I eschew fire breathing anything at all costs; but hey, the dude is family so fuck it, am I right?  I am.  Shhhhhhh… Let the nice man finish his blog.

Right then.

Any road, Jeff hit me up and told me I had an audience up there in Edmonton parts and I was all like, “Well, yeah… Of COURSE I do, pfffft… So… Um… Really?”

He was all like, “Werd.”

I nodded as I realized the wisdom in his words.  He’s almost sage in his arguments, you see.

I went all Jean-Luc Picard and told him to “make it so” and shit.  (Can you tell I’m sick?  I’m having a hard time concentrating here… Read my other blogs if you want “concise”)

The point of the story is that there are some lovely folks up in Edmonton who knew my music and have been supporters of my music for a long time now–I’m uncertain if they’re regular readers of my blog; so I say to them now:  This is just my blog schtick, I write incomprehensibly under the auspices of comedy and junk, so no worries.

Here’s where I put up a happy face to show that it’s all in good fun.

;o)

;****o()  (I don’t know what that one is, I just started messing around to see what I could make)

Anyway, I’ll put my $ where my ) is

;$

I’m on fire.

Moving right along…

I’m just going to start over because I’ve completely lost track.

(From left to right) Bobby Jo Lee, Billy Neighbors and yer ole buddy Jas--no, I wasn't reading sheet music or lyrics sheets or cheat sheets. It was porn. I was actually looking at analog porn while I sang. Or someone else's lyrics... I wasn't sure but if it was a lyric sheet, that shit was hot, yo.

I played a show in Kentucky this past Saturday.  I got hit up to play the show because apparently some folks wanted to catch me live.  To these people and the new people I met up there who dug what I did I can say only, Thank you and I’m glad to have met you all!  It was a great time and it meant a lot that so many of you came by to buy some of my CD’s and asked me to sign them and all that.  But most importantly, it was just really damn fine to get up there and see you guys were digging it.  I look forward to coming back and I thank Jeff Peterson for spreading my music around up there and going out of his way to work with the owner Scott Gentry to bring me up.  Very cool, guys, much love!

So anyway, I met a lot of fantastic people up there and was actually a little shocked at the amount of people who not only knew my music but have followed me for quite some time now!  I’d kick off a song and there would be a few hoots and hollers from people who recognized the songs–that is pretty insanely cool if you’ve never had it happen to you, let me assure you.

I was able to play with an incredibly stellar band.  I’ll take a second and let them all know what great players I think they ALL are!

Much love to the Scott’s City Limits band:  Bobbie Jo Lee, Billy Neighbors, Brad Neher, Scott Thompson, Steve Wood and Jeff Peterson.  I’d also like to give a little love to a real gentleman of a sound engineer and just a super nice dude:  Larry Wilkerson–thanks for making sure my wedge was right on time, Brother!  I only had to ask once and  you handled everything perfectly–that’s rare and it’s very much appreciated, my friend.

Thanks to Scott Gentry for working with Jeff to bring me up there, it was a pleasure, dude!  Though, I’ll say it now and say it loud… If you kiss me again, I’ll cut you off at the knees, brah… You’ve been warned.

Nah, I’m just kidding, mayne… But seriously, I’ll cut you into kibble and feed you to the cutting-laser-equipped catfish in my basement…

Nah!

I’m just joshing ya, pally!   We have fun!

But I’ll totally call in the hit squad from Jersey and ….

Okay, okay… I’ll stop.

(See, Scott pretty much busted my balls nonstop backstage so I owed him a few–but any friend of the amazing people in that band is a friend of mine and I had a helluva lot of laughs with ole Scott in between sets so I figured I’d get in a few extra licks cause it’ll probably be a few months before I get to see him again)

I’ll take another quick sec, if you’ll indulge, dear reader and give some love to a couple of very talented folks with whom I also shared the stage:  Shaylin McGuire and Jordan Chapman.  These two were just really great folks and I enjoyed getting to hang out with them and really enjoyed both their sets.

I had more of an opportunity to speak with Shaylin and her family, so “hello” and best of luck to them and I really appreciated getting the chance to talk a little shop with them.  I’ve since had the chance to listen to Shaylin’s debut CD and I still maintain the girl has some mad pipes.  Go on, girl–keep kicking ass and finding your sound.  Remember what I said:  If it doesn’t sound good to you, then keep working–to hell with anyone who says different.  Proud to know you.

Jordan, bro–didn’t get much of a chance to talk with you; but you covered one of my favorite Tim McGraw tracks and you did it with aplomb.  Well done, Sir!  I’m sure we’ll run into one another sooner or later so no worries there.  Keep ruling that stage, Bro–it was a pleasure!

That leaves only country-soul pimp, number 1…

T. Graham.

See? You thought I was kidding! T. Graham's a damn pimp! Brother was telling me about his "fat stacks" and 'sick rims' and how I should hate some game and not the players and stuff all night long! I just said "yessir" and promised to 'come correct' when I 'rolled through his hood' and prayed for the best.

Typically, in my very humble opinion, when someone writes about a show, I like to know the “unknown” details and the backstage banter.  So this is where ole T gets worried that I’ll post some embarrassing shit or tell about how he ‘REALLY’ was or something akin, yes?

Nope.

Dude is solid.

Funny story.

Not really; but shut up.

I actually met the brother a thousand years ago when I was ten or thereabouts.  I don’t remember it.  Neither does he.  End of funny story.

See what I did there?

Seriously, though… I must’ve met this dude four or five times when I was young enough to think mastery of video games equaled accomplishment.  Of course, we now know that mastery of video games only matters if you are posting achievements online and you are able to out-scream your opponent after a particularly vicious tea-bagging.

Or…

If you are able to beat that South Korean kid–but we mustn’t even dare to talk such nonsense… The Westerner that can do that is only legend.

What?  You thought I couldn’t turn a blog about T. Graham Brown into a video game manifesto?  What are you, new?  Come on, dawg… You know how WE do.

Regardless, I’m outside of the club talking with Scott Thompson and Brad Neher and Jeff Peterson (I’m a little fuzzy on that point; but it really doesn’t matter) and I see a pretty nice ride pull up.  There’s a lady in there but I don’t see anyone else.  My first thought was:  She’s blocking Jeff’s ride.  My second thought was:  heh heh… She’s blocking Jeff’s ride… Jeff gonna be pissed, yo!  (yeah, my thoughts go ghetto every now and again)

Jeff Peterson taking a ride--while not Jeff Peterson's ride, we hope it still conveys something about a ride and Jeff Peterson. So... There it is.

Right around that time, some dude in all black comes literally swaggering up–no shit!  He actually sauntered up like he was an extra on the “Shaft” set.  Obviously, he’s joking–but I didn’t know it at the time.  The whole day up to that point had been, “Where’s T?”  ‘Is T here yet?’  ‘Who’s this ‘T’ cat I keep hearing about and why the fuck isn’t he here yet?!!!’

See, we had rehearsals before doors opened and the band and employees of the club were pretty jazzed about T being there that night.  Now you’re up to speed so stop asking questions already… Sheesh.

Anyway, T-dawg rolls up and I shit you not, the dude starts spitting hilarious shit before he’s even in earshot!

I think we all started laughing despite ourselves and then up comes T just mad chill.  I have to give it to the guy, he’s a damn pimp.  Goldfish high-stack shoes?  Nope.  But you wouldn’t blink an eye, man… You really wouldn’t.  Awesome.

Anyway, the dude is a totally “normal” cat but he’s got that certain ‘something’ about him that only years in front of an audience can bring.  It was cool.  I sound starstruck, I know… It’s not entirely accurate.  It was just a normal dude who brings normality to an otherwise ab-fucking-normal line of work.  I was hooked…

When I grow up, I want to be T. Graham Brown.

What?

Explain yourself, Jas, damn you!!!

I will–later…

Let’s fast forward to the show.

T gets up there and completely kills it.

I work hard on my voice to ensure I can do EXACTLY what he did.  I never drink 24 hours before singing, I do my vocal exercises and workouts and pride myself on the power I bring to a vocal.  Brother T does the same thing–minus the exercises and workouts… I have NO FRIGGING CLUE if he does that; but I can attest that he brings power to the vocal.  It was sweet as shit, dude… I ain’t never lied.

Yes, yes… I know…

It’s COUNTRY, Jas… How cool could it have been?

Put it to you this way…

I don’t really dig gospel music.  In fact, a lot of it can really just… Well… It blow chunks…

It sucks.

I mean, sucks bad…

But when someone does it RIGHT–it can be amazing.

Incidentally, good line:  Once upon a time, you turned water into wine… Could you help me turn wine back into water.

That’s pretty damn clever, man.  As a songwriter, I appreciate that.  I really do.

T. wrote that.  But most importantly, T. SANG that and sang it well.  Dude brought down the house.  Was it star appeal?  Sure.  But it was also ability and talent.

A lot of country singers don’t necessarily have a lot of technical ability and rely instead on timbre, delivery, lyrical content and image.  (pop stars are the same)  But we can all agree that there are some that can just fucking sing, no?  T. Graham Brown is one of those.

So when I say, “When I grow up, I want to be T. Graham Brown,” hopefully now you understand.  Dude is over 30 years older than I am and he has as much power and grit as I do NOW–never mind he has as many years as I have living utilizing his ability to work a crowd, patience, technique, style and mad swagger.  As a soul/rock/r&b/power vocalist, seeing a veteran work that shit was a real eye opener.

Young lion pays homage to his elder.

T, you rock, brother.  Thanks for being massively cool as well as giving me the chance to spot check your style.

Which leads us to a personal cool moment or five…

I’m about to go on for my first set.  I can’t find a single damn crevice or area in the joint to warm up actually singing.  I’ve done my vocal warmups and exercises in the car on the way there–but stretching doesn’t give you the same feeling as shooting the ball at the basket, you dig?  You’ve got to actually DO what you intend to do so I needed a place to go sing the actual songs a little bit to loosen up.

Bear in mind, I’m fucking cursed with allergies and I’m in an entirely different environmental-scape and the new pollens are having a field day–I’m pounding water, humming and keeping the chords warm; but I HAVE to sing a bit to acclimate myself to my surroundings or I’m screwed.

So I go outside.

Jas outside.

It’s cool and wonderful outside.  The sun has gone down and Jeff’s mustang is right next to the door.  I have maybe 10 minutes before I go on.  So I grab a stray acoustic (can’t risk humidity or difference in air pressure making my show guitar go out of tune) and I use the mustang as a bench–sorry Ford enthusiasts.

I start running through an easy tune on the vocals (“Nice To Meet Me” for those few ‘Jas Patrick’ purists out there–big wink)

I’m about halfway through the first verse and I see movement from the door to the backstage area.  I keep singing cause fuck interruption–if they don’t like it, they can… Holy shit, it’s T…

Yep.  T. Graham Brown has just walked in/out on me warming up my… uh… warming up my… “junk?”  Yeah, it felt like that.  I was vocally warming up my “junk” and T. Graham Brown came out right in the middle of mid-stroke… Fucking sigh, man… Why me?

Screw it.  I keep singing.

I’m literally beet red and feeling like I’m a kiddie onstage doing my Thanksgiving play or some shit… God, I’m still cringing right now… Yeah, I was pretty embarrassed.

T. walks out of sight and I just keep going.  A verse later he strolls slowly by with his head down and slightly cocked obviously listening to me.  He stops.

I keep going.

Fuck me, he stopped…

He turns slowly and looks at me.

Gives me the thumbs up and says, “Sounds great, man.”

I basically exhale manic laughter and say some shit about wallstreet or needing to warm up and liking chicken mcnuggets or who the fuck knows?

He nods, gives me ANOTHER THUMBS UP and repeats, “Sounds good, man” and slowly goes inside.

Now, bear in mind…

This is AFTER the whole pimp walk up when I’m outside hanging with Jeff and the gang and Jeff proceeds to tell T. that I remind him of T.  You know, big voice and all that… Crawl into a hole and die of frightened anticipation of COMPLETELY FUCKING UP IN THE SHOW…

Yeah…

Jeff, I love him, but damn…

I made some joke about drowning in shoes I have to fill or some shit and started to question what the fuck I was doing DARING to sing and all that…

But, you see, then it hit me… I didn’t OWE anybody anything.  Jeff was showing love and I took it as respect and belief.  It didn’t change the fact that the pressure was on; but fuck that.  If one person believes, then YOU have to believe, am I right?

So I did my first set and as soon as I walked off stage, I damn near ran smack into T.

Thumbs up.

Sounds great, man.

…

Well…

Fuck me running…

THANK YOU, Bro.

Yes…

Thank you, Bro.

In total, I got five thumbs up and a few various “good voice” ‘you sound great’ ‘good job’ and other assorted compliments from T. Graham Brown.  Some may say it’s just a nicety.  Some can kiss my ass.  I’ll take it.  Thank you very much.

As stated about the beginning… I’ve played drums for “names” and met plenty of ‘names’ but that night was one of the first nights I, me, my music, my voice opened for a ‘name.’  And the brother showed some love.

Was it sincere?  Did he really “mean it?”

Who cares?

He said it five times.

I’ll take it.

Now, I had intended to quit the blog there; but it’s several days later and I realized I hadn’t explained why Kentucky is my friend.  Basically, all I was going to say was that every show I have played in Kentucky has been cool–all two of them at the time where I left off.

BUT

I had another show in Kentucky since I left off–Bowling Green this time around–and even writing this blog couldn’t jinx me.  Kentucky freaking shows yer ole buddy Jas a LOT of love, man.  I love that damn state, I really do!  It seems as though I always meet some great people who just shower me with kindness and really dig my music.  It’s always really encouraging and I just want to thank everyone from the 2nd Saturdays Street Fair in Bowling Green for having me come play and being so supportive and just a great audience for whom we were proud to play!

Jas Patrick Jake Willemain & Ed Simpson

Damn.

That stings.

I’m uncertain to whom this was directed; but holy fuck balls!  What an awesome way to casually toss an acidic diss to the playa haters giving our dude, André 3000 grief!  Fucking brilliant, folks.  So let’s talk about this joint for a bit, shall we?

Yes, oh dear Cthulhu, YES!  A thousand times yes!!!

Can you tell I dig this track?  If not, let me begin by saying:  Ahem.  I dig this track.  Also, I dig Converse.  I always wear me some chucks (pics so it DID happen–check the album cover on my first album “Working On My Soul”); so I was quite interested when I came across the 3 Artists, 1 Song deal that Converse has been doing.

I first heard about it through my two favorite vloggers/music reviewers:  Anthony Fantano at The Needle Drop and Sami Jarroush at Rock It Out! Blog.  I don’t remember which one was first–I think I saw one and them immediately saw the other; so, sorry fellas, no clear FIRSTIE!  for either of you from yer ole buddy Jas.

Regardless, upon first listen, I was immediately falling over myself to hit the replay button.  Yes, it’s that good.  Now, if you disagree, of course we’ll agree to disagree that you have any taste in music whatsoever and also, you are a poo head.  Aside from that, what’s not to like?

You’ve got Damon Albarn/Gorillaz, Andre 3000 and James Murphy–all awesome on their own–coming together to make a fun, goofy and totally chill track.  I call it “totally chill” cause you really get a sense that it was a blast to make.  Now, I may be wrong.  It might have been the most vile experience any of these dudes ever had in a studio; but you sure as shit can’t tell by listening to the track.  That being said, don’t let my “totally chill” remark put you off or give you the incorrect impression.  It’s upbeat, bouncy and will undoubtedly cause stirrings in your ass region–totally non-poop related, that last remark, I assure you.

In interest of keeping this blog at least PG-13, we're going to go with this picture for a gag on "stirrings in your ass region." NOTE: Whilst blogging, should you decide to look up images with the following words: booty, booty dancing, drop it like it's hot, ghetto dancing, ghetto booty, shake your ass, ass shaking, getting down, get down with your bad self, shake it, shake your booty and so on and so forth... Make goddamn sure you have your parental filter set at "honest choir boy" or 'Gandi.' Otherwise... Well, "poop-related" is the least of your worries. Anyone know how to clean your search history?

Now, I haven’t written them yet; but expect two more blogs from me on the subject of Britpop/Blur/Damon Albarn–One of my favorite documentaries is on the subject of Britpop and incidentally, many of my favorite songs/artists/albums are of British origin and can be considered at least moderately “pop.”  Another time…

Moving right the freck along.

As Andre 3000 says in the song we are currently discussing:  “Do ya damn thing, do ya thing, ya thing.”

And so I shall, Mr. 3000… So I shall.

Now, they’ve either not really made public or I suck at research (kiss my ass, trolls), I’m uncertain on who exactly did what on the track; but I’m going to ASSUME the music/beat/backing track was predominately done by James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem fame.  Damon Albarn kicks off the vocals singing as his Gorillaz counterpart 2D (love that fucking toon, man).

Then we come to a hook and James Murphy takes over to sing a fairly whackadoo-sounding, harmonizing chorus–awesome so far?  Check.

Then, we have the man with all the love below taking over for a different chorus; Mr. 3000, himself… Dre.  Awesome absolute.

But it ain’t over, folks… Nope.  Dre then proceeds to hit us with a full speed, rapid fire, flow-tornado.  Dude lays down some of the best rhymes, I swear.  Check this:

“Aww, he don’t rap enough… But y’all rap a lot and I’m like ‘Wrap it up, hoe‘”

Boom

Yeah… These dudes rock, mayne.  Nuff said.  But let’s talk more about it anyway.

But first, peep the video and check the tune:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yNeF30RverQ

Fucking sweet, no?

Even if you don’t dig the song, you have to give a bit o’ love to that video!  So damn cool!

2D in 3D!!!

Well… Nearly, yeah?

Check their “humble” beginnings (the Gorillaz, I mean… They started out as the world’s ‘first virtual’ band and all that–look it up, I don’t feel like explaining it):

Now, you may or may not think that is a “cool thing” or a ‘good track’ or what have you; but when I saw/heard/heardabout this song (‘Clint Eastwood’ by the Gorillaz) I was blown the fuck away.  I thought it was a novel idea and I absolutely loved the track!  Hell, I can still keep up with the rapped verses and I believe I know all the words–though, it’s been a long damn time since I’ve tried.  Regardless, great fucking track, great fucking vid and I was definitely intrigued by the Gorillaz.

I don’t want to go on and on about the Gorillaz or Damon; so let’s talk about Dre for a minute… You know him.  Yes, yes you do.  Stop shaking your head.  Oh, sorry!  You’re nodding like you just don’t care?  My bad, dawg…

Andre 3000 is, of course, from OutKast.  Undoubtedly, some of you know him from his Über-huge, smash track “Hey Ya!“  Now don’t have me break it down for you for nothing.  I want you to read this on your baddest behavior.  Lend me some sugar… I am your neighbor.

Yeah, as Dre says at the end of the extended, 13 minute version of “Do Ya Thing”:  (He’s) ‘the shit!’

Yeah… The extended version gets… Shall we say, motherfucking obnoxious… But, hell… At least the first four minutes or so are uncensored; so we don’t have to hear the silly coverups and all that nonsense.  (Sorry, “naughty words” don’t bother me in the slightest… Just words, ya dig?  Words only “hurt” if you motherfucking let them.  Dig)

But we haven’t spoken about James Murphy… Let’s do that.

James Murphy is a badass.  If this track doesn’t move your ass, nothing will:

Yeah.  Awesome sauce.

(turn it way the fuck up for maximum ass jiggling)

I maintain that “Tribulations” (LCD Soundsystem) is one of the best ‘club tracks’ I’ve ever heard.  Disagree if you like; but as Carl Brutananadilewski would say, “If you don’t like it, you look away.”  Or, if you prefer, It’s cute that you disagree, “cause you’re a frickin’ idiot.”  What?  You don’t like Aqua Teen Hunger Force/Aqua Unit Patrol Squad?

"Whad'oo I gotta frickin' do, here?!!"

Well, I’ve linked the song, linked other songs and told you all I’m prepared to tell you at this point.

Shit, man… I’m blasting other people’s music and I haven’t said a thing about my own yet!

You should, therefore, easily be able to surmise that this track is worth your time.

Follow the link above (the Converse link) to get a free download of this track and make sure you don’t listen to it AT ALL!

Nope.

Instead, I offer an alternative.

DOWNLOAD MY ENTIRE NEW ALBUM FOR MOTHERFUCKING FREE!

Blast THAT shit.

Tell your friends and help your boy out!

We’re booking shows and we need a little love to get some asses in the seats, ya dig?  So make sure you post on your facebook, twitter, myspace, church bulletin that your boy Jas is coming to your town–and even if you’re lying and I’m not, just play along and give your peeps a free album!

They’ll thank you, I promise.

Just follow this link right here, baby!  You’ll know it’s a link because all these words are either blue or purple.  So clicky clicky and tell somebody!

We love you for it.

Thanks, homie!

Hope you enjoyed the blog.

Mad “up’s” to ‘Do Ya Thing’ and I look forward to arguing more with you in this blog’s and future blog’s comments.

CLICK “THUMBS UP” AND TELL YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT YER OLD BUDDY JAS!

Cheers, my friends!

www.jaspatrick.com/lp/tributaries-free.html

The tune has a real “country” feel and air about it, so the Garth Brooks-esque ‘aww shucks’ is fitting.

My my, don’t I sound like the little snarky, blogger-fucker?  Don’t worry, John, man… I got your back, bro.  Well, no, no I don’t–you might be involved in some heavy shit and I can’t be implicated in any of your naughty habits…  But I actually intend to say some perty nice thangs about ya, pard.  Why?  Because I’m thankful to you.  I’ll explain later.

First.  The Song.

“Shadow Days”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4FC9iuftAA

So, What did you think?  Let me know in the comments.  We’ll talk.  Moving on…

Here’s what yer ole buddy Jas thought:

I like the steel guitar, I like the vibe, I like the idea, I love the solo, John sounds like John and that’s good and the production is great as usual; BUT…

You should have went for it, Bro.  You really should have.  I dig the angle.  Hell, the country-tinged, cheerful, melancholy of it was a great choice–probably damn near the best idea you could have used.  You could have gone death, doom or black metal as well; but neither one of us has the voice for that, so probably wise you didn’t and I completely would have made the same decision.

Where I find “fault” or say, ‘OOOOOHHH… SOOOO close, man!’  was in your lyrical approach.

I’m a good man

With a good heart

(fine, no problems here)

Had a tough time

Got a rough start

(dropped the ball, fumbled about, easy layup)

Dude, you should have totally just fucking slam dunked that bitch and let it all out.  The very first time I heard this (today) I thought, “go for it, go for it, GO FOR IT!!!!   …   AHHHHHHH, DUDE!!!  YOU COULDA BEEN A CONTENDA!!!”

"Tattaglia's a pimp... And a contender... And never confuse the size of your paycheck with the size of your talent... Yeah, I coulda been a lyricist too, bitches."

How about?  I’m a good man, with a good heart, got it fucked up, ripped me/you/us/it apart but I’m finally getting over myself..(?)  Or something like that?

Hear me out…  I’ll go into what I mean and it won’t seem quite as harsh at second glance; but first:

Before we continue, I will explain why I named this blog “Thanks For Making It Okay.”

John Mayer fucking rocks.  John Mayer made it okay for me to sing.

How?  Why?  Wuh?

Yep.  “Any Given Thursday.”  Changed my life–or at least made me think I wasn’t completely insane.  I had heard “No Such Thing” in the Nashville karaoke bars and sports bars and bar bars that I went to every night drowning my very very young sorrows–because I thought that I was washed up and “too old” (LULZ!) to ever do anything with my music.  You see, I had the corporate idea of what music was supposed to be and I thought you had to sound like whomever the fuck they were spinning endlessly on the Clear Channel stations.

"I'm sorry son, you must sing at least this 'well' to be on MTV"

I thought you had to be nineteen and blonde and a dancer or in some fucking, wank-ass “rock” band and so on and so forth.  Then somebody passed me a copy of “Inside Wants Out.”  Thank Cthulhu I got that album instead of “Room For Squares” but I really don’t think it would have mattered.  Listen to John’s voice and then listen to mine.  (Download my album for FREE on www.jaspatrick.com NO email address required, just pay it forward and tell a friend)

I’m not saying we sound alike; but we both have “different” voices.  John Mayer made it okay to not sound like “the radio” and to be able to sing about shit you actually want to sing about.  I didn’t think that was possible–at least on a “commercial” level.  I owe John Mayer a lot.  Also, he’s a fucking fantastic guitar player and an amazingly great songwriter.

Here’s where the non-fans and shit stirrers will bring up his stupid mouth and blah blah blah.

Couldn’t care less.

Hang on…

Nope, I have no fuck’s to give… Sorry.

I never listened to John’s music because of his celebrity.  I never gave a shit who he was fucking or not fucking or whether he fucked up or anything of the kind.  That’s dude’s business.  I’m not a celebrity watcher, appreciator or give-a-shitter.  I always have and always will appreciate the music the man made and hopefully will continue to make.  Were all his albums as awesome as the first?  Of course not… But how could they be?  I heard what I needed to hear from “Inside Wants Out” and the other stuff could NEVER put me back in time to feel the same as I did when I first heard them–so that’s hardly his fault, is it?

Let’s not worry about whether or not he’s a “bad” guy or arrogant or whatever you want to throw at him–please, don’t bother listing all his inequities in the comments; that’s a bullshit argument about his personal, his celebrity, his sex life and as stated:  I don’t give a shit about that.

PLENTY of great men and women who made great art or great invention or led the world were complete douchebags and did dumbass shit.  I’m sure Alexander the Great was a fucking arrogant tool and a dangerous one at that; but he conquered the known world and made the modern world what it is today.  It’s an example, not a comparison to John Mayer; so no bullshit semantics about comparing John Mayer to Alexander the Great either.  We’re not 10, so let’s not act as if we were.  ALSO, for the uber fans, I’m not saying John is or is not an arrogant dude or a douche or anything derogatory about him whatsoever.  I kind of have to address certain issues in a very objective and cursory manner–just cause, well, isn’t it obvious?

"Well, 'Jas' (if I can call you that)... Your first mistake was your failure to recognize that Alexander the Great was Macedonian and John Mayer CLEARLY demonstrates no clear ability to use a sarissa... And NO, it's NOT obvious; but it IS obvious that you have no idea why John Mayer will never be as cool as Skyrim--or you would've used a comma properly, YOU, FUCKER, STUPID-HEAD, DIE DIE DIE!!!!!!!!! Also... Do you think girls have vaginas..?"

Dude made a mistake or seven.  Happens.  Deserving of forgiveness?  Not my call.  Man never did anything to me.  If I met him tomorrow, I’d tell him exactly what I said in the fucking title of this blog:  Thanks, dude, thanks!  Aside from that?  None of my fucking beeswax.  True story.

Moving right the fuck along…

Back to his lyrics on “Shadow Days.”

One of the great things about John Mayer (especially “early” John Mayer) was his ability and predisposition towards being accessible, “honest” to a point that one might even shift uncomfortably in one’s seat, telling a fluent and applicable to one’s self story and lyrical dialogue that sounded conversational.  Listen to “My Stupid Mouth” for further example of this sort of idea expertly put into practice (well done, Sir).

I’m sure John is sick to death of being told how great his early shit was–that sucks, I know, and I’m really not trying to be that guy.  He had plenty of that later and did a fine enough job with it.  Believe it or not “Who Says” is a good barometer to show the Cat can still be right on point with ballsy, conversational lyrics.  I just wish he’d used a bit more chutzpah when writing the lyrics to “Shadow Days.”

Think of it…

It’s a thinly veiled, or completely unveiled, attempt at winning you all back to his side.  Look!  He’s still the same ole John you knew and loved!  He got fucked up a bit and had a bit of the devil in him; but hey!  It’s all good and you’re still friends!

Cool.

Probably a good idea considering some of the silly bullshit that happened in the blogosphere.  Again, I make no judgments on the actions either done or not done or what have you… Just, that if you’re going to take that approach, then go balls out, baby!

Imagine how nuts the internet would be going had he used the lyrics I suggested up top or something akin?

“Hey bitches, it’s John!  I made an ass out of myself and yep, I ate me some crow.  Now fuck that shit and yep, I’m an asshole; but you STILL love my ass.  Now you have nowhere to go so go fuck yourself.  Thanks for having me back!”

Something like that in iambic pentameter.  You get what I’m laying down.

And you know what..?

I’m right.

We’d all be praising the titanic circumference of his massive balls and talking about what courageous and artistic integrity we were witnessing.

Or they’d be snarky fucks and poke fun; but whatev’s.

Dude hardly needs any validation from me or blogs or anything else.  He’s already gotten over 170,000 views on the youtube video that was only put up about four days ago–no mean feat.

But let’s put that all aside and let me just, personally, say:

I never thought you could just sing like “you” and say the things you wanted to say and put it to music and have it matter.  I came from a household in which one parent was in a major label band and also in the hyper-commercial country market.  One did not say what one thought.  One smiled and kept a blindingly white toothy grin, an “aww shucks” demeanor and a just-so-happy-to-be-here facade that could warm the blackest hearts and curdle the PBR of any hipster in a ten mile radius.  That shit and also no friends who listened to anything remotely “underground,” so I found myself in commercial land.

"Fuck image... It's all about... Ummm... Not image..."

I understand that many of you may find my thinking of John Mayer as a gateway to things “non-commercial” as laughable–and IT IS; but that doesn’t change the fact that had it not been for him, I’d have never found Ray Lamontagne, Amos Lee, Umphrey’s McGee, Soulive, Jeff The Brotherhood, Sun O))), Lambchop and so on and so forth  (yes, I started more ‘commercial’ and gradually jumped right the fuck off the cliff into Pitchfork land).

This, also, may or may not be a “good” thing; but what the fuck, dude?  I can’t phrase it in a way everyone will appreciate, like or agree with so what difference does it make?

Therefore, I just want to say:   Thank you, John Mayer, for showing me that you can sound like “you,” write like ‘you’ and be yourself and people will dig it.

Also, your new song is good stuff.  Not your best; but fuck what I think, dude.  You do you.  Keep doing you.  That’s all that matters.

Also, if you’re reading this… Download my album, dude!

Cheers, me hearties.

Come closer.

Closer…

Too close.

Please release my buttocks.

…

Both hands.

Thanks.

Kay.

So anyway, you want some free shit?  Well, I got some fo’ ya.  Just go to www.jaspatrick.com and you can download my brand-spanking new album “Tributaries” for FREE.  No email signups.  No cookies deposited.  No malware.  No viruses.

Why?

Why not?

Okay, okay, okay… You got me.  I have an alternate agenda; but don’t worry!  I’m not trying to sell your shit to the evil hackers’ collective that want to know what you’re wearing when you make lolcat captions late at night after fapping.  Nope.  Nothing sinister here, baby.  I only want you to tell your friends.

I actually WANT you to download my music, LISTEN TO IT and then give it to as many people as you possibly can.  Yep.  No bullshit.  Give that shit to strangers, if you like.  Just tell somebody for me, deal?  We’re putting shows on the books and getting shows booked.  When we come to your town, we don’t want to play to bar stools, you dig me?

“Ohhhhhh!  You’re going to charge an arm and a leg to come to your show, aren’t you, you mothertrucker?!!!”

Nope.

Hell, the most I’ve ever charged to date is $5 at the door.  I don’t see that changing any time soon.  (If it has/does when you read this, go easy on me, alright?  Gas is motherfucking expensive, dawg… Never lied…)

We just want to be able to come to your town and clubs are mainly interested in how many people will come to the show if they book you; therefore, take my music, listen to it, tell your friends and hopefully it’s your cup o’ tea and you’ll help a brother out when I come to your town.

See?  Nothing sinister.  Just straight talk.

We want to come to your town and play a show at your local joint.  To do that, we need to get some asses in the seats.  We need YOUR help to do that.  So, take my music, LISTEN TO IT and give it to a few friends.  When we come to your town, come to the show.  Fair trade.

Cool?

But I’m going to talk just a little more because I don’t know what will happen to the “preview panel” of my blog if I put a link too close to the top.  See?  I’ve learned to respect my friend the internet.  The internet is a strange den and a fickle dominatrix that enjoys such lovely pastimes as horse porn and nerd rage and rage porn and nerd horses  (I will only link to “nerd horses” because the other shit is just fucking wrong on so many levels–the joke being that ‘nerd rage’ is… You know what?  Never mind… To explain a joke is to allow defeat and we don’t do that here).

So yeah, I’ve learned me some ‘puter skillz.  It took awhile.  I’m not very good with puters.  In fact, I have a hard time with them precisely because I call them “puters” and they tend to frown at me when I spit tobacco on them.  So therefore, I shall now, being a fucking computer GOD, call them by their given name of “headache-inducing, glowbox mystery thingy.”  But for ease of typing, I’ll just refer to them as “computers” from henceforth.

Moving right the hell along…

Yes, that, kiddies, was called “filler” and no one does it better or more randomly than yer ole buddy Jas!

This horse looks neither nice nor nerdy... He/she very well may look "snel" or may even be a 'snäll häst' but seriously... Who the fuck could tell? Swedish memes don't make sense... But all their base belong to us, so fuck it.

Without further ado… I give you… THE MAKING OF TRIBUTARIES!!!

Did it work?

Sweet.  I rock on computers, man.

Okay, so yeah.  I learned how to video edit.  I spent what seemed like an eternity on Lynda.com learning Adobe Premiere Pro and Adobe Bridge and Adobe Photoshop and Adobe After Effects and Adobe Audition and Adobe Soundbooth and so on and so forth.  I spent MONTHS on that shit, man.  Now, for all you wankers who’ll say “Months?  I sure couldn’t tell by your bullshit editing!”  I say only this…

THHHPPPPBBBBBB!!!!

Oh!  And YOUR MOMMA!

And other equally childish responses to childish statements.  But as is my wont, I digress…  I really didn’t mean, nor do I intend to write a long “normal” blog for me.  I really just want to take a moment and tell you how happy I am with the “documentary.”

I really worked hard on this and I hope it shows.  I want to thank Vicki and Jake Willemain and Sean Giovanni and John Constable (those cats also do Balcony TV Nashville) and Brad Bass and David Hall and Benny Quinn.  They all really were wonderful and facilitated the making of “Tributaries” to the best of their ability and beyond my expectations.  Thank you, All!

I also want to recognize:

The Record Shop Nashville

First Avenue Sound Franklin

Blackbird Studio

Benny Quinn Mastering

So much love to all of them and I had a blast making this album with them.  I’d definitely do it again and I have no doubt that I probably will!  But we’re not talking about the next album…

We’re talking about THIS one!

“TRIBUTARIES” BABY!

It comes out February 28, 2012.

BUT…

If you go to www.jaspatrick.com you can DOWNLOAD THE ENTIRE NEW ALBUM FOR FREE!!!!

(but only until February 27, 2012)

So feel free to go get yo’ FREE copy, baby!  Tell your friends!  We’re spreading the word for the upcoming shows and tour to support the new album.

We’re adding dates as we speak and if we’re not in your town, we may be close!  So check www.jaspatrick.com constantly over the next couple of days/weeks/months to see if we’ll be near you!

Mad love and respect to all of you and I promise I’ll write a more “me” blog soon!

Teaser:

Look for a bonafide actual music video from me very soon…

If you’re in Nashville or close, make sure you come to The Basement Nashville on February 28, 2012 for the TRIBUTARIES ALBUM RELEASE SHOW!!!!

7 pm

NO cover.

$1 ALBUMS.

See you there!

(you can always check here for upcoming Jas Patrick shows!!!)

A side note: We were nominated for Budlight's Band of the Week for Nashville on the Nashville Scene's blog the Nashville Cream! We were pretty stoked ("pure stoke" for any Nashville Creamers reading) and this picture was taken minutes after we realized we were in the magazine--Vicki picked up a Nashville Scene and opened it up and screamed "OH MY GOD, LOOK!!!" I nearly wrecked... I thought the alien overlords had finally begun their initial attack... Both outcomes would have been equally awesome.

Yes, a second honeymoon.  Decadent.  Oh, it was glorious, Dear internet dweller.  Sit down.  Relax.  I’ve got stories.

Many of you may remember that Vicki and I had our honeymoon in Gatlinburg, TN. last year.  We had a great time and even saw a bear.  Seeing as the bear didn’t kill us, Vicki decided that we should tempt fate a second time because fuck bears; so she booked us on another vacation in the beautiful smoky mountains just outside of Gatlinburg.

This year, Vicki went with a great company by the name of Pioneer Cabin Rentals–seriously awesome people and they really over deliver on their cabin offerings.  I highly suggest you work with them should you decide to go vacationing in Gatlinburg.  The cabin we went with was called “Blessings” and it pretty much lived up to its name.  Jacuzzi, pool table, hot tub, awesome view, two full bed and baths and they even decorated the whole place Christmas style–this may or may not work for you depending on whether or not you’ve accepted Santa as your savior.  We, of course, are a bit lax in our Santa-ism; but we always say our prayers for presents and promise to always be thankful for cookies.

We walked in and the place was spotless.  There was a ten to twelve foot tree all decked out in jolly club clothes–frigging trees these days, always dressing naughty–and they even stocked up the wood basket with wood for the fireplace.  Groovy times, kids.

Look at that tarty tree, just flaunting it all over town.

I’m getting ahead of myself, though; because there was a rather interesting hiccup on the way there.  We decided to take a more scenic route than staying on I-40 and detoured somewhere before Knoxville.  Now it wasn’t Sevierville, but it was close to it and for the life of me, I can’t remember the name of the little town where it happened; but we stumbled upon a parade.

We’re driving along some country highway and all of a sudden, we’re stopped by a cop and a line of cars in front of us.  It wasn’t a long line; but we thought it may have been a wreck or something.  I looked around and noticed a small sign (copy paper letter sized) that said “Christmas parade 4:00.”  “No problem,” says I, ‘it’s only 3:00.’

Eastern time zone, dumbass.

FUCK!!!!

Yep.  The cop stopped us seven cars deep and I watched helplessly as the parade slowly started up a parallel road which merged into our lane and meandered off into the distance.  No shit, guys, the time was 4:00 exactly.  Vicki cursed me for my small bladder and swore if I ever drank during a road trip again she’d geld me.  I had no choice, I turned off the car and watched for over an hour as every resident in the small town paraded agonizingly slowly down the two lane road.

Even though we had gold to sell, alas, the parade would not let us pass...

As we neared the hour and a half mark (and the blood had begun to clot from the numerous stab wounds Gangsta Vicki had inflicted rather mercifully shallow) we finally saw the end of the parade.  Unfortunately, they had merged onto our road and were traveling the same direction we intended to go; so we inched our way forward behind Santa.  Everyone was on floats and throwing candy at the three residents who were either too old or too uncreative to have made a float and participate in the parade; so Vicki made me get on the hood recite useful information for creating a long term stock portfolio.  At the end of the parade, quite a few residents thanked me and told me they had already seen a few point increase.

Originally, we had hoped to actually drive up the steep mountain drive to our cabin in the daylight; but Santa is a vengeful god and it seems my little girl’s bladder was the means in which his will was done–he’s quite the exhibitionist, it seems, and well, I guess he just wanted an audience for his parade.  We didn’t stay for the sacrifice, though.

Santa's minions hunger.

Even so, there’s something to be said for driving through Pigeon Forge at night.  If you’ve never been, you simply must at least look it up on the internet.  I wouldn’t recommend necessarily going; I mean, if you’ve ever been to Mr. Gatti’s, you probably already know the thrill of a redneck Las Vegas; but oh dear Cthulhu, is it something to see!  Pigeon Forge is nuts.  It’s like if Willie Wonka sold out, bought a town and had a love child with Ronald McDonald and someone who almost made it as a cast member for Jersey Shore and they all got magnificently fucked up on cough syrup and planned a town based on the concept of “you know what’d be cool?”

Yeah… Plan your vacation now, bitches.

I kid, I kid.  I love Pigeon Forge.  Especially when I don’t need to stop for gas and I somehow manage to not stop at every one of the few thousand stop lights.  Seriously, folks, I’ll be here all week.

No really, it is kind of cool to see.  They have a reenactment museum/dinner theater of the Titanic–for those of you who enjoy icy drownings with your song and dance and Cobb salad.  They have an upside down dinner theater for those who prefer to spend fifteen bucks on chicken fingers in the most ridiculous way possible; and who doesn’t like miniature golf?  Pigeon Forge has more mini-golf per square mile than Nashville has churches–okay, that’s a huge exaggeration; but you get the point.

Nothing stirs the appetite like tragedy.

If you do ever find yourself in the Forge de Pigeon, then make sure to drive through it at night–it’s all lit up like a hillbilly on the fourth of July and half as subtle.  You simply cannot help but wonder what the city leaders were smoking.  Entertaining, to say the least.

But this isn’t about lights and goofball “world’s largest” anything; it’s about natural beauty and getting drunk the way Santa intended–in nature.

We finally got to our cabin and it was more beautiful than the pictures suggested.  We unpacked and quickly made our way to our favorite grocery store in Gatlinburg (the only one of which we are aware) the glorious Food City.  I know it may seem quite odd to be fond of a grocery store; but I’m nostalgic and the Food City was our honeymoon grocery.  It’s walled off by a huge natural rocky mountain wall with a sign that reads, “do not climb or police will be notified.”  With my grocery mountain climbing excursion dashed, I decided to instead purchase food.

After buying half the store’s stock of booze and all their steak selections, we made our way back home to our lovely cabin.  Upon arriving back at our cabin, we noticed our cat Phoebe had built a fire and was already half drunk.  I scolded her for making me have to catch up and sat down on the tiny area on which Phoebe had not called “dibs.”

Cats know how to vacation.

Contented sigh.

This is the life.

Most of the vacation went that way, actually.  We spent copious amounts of time on the porch and in the jacuzzi and we were amazingly lucky that while it was December, most of the week’s temperatures were in the sixties or seventies.  “Unseasonably warm and sunny,” said the weather man and ‘let’s have another’ said Jas.  It was incredible.

Since sitting around drinking makes for bad blogging, I’ll tell you that something else cool happened.  I shot the first video for my upcoming album during our stay.  The name of the song is “King For a Day” and corny title aside, it’s actually been getting a lot of love from the very few people who have heard it.  I wrote it right after our first honeymoon last year and we loved it so much (the song and the honeymoon) that we decided to put it on my soon to be released album–COMING SOON FEBRUARY 28TH 2012!

Man oh man, is the footage great!  Vicki and I invested in a great camera that doubles as a video camera–I don’t know the make or the model except that I call it “Mr. Badass Camera.”  Something about having a great lens and the sensor is awesome or some shit; it couldn’t be any less important…  Regardless, I have been taking online classes and tutorials to learn how to become a better video editor and after finally learning how to start the program, I have found that I have somewhat of an affinity for Premiere Pro, which is the editing software we’re using.  The cool thing is that after countless hours of tutorials, I kind of learned blocking, lighting and perspective and such as a byproduct of my original intent to become more proficient at video editing.  Who knew?

Smoky Mountains: making video editing easy for 200-300 million years.

Between the awesome video quality, the beautiful scenery, depth of field, my own humble skill and Vicki’s far superior camera work we came out with truly professional looking footage.  I couldn’t be happier and if I can ever figure out how the hell you get large files from a Mac to a PC (our new flash drive bought for just that purpose told me to go fuck myself) I will begin making the video.  Look for it probably around late January or early February.

Let’s see… What else happened?

We went to downtown Gatlinburg once (it was a very chill week, what can I say?  We’re not touristy) and if Pigeon Forge is garish, then Gatlinburg is quaint.  It’s actually pretty nice and it’s pretty fun to walk down the main street.  Lots of stuff to see and eat and nonsensical stuff to buy–if you want unusable weapons to hang on your wall then Gatlinburg is your knockoff weapon central!  Preserve stores, candy stores, beef jerky outlets, air rifle extravaganzas… It’s all there.

Jas and Vicki with bear photobomb in downtown Gatlinburg, TN. Right before they purchased air rifles and aluminum swords to knock over the beef jerky outlet.

We ate at the Little House Of Pancakes–our favorite breakfast joint in Gatlinburg; seriously, seriously good pancakes, for realz.  Their pancakes are just incredible.  They make you want to lie down in a bed of pancakes and then proceed to eat your bed of pancakes and order more pancakes cause you ate your bed and you may want to actually get some frigging sleep after eating all those pancakes.

We also discovered a brand new barbecue place which had just opened earlier this year and my friends, it fucking rocks!  The place is called Hungry Bear BBQ and if you find yourself in Gatlinburg, just go.  Trust me.  Delicious pork and pretty damn fine beef brisket–though, it ain’t Texas brisket (despite the claims of the wonderfully sweet lady running the joint) it’s still about as good as you can get without traveling all over the damn place.  The pork, though, was phenomenal.

Bears apparently take their barbecue very seriously--either that or he's off his meds. Regardless, if you see a sign like this, you eat the damn barbecue.

And what honeymoon or blog by me would be complete without slavish praise of glorious beer?  Well, we discovered a new one, kids and its name is Schlafly Coffee Stout!  Oh man oh man… If you’re a coffee drinker and you also happen to drink beer, this one is for you.  I, personally, cannot drink coffee as I am already far too high strung and drinking too much caffeine forces my speech to increase in speed to the point of infinite mass and results in the spaghettification of the listener (physics trolls may discuss below in the comments).

Regardless of my inability to prevent light speed speech after caffeine intake or my inability to pronounce “Schlafly” it is damn fine beer.  Roasted flavor, hint of coffee, a bit of kick and bitterness while remaining smooth and nutty, Schlafly is wonderful (note:  Schlafly, please make the check payable to Tiny Lion Records and we look forward to the 2012 Schlafly/Jas Patrick tour–though, I may be too drunk to perform).  Seriously though, check that beer out if you like browns/darks/flavored beers.

Pictured: Beer. Coffee beer at that! I like mixing my drugs.

I also enjoyed my old standby favorites:  Shipyard pumpkin ale, Saranac pumpkin ale, Lakefront pumpkin ale, Saranac Black and Tan, Yuengling Black and Tan (oh hell yeah), Einbecker Schwarzbier and Köstritzer Schwarzbier.  Ahhhh… Beer.

Excuse me, Sir; but would you mind moving your mountain? I'm trying to look at my beer.

I cooked some incredible steaks and we had stuffed portabellas and I doctored up some spaghetti sauce into a fine meaty/mushroomy goodness which we proceeded to enjoy with tortellini.  Food, glorious food and then more glorious beer.  One might even say it was glorious.  It was.

In summation, if you’ve not been to Gatlinburg, make sure you go.  Tell em Jas sent you and then moon them when they say “who?”

Stay tuned for a “making of” video of, well, the making of my new album and a truly beautiful video for a song which is on said new album.  The album drops February 28th 2012 and presales are starting soon!  Check www.jaspatrick.com frequently over the next month to reserve your copy and tell your friends, family, enemies and random people on the street.

Jas Patrick and Tiny Lion Records are not responsible for any knife induced injuries resulting from talking to random people on the street.

Oh, so a few things I forgot to mention in the post…

I bought Vicki the Adele Live at the Royal Albert Hall DVD/CD package for an early Xmas present and I have to say, it was pretty damn great.  The band is excellent, the videography is top notch and Adele sounds pretty damn fine (you can hear just a touch of the upcoming throat problems she would soon have; but you either have to be a vocal coach or a singer to pick up on it so no worries for the casual listener–besides, Adele on an off day is better than many on their best so no worries, Adele, you sounded great, BooBoo).  If you’re an Adele fan, this DVD is a must.  Vicki turned me on to Adele a ways back and I’m glad she did–excellent singer and a wonderful stage presence.  Check it out.

For you Phoebe fans (believe it or not, my cat Phoebe has her some internet buds who always ask about her), Little Miss made it into the new video that I mentioned in this blog and you’ll get to see her little Communist ass as she makes her music video debut in all her glory.

Finally, I hope you all have a great holiday season.  Eat well, drink even better and enjoy every minute of it and I look forward to hearing what you all think of the new album in the new year.  Thank you for reading and be well, my friends!

Cheers!  Prost!   Salud!  Viva!  Kampai!  Skal!  A sia saide!  A vortre sante!  Nien Nien nu!

This is what happens when you save a horse and ride a cowboy... Still think country music is cool? (sorry for the bigger pic; but holy ape balls and donkey shit!!! This is seriously fucked up--and it's animatronic! The damn thing moves and talks! I haven't slept in a week...)

Nothing says Feng Shui like bear tapestries. Vicki and I argued on whether this was a post modern reflection of the art deco style employed by the salmon period of noted Native American, nah, I'm just kidding... We stole it and it's in our bedroom now. Roar.

Seriously, they use bears in all their decorating in Gatlinburg; but no bullshit, try the pancakes here.

Hell of a view, ain't it? If you're gonna wake up after passing out, there's worse views...

The only rainy day was the day we left. Santa wept.

If the cabin's rocking, please call structural support services.

Seductive bear is seductive.

December. In the mountains. Yeah, that's right. I have an "in" with Santa. He's my dawg.

When in the mountains, take only what you need to survive. (and yes, that's a full size fridge awwwww yeeeeah)

My idols were always close at hand.

Meeting them?  No problem.

Were they accessible?  Sometimes.

Joining their ranks?  Took a damn long time.

But I finally did it.  I got to share the stage with my idols.  In fact, I’ve been doing it a lot lately, it seems.

No, I didn’t time travel and lop off a few heads with Alexander the Great.  Ditto “no” on chilling with Wolverine or Link (Legend of Zelda); though, for a short time, I did think I might secretly be a wizard or a Dragon Lord until I realized I was just really really fucking wasted–and it was only that seven times.

Now I realize if these things didn’t go down you’re probably wondering who the hell else can you idolize?  Politicians?  Fuck that.  You’d be better off idolizing the Mario Brothers.  At least they don’t lie about their shroom usage and invasions of other countries in search of coin (besides, Night Elves are far cooler).  Well, then who, damnit, jas?!!

I’m a-gonna tell ya, pard.  Believe it or not, I idolized a country music band.  A long running, tight as a duck’s ass, badass group of mofo’s that played together for nearly twenty years.  I idolized the Clint Black Band.

Now they’ve had several incarnations over the years but the core remained the same for nearly two decades.  I grew up listening to those guys, practicing to their albums and studying them when I got to see them live.  I never took lessons on any instrument; but I sure as shit stole, borrowed and studied every lick I could master watching these cats all my young life.  They set the bar for what a band should sound like for me.  I measured every garage band I was ever in by their standards and never stopped trying to play as smooth and as rock solid as they did.  I was obviously disappointed a lot.  Those dudes have been accused of lip syncing, miming playing their instruments and using backing tracks more times than I can recount.  They were that tight.

But Jas… Why them?  Why not Zeppelin?  Or Rush?  Or Falco?

Don’t get me wrong… I studied them too (especially Falco–I mean, who DIDN’T pick up an instrument because of “Rock Me Amadeus?”)  Well, my friends, the answer is simple…  My father played in the Clint Black Band.

Makes a little more sense now, yeah?  But it wasn’t just proximity.  Those dudes can really play.  Besides recording a bunch of number 1 hit songs for Clint in the studio, they were also his band since before he had a record deal and before he was famous.  They stuck with him and were largely responsible for giving him that great sound that so many people loved then and now.  Clint will probably always be best known for his first album “Killin’ Time” and those boys outdid themselves on that album.  It’s a country classic and a pretty damn fine album, regardless of whether you’re a fan or not.

But I’m not here to give you a history lesson.  The album’s there if you want to check it out and Clint certainly needs no introduction from me.  No, I want to tell you about this past Sunday when I got to jam with three of the original five members.  It was the first time I’d ever been able to play with my mentor, Clint’s long time drummer, Dick Gay.

Now all name jokes aside (trust me, no one has funnier rips on the man’s name than the man himself) that dude is a fucking bad motherfucker on drums.  No flash, no frills, just rock steady, stone cold grooves.  That dude is so in the pocket they call him lint.  He literally got up and made every drummer there stop and just watch him play; and he did it without playing anything other than the groove and a tasty fill every now and again.

Sifu Dick Gay: "Jas, you must learn to bend like a reed in the wind and master your destiny... Also, stop being fucking taller than me. Now... Go practice!"

To say I idolized this dude is a fucking misnomer, almost a joke.  I cannibalized every single recording this man ever did and practiced to every track for hours and hours a day.  Between Dick, Frank Beard, Steve Gadd and Richie Hayward I was so immersed in the groove pocket that I literally walked in rhythm–the sandworms on Arrakis would’ve munched my grooving ass in less time than most hardcore songs.  I must have played “Put Yourself In My Shoes” ten thousand times–and I’m probably not far off with that number.

See, the thing is, I wasn’t always a singer or a guitar player–though, I’ve been a songwriter since I was fourteen.  I started out on drums when I was four years old.  It wasn’t too long after that dad started playing with Clint; so as a very young little drummer (and a rather poor one at that) I didn’t have a lot of ways to pick up new information that I could readily understand and translate into something that I could reproduce.  I’m a very visual learner and I don’t really have to be taught, per se, but it helps for someone to demonstrate, even if they don’t realize they’re demonstrating.  With most things, if I see someone do it, I can at least approximate.  It took me awhile to be able to just hear it and be able to play it–that came after building a more solid foundation, and that’s where Mr. Gay became my mentor.

I knew all the songs by heart because my mom jammed her some Clint Black around the hizzie.  I knew all the words, knew all the structures; but I didn’t necessarily (at first) grasp how to put it into play–no puns here, bitches.  So when we’d go to a show and/or a soundcheck, I’d just stand to the side and watch how Dick played all the songs.  The great thing was, if you watched them live, you might as well have been listening to the album.  Those dudes played extremely well together and Clint was very much of the mind (at the time) to reproduce his live shows very similarly to his albums.  It was the perfect way for me to learn and learn I did.  I practiced his stuff so much and had it so clocked that I was able/allowed to sit in with the band while they were soundchecking before a show.  I was about nine or ten years old.  The coolest part was that some of the stage workers and sound guys didn’t even realize Dick wasn’t playing.  I couldn’t have been happier about it.

But I never thought I’d ever actually get to play WITH him–Clint didn’t use two drummers and that’s not normally something that gets to happen very much.  Most country acts don’t emulate the Allman Brothers, ya feel me?  Enter my drummer Ed Simpson and his lovely wife Kay.

Good people, man. Seriously some of the best. Thanks to Ed and Kay!

Ed and Kay put on a house party/show every year and invite every damn awesome musician they can find to come and jam, drink and eat until everyone is falling over with fatigue.  As Ed and I had only recently met and started playing music together, this was my first year going.  Here’s where it’s cool…

Ed, besides being a phenomenally talented drummer, is also a phenomenally talented audio engineer and road manager.  He’s worked with Warren Haynes and Gov’t Mule, The Screaming Cheetah Wheelies, The Dave Matthews Band, Hole and a shitload more.  Well, back in the day, ole Brother Ed also did some work with Clint and the gang.  True story:  back then, Ed and my father talked about my father’s little son who played drums and was “amazing for a little guy who can barely reach the kick drum pedal.”  Flattered, obviously, but the funny thing is, who the fuck would’ve ever thought Ed would end up playing for me?  Small, wild, cool world.

So anyway, Ed always invites most of the Clint Black band to come to the party/jam and they nearly always come.  There I was, playing my music in front of all my idols.  Better yet, they couldn’t have been cooler and more into what I was doing.  Each one took the time to hang out and tell me how great they thought my stuff was and were all amazingly complimentary of my voice and songs.  It was a great day; but that even the half of it.

There were a number of amazing musicians at this shindig and we all took turns playing our stuff and jamming with each other.  Ed, being a drummer and inviting no less than five great drummers, had the foresight to set up two kits.  When Mississippi Millie (a crazy talented Delta blues singer and now a great friend) got up to tear it up with her set, Dick got up to play with her.  After he’d run a track with my Bro and sometimes drummer Tim Thurber (another amazing player) Dick yelled “where’s Jas?”

Brother Tim letting everyone know his favorite sports team is liquor--mine too.

You better believe my ass flew over to the other drum set and we rocked out a couple tunes together.  It was a dream come true.  I got to play with the guy who taught me more about drums just by answering a few questions and letting a pesky little kid hang around during soundcheck than highschool band and college band combined.  It was really a great day.

But the cool thing was, it didn’t end there.  Nope.

I have two more idols from that band.  The first, you already know if you know anything about me or dig my music.  You’ve heard his mighty-ass bass tone all over nearly every single track on both my albums–though, at the time of this writing, only one has been released.  “Working On My Soul,” my first album, contains no less than thirteen out of eighteen tracks that feature his playing–a couple I played bass myself and the others don’t have bass.  On my new EP “Tributaries,” he played on all the tracks (scheduled to release February 28th, 2012–PRESALE COMING SOON!!!  GO TO WWW.JASPATRICK.COM FOR DETAILS!)

I, of course, speak of the great Jake Willemain.

Jake is one of those bass players that simply cannot play out of time or out of the pocket.  If you speed up, he’s right there with you.  He’s so intuitively in time and in the groove that I sometimes fuck with the tempo just to see what happens… What happens is he makes you sound like you’re some sort of classical music conductor-maestro that has mastered the art of fluid timing.  Yes, he’s that fucking good.  But it doesn’t stop there, oh no–he also has tone for days and is as tasteful a musician as I have ever known.  Don’t get it twisted, he can fill any style, song or approach with as much or as little as anyone could want; but the beauty is he just always seems to augment rather than cover or overplay any groove.  I know, I know… I make him sound like a superman or some shit.  If I am, I apologize.  Superman couldn’t touch this fucking guy on bass.  Respect.

Now this is where the cool factor goes right the fuck off the chart, booboo.  Not only did I get to play with Jake, but I also got to rehearse with Jake a couple days prior to the party.  Jake and my main brosephus Ed got together and reached out to me to see about playing some of my shit at the party.  What’s cooler than that, amirite?  Simmer down now, chillen’s and let me tell you what’s cooler.  Jake is also in my band.

Pictured: Jake in a rare moment when not actively rocking your ass out; though, one look has been known to induce rhythmic head nodding in lab animals.

I’ve formed a new band.  For now, we’re calling it the Jas Patrick Trio and we’re booking shows as I type this–much love to Mac and Vicki for booking the shows… I couldn’t do it without you guys and I love you both.  The shows will be coming soon to a town geographically feasibly visited within a day’s driving distance from Nashville.  Awww yeah.  We’re coming to you, boo.  So make sure you keep an eye on my facebook and my website for shows in your town.

Scuse me whilst I bust a move.

Thank you.

Moving on…

Yeah man, I couldn’t be more fucking stoked.  I, little Jas, get to play with two cats who are two of the best players I have ever met and are most definitely two of the nicest, coolest and most easy going dudes I know.  I couldn’t be happier or more excited.  Oh, and wait till you hear us.  We had one hour and half rehearsal and we absolutely killed it at the party.  Everyone was jamming out, man.  It was really something.

We played my new EP in its entirety and gave the folks there a nice preview of what’s to come; but the coolest part is yet to be told…

On my new EP “Tributaries” I have a song that’s kind of a Latin, rock, Soul (vocal) burner–you guys know me and my world influences.  The cool thing is that it’s not obscure or “odd” at all!  It’s actually totally accessible and it will definitely get your ass moving.  The folks at the party loved it.  Everyone who has heard it loves it.  Think of a stone cold Latin groove like “Oye Como Va;” either Santana or Tito Puente–either will be fine.  Now, put a huge, straight, groove-rock beat over the very syncopated Latin groove.  Then, on the chorus, double the speed and feel and rock that shit out.  That would give you an idea of my song “Call It Home.”

In the studio on “Call It Home,” I played a ton of percussion–mostly Latin:  Timbale, guiro, claves, cowbell, shaker, congas and so on and so forth.  Well, for the party, I brought my djembe because I knew there would be a ton of drummers there and I wanted to make sure we could get some sick rhythm section shit happening.  This will come into play in a moment…

When I first got up to play, Ed and Kay asked me to play some old stuff, new stuff, whatever I wanted on my acoustic and just jam solo (Kay, Ed, I love you guys–thank you a million times over for all the support and friendship and encouragement; you guys are true friends and I can’t tell you enough how glad I am that we’re able to work together to make this music).  So, solo acoustic was the name of the game for a few tunes and the crowd couldn’t have been cooler–really made your brother Jas feel great and welcome.

After I had played a short-ish set, it was time for Ed and Jake to join me to play my new EP.  We rocked out the first couple of songs and the crowd was loving us.  Then we kicked off “Call It Home.”  As we’re playing, I start hearing this rocking djembe part and I figured Tim or another drummer had got up and just had some uncanny sense to know exactly what I played on the album.  I opened my eyes and looked over and lo and behold, there was my first idol.  The man who inspired me to play music and who has helped me grow into the musician I am today.  Hell, he STILL helps me keep the shit real and demand the best of myself.

People, I tell you, I turned around to see who the hell could possibly know my music which is unreleased and unknown to all but a few and looked my father square in the eye.  He had got up and was playing the conga line to my song which he could have only possibly heard a few times–and he was fucking KILLING it.  Just nailing it, man.  It was awesome.

I looked over at Jake and Ed and they were grinning and digging it.  I tell you, people… I could’ve have grooved that song for twenty minutes if I had had the foresight to write that song in a jam band style.  It just floored me.

Now, my dad is a remarkable steel guitar, dobro, lap steel, melobar and slide player–seriously one of the finest steel guitar players on the planet.  The man pisses excellence in tone, taste, style and melody.  I have never heard him play out of tune (a REAL fucking accomplishment for any fretless instrument, let alone steel guitar) and he is factually one of the only steel guitar players I’ve ever heard utilize the instrument for something other than the broke-dick, cry in your beer, whine fest in which it is usually put to practice.  No no.  This cat turned steel guitar into a fucking rock god’s wet dream.  You should hear him wail on that thing with some overdrive.  No faking the funk with this cat, no sir.

But the fact of the matter is, he’s a middling drummer at best.  The graveyard is full of middling drummers (thanks for the paraphrase HBO’s “Rome”).  No disrespect; but Pop ain’t no drummer.  Great timing and feel does not a drummer make if the “drummer” in question ain’t no drummer.  Yet, there he stood!  Fucking rocking the djembe like he was fresh out of a drum circle!  Couldn’t believe it, man.  So fucking cool…

Well, the night wore on and the jams got long and obscure and silly and just fantastic.  A good time was had by all and no one more psyched than yer ole buddy jas.  I haven’t had a better day in a long time.  It was truly a day I’ll always remember.

Not only did I get to stand on the same stage as my idols; but they also acknowledged my step into their realm.  I wasn’t just a little kid pulling their shirttails saying, “Hey Spike, Hey Spike!”  I was one of them.  I was a player.  The real deal.

Hell, if Clint would ever retire I’d hire the whole lot of them!  Just kidding, Clint, man.  If you would’ve been there, I would’ve written about getting to jam with four of my idols instead of just three.  But man, a full house is a full house regardless of whether you have kings or aces.

Insane love and respect and gratitude to Ed, Kay, Jake, Dad, Dick and all the other great players with whom I got to jam on Sunday.  You’ve got a fan in me and I thank you all for making this cat realize how loved he really is.

And, of course, if you’re reading this… Thank YOU for taking the time to read my words and make sure you get your free music–the link is in the top right hand corner of this blog or my website:  www.jaspatrick.com

I hope to play for you all soon and make sure to share this and my music with your friends and families and I hope you get to have a similar experience in your lives.  There’s never enough happiness to go around and I’m glad to be sharing mine with you.  Thank you for listening.

A great day.

Now, we know that I love beer.  Who doesn’t?  Beer is glorious.  Gangsta Vicki loves beer also.  She mainly rolls with 40′s and all that sort of thing; cause, ya know, she’s gangsta, dig?  But Gangsta-V, or V-Diddy if you prefer, kind of got me going on the more robust ales and hoppy dranks.  I’d always been a “cheap” beer kind of dude.  In college I drank “The Beast” and sometimes ‘Frat Light.’  Those, of course, would be Milwaukee’s Best and Natural Light.  Ah, yes… I loved those beers.  In fact, I drank “The Beast” red label.  Oh yeah, motherfucker… No light beer for this cat.  No sir.  Full bodied flavor for a skinny ass drummer dude.  I mean, more alcohol content and who gave a shit about calories back then, amirite?  I was totes “whatev’s” back in the day, dawg.

I thought Miller Lite was “good” beer.  Guess what?  I STILL think Miller Lite is a good everyday beer.  Hell, I drink Budweiser Select 55 as my everyday beer–either that or Michelob Ultra; but I still, to this day, get stoked when I realize that I can totally by myself a twelve of Miller Lite if I want to. You never lose that–I don’t think you ever should.  If it’s fancy once, it’s always fancy.  It’s when we grow too big to enjoy the good things in life and feel that we require the “good” things in life that we just miss the fucking point, in my very humble opinion.  I like all three of those beers and I don’t roll with beer snobs who insist on touting a microbrew as the reason they deserve the oxygen they breathe and/or validate lack of erections and absence of personality.  No offense to microbrews, either–I enjoy quite a few of them as well.  I just don’t get why if you view something as “better” than something else that you have to disparage the thing that isn’t quite as fancy.  Fuck snobbery.  It’s just another instance of someone knowing about something that you don’t know about–and believing this knowledge somehow makes them better than another.  Why that would ever make someone cool is beyond me.  Good is good.

Theobold McDouchebaugh, last seen wearing two popped collars and a sweater tied around his neck. Authorities believe he was beaten to death by a rogue band of six year old girls.

Moving right the hell along…

As I said, I love beer.  I also love wine; but I ain’t blogging about wine today.  Nope.  Today is beer.  And not just any ole beer.  No way, home-skillet.  No, today we’re talking about seasonal brews and a very specific seasonal brew at that… (yes, i’m lending gravitas to this because pumpkin ale is the shiznittobangbang)

And O’ Brethren and Sistren!  I speak of the glorious pumpkin ale!!!

Let me step off the pulpit a bit and tell you how I came upon this glorious concoction of spicy-alcoholic-goodness.

You see, four score and seven…  Yeah, I don’t exactly remember.  I just remember it was right around the time I got married.  You see, we loaded up our truck with booze to take to the mountains and one of the types of beer we took with us was Einbecker Schwarzbier.  Well, we loved that black lager so much that we decided to go see if they had any more when we got back from our honeymoon.  They didn’t… BUT, I saw something that would forever change my autumn drinking habits… Pumpkin ale.  Shipyard Pumpkinhead Ale.

-Cue glorious choirs of angels-

First off, it’s a badass looking bottle and label.  Second, it tasted crisp and spicy and pumpkin-y and awesome.  I LOVE pumpkin pie with whipped cream.  I love pumpkin seeds (roasted with garlic salt and pepper).  I loved carving pumpkins when I was a kid.  Fucking pumpkins are so much cooler than any other gourd-like squash in the entire fucking world.  Suck it, other gourd-like squashes!

Mostly, I was just stoked I had found a new type of beer that somehow made autumn better, ya dig?

If you know me or have read enough of this here blog, you’ll know that I absolutely love autumn.  Summer blows, dude.  Yeah, yeah, I get it… Chicks in bikinis, dudes in banana hammocks… No big whoop for me.  It’s too damn hot.  It’s fine if you’re outside a lot; but I’m almost always chained to a desk.  So fuck summer.  Besides, thanks to genetics, I’m at a higher risk for skin cancer and like, fuck that, ya feel me?  Not worth it.  I fucking love the beach; but last time I checked, Nashville is landlocked until Cloverfield or Cthulhu decide to bite off most of the states east of us.

Yep. That's apparently a very decidedly female Cthulhu and he... er, she is wearing a bikini. I thought it might be a longshot; but I should have been assured I'd find it on the internet. Never doubt the internet, my friends... And be careful in your searches; for that way lies madness.

Well, barring any Old God snacking on North Carolina (no pic of that, sorry), I am landlocked, I do not really love summer and I like pumpkin products and beer.  Moving right along…

At present, I have tasted four different kinds of pumpkin ale:

Saranac Pumpkin Ale

Blue Moon Harvest Pumpkin Ale

Lakefront Pumpkin Lager

Shipyard Pumpkinhead Ale

I like them all for different reasons.  I have been holding off writing this blog because I had not yet found a store carrying my beloved Shipyard Pumpkinhead.  But now, all that has changed…

I hold in my hand, an ice cold frosty mug full to the brim with the pimp of pumpkin, the Voivode of autumn brew, that difficult to find but worth the search ale known as the Head of Pumpkin.  Now.  Let us drink…

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…

Nutmeg.  Cream.  Pumpkin.  Cinnamon.  Light.  Rich.  Exactly as I remember it tasted.  Glorious.

“That’s all very nice, Jas; but this is a blog and we’re not drinking what you’re drinking so get to the frigging point, you ass-bag!”  I imagine is probably close to what you’re saying; though, you may have called me an ass-clown–sometimes my inner psychic stops listening when you get pissy.  Alas, you are correct.  I shall not bother to try to tell you how it tastes or dance and taunt you verbally while flipping you the finger.  No, dear friend… Not I.  There are many other blogs that will describe the taste for you and I will let them do it.  (clicky the link for a well-written synopsis of the taste of pumpkinhead ale.  I do not know the young lady who has written the rather apt ode to our beloved Shipyard; but she does a far better job than me and does it with nice words instead of naughty, potty-type like yer ole buddy Jas).

Rather, I shall continue the tale of how Pumpkinhead and I became acquainted.

As I said, we were back from our honeymoon and we had gone in search of more Einbecker Schwarzbier–also a more difficult beverage to find in Nashville.  Well, we didn’t find Einbecker but I looked around the store until I saw something that made my breath catch in my chest and my eyes widen in disbelief.  Pumpkin beer?  Not only that, but a bitching cool label of a headless horseman (only with his pumpkin head on his shoulders instead of chilling in his hand) brandishing a glass of his namesake brew.  Now, you know I love me some video games and shit and I love myths and legends; so this label really caught the attention of my inner young drunk.

Let us pray...

I said something along the lines of, “PURE STOKE!”  Or maybe it was, “MY!  WHAT A FUCKING LOVELY MOTHERFUCKING LABEL!  I DECLARE I SHOULD LIKE TO SQUIRT THIS SHIT DOWN MY TUBE!”  It was probably unintelligible and involved a lot of excited hooting and whining at my wife to loan me tree-fiddy so I could buy it–cause, you know, singers be shopping and musicians be broke these days.  Regardless, I cradled my treasure all the way home which is very hard to do and still drive; but I’ve seen people doing ninety on the interstate doing all of the following at once:

Smoking, drinking, eating, talking on the phone, changing lanes, flipping me off and applying makeup.

I figured holding my beer so no one looked at it wrong would be okay.

It was.

I saved the first drink for a special occasion so I could sit down and really dissect the flavor.  I didn’t want to rush into it and just guzzle it without really being able to enjoy the taste–or not enjoy the taste and try to figure out what would make someone make a pumpkin ale.  Yeah, I basically paced back and forth in front of the freezer until it was cold enough to drink–sigh… Okay, I’m lying.  I cracked it before my wife had opened the front door.  The point is that it was a flavor unlike anything I had ever tasted.  It tastes like autumn and honeymoon and holidays and a roaring fire and turkey dinner and my wife’s toes after wrestling in pumpkin pie after a few too many…

Ahem.

Too many pumpkin beers and your wife's toes are only the start of things you probably shouldn't mention in polite blog company.

It fucking rocks, Brah!

Yes, I realize that I may have associated the flavor with a good time in my life and therefore have a soft spot; but it’s more than that.  Shipyard is glorious.  No question.  Beer advocate does not agree with me.  That’s okay.  They’re excellent at what they do; but one should always remember to use a critic’s opinion as merely that–an opinion.  Hipsters hate Coldplay.  But I dig em.  It’s okay to disagree.  Drink what you like and what you like will… Ummm… Okay, so I don’t have an adage for that; but just trust me.  Critics can RAVE over complete dog shit sometimes.  They’re not always going to be right, especially in matters of taste.

Again, moving right the hell along…

I was only able to find one six pack of Pumpkinhead ale last year–by the time I knew about it and had luckily bought a sixer it was far too late to find any more.  Believe me when I tell you that I used the remaining five sparingly.  Unfortunately, six beers only last so long, ya feel me?  Therefore, I knew this year I should totally be prepared to buy up all the damn pumpkin ale I could find.  I succeeded to a point.  I found lovely and glorious Saranac and Lakefront and to a lesser degree, but still refreshingly enjoyable, Blue Moon.

Alas, it was not until today that I found Pumpkinhead.

For that reason, I want to give a very thankful shout-out to Lewis’ Cigars and Brews in Nashville TN.  If you are looking for a great cigar and beer shop, then this is your joint.  There are several places in town that I dig; but man, Steve over at Lewis’ C&B was just an awesome dude.  I called over there and not only did he have my Shipyard; but he had it at a great price and very amiably chatted me up about great brews and smokes.  The place is really nice and clean and comfortable inside.  When in Nashville, pop over there and tell him Jas says hi.  Oh yeah, join up on his email list and you get a 5% discount on your brews–%10 on your stogie.

Some schmuck touching my frigging Pumpkinhead ale. That guy just looks like trouble... But... Ummm... You should definitely buy his album.

So as before stated, I’m really not your guy if you like actual reviews or synopses about… Well, anything!  I tend to write in a stream of consciousness style and therefore suck it.  Ahem, what I mean is THHHHPPPPBBBBB!!!

I ain’t writing no damn term paper here!  I’m enjoying a nice cold beverage and giving shout-outs to other nice cold beverages.

But seriously, folks.  If you’re never tried a pumpkin ale before, then you’re missing out.  They’re all different and they’re (so far) all wonderful.  Saranac and Lakefront are just fucking incredibly great.  Shipyard Pumpkinhead is the very same.  If you’re more into just a hint of pumpkin and spice and not a fan of the sweeter varieties, then Blue Moon is your bag.

I don’t recommend drinking any of these one after another.  My thought on that is always more like, start with the heavier or sweeter or more novelty brews.  Have one or two.  Move on to your everyday beer.  These “nicer” beers or shall we say, ‘flavored’ beers really do taste better in single or double servings.  More than that and it starts to lose its panache, its character and moreover, you couldn’t fucking tell the difference between em after a few anyway.  Why waste them?

Good beer and wine are not for the guzzling.  They’re your fancy friends.  They’re your friends that you want to think that you’re a wine and sushi cat all week long.  Sip em.  Cool out with em.  Then go party with your club friends.

…

Holy fuck balls, dude…

I’m talking like a hipster again!

I need some cheap beer.

Excuse me.  I need to go turn on the foosball game and put my hand down the front of my pants.  GO TEAM!

In all seriousness, thanks and mad love and respect to Saranac, Lakefront, Shipyard, Blue Moon and Lewis’ Cigars and Brews; you all make and sell great products!  Thanks for being good sports.  Cheers!

I wrote a welcome blog when I first started jotting down dreck a few years back and it took a few years for me to transfer those thoughts from a notepad to this flashy-screen thingy we all love so damn much.  Vicki was pretty busy building my website and didn’t have time to get me all set up on a blog.  Yes, yes, I realize that a chipmunk can create their own blog these days; but she wanted to integrate it with the site and I’m lazy and a Neo-Luddite (not really–I actually champion science like it’s a religion.  Let us calculate…)

I swore to myself I wouldn’t be “cute” or ‘get into character’ like I normally do on here and I would really try to answer the question I’ve heard a time or two now… “Why the hell are you blogging, dude?”

The most obvious answer would be, “Why the hell not, dude?”

The rest is simply nuance and bullshit or personality quirk or bullshit.  I’m not entirely sure… But there I go, being “cute” again.  The fact of the matter is that my music and my writing are two very separate and very different things; but they’re both part of the same muscle, really.  The creative muscle.  I have to flex that muscle.  I have to flex it a lot.

Moving beyond sexual and juvenile connotations of the last couple of lines, I suppose I just love to entertain people.

“Well, why are you such a potty mouth and big meanie in your blogs?”  (This question I get quite a bit and it’s usually followed very quickly by something along the lines of ‘Your music is pretty and nice.’)

I could quote “Full Metal Jacket” and say something about the ‘duality of man;’ but it’s really just me being a character.  For those of you who know and have met her, you should know that my wife–lovingly referred to frequently in this blog as “Gangsta Vicki” and is usually supposedly either beating me or brandishing a firearm–is neither ‘gangsta’ nor violent.  She hates guns and usually only beats me when I deserve it–I kid I kid.  But, as you can see, that’s not how she really behaves, thinks or how people view her.  It’s just a character to add some color to my blog.  I like characters.  So do you.  Snooki.  Snooki is a character.  TRUST me when I tell you a lot of the shit you see in reality TV is scripted.

Not real.

I have “created” a similar character for myself.  Am I normally foul-mouthed?  Sure.  Sometimes.  Do I run around screaming the accolades of video games and movies at the drop of a hat and at great length?  Sure.  Sometimes.

You get the point, methinks.

Chances are, if you met me, you would think I was charming and friendly enough and wouldn’t think twice about it–I’m not Lady Gaga or anything (neither is Lady Gaga, for that matter).  I write this not only as a creative purge but also to make MYSELF laugh from time to time.  Honestly, I probably laugh more at my blog than anyone I know that reads it and that is undoubtedly fact.

You see, I can’t always be in the studio or be on stage; but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be.  As stated, I love to entertain people–I always have.  Sometimes I try too hard, this blog is no exception; but other times I’m in the zone and it all comes out great.  I know I’ve probably “said” something in this blog that may have gotten your goat or possibly even pissed you off; but that’s okay.  You’ll live.  So will I.  I think people are a little too uptight; especially internet people.

People on the internet actually go looking for shit to piss them off.  Think I’m wrong?  I’m guessing you’ve got a Facebook account if you’re reading this.  Has someone commented on your post or even more likely, just made a post of their own that you didn’t like?  Did you say something to them?  If not, then let’s go with them starting it… Did you fire back?  Did you spend more than 30 seconds formulating a retort–crafting the most perfect, kick-ass “burn” that would totally make the entire internet point at their stupidity and laugh?

Don’t lie.

Yes you have.

If it wasn’t Facebook, it was YouTube or some random forum.  SOMEONE pissed you off and you got into a little internet battle–excuse me, I meant an epic crusade against the foul denizens of a dark world known only as “online asshole central.”  Now, more to the point, after you wrote your awesome, come-back-bitch slap (that TOTALLY should go in the Louvre for its sheer wit) how many times did you check for a response from your victim?  I’m betting a whole metric shit ton of times, amirite?  Yeah, don’t lie.  You know you did.  I have done it.  Everyone has done it.  It’s okay… You’re amongst friends.

I kind of went down a rabbit hole here, so let’s just simply state that if I got your goat or pissed you off, it was both intentional and not personal.  Yes, I said intentional.  Character.  Remember?

I LOVE the angry nerd rants that abound online.

The Nostalgia Critic.

The Angry Video Game Nerd.

The Spoony Experiment.

Cracked.com.

Todd In The Shadows.

The Nostalgia Chick.

Sage Reviews.

Talent doesn't always come with a huge production budget.

All excellent, humorous satire sites/characters.  You may notice a similarity in style of my own meager writings with these guys and girls.  We’re all from a similar school of thought.  I love the embracing of “nerd” culture that online has created.  It’s made for some seriously wonderful entertainment.  These actors and writers and critics are all just rapping about shit they dig and having a blast doing it–and also, by proxy, pissing off loads of nameless internet dwellers.  They’re all famous for their blogs and I am not and I still get people taking jabs at me for blogs.  Funny really; but it couldn’t be any less important.  Trolls are gonna troll and they’re just a part of the landscape.  Besides, trolls with an actual point of view or a disagreement that they can back up beyond name calling are welcome to comment same as the rest of you.  I have no problems with discussion.

Pictured: The internet about to have a discussion

Meandering now a bit, sorry…

So anyhowdy, I write because I enjoy creating and it’s a little madcap or over the top because I find that a helluva lot more entertaining (both to write as well as read) than me telling you about playing the tambourine in the studio.  Now, I do let you know what’s going on with shows and when I’m finished in the studio or going back in; but there’s no reason to write seven blogs about seven different drum tracks.  That’s boring shit.  I find it much more interesting to talk nostalgic video games or muse on movies or tell you about a cool album I dig or whatever.

Fear not, though… I’m not some horrible person who hates homeless people and shacks up with a crazy gangsta chick while doing nothing but writing blogs and playing World of Warcraft all the live long day.

Nope.

That’s just fiction.

I don’t have very much time to play World of Warcraft anymore.