I've only been playing guitar for a few years. These days I have to be more diligent and serious about my practice sessions because it seems like I'm always preparing for one show or another. The amount of time I have to just sit around and jam seems to get shorter all the time. But at one point I would just sit in my living room for a couple of hours every night, running endlessly through random verses of one song after another. Whatever came to mind is what I played. I didn't make it all the way through individual songs most of the time. Instead I let my emotions take the wheel and the music would determine the course all on its own.
This seemed similar to what I'd seen many of the bands I like doing in concert. Right in the middle of one of their own songs they might insert a portion of another song before returning back to the original song being played. I've always been so impressed with how something like that can just work and feel completely natural. But then I see people doing the same thing in other situations that just fall flat for me. In my opinion, one of the biggest perpetrators of this is the television show Glee. While some of their "mash-ups" make sense, I find that the vast majority just tend to irritate me. I've never been a fan of medleys of songs that don't go together. I feel like if you combine multiple songs then the product should be greater than the sum of its parts. I figure it was fine for me to do back when I was just playing around in my living room, but when I do it on stage I prefer to use these combinations to tell stories and try and create something greater.
In the fall of 2010 we had just begun going to Open Mic Night every week. One of our preferred songs to play when we took the stage was one that I mentioned in a previous post - "Just Like Me" by Will Hoge. It's such a mean and sarcastic country/blues anthem, and it was always a good chance for us to get loud. One night we started playing the intro and I moved up to start singing into the mic, but it wasn't the first line of "Just Like Me" that came out. It was the chorus of "She Doesn't Get It" by the Format, sung in a slow, sneering drawl...
Please watch the video, I guarantee it'll make you smile:
Now, anyone familiar with both Will Hoge and the Format should know that you'd be hard-pressed to find two artists with a bigger difference in sound and style. But as I finished the with the chorus to "She Doesn't Get It" I moved smoothly into the bridge of the song and it served as just that, a bridge right into the beginning of "Just Like Me". Putting them together made the final outcome into something that felt natural and more specific to who I was as an artist than either of the individual songs could have been standing alone.
I've seen my favorite band, Counting Crows, about eight times (if memory serves correctly). They seem to do a better job than anyone else I've seen at seamlessly combining their own songs with those of others to enhance the meaning of both. They tend to do it more often with their "bigger" songs, those popular anthems from their debut album, August and Everything After. We've performed several of those at our shows in the past, sometimes doing the same mash-ups that they've become known for. But at a show in the early part of 2011 we made something entirely new using one of those songs.
"Round Here", the first track off of August, had slowly worked its way into our sets, but only every once in a while. When we'd started performing it I was still on the tail end of working through the dark period that would later define my first round of songwriting. "Round Here" perfectly resonated with me and why I'd decided to start performing in the first place. That's the beautiful thing about a great song - different people can relate to it on different levels and find their own personal meaning in the words. Sometimes when we'd play this particular song it wouldn't have any effect on me at all, but sometimes we'd play it and I'd be so overcome with emotion that it would be hard to finish.
We were playing on a Saturday night and had included "Round Here" towards the end of the set. We've always had to do it that way because it puts so much strain on me vocally that I can't do very many songs after it. Something really cool happened when we got to the breakdown part of the song. Even though the chord progressions didn't match, I immediately went into the opening lines of "Use Somebody" by Kings of Leon. While, in the past, this song had had a special and positive significance for me, I changed up just a few of the words, combining all of the verses into something angrier that weaved in and out of the last part of "Round Here" until I felt like I wasn't even singing a mash-up of cover songs anymore. It somehow expressed all of the feelings I had about feeling used and wanting to lash out through my voice and music, about feeling marginalized and wanting to fight to prove my worth.
Yes, I know that "Use Somebody" isn't really about that, but if you change two or three words in that song, it pretty much gives it a new and darker meaning.
One of our most popular covers is "Kill" by Jimmy Eat World. The first of the "two" in These Two Shall Pass made me play "Kill" for her every night back when we were together. And, ironically, the imagery in that song became somewhat prophetic for that relationship. That's another story for another day, but I include it here to mention that I've always found a wealth of material for extending the personal side of the story I use this Jimmy Eat World song to tell. We've included lyrics to songs by Counting Crows, Ron Pope, the Gaslight Anthem, and several others. But the song that randomly pops up in "Kill" the most often is "Disloyal Order of the Water Buffaloes" by Fall Out Boy.
The chorus to this one just fit perfectly the way "Kill" evolved into something autobiographical to me over the course of time. Take the first line of the chorus - "Boycott love, detox just to retox." That's so true; you can try and swear off opening yourself up to someone after being hurt, but it just doesn't work. Love is like a drug. And the final line of the chorus resonated with me even more. "Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy." I'll be the first to admit that our shows used to be extremely dark. My mom would often say the same thing to me, suggesting over and over that I needed to add more positive vibes to our sets. She was right, but I think singing about tragedy may have helped us to connect with more people. So all's well that ends well.
Overall, I think the mash-up can be a very powerful way of connecting yourself to an audience, but only if done tastefully and in a way that enhances both songs rather than taking away. I try my very best to always abide by that philosophy when combining songs but sometimes it doesn't work. It's okay to make mistakes as long as you learn from them, and I can honestly say that there are some mash-ups that we will NEVER do again. It sure is fun, though!
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
This is a dark ride...
As promised, here is the first of hopefully several posts about the origins of some of our original songs. What better way to get the ball rolling than with my personal favorite (and, in my opinion, the most emotionally powerful)? Possibly more than any of the other songs going on our debut album These Two Shall Pass, "Airport in Amsterdam" captures the story I'm trying to tell. There's a lot in that song, and it may not be as obvious upon the first listen as to what exactly it's about.
I'd like to start by sharing a little insight into one of the lines that the whole song was built around. When I was a kid, NBC began airing The John Larroquette show. I was only 13 at the time and, even though I couldn't relate directly to anything on the show, I remember what a strange draw I felt to the story. Maybe it was a weird kind of empathy. But the sitcom (if you could necessarily call it that) about a struggling alcoholic, of all things, somehow appealed to me on some primal level, even in my squeakier-than-squeaky-clean teenage years. Early on in the show, the main character tells the story of the secondhand wooden carnival ride sign hanging on his office wall that reminds him of his constant, everyday struggle. The sign just said "This Is a Dark Ride".
To this day, I couldn't tell you why I kept a mental image of that sign in my head for almost twenty years. Of all the shots caught on film that I've seen in my years of devouring pop culture and media, that's one that sticks with me in an almost haunting way. And seventeen years later it found its way into what I consider my best songwriting achievement to this point as the first line of the chorus. But it wasn't such a simple process to get there.
These Two Shall Pass is really the story of two failed relationships I had in my late twenties that, taken separately, shouldn't have left me in very bad shape. But, of course, in our youth we make mistakes that we shouldn't make, and I made the mistake of moving on to the second before I was over the first. The first relationship ended with a broken engagement. The second, in all fairness, probably had no right to end up as even a blip on the radar for me or the woman involved. It ended with a simple phone call as I was on my way to the DFW airport for an eight-day business trip to Norway. I was fine when I got on the plane, but after a sleepless night over the Atlantic I wasn't exactly in my right mind when we touched down in Amsterdam.
I spent the 2-hour layover trying to convince my coworker and friend that, while I was slightly down for the count, everything was working out for the best. It's a little fuzzy in my memory now because I know I was very tired, but I'm pretty sure that he was sick of hearing me talk about it because, knowing me, I was probably saying the same thing over and over without making much sense. Most likely I was stuck in some sort of awkward stages-of-grief loop. So he was surely as relieved as I was when we boarded our plane for the short flight to Oslo with seats in separate rows. It was time to stop running my mouth.
I didn't sleep much for that week in Oslo - the subject of my other song "Gray City". I also didn't talk about my breakup anymore. I spent a lot of time sitting on the roof of the Oslo Opera House, day and night. The time difference means that Norway is several hours ahead of Texas, and I remember sitting on top of the Opera House, looking out at the sunset over the water, and thinking about how it was getting dark where I was, while the daylight seemed to be fleeing in the direction of all those I loved, including the blown-out-of-proportion blip back home. Hence the next lines of the chorus: "Watching the light that was mine, passing on through, leaving me for you."
What I really did throughout that trip was bottle everything up inside. I don't know if that was responsible for what happened next, but it couldn't have helped. What happened next was that I projected everything I had been feeling from my failed engagement from over a year before onto the current situation and I began to treat this minor setback as simply a continuation of that old failure. Of course, this led to the artistic license I took in using the imagery of the broken engagement to describe the situation in the song. As crazy as it was, at the time these two events were practically one and the same for me.
You really see a lot of mistakes in hindsight, and this ended up being a costly one. It sent me into what I'll always remember as one of the darkest times in my life. The image of that carnival sign hanging in that bleak office came back to me, and when I began to write "Airport in Amsterdam" over a year and a half later it was the phrase on that sign that molded the song. And the song practically wrote itself. I played parts of the song for friends before it came completely together. No one seemed all that enthused. One aspect that I think may have thrown people off was the fact that the chorus doesn't end on tonic - it just kind of drops out. But I did that on purpose when I realized that was how the song was supposed to feel. There's no line that can follow "When it goes, it darkens the coast." That's the part where the whole song goes dark.
Although initial reactions during the songwriting process (this was one of the first songs I ever wrote and it came to life over a period of two to three weeks) weren't all that great, I decided to give it a shot anyway. The first time I played the song in its entirety was at a Thursday Open Mic at the Purple Pig, and I was a little emotionally wrecked when the whole place got quiet after I played it. But ever since then there's been so shortage of reactions. It is a dark song for a dark ride. But, like I've said before, sometimes those dark rides lead you to a light at the end of the tunnel.
I'd like to start by sharing a little insight into one of the lines that the whole song was built around. When I was a kid, NBC began airing The John Larroquette show. I was only 13 at the time and, even though I couldn't relate directly to anything on the show, I remember what a strange draw I felt to the story. Maybe it was a weird kind of empathy. But the sitcom (if you could necessarily call it that) about a struggling alcoholic, of all things, somehow appealed to me on some primal level, even in my squeakier-than-squeaky-clean teenage years. Early on in the show, the main character tells the story of the secondhand wooden carnival ride sign hanging on his office wall that reminds him of his constant, everyday struggle. The sign just said "This Is a Dark Ride".
To this day, I couldn't tell you why I kept a mental image of that sign in my head for almost twenty years. Of all the shots caught on film that I've seen in my years of devouring pop culture and media, that's one that sticks with me in an almost haunting way. And seventeen years later it found its way into what I consider my best songwriting achievement to this point as the first line of the chorus. But it wasn't such a simple process to get there.
These Two Shall Pass is really the story of two failed relationships I had in my late twenties that, taken separately, shouldn't have left me in very bad shape. But, of course, in our youth we make mistakes that we shouldn't make, and I made the mistake of moving on to the second before I was over the first. The first relationship ended with a broken engagement. The second, in all fairness, probably had no right to end up as even a blip on the radar for me or the woman involved. It ended with a simple phone call as I was on my way to the DFW airport for an eight-day business trip to Norway. I was fine when I got on the plane, but after a sleepless night over the Atlantic I wasn't exactly in my right mind when we touched down in Amsterdam.
I spent the 2-hour layover trying to convince my coworker and friend that, while I was slightly down for the count, everything was working out for the best. It's a little fuzzy in my memory now because I know I was very tired, but I'm pretty sure that he was sick of hearing me talk about it because, knowing me, I was probably saying the same thing over and over without making much sense. Most likely I was stuck in some sort of awkward stages-of-grief loop. So he was surely as relieved as I was when we boarded our plane for the short flight to Oslo with seats in separate rows. It was time to stop running my mouth.
I didn't sleep much for that week in Oslo - the subject of my other song "Gray City". I also didn't talk about my breakup anymore. I spent a lot of time sitting on the roof of the Oslo Opera House, day and night. The time difference means that Norway is several hours ahead of Texas, and I remember sitting on top of the Opera House, looking out at the sunset over the water, and thinking about how it was getting dark where I was, while the daylight seemed to be fleeing in the direction of all those I loved, including the blown-out-of-proportion blip back home. Hence the next lines of the chorus: "Watching the light that was mine, passing on through, leaving me for you."
What I really did throughout that trip was bottle everything up inside. I don't know if that was responsible for what happened next, but it couldn't have helped. What happened next was that I projected everything I had been feeling from my failed engagement from over a year before onto the current situation and I began to treat this minor setback as simply a continuation of that old failure. Of course, this led to the artistic license I took in using the imagery of the broken engagement to describe the situation in the song. As crazy as it was, at the time these two events were practically one and the same for me.
You really see a lot of mistakes in hindsight, and this ended up being a costly one. It sent me into what I'll always remember as one of the darkest times in my life. The image of that carnival sign hanging in that bleak office came back to me, and when I began to write "Airport in Amsterdam" over a year and a half later it was the phrase on that sign that molded the song. And the song practically wrote itself. I played parts of the song for friends before it came completely together. No one seemed all that enthused. One aspect that I think may have thrown people off was the fact that the chorus doesn't end on tonic - it just kind of drops out. But I did that on purpose when I realized that was how the song was supposed to feel. There's no line that can follow "When it goes, it darkens the coast." That's the part where the whole song goes dark.
Although initial reactions during the songwriting process (this was one of the first songs I ever wrote and it came to life over a period of two to three weeks) weren't all that great, I decided to give it a shot anyway. The first time I played the song in its entirety was at a Thursday Open Mic at the Purple Pig, and I was a little emotionally wrecked when the whole place got quiet after I played it. But ever since then there's been so shortage of reactions. It is a dark song for a dark ride. But, like I've said before, sometimes those dark rides lead you to a light at the end of the tunnel.
Monday, January 23, 2012
I believe I've waited long enough...
When I was writing the songs that will hopefully become our first record I was surprised to find that they all came at once. It was as if the floodgates of past experiences had opened up and wouldn't stop until they were completely exhausted. A couple of experiences in particular created all of that music, and it was only fitting that they were the events that created my real need to make music in the first place. When we started playing shows there was a huge aspect of the performance that was all about overcoming my fears that had resulted from a few bad things I'd put myself through. Most everyone knows that I wrote "Stand In the Same Room" about the moderate case of agoraphobia I developed after a falling-out that I forced myself to get over when we started getting more high-profile gigs.
So my first album's worth of material did end up being decidedly dark. You're supposed to write about what you know, and, unfortunately, many of the most raw and emotional events in my life up until recently had been of the darker and more traumatic nature, at least relatively speaking. When we started performing in 2009 and 2010 our sets consisted entirely of covers, and the vast majority of those were extremely dark and/or angsty. Anything the slightest bit bright or happy seemed really out of place in our shows. In fact, the first time we played "Brown-Eyed Girl" for an audience a friend informed me that it didn't make a lot of sense to sing something so peppy and wistful, given my personality. But sometime in late summer of this past year I realized that something had definitely changed. Our range of covers had expanded to include a lot more "fun" songs, even venturing into happy territory. I had one of my mini-epiphanies (like we all have) while I was listening to this song...
I realized that it felt like I was just now coming alive again after a long and dark time. Just like in the song, I was kind of learning to be myself again. The self that used to find a lot more joy in every day. Slowly but surely, our shows are getting brighter and more hopeful.
Just like with a lot of Foo Fighters songs, I find it extremely difficult to listen to "Walk" without jumping around the room (or flooring the accelerator, as the case may be). Their music has always been amazing to me because it can be the perfect desperate mix of angst and pure, soaring joy. I can still remember the first time I listened to The Colour and the Shape in its entirety while playing pool in my aunt and uncle's basement. "Monkey Wrench" grabbed me immediately, but when I got to "Everlong" it was like a life-changing musical turning point for me. I don't know how many times over the years since that I've listened to that song over and over. It captured every shred of emotion I felt as a teenager and over the years that's never gone away. I've been a fan my entire adult life, and I also continue to believe that the Foo Fighters make better music videos than anyone. As goofy as they can be, they still evoke all of the intensity present in the songs themselves.
Lately, though, "Walk" seems to be speaking to me more and more. I also feel like the video has a lot to say about wanting to break out of the boxes that we're forced into in life. Do you ever look around and get the feeling that everyone seems to be trying too hard to fit into a certain stereotype when you only want to be yourself? Maybe some of the things I've been seeing in the music industry are just a microcosm of that, but I feel frustrated all the time. We're certainly not hurting for gigs or support from our friends and fans, but the nature of the beast sure does make it hard to grow locally. I'm extremely thankful to the venues who are open-minded enough to take a chance on artists who don't fit the stereotypes. We were able to play to a huge crowd at Sadler's Kitchen this past Saturday night and it was very humbling to be included in the roster of artists they've had there lately. Every week they've been including musicians from different genres. This is par for the course at most of the venues where we play, but there seem to be a lot of places who don't make it easy for newer or unknown acts to break into the rotation. We've got a long way to go in breaking down those walls, but we're blessed to know other musicians who share our vision of opening up the music community in East Texas.
I know that for a long time I said that I didn't feel the need to make a record. I get frustrated with seeing artists who run into the studio and spend money to put out a single for each individual song they write just so they can have another tool to market themselves. I feel like hard work and the music should speak for themselves and I've always placed more importance on playing shows and getting better at what we do. But making this record is NOT (and I can't stress this enough) just a means to over-produce and over-sell myself. More than 20 songs were written, practiced, performed, and re-worked over and over before I determined that there is a true record in there. I don't know if I ever really thought it would get to this point, but this has now become a piece of art that exists in its entirety in my head. It just needs to be recorded so I can hold it in my hand. I'm not trying to be a star and I'm not chasing any illusions...it just feels very important to make this record and to keep it true to who I am by telling this story.
So I'd like to challenge all our friends to continue to help us fight for substance over style, and, whatever your style, keep keeping your music real and true to who you are. It's okay to not be a good fit for certain audiences. Do what you do, and maybe you'll win over some new fans that you wouldn't have expected. For me, today was one of those days (we all have them) where I just didn't feel like playing music, but overall I feel more energized than ever! We're so blessed to get to share music and it's something I want to keep doing. I can't wait until my writing catches up to the happiness I feel these days so maybe we can make a joyful record to go along with the sad one we're making right now. Sometimes the only way out is through and I'm happy to say that it sure is a relief to feel like you've reached the light at the end of the tunnel. In spite of all the setbacks, I feel like I'm learning to walk again. Just wait until I start to run.
So my first album's worth of material did end up being decidedly dark. You're supposed to write about what you know, and, unfortunately, many of the most raw and emotional events in my life up until recently had been of the darker and more traumatic nature, at least relatively speaking. When we started performing in 2009 and 2010 our sets consisted entirely of covers, and the vast majority of those were extremely dark and/or angsty. Anything the slightest bit bright or happy seemed really out of place in our shows. In fact, the first time we played "Brown-Eyed Girl" for an audience a friend informed me that it didn't make a lot of sense to sing something so peppy and wistful, given my personality. But sometime in late summer of this past year I realized that something had definitely changed. Our range of covers had expanded to include a lot more "fun" songs, even venturing into happy territory. I had one of my mini-epiphanies (like we all have) while I was listening to this song...
I realized that it felt like I was just now coming alive again after a long and dark time. Just like in the song, I was kind of learning to be myself again. The self that used to find a lot more joy in every day. Slowly but surely, our shows are getting brighter and more hopeful.
Just like with a lot of Foo Fighters songs, I find it extremely difficult to listen to "Walk" without jumping around the room (or flooring the accelerator, as the case may be). Their music has always been amazing to me because it can be the perfect desperate mix of angst and pure, soaring joy. I can still remember the first time I listened to The Colour and the Shape in its entirety while playing pool in my aunt and uncle's basement. "Monkey Wrench" grabbed me immediately, but when I got to "Everlong" it was like a life-changing musical turning point for me. I don't know how many times over the years since that I've listened to that song over and over. It captured every shred of emotion I felt as a teenager and over the years that's never gone away. I've been a fan my entire adult life, and I also continue to believe that the Foo Fighters make better music videos than anyone. As goofy as they can be, they still evoke all of the intensity present in the songs themselves.
Lately, though, "Walk" seems to be speaking to me more and more. I also feel like the video has a lot to say about wanting to break out of the boxes that we're forced into in life. Do you ever look around and get the feeling that everyone seems to be trying too hard to fit into a certain stereotype when you only want to be yourself? Maybe some of the things I've been seeing in the music industry are just a microcosm of that, but I feel frustrated all the time. We're certainly not hurting for gigs or support from our friends and fans, but the nature of the beast sure does make it hard to grow locally. I'm extremely thankful to the venues who are open-minded enough to take a chance on artists who don't fit the stereotypes. We were able to play to a huge crowd at Sadler's Kitchen this past Saturday night and it was very humbling to be included in the roster of artists they've had there lately. Every week they've been including musicians from different genres. This is par for the course at most of the venues where we play, but there seem to be a lot of places who don't make it easy for newer or unknown acts to break into the rotation. We've got a long way to go in breaking down those walls, but we're blessed to know other musicians who share our vision of opening up the music community in East Texas.
I know that for a long time I said that I didn't feel the need to make a record. I get frustrated with seeing artists who run into the studio and spend money to put out a single for each individual song they write just so they can have another tool to market themselves. I feel like hard work and the music should speak for themselves and I've always placed more importance on playing shows and getting better at what we do. But making this record is NOT (and I can't stress this enough) just a means to over-produce and over-sell myself. More than 20 songs were written, practiced, performed, and re-worked over and over before I determined that there is a true record in there. I don't know if I ever really thought it would get to this point, but this has now become a piece of art that exists in its entirety in my head. It just needs to be recorded so I can hold it in my hand. I'm not trying to be a star and I'm not chasing any illusions...it just feels very important to make this record and to keep it true to who I am by telling this story.
So I'd like to challenge all our friends to continue to help us fight for substance over style, and, whatever your style, keep keeping your music real and true to who you are. It's okay to not be a good fit for certain audiences. Do what you do, and maybe you'll win over some new fans that you wouldn't have expected. For me, today was one of those days (we all have them) where I just didn't feel like playing music, but overall I feel more energized than ever! We're so blessed to get to share music and it's something I want to keep doing. I can't wait until my writing catches up to the happiness I feel these days so maybe we can make a joyful record to go along with the sad one we're making right now. Sometimes the only way out is through and I'm happy to say that it sure is a relief to feel like you've reached the light at the end of the tunnel. In spite of all the setbacks, I feel like I'm learning to walk again. Just wait until I start to run.
Monday, January 16, 2012
New anthems to breathe...
Saturday night we headed over to Java Jams expecting to play to a small, rather subdued, crowd. I had posted on the facebook event page that I was going to be telling the stories behind some of our songs and I had planned to give the set a nice and relaxed coffeeshop vibe, even under those bright flourescents. I did not see the night unfolding the way it did. Since the place was already starting to fill up, we started 10 minutes early and by the end of the night we had extended a 23-song set to somewhere in the 30-song range. On top of that, we finally just gave up on the whole "mellow" thing and decided to blast the place out, concluding with a raucous and extended cover of the Gin Blossoms' "Hey Jealousy", which we hadn't played at all in several months. It was nice, considering that it was the first song we performed at our very first gig back in November of 2009.
I've had a lot of discussions with friends and family over the last few weeks about what the next step for our music really needs to be, and, as promised, this is the first place I wanted to bring our latest news. After a lot of talking and soul-searching, we've decided that it's time to finally make that record. I wrote and cut rough tracks of more than 25 songs in 2011, and over the past couple of days we've determined which 13 will make up the first record, entitled "These Two Shall Pass". Now, those of you familiar with the stories behind many of these songs will probably be able to immediately tell which songs are going to make it onto the LP and which ones aren't. Why? Because this album is going to tell a story, just like I hope the one after that will, and the one after that. Several of the songs you've heard are going to be saved for those other records.
The response we've received from both friends and strangers to the meaning and truthfulness in our original music has been more overwhelming than I ever would have guessed, and as a result very humbling. You've probably guessed that this record is going to have a lot of "sad" to it, and that's true. But I hope that more than anger and sadness, the songs we're putting together will still reveal an underlying message of hope amid the gray. For me, there's no anger or sadness in music that doesn't stem from love. Sure, it's fun to stagger around on stage acting bitter and spiteful, and those are very real emotions, but what's the point in writing songs like "Stand In the Same Room" and "Wales" just to be mean? I hope that someone can relate to them and that hearing and singing along can be as therapeutic for them as the writing was for me. It's a win-win-win. I get to sing, someone gets to enjoy it, and one of my not-so-evil-after-all ex-girlfriends gets immortalized in a song. (And I hope they're ready for it because as soon as the record is done we're gonna put this music all over the place.)
In tonight's post I wanted to share some videos of just some of the singer-songwriters and songs that helped inspire the songs on the record. I feel like I'm constantly being influenced by all kinds of music and other types of art. I hope you enjoy some of these as much as I did.
Of course, anyone who's been coming to our shows for a while is familiar with the song in this first video. Will Hoge has been one of my absolute favorite musicians since I first began listening to his records in the summer of 2003. He also has one of my favorite voices in the world. If you were at any of our gigs in late 2010 or early 2011 you probably heard us play this song, "Just Like Me" towards the end of the night. Sometimes we even mashed it up with portions of the Format's "She Doesn't Get It". I love the combination of soulfulness and anger in this song. You can almost hear the sneer in his voice. I think it's easy to see where this song served as inspiration for some of my music. Hope you like it!
Another one of my favorite performers and songwriters is Matt Nathanson, and I don't know if any of his songs ever had a bigger effect on me both personally and as a songwriter than "Answering Machine". I can't think of a single relationship-related emotion that's not present in this song. It's tough when you save that one voicemail because you need to hold on to that chance to hear her voice, but once you cross that threshold of no longer wanting or needing to hear it, going in to get rid of it can be even worse. Check it out - if you know me it'll be obvious why I like this one and where it had its influence on my writing:
Okay, this next video is from Matthew Good, a Canadian musician who constantly blows me away with his dark and intense songwriting ability. I'm looking forward to hopefully seeing him in concert next month for the first time. It would take me a while to list all of his songs that have profoundly affected me as a musician, but "Born Losers" has a special significance in the long road to our first record. I'll probably write a whole blog entry about it sometime. Here ya go!
Finally, a track from Dashboard Confessional (originally featuring Adam Duritz on backup vocals) that really inspired the tone and imagery I tried to invoke for the overall feel of several songs that are going on our record, most notably "Summer Never Came". It makes me think of the haze through which we sometimes view the past. More on this later. I'll let you read and come to your own conclusions for now because a full entry on that particular song will be forthcoming in the next few days. What a beautiful song this is...
I hope you enjoy these songs as much as I do! Until next time, happy listening...
I've had a lot of discussions with friends and family over the last few weeks about what the next step for our music really needs to be, and, as promised, this is the first place I wanted to bring our latest news. After a lot of talking and soul-searching, we've decided that it's time to finally make that record. I wrote and cut rough tracks of more than 25 songs in 2011, and over the past couple of days we've determined which 13 will make up the first record, entitled "These Two Shall Pass". Now, those of you familiar with the stories behind many of these songs will probably be able to immediately tell which songs are going to make it onto the LP and which ones aren't. Why? Because this album is going to tell a story, just like I hope the one after that will, and the one after that. Several of the songs you've heard are going to be saved for those other records.
The response we've received from both friends and strangers to the meaning and truthfulness in our original music has been more overwhelming than I ever would have guessed, and as a result very humbling. You've probably guessed that this record is going to have a lot of "sad" to it, and that's true. But I hope that more than anger and sadness, the songs we're putting together will still reveal an underlying message of hope amid the gray. For me, there's no anger or sadness in music that doesn't stem from love. Sure, it's fun to stagger around on stage acting bitter and spiteful, and those are very real emotions, but what's the point in writing songs like "Stand In the Same Room" and "Wales" just to be mean? I hope that someone can relate to them and that hearing and singing along can be as therapeutic for them as the writing was for me. It's a win-win-win. I get to sing, someone gets to enjoy it, and one of my not-so-evil-after-all ex-girlfriends gets immortalized in a song. (And I hope they're ready for it because as soon as the record is done we're gonna put this music all over the place.)
In tonight's post I wanted to share some videos of just some of the singer-songwriters and songs that helped inspire the songs on the record. I feel like I'm constantly being influenced by all kinds of music and other types of art. I hope you enjoy some of these as much as I did.
Of course, anyone who's been coming to our shows for a while is familiar with the song in this first video. Will Hoge has been one of my absolute favorite musicians since I first began listening to his records in the summer of 2003. He also has one of my favorite voices in the world. If you were at any of our gigs in late 2010 or early 2011 you probably heard us play this song, "Just Like Me" towards the end of the night. Sometimes we even mashed it up with portions of the Format's "She Doesn't Get It". I love the combination of soulfulness and anger in this song. You can almost hear the sneer in his voice. I think it's easy to see where this song served as inspiration for some of my music. Hope you like it!
Another one of my favorite performers and songwriters is Matt Nathanson, and I don't know if any of his songs ever had a bigger effect on me both personally and as a songwriter than "Answering Machine". I can't think of a single relationship-related emotion that's not present in this song. It's tough when you save that one voicemail because you need to hold on to that chance to hear her voice, but once you cross that threshold of no longer wanting or needing to hear it, going in to get rid of it can be even worse. Check it out - if you know me it'll be obvious why I like this one and where it had its influence on my writing:
Okay, this next video is from Matthew Good, a Canadian musician who constantly blows me away with his dark and intense songwriting ability. I'm looking forward to hopefully seeing him in concert next month for the first time. It would take me a while to list all of his songs that have profoundly affected me as a musician, but "Born Losers" has a special significance in the long road to our first record. I'll probably write a whole blog entry about it sometime. Here ya go!
Finally, a track from Dashboard Confessional (originally featuring Adam Duritz on backup vocals) that really inspired the tone and imagery I tried to invoke for the overall feel of several songs that are going on our record, most notably "Summer Never Came". It makes me think of the haze through which we sometimes view the past. More on this later. I'll let you read and come to your own conclusions for now because a full entry on that particular song will be forthcoming in the next few days. What a beautiful song this is...
I hope you enjoy these songs as much as I do! Until next time, happy listening...
Thursday, January 12, 2012
I need a miracle in my veins, after all...
When you creep up on less than 24 hours to your first gig in a month and realize that the laryngitis from the cold you've had for two weeks isn't going away...well, you start to get a little nervous. A few nights ago I was driving back from Dallas and found myself struggling to speak clearly. I don't even know how many shows we've done where I woke up in the morning unable to project much of anything, but every time I guess I've been blessed enough to get my voice back just in time. This time I was starting to get concerned, though. I got home a little after 10pm and went to my music collection for a little inspiration.
After some searching I settled on a few selections from one of my more recent favorite bands, Manchester Orchestra. What a catalog of music those guys have created. I don't know if it's what they intended, but very few musical acts can give the same level of quiet intensity. An example that comes to mind is the track "Apprehension" off their latest record Simple Math. Every time I hear that song it affects me so much that it literally makes me feel nervous and, well, apprehensive. There's this sparseness and foreboding that builds throughout the song that makes me think about looking around every corner. That's such an easy illustration of the visceral way Manchester Orchestra's music affects me, though. Their song "I Can Feel a Hot One" grabs me by the gut - I'd love to play it but I have yet to make it through without crying. Check out this sweet music video:
;
There's only one Manchester Orchestra song we cover at our shows, and that's "The Neighborhood Is Bleeding" from the album I'm Like a Virgin Losing a Child. It's become a favorite for all of us, and when my voice "miraculously" returned around midnight that's the song I found myself leaping around my living room playing and singing at the top of my lungs. After two weeks of not being able to sing, let's just say it was kind of an ecstatic experience. I don't think there's a music video for this one; otherwise I'd definitely post it. It's such a great song. And it sure got me back in the mood to perform. I played for a good two hours that night and broke a decent sweat. That's what listening to great music does to me. It puts me in the mood to get on stage and just go crazy.
The next night we had one of our best nights at KE Cellars yet. Even though it was a Tuesday (which in the past has been a slow night there for us), lots of our friends showed up and I think we made a good impression on a lot of folks unfamiliar with our music. I do know that we were louder than we've ever been there on a weeknight. I'm excited to tone it down and get a little bit rootsy Friday night playing at the Purple Pig with Walker, and then my dad and I will play another totally different style of set Saturday at Java Jams. But our first show back was exactly what we needed. Lots of energy, lots of motivation for the next few weeks.
Oh, and here's one more beautiful music video from Manchester Orchestra for "Simple Math"...
After some searching I settled on a few selections from one of my more recent favorite bands, Manchester Orchestra. What a catalog of music those guys have created. I don't know if it's what they intended, but very few musical acts can give the same level of quiet intensity. An example that comes to mind is the track "Apprehension" off their latest record Simple Math. Every time I hear that song it affects me so much that it literally makes me feel nervous and, well, apprehensive. There's this sparseness and foreboding that builds throughout the song that makes me think about looking around every corner. That's such an easy illustration of the visceral way Manchester Orchestra's music affects me, though. Their song "I Can Feel a Hot One" grabs me by the gut - I'd love to play it but I have yet to make it through without crying. Check out this sweet music video:
;
There's only one Manchester Orchestra song we cover at our shows, and that's "The Neighborhood Is Bleeding" from the album I'm Like a Virgin Losing a Child. It's become a favorite for all of us, and when my voice "miraculously" returned around midnight that's the song I found myself leaping around my living room playing and singing at the top of my lungs. After two weeks of not being able to sing, let's just say it was kind of an ecstatic experience. I don't think there's a music video for this one; otherwise I'd definitely post it. It's such a great song. And it sure got me back in the mood to perform. I played for a good two hours that night and broke a decent sweat. That's what listening to great music does to me. It puts me in the mood to get on stage and just go crazy.
The next night we had one of our best nights at KE Cellars yet. Even though it was a Tuesday (which in the past has been a slow night there for us), lots of our friends showed up and I think we made a good impression on a lot of folks unfamiliar with our music. I do know that we were louder than we've ever been there on a weeknight. I'm excited to tone it down and get a little bit rootsy Friday night playing at the Purple Pig with Walker, and then my dad and I will play another totally different style of set Saturday at Java Jams. But our first show back was exactly what we needed. Lots of energy, lots of motivation for the next few weeks.
Oh, and here's one more beautiful music video from Manchester Orchestra for "Simple Math"...
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Believe in me as I believe in you...
During the time when music started to become an integral part of my life, I began to realize that the artists, songs, and records that I gravitated toward all seemed to have something in common. As diverse as my musical tastes may have appeared, there was something specific that I was always looking for. I guess the reason that I never really got into a lot of bubblegum pop music is that it just seemed so easy. I never felt like there was nearly enough emotion going into it. When I look back at the songs that really shaped my teenage years and set me on my musical path, I think about songs like Rain King, Everlong, and Semi-Charmed Life. As dissimilar in mood as they might sound at first listen (some more accessible to the general public than others), those songs all shared an intensity that became my standard for judging whether or not I liked a piece of music. I think the last song I mentioned said it best for me - "The four right chords can make me cry."
When I was old enough (and had the means) to go to concerts more frequently I always found myself enjoying most those shows where a lead singer would get so absorbed in the music, so consumed by the moment, that he would almost appear uncomfortable delivering the lyrics. There's something very beautiful about the honesty in those songwriters and musicians who will bare so much of their souls for the sake of reaching an audience. I've seen self-indulgent performers before, and there's definitely a difference. I'll gladly go to a show where the frontman isn't afraid to show vulnerability, passion, and maybe a little instability. In fact, my favorite concerts are those where the lead singer appears completely unhinged and only held together by the band itself. That's what music is for me. It's pure and it's raw and it's real.
The problem with trying to emulate musicians like that while performing in a small town setting is that folks don't necessarily want to see you bleed (figuratively, of course) all over the tiny stage in the corner of the restaurant where they're trying to enjoy their dinner. I can totally understand and appreciate that, so it's limited our choices as to where we can perform. But I do feel that my vision for my music isn't one that I can compromise. I really enjoy going out for a nice meal while someone is playing fun and chill music on the other side of the room. And there are times that I wish I was that kind of artist. Sadly, I just don't know that it's in me. I try to play these nice and relaxed venues, but when I go relaxed I inevitably also go soft and melancholy. It's nice sometimes, but I'm trying not to make a habit of it. I'm just a little more comfortable being allowed to go a bit crazy. Fortunately, we're blessed to have found a growing group of fans who prefer to connect with that.
We've got a lot of shows coming up at new and old favorite venues. Some of them are going to be louder and crazier than others but it's my goal in 2012 to never compromise on the intensity. So that's my current theme. In the next few posts I'll try to give some recommendations on some of my more recent favorite albums that I think really inspire me in that respect. Hope everyone's year is getting off to a great start, and we'll see you at some shows!
When I was old enough (and had the means) to go to concerts more frequently I always found myself enjoying most those shows where a lead singer would get so absorbed in the music, so consumed by the moment, that he would almost appear uncomfortable delivering the lyrics. There's something very beautiful about the honesty in those songwriters and musicians who will bare so much of their souls for the sake of reaching an audience. I've seen self-indulgent performers before, and there's definitely a difference. I'll gladly go to a show where the frontman isn't afraid to show vulnerability, passion, and maybe a little instability. In fact, my favorite concerts are those where the lead singer appears completely unhinged and only held together by the band itself. That's what music is for me. It's pure and it's raw and it's real.
The problem with trying to emulate musicians like that while performing in a small town setting is that folks don't necessarily want to see you bleed (figuratively, of course) all over the tiny stage in the corner of the restaurant where they're trying to enjoy their dinner. I can totally understand and appreciate that, so it's limited our choices as to where we can perform. But I do feel that my vision for my music isn't one that I can compromise. I really enjoy going out for a nice meal while someone is playing fun and chill music on the other side of the room. And there are times that I wish I was that kind of artist. Sadly, I just don't know that it's in me. I try to play these nice and relaxed venues, but when I go relaxed I inevitably also go soft and melancholy. It's nice sometimes, but I'm trying not to make a habit of it. I'm just a little more comfortable being allowed to go a bit crazy. Fortunately, we're blessed to have found a growing group of fans who prefer to connect with that.
We've got a lot of shows coming up at new and old favorite venues. Some of them are going to be louder and crazier than others but it's my goal in 2012 to never compromise on the intensity. So that's my current theme. In the next few posts I'll try to give some recommendations on some of my more recent favorite albums that I think really inspire me in that respect. Hope everyone's year is getting off to a great start, and we'll see you at some shows!
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Greetings and Salutations
When I think about the journey on which we embarked in 2011 with this music thing, I realize that what it really all comes down to is sharing. As mediocre a guitar player as I am, I've been playing for 5 years but it wasn't until I started getting the opportunity to play for a true audience that it started to feel like I was doing something that mattered. I could sit around the house and learn songs to play to an empty room until I was blue in the face, but it just seemed tiresome. Now it feels like every show is another chance to make a new connection and maybe make a difference to someone. In the interest of making more connections and trying something new, I thought 2012 would be a good time to start sharing more online, so I've decided to start this blog.
There's still a lot of work to do as far as taking our music to the next level, and so much of what we do has been shaped by our friends, fans, and collaborators along the way. So what next step could possibly be better than sharing more of what we're doing and why we're doing it? I'd like to use this blog to talk about the music that's influenced me as well as our own music and that of fellow musicians in the area. Eventually I'll be writing entries that talk about the stories behind some of my songs, and I also hope to share info about the album we may or may not get around to making in the coming months. It seems like I've built up quite a catalog of original music, so it's going to be very interesting to see which songs make it onto the first record to tell the best story possible. It's definitely not a task that we're taking lightly.
I've also been thinking a lot lately about how to define our music. It's not something I like to do personally, but it gets tough when you're trying to book a venue and they need something to put down in black and white. East Texas can be a tough place to find work as a musician if you don't fall into specific categories, but I continue to be inspired by the groups out there that I see pushing the envelope and refusing to fit the stereotypes. For months I only played in gigs with my dad and we seem to have developed our own distinctive sound. It's something I'm really proud to be a part of because I think we're unique in what we do. But I've also noticed that my sound does change when I play solo shows. It's been nice to collaborate in different groups as well - I've had the chance to stretch my heavier "rock" chops playing in Reconstructed with my friends Walker Waggonner and Paula Coots, and in recent weeks it's been a lot of fun to go unplugged for jam sessions at the Purple Pig doing some harmony-heavy Americana tunes. So what kind of music do I play? I still don't know and I still don't care, because it's all just rock and roll.
Hopefully in coming months I'll be able to populate this space with a few more entries of substance, but, until then, welcome to the blog!
There's still a lot of work to do as far as taking our music to the next level, and so much of what we do has been shaped by our friends, fans, and collaborators along the way. So what next step could possibly be better than sharing more of what we're doing and why we're doing it? I'd like to use this blog to talk about the music that's influenced me as well as our own music and that of fellow musicians in the area. Eventually I'll be writing entries that talk about the stories behind some of my songs, and I also hope to share info about the album we may or may not get around to making in the coming months. It seems like I've built up quite a catalog of original music, so it's going to be very interesting to see which songs make it onto the first record to tell the best story possible. It's definitely not a task that we're taking lightly.
I've also been thinking a lot lately about how to define our music. It's not something I like to do personally, but it gets tough when you're trying to book a venue and they need something to put down in black and white. East Texas can be a tough place to find work as a musician if you don't fall into specific categories, but I continue to be inspired by the groups out there that I see pushing the envelope and refusing to fit the stereotypes. For months I only played in gigs with my dad and we seem to have developed our own distinctive sound. It's something I'm really proud to be a part of because I think we're unique in what we do. But I've also noticed that my sound does change when I play solo shows. It's been nice to collaborate in different groups as well - I've had the chance to stretch my heavier "rock" chops playing in Reconstructed with my friends Walker Waggonner and Paula Coots, and in recent weeks it's been a lot of fun to go unplugged for jam sessions at the Purple Pig doing some harmony-heavy Americana tunes. So what kind of music do I play? I still don't know and I still don't care, because it's all just rock and roll.
Hopefully in coming months I'll be able to populate this space with a few more entries of substance, but, until then, welcome to the blog!
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