Hangman's Journal

The world wide web as the new record label

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 21:59:00 +0000

There is a lot of hub bub out about the web replacing the traditional music label. This news has been heralded by many indie artists (myself included) as the savior of our kind. The web has leveled the playing field between artist and corporation, empowering us indie musicians to make our own destiny within the music business by connecting directly with our fans. While this is true, and I am a huge fan of the tools the web has to offer, I want to stress something to my indie colleagues - the web, while it offers us a way around the traditional record contract, is no more of a savior than that elusive record deal ever was.

Many of us artsy types aren't so good at the business stuff (or refuse to embrace the mindset as we view it to be too "corporate" or some self-defeating bullshit like that). We think if we are the best at our craft, and stay true to our artistic vision, some suit will swoop down and rescue us from obscurity. We know we will eventually have to fight the corporate machine for our creative freedom, but in that model, the worst case scenario is we come out a martyr for our art, which fits nicely within the narrow confines of our suffering artist self image.

What I am stressing here is this: do not allow a web marketing strategy to become the new savior of your music career. While a web presence is a crucial element, it is just that, ONE element. Endlessly adding friends on myspace does not mean these people will show up at your gig. Spamming every media contact's inbox with press releases ain't gonna do much but piss people off (and so on and so on). See, I write today's little rant because I found myself expecting the same thing from my web strategy as I had of a record deal some years back. I had a great concept album and a cool viral strategy for the video series, time to start printing the tour tshirts. While I am proud of how far things have come over the last year, there is a lot of ground to cover, and I know now I was avoiding some fairly tough decisions (as I had in the past) waiting for my digital ship to come in. Life would be a whole lot easier if we could just be more honest with ourselves from the get go. Stupid brain.

Reminds me of a Langhorne Slim song:

I've always been waiting for something
someone to come pull me through
now I see that it's all up to me
there ain't nothin' no one else can do

Happy New Year

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 18:36:00 +0000

January 1 started off with no particular fanfare. I sat, web surfing and watching "Encino Man" while my fellow revelers slept off the myriad poisons we introduced to our systems the night before. Pauly Shore, a master of weezing the juice in his day, does not stand the test of time. Then a google alert popped into my inbox linking me to a "best of" post my friend Baron over at Twang Nation had written. In it, Baron waxed poetically about the many things wrong with the Nashville Pop Country scene, offering a list of artists that are the light in the never ending darkness of Britneyesque fluff being served up by the industry. The top 10, the best of '08, contained some of my favorite artists working today, but it also contained this new kid Hang Jones. I sat there, looking at my name in a list alongside Hank III and Justin Townes Earle, and while the cocky, swaggerin' Keith in me wanted to say "fuck yeah, I deserve to be on that list" I am humbled to think someone out there (besides my family) would not only think
it, but write it and publish it to the magic tubes of the internet websites. So my day was off and running, made even better by the
platter of tacos, rice and beans I enjoyed for supper. And if this day is to be viewed as a sign of things to come in 2009, I am
thinking that sign reads something like "watch out for Hang Jones in '09."

Yet another reason the music industry is tanking

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 17:50:00 +0000

Guns and Roses. Wait, sorry Mr. Rose, Guns N’ Roses. One album that mattered over 20 years ago and a frontman that has become as synonymous with “asshole lead singer” as Yoko has with “meddling band chick.” As if throwing an untold fortune at this prima donna to record, re-record, and re-re-re-record the shit stain that will no doubt be “Chinese Democracy” wasn’t enough, the label’s marketing spend is in full swing attempting to convince us that we’ve actually been waiting for this fucking thing for the past 15 years. I am left wondering if there is any way possible this record could even remotely be considered a success by “industry standards.” The amount of time and money that has gone into it would require sales in the 100s of millions, and the likelihood of that appears slim with Rose doing himself no favors showing whatever fanbase he has left the slightest bit of respect. Yet, there he is, on every banner ad I’ve seen online today. So why throw this thing out there? Why don’t they shelve a man like Axl Rose the way the countless number of great albums we’ve never heard have been shelved by record execs? I miss ya Izzy. Christ I even miss Stephen Adler.

Who said we ain't Patriots?

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 17:36:00 +0000

MVI_4641
Originally uploaded by *Honeychild*

It's funny how the Republicans claim ownership over the American flag, and conservatives call those of a liberal mindset socialists. Well I've got news for you, I've got a tattoo on my back of the old red, white and blue, and when CNN announced that Obama had won the presidency (about a min after the polls closed on the west coast) my corner bar, right in the heart of Liberal Comie San Francisco, erupted into a spontaneous rendition of the star spangle banner. Today, like everyday, I am proud to be an American; I am just a bit prouder today than I've been in a while.

end scene

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 19:47:00 +0000

end scene
Originally uploaded by Hang Jones

One of my favorite still frames from the Caroline video, and if you've watched it you know when this was taken.

Beatles or Stones?

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 16:00:00 +0000

STONES!

Play two guitars at once

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 15:00:00 +0000

There was this David Lee Roth video (Diamond Dave, I salute you) where Steve Vai was playing this heart-shaped double-neck guitar. Maybe it was a triple? I don’t know, had a lot of fucking necks on it. Anyway, unlike most guitars that have more necks than necessary, this ridiculous thing had a neck you could play left handed, and one you could play right handed. And that mad Zappa-experiment-gone-Cock-Rock-Wanker played them both at the same time. Sure, it amounts to musical masturbation, but that dude could play two guitars at once! I can not play two guitars at once, so lately I’ve been playing with my old friend Scott Sneddon (he played guitar with me in my other band Del Bombers for a number of years). He’s done two of the recent shows with the band, and we’ve never sounded so full. His style of guitar playing has really added to the sound of the band, and it makes the live show a little different than the album. Also, like me he can hack his way through mandolin parts (both of us are dropouts from the “this is how Keef would play if he actually played the mandolin” school of mandolin). But mostly, it feels great to share the stage with someone I’ve worked together with so long, and someone I know I will always be able to call a dear friend.

Showtime

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 15:00:00 +0000

One by one the actors and crew showed up. It was like that scene in Swingers, everyone going to the same place but no one riding together. Must be the San Francisco talking. If my wife had her way even the crew would have traveled by bicycle, 300 lb rig and all. Hernan ran the tightest ship I’ve ever seen, and the castle quickly became a bustle of activity. He had mapped it all out: two music videos, at two locations, in 10 hours. I thought he was cracked, but after watching the first hour go down I knew we would make it with time to spare. Grazing the crafts table (that’s what they call “food”) I watched on a monitor as Jacob Powell strangled Caroline to death with his bare hands. I could only watch the scene once, and then left the castle for the several takes that remained. While I was partially disturbed by the fact that my sick little mind had created this mess of a story, I was more impacted by how real it all felt. I wasn’t on a set watching a scripted story unfold (eating all the rice crispy treats); I was standing idle as men were murdering women, and lovers were seeking revenge. After her death scene, Dorthy (I call her Caroline) lay on one of aforementioned couches in a near fetal position. She had thanked me when we met, saying she had always wanted to die on camera. A statement I could only attribute to the insanity of the acting profession (says the career musician). This whole thing had come a long way from my living room, where I had sat for months on end revising. And to watch so many talented people make that story into a reality was a feeling of pride I can not easily express. I’ll talk more about the video shoot when the next one comes out, for I feel I am on the verge of giving away something good…

Location x 3

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 15:00:00 +0000

The drive was a little over an hour, most of it spent on a winding and dusty country road. As I often think of LA as urban sprawl, I was relieved to see just how quickly we had found ourselves in a rural setting. We pulled up to the gate of Castle Ranch (named after the castle-inspired mansion built at the top of the property, complete with turret) which was wrapped with an aged, thick chain and sealed with a rusted lock. A sign on the gate read “if you can read this, you’re within my range” and I could almost feel the sites trained on my torso. As I had been given the combination of the lock by the location scout, the same guy that apparently lived on the property, I believed the shooter would stand down. Still, I was hesitant as I fingered the numbers of the lock into place. We pulled up to the castle and a man emerged from the behind the heavy wooden door wearing a straw western hat, tight Wrangler jeans, and dusty brown cowboy boots. Under his arm he carried a matte black Winchester 12 gauge. “Rattlers.” The man said without introduction, “this heat really brings the fuckers out. I shot two of them this morning.”

Inside the castle was dark and cool, a sharp contrast from the harsh dry heat that had come early this year to Los Angeles. The room smelled of stale smoke, aged sofas and ash trays were strewn randomly throughout. A Playboy pinball machine sat lifeless near the entrance to the kitchen. “No power” the man said noting my interest in the game. The lack of power could be problematic for a video shoot. “We got a generator coming for y’all. Should be here within the hour.” The scene was too surreal. And while I trusted Hernan’s vision, I had no clue how we were going to make a dark, stone castle, sitting atop a ranch outside of Los Angeles look like Nineteenth Century New Mexico. But hell, this is Hollywood, where the magic happens.

An adventure in costuming a period piece

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 15:00:00 +0000

Two days before we flew to LA to shoot the first two videos we had actors, a crew, and an amazing location. What we did not have were costumes, and the majority of the props we needed. An issue when one is shooting a period piece. We had spent a week in Portland beforehand, and we had hoped the amazing thrift shopping of that fair city would bail us out. It didn’t. Thankfully San Francisco’s A.C.T. and my wife’s keen fashion sense saved the day. We entered A.C.T. reeking of desperation, and I didn’t have a clue what to expect. What we found were costumes for just about anything you could dream up, and when we were told to take more than we needed (and that we would only be charged for what we used) we grabbed everything our arms could carry. Problematic, as I had ridden a bicycle while my wife was on the Vespa. I watched her pull away, the scooter burdened with a load of mothball-scented rentals that’d make a pack mule drop. I rode home with my own back-breaking load, but I felt better than I had in days. We dodged a bullet, which is more than I can say for most of the characters in this tragic tale. Next stop a 600 acre unincorporated ranch outside Lancaster California inhabited by shotgun-wielding renegade location scouts.

A Few Changes

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 14:00:00 +0000

So you might have noticed a few new things today. First, I actually wrote a blog post! Sorry it has been a while, but I’ve been hard at work with some good friends of mine getting the site ready for the much bigger and better changes. Like, the CD! Yes at long last The Ballad of Carlsbad County is available. This is a limited release and only available through the website. I am working on other distribution options now to bring the album (yeah, it WILL be on vinyl) to a record store near you. In the meantime, I wanted to get some copies out there as I was tired of sitting on it. Go to the shop page to place an order.

Also, the first video of the series “Caroline” has been released. You can watch it on the video page of the site or our myspace or youtube pages. A lot of close friends worked really hard to make all this happen. I can not thank them enough. I hope y’all enjoy it, and thank you for supporting independent music.

Utah

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 20:54:00 +0000

Practice? Nope. Time to promote the show? Uh uh. Kinda hungover from a day-long sunshine-filled drinking binge the day before? Check. Seems like the perfect recipe for Hang Jones’ debut show. We had originally been part of a bill that got overbooked, so we got cut. But the band that beat us out pulled outta the show a few hours before they were scheduled to go on. Hang Jones to the rescue! Matt and Mayumi were performing in their bluesgrass band Five Dollar Suit, so the players were there. But I’d be lying if the idea of stepping up on stage with them without a single rehearsal, no matter how good they are, was nerve-racking at best. I was standing in my bedroom, the only place my damn cell phone can attempt a signal, considering my options. A little voice in my head told me there was only one option – play the gig. The voice continued, offering me a single condolence: that rehearsals are for the high school theatre, not rock and roll. So I grabbed my guitars and headed out the door. Was it a perfect gig? Hardly. But playing these songs live, with my friends, in front of my wife and friends, it felt like the beginning of something special. Good times on the horizon babies.

because

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 21:33:00 +0000

The last several days I've been asking myself one question. Why? Why do I want to do THIS? When I've seen all my musical heroes suffer through addiction, and rip through wives like a beagle on a loaf of bread, why would I subjugate myself to a career that on its best day is a kick right in the nuts. We artists often answer the one word question with a one word answer: because. Because we have to, because it is the only thing that gives us the slightest semblance of joy, because our art defines us. But at this point in my life, when the stakes are so great, is “because” enough to cut it? I consider my parents. How is it that they were able to build off the successes of their parents, as their parents had before them; each generation learning and growing from the triumphs and mistakes of their predecessors? It would appear that generation after generation had handed down the key to the door of upward mobility. Why then, are so many of my friends (myself included) so seemingly lost in a never-ending quest for just a little bit of peace? Or, more to the point, a little piece of what we really want? Have we completely rejected the key from our parents because we feel that their way, for lack of a better term, is bullshit? Those of a dismissive nature might say that our generation has seen the holes in the line we've been sold, and that the entire system is a lie. While I am willing to accept that this may in fact be partially true, it doesn't answer the question in its entirety, and for my money it is a bit of a cop-out. In a recent conversation with my father, a man who plays the dual role of hero and mentor (conflicting archetypes in many ways) he refused to state in words, but said clearly with his eyes "what is wrong with this kid?" His eyes said it so emphatically that I began to wonder myself. What IS wrong with me? My mother offered her support in a fixed glance with those expressive eyes, it functioned as both a hug and a warm blanket, but one filled with a painful kind of doubt. But that's their gig, to try and steer their children away from danger, and we'd all be fooling ourselves if we thought the music business was a place to raise your kids. So in this moment of self-doubt, I did what any self-respecting artist would do - I returned to the well. I drove home listening to the final mix of "Hangman's Noose" (off the forthcoming album "The Ballad of Carlsbad County by Hang Jones, y'all should buy it when it's out…seriously). I listened over and over, somehow reassuring myself through a set of lyrics written about a man set to murder another. Do what you must with that little fact. And while "because" didn't escape my lips, I didn't find a much better answer. Maybe I had it too good, and I never knew what it truly meant to suffer. Perhaps I'll find out right around this next turn. But this wagon is pointed in one direction, and if "because" is all I got, it's good enough for me.

Quod tu es, ego fui, quod ego sum, tu eris

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 16:00:00 +0000

We ain’t here for long, I try not to focus on it, but that old Latin phrase haunts my ass most nights. I find myself searching for the brake lever, but all I got is accelerator. So the best one can do when you’ve only got one speed is to try and capture moments – the right moments. A lover’s kiss, your best friend’s laugh (for me they are one and the same), Captain Clementine emerging from the ocean, soaked to the bone with a #4 Penn in her mouth, and volfie avoiding the water like a plague, howling orders at his ball to get the fuck back on the beach. Tonight, the moment in time I want to keep most is the mixing of this record. I stand in the middle of the live room. It is quiet and still. The sun set hours ago leaving the skylight a blackhole some 30 feet above me. The players are off gigging with others, and Greg is in the control room hard at work. I can hear Hang Jones pouring from a headset hanging on the hook of an old RCA boom stand. I suppose I should turn the monitor mix off. But I leave it on, standing there, staring at my black hole. I am having troubles coming to grips with the emotions I am going through right now. I know there’s some joy, and lots of it, but something else, something haunting seems to overshadow it. Perhaps I am mourning the passing of the creation of the new album. I spent over a year and a half writing, re-writing, and re-re-writing the songs and the story. We spent months as a band arranging and working these songs out. I tell myself I have the stage to look forward to, I will get to recreate these songs nightly with close friends, making new ones along the way. The idea warms me a bit, but I can’t shake the black, and I can’t take my eyes off the hole. I tell myself, in the times that lay in wait right around the corner, I’ll find a little bit of brake to slow this crazy thing down, and take notice that we are living our lives the way we always dreamed of. And at the end, when I stare down at my boots, I’ll have Lisa Marie’s smile, Hang Jones, Clemmy and Volfie and those slobbered on Penns. What you are, I once was; what I am, you will become.

Wasted Time

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 16:01:00 +0000

Mixing "Wasted Time" in the studio was when I discovered how close I had become to people that don't even exist. I'm sitting in the bar with William, Mayumi has become the voice of Caroline. I can feel the love between them, I can sense the loss William hasn't learned of yet. My heart is breaking with each vocal harmony, blood pours out with every pull of the fiddle bow. For a song that started out as referencing the Stones heavily, it has wound up breathing life into a couple of doomed fictitious characters. Maybe it is all the coffee drank in an attempt to stay focused, but I feel sick for my dear friend William, and I feel guilty for bringing so much tragedy into his life. But mostly I feel proud, more so than I ever have in my life. Perhaps I am teetering on the edge of hubris. But if I am going to fall, please don't stick me with Achilles, always found him to be one whiny little bastard.

Googlespace

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 18:55:00 +0000

For those of you that aren’t self-promoting indie musicians, here’s a little back-story. Myspace has recently begun a promotion where they will sell ad space to bands on their site. Adopting the “pay-per-click” model that made the Google boys some of the richest folks in the world, the bands will pay 50 cents every time a Myspace user clicks on the add. While I think it is fantastic that myspace is opening its platform to allow bands to promote themselves via a buisness model that has worked so successfully for corporations on facebook and google, and I am a fervent believer that artists must embrace these types of business models to succeed, I am having a tough time with the pricepoint.

Most musicians on myspace are independent, and without some financial support from a record label, 25 cents a click can get expensive very quickly. To speak marketing guy (is that bile I taste?) if a band were to have a 100% conversion rate (a conversion equaling a user seeing an add, clicking an add, and adding the band as a friend) that would equate to 400 new fans for $100. First, to get such a success rate is a pipe dream, and second, while many people on myspace want you as a friend (so they appear super popular) trying to sell them your CD or get them to a show is a huge challenge.

So while I appreciate your effort to “monetize” us band guys (granted, by offering us something we need – exposure), I am gonna pass. I’ll get my fans the old-fashioned way… oh, wait a minute.

3 years ago today

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 16:00:00 +0000

I was standing on the steps of a Graeco-Roman inspired colonnade waiting for my "it's only a matter of seconds now" wife-to-be. It was an abnormally hot and humid day in the Bay Area, she was on Island time, and the natives were getting restless. I can't recall the many heat/stress induced thoughts that ran through my raddled brain (other than "man, this is the worst hair day of my life!") but as I saw her emerge, arms linked with both her mother and father, I knew I would spend the rest of my life with her. While I could go on and on about our life together thus far, and I could speculate about the great experiences we will share in the unforeseeable future, those thoughts are not a matter of public record. So happy anniversary Lisa Marie, ILYWFD?

Some days are better than others

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Some days I feel a fire in my belly and nothing can get in my way. I am writing the best songs of my life, I am playing them with the best musicians out there, I am in love, I am loved, I've got two feet lickin' dogs: All is right with the world. The problem is, keeping fuel on a fire in a world that doesn't have enough kindling to go around. While I believe nothing easy is worth doing, the apparent impossibility of doing things against the grain is at best daunting, and at worst akin to wearing an anvil for a necktie. My father once told me, when things are getting you down think a higher thought. So when I reach a roadblock in my music career, resulting in the faint flicker of my fire manifesting a self-destructive phrase in my brain along the lines of "the corporate music industry exists to keep guys like me out," I am to spin it into "I don't need them, music is now a DIY enterprise." This higher thought will enable me to find a path around the roadblock, and continue along my path of Indie-Americana bliss. But us broody types seem to get off on that pain. While we recognize the self-destructive nature of sentiments such as these, we have been programmed to believe them to be self-serving. Like using the dark side of the force, our hate makes us strong. This, my angst ridden brothers and sisters, is bullshit. Our hate keeps us standing still, our hate makes us bitter, and our hate will consume that flame quicker than a skinny Asian at a hotdog eating contest. So I write today's little rant while my flame is full aglow. I hope I can look back on this one and smile the way I am smiling right now. So light 'em up, make some noise, and if you ever need some kindlin', give me a call.

Music is the doctor

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 17:23:00 +0000

The Doobies weren't smokin' when they said it (well, I am not sure about that, but it rings true none the less): Music is the doctor. We listen to it when we got the blues, we listen to it to pick us up, and some of us give up almost everything to create it as it is the only thing that makes any sense to us in this very strange world we live in (run sentence, run). This Sunday, Hang Jones was in the recording studio putting some finishing touches on our album. It was the day of Mayumi (pronounced MY YOU ME for those playing along at home). She was singin', she was sawin' away on that fiddle, but mostly she was just laying down the magic. While Matt has finished his parts, that ear of his is pure gold. He keeps us honest, and never lets us forget what we are striving for. Every day I get to spend creating music with Mayumi, Matt, and Greg (our producer) is a dream come true. I am blessed by whatever non-threatening deity to which you prescribe. In addition, I have a wife that supports me through this, that keeps me inspired, and makes me smile everyday. This is the best Monday I've had in a while.

lil' Dove

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 16:00:00 +0000

I have this thing about giving all my guitars names. There's Maria, Blue Belle, Roxie, the list goes on and on. But one of my guitars never needed a name; she was simple called by the name Gibson gave her. Dove. After playing her I couldn't come up with a name that was more fitting. That described the beauty of her tone in a more perfect way. Dove and I went through a lot together. She was on nearly every track of the last Del Bombers record. She also moved from California to New York, to Chicago and back again. Countless gigs were played with her, countless songs written with her by my side. But like many of this world's most beautiful creatures, Dove had a dark side. Well, maybe not all that dark, but that wide, flat fretboard was murder on my hand. It got to the point where playing her sent me to physical therapy. And I've got a rule about women, if they send me to the doctor, they gotta go. So go she did, into another man's arms. Take care of her Nick, and good luck to you both.

smells like terrestrial radio

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 17:43:00 +0000

In an effort to give us the same 100 songs over and over and over again, but this time in the digital world, Clearchannel has announced their new digital network which aims to be the "Largest Digital Network, By Any Measure." Wow, that sounds big! In the article I read, the rep from clearchannel referred to we the people as "demographics" and the business model as a "formula for success," but never ONCE did he mention the word "music." I thought big music business was in trouble, so why are these pricks still in the game? Internet radio was all we little guys had, now here comes clearchannel to play the same god awful crap they spin everyday on terrestrial radio. I can't wait to tune into the "alternative rock" channel and hear "Smells Like Teen Spirit." Man that song is so cutting edge.

The first movie ever

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 16:00:00 +0000

I had an hour and 42 minutes on my hands the other day, so I did what any red blooded American boy would do... I watched Dirty Harry. It had been a while since I last watched this particular Clint Eastwood vehicle, I've always preferred his westerns (yeah, there's a stretch), so I was a little stunned to realize that every single action movie I've even seen was a cheap imitation of this epic masterpiece. Badass cop operating outside the law in order to do what is morally right? Got it. Said badass rogue cop, way smarter than his incompetent superiors, constantly right on the edge of losing his crappy job due to his "unorthodox" methods? Yup. Awesomely quotable and identifiable catch phrase? You know it. But this film was so much more than that, even the little stuff was there: "saving" an attempted suicide jumper by punching him out (Lethal Weapon, how could you?) A crazy chase through a big city from one pay phone to another by a sicko who's holding someone for ransom (too many to list). He even delivers a Swayzesque "pain don't hurt" type line in the hospital; but rather than showing off for some doctor chick, Callahan simply doesn't want his $28 slacks cut open in order to mend his wounded leg. Suck it Swayze, you and your sweet, sweet mullet.

The revolution will be...

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 16:00:00 +0000

...brought to you in the same, ol, dead format. You know what we are up to here: we're releasing a concept album, song by song, and video by video. We're doing this because we want to challenge the archaic business practices of a dying music industry. We're doing this because we want to cut through the noise that is a very crowded indie cyberspace. We're doing this because we're kinda poor and media costs a lot of cash. And, lets face it, every band guy/gal has crates of old CDs collecting dust and spider carcasses in their (or their mother's) basement. This is a total badge of failure no one wants to wear. When our exciting new plan came together, the brainchild of myself, my wife, my father, and my close friend Scott, we thought we had something really cool. Not only did it have the age old "marketing hook" (I just threw up in my mouth a little bit) but it was very new-media, cost effective, and it gave music fans what they wanted: Music, now, period. Gone was shipping and handing, a media that no one could figure out how to sell, or package for a store to carry. But, alas, there is a catch. When one is in the middle of the revolution, not the tail end, some old standards are expected to be followed. Like CDs. Everyone wants one. Want radio play? Send us a CD. Want a review? Send us a CD. Hey, I really like your band, where can I get a CD? I like that last one, I like that one just fine, but I find myself changing the original strategy in order to play along with the rules of the game I had intended to challenge head on. Worse, I didn't even realize I was doing it. So while I am not saying "there will be no CD, suck it" I am saying I want to release this new album in a way that is true to it's initial inception: new media, new methods, fuck the music industry. To be continued babies.

best worst misheard lyrics

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 16:00:00 +0000

We're all guilty of it, pretending we know the words as we sing along to a song we love. Perhaps the singer doesn't enunciate clearly (like me!) or maybe it is an act of defiance where we change the lyrics on purpose to serve our own selfish interests. For my wife, it seems to be some sort of pastime. She doesn't KNOW she is doing it, but she can butcher a song's lyrics like nothing i have ever seen. She's like a surgeon. Well tonight was the best, most egregious yet. I, for some reason began singing "you can't touch this" (seriously, why would THAT song jump in my head?) So I begin "my, my, my, my, lyrics hit me, so hard, makes me say 'oh my lord'..." At this point Lisa Marie jumps in "Thank you, for blessing me, with a mind to rhyme and a dick to pee." Speaking of pee, I nearly pissed myself. When I called bullshit on her knowledge of classic Hammer lyrics she had looked at me like I was crazy and said "what, someone doesn't sing that?" No baby, no one sings that.

Mayumi is a rockstar

noreply@blogger.com (stephen) — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Mayumi is, hands down, the biggest rock star ever to play the fiddle. This weekend she sat in with The Johnny Starlings after never having played with them (and had only seen them perform once). Then after we filled our bellies with decadent orange sauce laden burritos we all went back to the house and jammed. We sang, and played, and Mayumi showed me this new harmony she worked out for this tune "Gunnin' For You." This is what music is all about: good folks making fun music while enjoying a pleasant buzz. Sadly, I had lost that somewhere along the way, I am happy to see it has returned. Mayumi is quite taken with my brother in law's dog "Ensign" (a Siberian husky) and I am beginning to think he is the primary reason she keeps coming round. He can sing pretty good too, I hope they aren't plotting against me.