Musician, Freak, Dayjobber, Etc.

Occasionally I will review music over at Garageband; occasionally, one of my reviews will piss someone off.

Here's a review I wrote the other day:

Oh! Look Mommy -- I can strum a single guitar note! Damn, even the white people are rapping these ugly, Iraqi days. This song, oddly enough, makes me want to urinate. On the singer. If this song were an island in the Indian Ocean, then this review would be the tsunami that wipes it clean, like a giant fistful of toilet paper wiping clean the Ass of the Earth. Sorry, kids, this just isn't my syringe of herion, if you catch my WalMart. This song reminds me of Beck -- and he was tired and boring 10 years ago. I give this an "F" for effort.

Check out this amazing tirade I received from the disgruntled review-ee:

Dearest Kompost,

Never in my life have I ever come across a more aptly named band. I can smell the stink of your horrible music as it floats above my head in a festering cloud. And don't get me wrong, I am a fan of classic rock, and sure I may be a bit bitter at your review of my band's song OK Land, but it's always reassuring when I listen to the music of an inept criticizer and realize that their music is as foul as their mouths. Dude, your shit stinks. I find it heavily ironic that your bio advertises vehemently "no posers allowed." My friend, what in the hell do you think you are? Writing worthless reviews you know will piss someone off, just to compensate for your droning, wallpaper peeling, badly picked, 8 and a half minute, jazz rock nightmares (Ducks, fucking) and Chicago wanna-be, played out, badly worded suicide inspiring Sunday afternoon bore fests (One Summer Sunday--did you actually use the phrase "canyons of my mind?!" Look mommy, I can write lyrics suitable for a depressed 9th grade girl's diary). Dude, if you wanna get personal, I'll go there too. Fashion hint: vertical stripes makes fat asses look fatter. But alas, I'm resorting to your base tactics. But hey, I guess you started it, so I'm gonna end it. Eat shit. The truth is, it took a lot to even bring myself to reply to your review, but after one of our fans and fellow garage banders wrote us and reminded us about the true spirit and nature that makes this website great, I figured I'd grace you with a letter. If you deem that as making you important, then I guess you are. I have one honest, serious question for you: Why are you on this site in the first place? Your I-don't-give-a-shit fatalistic attitude is as worn out as your hairdo. We've seen and been reviewed by people like you before. Truth is, I'm sure you do care about SOMETHING, or your songs wouldn't be posted here. But your reviews, as many as I've seen, seem dying to to be hip and unimpressed. Get over it, my man. You aren't funny, you aren't cool. The point of this site is to foster and nurture creativity and to support your fellow artist. If you don't like a song, say so. Hell, even tell us why. But don't threaten to urinate on someone. How old are you, again? You look older than that played out attitude would lead someone to believe. We have reported your review to garage band, and they are currently looking over your other reviews. So if you want to be a jackass, go ahead. But if you break GB rules, which you have, you may find yourself unable to post anymore, and man oh man what a shame THAT would be. So I guess the last thing I would like to ask, on behalf of my bandmate, whom I believe has already written you, is that if you have some pent up aggression you would like to get rid of, then contact me directly or maybe one day we can meet in person, so that you can TRY to fulfill your dreams of nictrating on me. Thanks for your time, my man, and God Bless.

Signed, Dude

P.S. The song you insulted is at #2, and check out the number 1 song in that genre as well. Where is "Ducks, Fucking" on the charts?





LOL!

Happy winter solstice to all and to all a good winter. Man, I am just NOT in the love-mood to blog anything, except to say that Nipper and I have been having our usual blast over the past couple of weeks, and it looks like things will continue right up until this New Year’s weekend (we have a minimum of FIVE parties to try and hit over Thursday and Friday nights!). All good, my peeps (peeps in the sense of those yellow and sometimes purple sugar-coated marshmallow things). Wishing all of you the very beast in 2005 – may all your Michael Jackson’s. I promise I will write again after the holidays are over. Meanwhile, keep your eyes open for tsunami. x0x0x kErrY x0x0x

Hi there my little squirrels, thanks for tuning into the old blog. Me type words now, not many, too.

Did I sound bitter in last week’s blog? I’m not. Really. Good old Dave English and I had a nice talk and we’re good to go: no hard feelings, no bleeding wounds, no facial disfigurements, no receding hairlines, no girls gone wild. Dave graciously assured me that the Tribeca album owes a great debt to my involvement and that he will credit me accordingly when – and if – the record comes out. So, while I am disappointed that the project didn’t turn out exactly how I’d envisioned, I still can’t complain – I mean, it’s going to be a great record and I’m lucky that my name will be in the credits, right? Meanwhile, I am enjoying the odd new sensation of not having something to do – some band activity to plan for -- every waking hour of the day. “It’s nice,” he whispered in a hoarse, whiskey-soaked voice.

Christmas is in the air – 80 degrees, in fact – and all of the deciduous trees in the city are sporting flaming gold and crimson leaves, many of which insist on falling into my yard, much to my chagrin. But it’s soooo good – I love winter in Los Angeles. There’s a certain mashed-banana sunlight that bathes everything in a warm, sultry glow, and makes things seem more alive than they usually are. Clouds are unheard of in my blue sky neighborhood today. “It’s nice,” repeated the man with the hoarse, broken voice.

What does one customarily do in such gorgeous winter weather? In Southern California – if you fancy – you might find yourself on a stream at daybreak fishing for rainbow trout with one of your buddies, as I found myself last weekend. Yes, Bernard Yin and I returned, once again, to the absurdly-close-to-the-city stream we ‘discovered’ the weekend before last. Rising well before dawn, Bernard and I made it to the stream at the ungodly hour of 5:30AM – this, after me only having had two and a half hours of sleep the night before – and proceeded to fish ourselves silly. The stream was not as kind to us this week as she was last week – the water was noticeably lower and muddier, probably due to some rains that we had earlier in the week. Poor old Bernard – for the first time in our friendship, I caught trout and he did not. So terribly, terribly sad. In fact, I nailed two sweet rainbows, one an amazingly colored 8-incher and one a sleek and silvery 12-incher. Bernard managed to entice more than his fair share of strikes with his trusty fly rod, but to no avail; his ‘fly only’ approach was no match for my spinning gear and my silly lures, and his usually deadly reaction times were just an elk’s hair off. He was having one of “those” days, those dreaded episodes where you spend half the day untangling yourself from your knotted line and the other half retrieving your five dollar lures from streamside bushes. Regardless, we had a great time and got back to the city at a most reasonable early afternoon hour, the sun smiling on us the entire time.

The night before – Friday night -- Nipper and I went to a housewarming party hosted by the amazing ultra-vixen Debbie Diamond and her boyfriend Jack. We arrived late and stayed late, causing us to miss the CD release party for Aguafantastica, sadly. I hate when that happens! Regardless, we had a blast at the party and hung out until the wee hours of the morning. Debbie’s new house rules! It’s a great turn-of-the-century craftsman cottage oozing with charm and grace. Congratulations, Debbie and Jack!

The next day, Saturday, I went fishing, as detailed above, after squeezing in about two hours of sleep the night before. Once I got back from the fishing trip, Nipper and I went to another party, this one for our dear friends Cat and Edward, who are moving to Vermont, of all places, later this month. We had a very nice time – thank you Cat! – and got back to Nipper’s house at around 7:30PM Saturday night – whereupon I proceeded to sleep the next twelve hours straight. We spent the rest of the weekend in a glaze of snuggling, open-housing, TV watching, and just hanging out like two river otters. Good times.

Already this week I finished and submitted my Todd Rundgren article for John Borack’s upcoming history of power pop book due out next summer on Tiny Ripple Books, as well as mailed off my contribution to the forthcoming Kevin Gilbert tribute album, plus I’ve practiced my parts for this Wednesday’s The Abe Lincoln Story show at King King, and it’s only Tuesday! I’m relaxed and ready to rock tomorrow night with the Abe’s; it’d be radical if you showed up and bought me a drink, wouldn’t it?

And so it goes. Things are slowing down just a hair with the holidays and all, and I’m looking foward to a nice, relaxing week and upcoming weekend. We’ve already received party invites for Christmas, pre-New Years and New Years parties, so it looks like this weekend will be the last one in the immediate future where we can take it stupid-easy. I aim to enjoy it. You aim too, please.

Oh, I almost forgot: I uploaded a brand new Mike Simmons mix of my song ”Vanish” for your enjoyment (hopefully). A veritable who’s who of LA pop guys played on this thing – Nelson Bragg and Probyn Gregory of Brian Wilson’s band, Scott Halper of countless great bands, and Rick Gallego of the incredible Cloud Eleven, among others. If you happen to be so kind as to download/play this song, please, I beg you, email me and let me know what you think of this monster. I’m really, really indescribably happy with this song and I’d love to know your thoughts, critiques, etc. Thank you!

“So, that’s it.”, said the man with the whiskey-hardened voice. I will see all of you Wednesday at the Abe Lincoln Story show – we’re an LA Weekly “pick of the week”, don’t you know. Until next time, I bid you peace and joy, and please treat all living things – including flowers! – with love and respect, and remember: architecture is frozen music, so build yourself a cool craftsman home in Highland Park today. x0x0x kErrY x0x0x

Blog, blog, blog. It gets old after awhile, doesn’t it? Of course, you could be reading some really great blogs, like this one, but no, you’re here, and I am happy and thankful to all three of you. Seriously.

Well, well, well, guess who got his ass shitcanned from one of his bands earlier this week? If you guessed me, congratulations, you’ve won a brand new sofa. Yes, my friends, I am actually kind of freakishly proud to admit that I have been officially shitcanned (I really like that word) from Tribeca, the band I was asked to join all those years ago, and helped nurture and guide for the last two and a half years. Why was I shitcanned? I really can’t tell you because I don’t really know myself. I was told that my bass playing was the reason, but, when I asked what I needed to change, good old Dave English really couldn’t say. He admitted that I was nailing the stuff note-for-note but he really couldn’t (or wouldn’t) elaborate further, other than to say that I was too ‘rawk’ for his tastes. Hey, I’m good with that – whatever, dude. Needless to say, I pulled my three songs that were earmarked for the album and wished them the best of luck. If and when their album comes out, it’s going to be great, and I am grateful that I had a hand in the project and will have my name associated with it, even if I’m not part of the live band (hell, the freakiest songwriter in Tribeca, Matt Gaskins, isn’t even part of the live band, so I’m in good company; Matt's amazing songs were what initially got me interested in this band).

It’s not like I don’t have my filthy little hands in a million other projects anyway – my bandmates in both The Ultra Suede and the Abe Lincoln Story are pretty happy now that I will have a little more time for them --damn, it’s nice to be needed! – and I have been JONESING for a little more songwriting time for my solo project, plus there’s always little side-projects that I seem to continually find myself involved with, so, in all honesty, I am a happy camper.

Earlier this year, as you faithful blog readers must surely remember, I was pressured by Dave English to get a couple of my songs recorded for the Tribeca project; well, things dragged out f-o-r-e-v-e-r with regard to the Tribeca album, and, now that I am out of the project, I’ve got these songs just begging to be placed. It took me all of a day to find homes for these songs – a testament to my writing, or just sheer dumb luck? You decide. Regardless, I’ve got a lot of stuff coming out next year; here’s a quick recap:

My rejected Tribeca contribution “Mourning Would?” will be coming out on a German “left-handed bassists” compilation early next year (the album features jazz legend Jimmy Haslip, among others). A song I co-wrote with John Borack will be coming out as part of a CD accompanying his forthcoming powerpop book, due out in summer of 2005 from Tiny Ripple Books; Nipper and I are both contributing articles on Todd Rundgren as well. My last Tribeca contribution, “Vanish”, will be on the upcoming The Ultra Suede album, along with a re-worked version of “One Summer Sunday” (I heard some of raw tracks the other day and they sound AMAZING, especially thanks to Kenny Howe’s awesome guitar work; JANGLE HEAVEN!), due out early next spring. Additionally, I have a song coming out on a Kevin Gilbert tribute album which is due out next summer, and then I’ve got guitars all over the place on the upcoming The Abe Lincoln Story album, due in autumn of next year. And of course there’s my contributions on the upcoming Tribeca album – assuming the damn thing ever gets finished! All told -– Allah willing and the creek don’t rise -– I’ll have involvement in no less than six albums coming out next year. Not bad for a working boy!

Okay, enough with the self-justification; next Wednesday, December 15th, please join me and the Abe Lincoln Story at King King for an evening of holiday shennanigans and freaky music. We’re hitting the stage at 10:00PM and promise to deliver a set of blistering rock-n-soul tunes. We had a rehearsal last night – all ten of us!!! – and it sounded insane. Be there or be square, there are lots of cool bands on the bill and it looks to be a good time.

This weekend finds Nipper and me hitting two parties (!), and endeavoring to hit the CD release party for the awesome band Aguafantastica; the show is Friday night, 11:00PM, at Taix in, what is it, Silver Lake or Echo Park? Either way, be there -- Aguafantastica ROCKS and their new album is AMAZING and the show will be a blast.

Last week found me finishing up my Ultra Suede bass overdubs, which I nailed and which sound – modestly speaking – amazing if I do say so myself. Who says I can’t play bass?!?!? All seriousness aside, the tracks are sounding stunning – STUNNING – and this album is going to blow a few minds with it’s melodic twists and turns and Fifth Dimension-esque production values.

Also last week Nipper and I attended an AWESOME party at the home of the eclectic, the ultra-geek himself Andy Zax and his lovely partner Lisa. Once again I had the pleasure of hanging out with dozens of great people, not the least of which was the esteemed Roger Joseph Manning, Jr., with whom I discussed music, chinchillas, and cats on Prozac(tm), among other things. I also had a nice hang with Dennis Davison of The Jigsaw Seen, David Ponak of The Mello Cads, and Jim Laspesa of The Muffs and many other fine bands. Good times -- thank you Andy and Lisa!

Remember last week I told you I would be fishing a local creek with my buddy Bernard Yin? Well, boy, did we ever discover a gem of a creek. No locations given, but suffice to say, it’s RETARDED CLOSE to the city, and we experienced fishing like you just would not believe. We both landed and released about a dozen large, fat-ass wild rainbow trout, which took us completely by surprise! We had very low expectations for this stream, and our hopes were wildly exceeded. Look at this monster. Bernard has been in touch with some local biologists and they have requested that we return to the stream to hopefully get some fin clippings for DNA analysis; they seem to think these may have been either steelhead trout, or native remnant trout which were previously thought to have been extinct. It’s cool knowing that we’re helping science along by scouring these creeks and finding fish in them. We are planning another trip this weekend; wish us luck!

And that, my little chinchillas, brings this blog to a wet, squishy close. Thank you for reading, and thank you for your support, I really appreciate it. Until next week, STAY WARM, and remember: architecture is frozen music, so build yourself a streamside log cabin today. xoxox kErrY xoxox