Nick Hornby talks about vinyl.

Last week, Catherine and I went to hear Nick Hornby subject himself to an interview by Dave Eggers, and at some point, the subject of vinyl vs. CDs came up. Now, I'm not sure why, but Nick's take really crystallized the problem with CDs for me.

He started by saying that no one ever really wanted them, that they lacked vinyl's mystique, etc, and while the latter half of this is certainly true, I'm not sure about the former. I remember what a pain records were! But then he went on to note that how vinyl WAS music and I perked up. When you saw a record, he said, you knew what it held. There was no question. But a CD? Christ, it could hold anything, even PowerPoint, god forbid. And for me, this was a moment of clarity. A ha, I shouted to myself. That's why I never really cared much for CDs. They're just like a piece of paper, and who really cares about a blank piece of paper? Moreover, when a CD plays it's hidden from you. There is no connection between you and the medium from which the music emanates. Anyway, a very cool observation. Thanks, Nick.

Oh, and speaking of vinyl, here's a song inspired in part by vinyl. I've been working on it forever, tweaking words, adjusting chords, thinking about how it will ultimately sound. It's not done, yet, but I think the words are at least finalized.

DUST IN THE VINYL

I could sing about the blue of her eyes
And how they're like a perfect sky
But then you'd miss all that they hide 

Or I could sing about the shape of her lips 
Her pale skin, the curve of her hips
But these perfect things I could just as well skip

Because like laugh lines on people who've known loss
Like cigarette burns through the guitar's gloss
It's the little wrongs that can make a thing more right
It is like dust in vinyl as the record plays into the night

I could sing about the joy in her smile
Her long lashes and sense of style
But these perfect things get old after awhile

Because like streaks of gray in a sea of black

Like the chips in the guitar from so many years back
It's the little wrongs that can make a thing more right
It's like dust in vinyl as the record plays late into the night

And it's the hard times that make us who we are
It's the mistakes we've made that can take us so far
We hide what's wrong to make a perfect disguise
But perfect things, they tell perfect lies

Because like a scar down the middle of a naked back
Like rust on the guitar where the chrome has cracked
It's the little wrongs that can make a thing so right

It's like dust in vinyl as the record plays into the night

Things ain’t like they used to be.

This summer, I was sitting in a café in Madison when a song came on over the café speakers. The song reminded me of Green on Red, one of my all time favorite bands, and since I was online at the time, when the chorus, “things ain’t what they used to be”, came around I googled it. Not Green on Red but a band called the Black Keys. No matter, the song was great and it got me thinking.

Things were indeed not what they used to be, not by a damn sight. A few years ago, I was a creative director at an ad agency, I was obsessed with making a lot of money, my career came first, before friendships, before love, before happiness. I was climbing ever higher in the hope that the view that had gotten so bad would look better from even higher up. My guitars gathered dust.

These days, I am unemployed, possibly unemployable, yet friendship, love and happiness come first. And my guitars are played regularly, as I work on song after song after song.

But back to that song I heard, specifically the line “things ain’t what they used to be”. Right now, I am again sitting in a café, only now I am home in San Francisco, and I am staring out at South Park, once of the epicenter of the dot com revolution.

Things ain’t what they used to be.

Back in the late 90s and early into this century, the allure of South Park and its dotcommers was strong for me. I wanted a job at a start-up, I wanted a loft, I wanted to go out every night to expensive restaurants, I wanted to feel like I was changing the world. The only problem: I couldn’t really figure out why. Maybe I just wanted to feel like I belonged, like I was doing something special, that life wasn’t passing me by. Who knows?

But here’s what I’ve learned: to want something without knowing why is the depth of misery. You are focused, motivated, determined. You make sacrifices, you suffer, you make others suffer, and when you finally get whatever it was you thought you wanted, you feel hollow. And the process starts all over again.

Going forward, I will still want things, I’m not naïve. But I will always question why. I will ask what real difference a thing would make for me and those around me before worrying too much about getting it. And I will only pursue those things for which there is, in my opinion, a good answer to why, an answer I could share with others and not feel too shallow. Most important, though, is that it has to be an answer I deeply believe in, both rationally and emotionally.

Things ain’t like they used to be.

Things Ain't Like They Used to...

Me, a patient? You must have the wrong guy.

This post is my little contribution to something called a blog carnival. Not sure how to define a blog carnival, but no matter, I'm doin' it anyway! This particular blog carnival is called Patients for a Moment, and I was told about it by Sara Nash, who writes the effervescent and brilliant Single Gal's Guide To RA.

I did not think of myself as a patient as the paramedics struggled to haul me down the stairs of my apartment building.

I did not think of myself as a patient as I was wheeled into the hospital on a gurney.

I did not think of myself as a patient as a large group of doctors and nurses surrounded me.

The next day, I still did not think of myself as a patient, even as I looked around my hospital room and spotted the chair that Catherine had made into a makeshift bed for herself. Tests had been completed, miracle drugs had been administered and a diagnosis had been reached: severe traumatic brain injury caused by a fall in the bathroom. More specifically, a subdural hematoma on my cerebellum. Interesting, but when I do I go home, doc?

Later that day, or maybe the next — it’s hard to say, as I was sleeping so much and no matter when I awoke the room seemed brightly lit — I was asking one of the doctors if I’d be able to go skiing in few weeks. I had a trip planned that I did not want to miss. In hindsight, the doctor must have been doing all he to could to squelch his laughter as he proclaimed how I’d be schussing moguls no problem, but still, his encouraging words motivated me to finally try to hoist myself from my hospital bed and make it to the toilet on my own.

But it was a toilet too far.

After holding out for as long as I possibly could, I broke down, and, well, no need to go into detail. Still, I did not think of myself as a patient, and I sure as hell did not want to be a patient. I had plans, a life, a job, a ski trip! Immediate circumstances aside, there was stuff that just could not wait.

But it could.

I was finally allowed to leave the hospital six days after being admitted. They rolled me out in a wheel chair, my parents drove me and Catherine back home, everyone helped me up the stairs to the apartment Catherine and I shared, and I, after spending so much time in bed, promptly went straight back to bed. 

In the ensuing days, weeks, months and now years, there have been countless doctor visits, session after session of physical therapy, way too many lost days, canceled trips, early departures from events, high hopes for new treatments, deep lows from when the treatments did not deliver, migraine after migraine after migraine after migraine, well-meaning strangers asking me if I was okay, if they should call an ambulance, if I needed anything, and yet, and yet…

I still have never though of myself as a patient. Can’t do it. I mean, the very word is defined as “someone who bears pains or trials calmly or without complaint”. Yeah, that’s not exactly me. I complain plenty, and honestly, I think it’s natural to be reluctant to accept a cratering of one’s health.

No, here’s what I truly think: I think we need a new word, one that means something totally different from this drivel about bearing pains in quiet. I mean, who wants to do that? No one, that’s who. How about a word that means “someone who can accept help from others without feeling like crap about it”? Because in the early days, if there was one thing that truly kept me from calling myself a patient, it was how being in constant need of help from others made me feel about myself. I was only in my mid-forties for christsakes! I saw it all as pity. But it’s not pity. People want to help other people, I believe that now. And while I might never accept that I have been or ever will be a patient, I have come to accept that sometimes I need help. And I am deeply, deeply grateful that others are willing to give it to me.

Just don’t call me a patient. Please! 

How desperate am I to get better? Three words: hyperbaric oxygen therapy.

A few months back, I was up in Minnesota, following an experimental treatment at the University of Madison, and I got to talking to a friend's wife about something called hyperbaric oxygen therapy (HBOT). She said she thought it might help me and that I should look into it. I did, but the cost is stratospheric, so I wanted to do a bit more research and thinking before committing.

Well, my research and thinking are done and I'm gonna go for it. Starting today, I will do 40 one-hour sessions, spread out over 8 weeks. What exactly does a session entail? Not much, actually. I get rolled into an acrylic tube -- same mechanism they use to insert you into an MRI machine -- and then (drum roll) I lie there. Yup, one whole hour of just staring up at the ceiling. Luckily, there's enough room inside the tube for me to hold some reading materials, so I've got my Kindle loaded, a few Economists, some New Yorkers... I'm ready. Oh, and naturally I have my iPod, freshly packed with four Beatles remasters in uncompressed Lossless sound!

Why do I think this HBOT stuff will work? Well, it just makes sense. All it does is use a bit of extra pressure (1.5 atmospheres) to push pure oxygen deeper into tissue than it would normally reach, which helps damaged tissue heal. In my case, HBOT is thought to reawaken stunned brain cells and to promote stem cell growth. The stem cell growth is KEY because stem cells could actually grow into the kinds of cells I've lost, helping my brain to become good as new.

Hope this works!

Hyde Street Studios, Studio C, October 2, Tim Young ROCKS.

If the waiting is the hardest part, why wait?

We’ve all heard phrases like “good things come to those who wait”, “patience is a virtue” and “all in good time”. There are lessons in these phrases, to be sure, and they help us to avoid being impulsive and rash, to avoid debt, to avoid the avoidable, etc., blah, blah. I lived by the sentiment of these phrases for years, planning for some distant future, putting stuff off until I got other stuff done. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to say that the eons of human experience that lead to these phrases being coined is all completely worthless, but the phrases themselves, like all “rules to live by”, are not always wise. To wit:

The other night, Catherine and I decided to cook instead of ordering in. And as we were on the way to the grocery store, we talked a bit about wine, and I mused that I might need to buy a bottle, since we were most likely out. She was incredulous. “OUT?” she nearly shouted, “What about all the wine in the closet?” Ah, yes, the many bottles from back when I collected wine, back before my accident changed the way the stuff tasted to me, making wine, among many, many other ingestibles, rate just a cut above dirt. With hard work and perseverance, I was able to get back my taste for wine, but not my passion for it. I still like and very much appreciate good wine, but I’m fine drinking the basic stuff.

When we got back home from the store, I ventured into the wine closet and selected a 1994 Argiano Brunelle de Montalcino, which I thought would go well with the meaty pasta we had planned. I can’t remember where I bought this bottle, but given the year, it must have been one of the first Brunellos I ever purchased. The vintner is another telltale sign of when I might have picked up the wine, since Argiano is what a neophyte Brunello drinker would go for. It’s a big name, but hardly one of Italy’s best. It’s kinda like Mondavi, post sell-out, meaning, the price is pretty much totally out of whack with the quality of the wine, and not in a good way. Still, it can be decent.

When I pulled the cork, I was apprehensive given Argiano’s rep, but oh so hopeful, especially when I saw that the cork was in really good shape, wet maybe about ¼ inch up, but then dry and not crumbly in the least. I poured a sip.

Rot.

Gut.

Down the drain it went, a wine I had waited literally years for. And it wasn’t corked, or turned, just lousy, a watery, winey taste with a nose like an unfinished glass of red wine left on the counter all night. So there I was, forlorn as hell, because I had given that wine time, I had waited for the good things to come for those who wait, been patient because it is a virtue, been respectful of the notion that all good things come to those who wait.

But that wine wasn’t worth waiting for.

I bring all this up as I mull over how best to spend my time these days. Do I chance it and wait until I feel better to do certain things or do I just uncork life, as it were, and hope for the best. I’m going with the latter. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, crushed in an earthquake, struck dead by bathroom wall, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be just lying there when it happens.

Hmmm… makes me think of another phrase: you only live once.

Amen.

Re-meeting The Beatles.

The story of The Beatles on compact disc is a tale of woe. No, wait, it's much sadder than that. It's a tale rooted in the opposite of love: indifference. How else do you explain that the recordings of the greatest rock and roll band of all time (apologies to the Stones) were transferred to CD only once before, way back in 1987, when digital-to-analog technology was in its infancy, and though the result was clearly lousy, no further attempt was made to do it right? Greed? No, greedy people would have “remastered”  the tapes numerous times, each time virtually identical to the time before. Laziness? Maybe. Willful malice? Doubtful. But indifference? Definitely. No one in control of the recordings cared enough to do anything about the travesty that was the original transfers. Worse, here in 2009, indifference has not finally given way to love. It has given way to greed, for there are no Blu-ray versions, even though, from what I have read, the master tapes were re-transferred to digital using the latest 24-bit, 192KHz DACs, the Blu-ray standard. So why rip them down to 16-bit, 44.1Khz? Simple. Because two or three years from now, the whole catalog can be released yet again, forcing people like me, people who deeply love the music of The Beatles, to buy it all yet one more time. Which I will do.

Okay, rant over, how do the new Beatles remasters sound? Revelatory, sort of. If they were on Blue-ray, they would indeed be revelatory, I am sure of that. The difference between these new discs and the originals is pretty easy to hear, but what they really convey is how great Blu-ray could have been. So much almost jumps out, but just not quite. Still, to finally be able to hear McCartney’s bass lines on songs like Help, to hear Ringo’s bass drum work, to hear Harrison’s tone and sharpness, to hear Lennon’s rhythm guitar, and, of course, to hear the voices, each so distinct yet so unified, well, I’m pleased.

For my first batch I bought Help, Rubber Soul, Past Masters, Beatles for Sale and Meet the Beatles. (Or so I thought. Sadly, I was sent two copies of Past Masters and no copy of Meet the Beatles.) The first song I listened to was The Night Before, off of Help, which is possibly the greatest vocal performance I have ever heard. Bliss. All the warmth of McCartney's double-tracked pipes I always knew was there is there, and underneath him the band drives the rhythm to the absolute edge. Any harder, and it would be too much, any softer and it wouldn't be as good. I bought stereo versions, but for my next purchase, Meet The Beatles, I'm going mono (click here to more on this). The added clarity of the new versions reveals how chopped together the stereo tapes truly were, and I have to believe that for early Beatles recordings mono is better, if only because The Beatles themselves oversaw the mono mixes personally, but weren't even present for most of the stereo mixes, at least on the earlier stuff.

Lest you think I’m a bit underwhelmed by these new remasters, well, I am, I admit it, BUT, when I first heard The Beatles back in 1970-1, it was a thrill I thought could never be repeated. There can be only one first time. And yet, these new CDs are kind of like meeting The Beatles all over again. And for that, I am deeply grateful.

An "interview" I gave a little while back.

The "interview" below appeared in Junior's Cave, a web site hosted somewhere in the South. I put "interview" in quotes, because it was nothing of the sort: Junior sent me a Word doc and I filled out it out. Still, I thought the questions were good and I enjoyed answering them. Hope you enjoy reading it!

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Isaac: We'd love to know about your inspirations growing up. I hear so many influences in your music. How old were you when you first discovered music? Is there any kind of musical history in your family?

Around 1970, the year I turned 7, my folks moved the family out to California, and one of the first places we lived was a rental house, equipped with a magnificent stereo console made of wood and cloth -- and magic. For inside, were some vinyl LPs left behind by the people who owned the house, and one of them was The Beatles Second Album. Up until then, maybe I’d heard some Pete Seeger or Joan Baez, but my folks didn’t go for pop at all -- they liked classical – so I was totally unaware of the music that was changing the world. The song I remember most wasn’t even a Beatles tune. It was Roll Over Beethoven, sung by George! But no matter. Along with the rest of the world, I, too, was changed.

Isaac: What drew you to pick up an instrument in the first place?

I truly don’t remember. I do remember, however, taking accordion lessons, then acoustic guitar, and finally, being allowed to hold an electric guitar. It was at Swain’s House of Music, in Palo Alto, California, and the thing that struck me hardest about that first ax was that it was made of wood. Wood? I was sure it would be some exotic material I’d never heard of. But wood? Honestly, it was a let down. My cheap-ass nylon stringer was made of wood. 

Isaac: As you hit your teenage years, did you know that this was what you would be doing for the rest of your life?

Not at all. I mean, I fantasized about getting signed and the like, but I never really thought it would happen. And I was right. To make matters worse, I was not only a less-than-brilliant guitarist (I still suck), I was also, um, academically challenged, so my future was a very iffy thing.

Isaac: Is there a performer in any genre of pop culture that you would like to work with?

I would love to do something with Buddy Miller, who is the best singer/guitarist/songwriter on the planet.

Isaac: Who are some musicians that you really like, present or past?

There are so many. Buddy Miller, Neil Young, Keith Richards, Tom Petty, Tim & Eryn Young, Toby Germano, Richard Thomson, Iggy Pop, Gordon Gano, Steve Wynn, Dan Stuart, Paul Simon, Larkin Gayl, Jimmy Page, Sting (Police era!), Tom Ardolino, John/Paul/George and Ringo, Tom Waits, Steve Earle, John Fogerty, Pete Townshend, Tom Waits. I’m sure I’m forgetting some huge influences, but these are all big ones. Oh, the drummer and bassist I work with, Andy Korn and Sam Bevan, respectively.

Isaac: What is your ultimate goal with your music career?

To make a living at it. But, for now, I just want to make a good record, one I’m happy with.

Isaac: What have been some of the obstacles you’ve had to overcome to get this far in your career?

I haven’t gotten anywhere! But for me, there have been two really huge obstacles to doing music. One, I was completely focused on making money for far too long, which took me away from music and into advertising, where I made it to the position of executive creative director, before a brain injury in 2006 sidelined me. And two, depression. I have always struggled with it, still do, and no matter what you read, trust me, being depressed does not help your creativity. It blocks you, and only when it lifts, can you do much of anything worthwhile.

Isaac: Would you recommend this "field" to others who are aspiring to be musicians like you?

Sure, just know that it’s going to be tough on your psyche and pocketbook. But anything worth doing well is hard.

Isaac: Describe one piece of advice you've have been given to by others in the music industry.

Be humble. More than any other words of wisdom, these stand out, because being humble is necessary to being good (you can’t just think you’re great straight off!), and no one likes to work with egomaniacs. No one.

Isaac: What genre of music do you consider most of your music?

Rock and roll, I hope!

Isaac: What has been your favorite piece of work?

What’s next is always my favorite piece.

Isaac: How can fans-to-be gain access to your music? Do you have a website with sample songs or a demo CD?

I do! My web site is www.cerebellumblues.com, and my main music download site is located at http://jeffshattuck.bandcamp.com. A quick word about bandcamp: it is The Best Site in the Universe for songwriters/bands who want to peddle their tunes, and it just keeps getting better.

Right now, I only have a few songs posted to my bandcamp site, but come October, I will have a full album, which will also be available through iTunes and Amazon before the end of the year.

Isaac: Is there anyone you’d like to acknowledge for offering financial or emotional support?  

For emotional and financial support, my wife, Catherine has been infinite. She not only stuck with me after I lost more than few brain cells in a fall, but she has also happily watched me burn through piles of cash to make my first album and never once made me feel guilty about it.

Emotional support has come from many, many people including my folks, Toby Germano, Dave Tutin, Cory Verbin, Andy Korn, Sam Bevan, Jaime Durr, Tim Young, Deb Burkman, and Larkin Gayl.

Isaac: Any last words?

My songs are all over the map, I fully admit, so if you listen to one, and it’s not your thing, please listen to another! Also, I am quite possibly the worst vocalist in the history of humanity, so as you peruse my tunes, you’ll hear Josh Fix, Larkin Gayl, Toby Germano, RodDammit, Jeff Tuttle (if it all works out) and Eryn Young on throat.

Hearing voices.

I believe that most songwriters are good singers. I have no idea whether that’s true or not, but it’s what I believe.

More important, I believe that singers who can sing around the note (sharp and flat, kinda randomly) create the most evocative tracks. For me, imperfections are where perfection lies.

Most important, I believe that the best vocal performances are delivered by singers singing their own words.

So, given my predilection for imperfection and singers singing their own stuff, why don’t I sing my own stuff? Well, there’s imperfect and then there’s lousy, and I tend toward the latter.

As a result, ever since I penned my first tune I have been in search of singers. Mostly, I’ve been lucky, especially lately. I found Larkin Gayl for Here Comes The Weather (click on the player to the right to hear it!), RodDamnit for Love and Hate (player on right!), Josh Fix for Yo Yo. Of course, longtime collaborators have also been behind the microphone on these newest efforts, especially Toby Germano, who sings Demons and Saints.

But when I started a search for a tune I had written with my friend Dave Tutin, my luck seemed to have run out. Despite my best efforts, I could find no one who could both do justice to Dave’s words and create the right sound. Dave’s lyrics describe a life well lived, of triumph and loss, joy and sadness, hope and resignation. No young singer could handle the song, I was convinced (still am). No, Dave’s words and the melody I penned needed a voice that had laughed and cried and shouted and whispered and threatened and joked, a voice that had some real years on it. Sadly, when you tell someone that this is what you’re looking for, you tend to get folks who have smoked and drank a lot. They’ve got that raspy tone, you know? Whatever. Any idiot can drink and smoke himself to within an inch of his life, and I do not equate hard living with talent.

I was getting desperate. But then The World’s Greatest Guitar Player, Tim Young, told me about his friend Dave Brogan. Dave gave me his CD and after a few listens, I was sure I had the voice the song needed. Dave’s delivery is soulful and true, and his tone is exactly what all those guys who drink and smoke seek but never find because it takes a lot more than a Bud and a pack of Camels to sing.

I believe I have found the singer I seek. This time.

Someone else: “That sucks!” Me: “Wow, thanks!” Or, the joy of criticism.

The other day, I posted a link on Twitter and Facebook urging any and all to visit this blog and check out two new tunes, Water Under The Bridge and Yo Yo.

Most comments were positive, but one was highly critical. Now, I’m a sucker for criticism, can’t get enough of it, and I’m always much more attentive when someone is telling me how bad I suck rather than singing my praises. I’ve been this way my whole life, not gonna change. Oh, and I also dish out criticism like a military cook dishes out slop. I’ll give it anybody, all you can eat. In fact, back when I ran a creative department in an ad agency, I was ridiculed for always responding to new ideas by rubbing my chin and saying, “You know what the problem with this is…?”

So when a note popped up in Facebook from a former co-worker, and said note pulled no punches, I felt… home. Criticism is deep in my comfort zone, praise, not so much. Of course, the criticism has to be valid (and, yes, I determine what’s valid and what’s not) for me to welcome it with hugs and smiles. But if I know the criticism comes from an honest, informed soul who knows I mean it when I say I want the truth, well, it’s a love pat -- albeit with a brick.

The criticism was of the song Water Under The Bridge and it pointed out that the chorus failed to punch hard enough, giving the song a monotonous quality. I AGREE. And before this criticism arrived, Water was gnawing at me for the very same reason. But, I was lazy. The job of fixing the song seemed so huge – is so huge – I could not rally the energy to redo it. I needed a kick in the pants. Well, I got it, and I thank the person who delivered it.

As someone once said, “If first you don’t succeed, revise, revise, revise.” 

Of desperation, pressure and stress. Sigh...

A recent blog post by Derek Sivers, founder of CDBaby, asked the question, “Does it help to be desperate?” The post talks about Richard Branson and how he created self-imposed desperation time and after time in his business life. For Branson, being in a constant do-or-die state was highly motivational. Me, I'm more like Sivers, who says he seeks to take risks, but always strives to have some sort of safety net beneath him should things go south. Fact is, when I’m desperate, I tend to make a mess of things. My ideas are bad, I make decisions I regret, I treat people with less tact than I should. No, I’m with Sivers, I like to be comfortable, or at least, secure in the knowledge that if things truly go south with a project, I’ll be okay. 

Pressure is another matter entirely. Feeling pressure helps me. No pressure, no insight, for the most part. No ah ha moments (though my best ideas come to me when I’m relaxed). Sadly, pressure equals stress for me, and stress is the worst thing in the world for my recovering brain. When I’m stressed, all my symptoms flair: vertigo, headaches, twitchiness, mental confusion (my brain just locks up).

The trick seems to be finding the right balance: feeling relaxed enough to come up with ideas, but once I have an idea, feeling some pressure to make it what it should be. Easier said than done, of course, but something I'm darn near desperate to achieve.

When writing songs, be like Fog City.

You’re looking at the best Bloody Mary I’ve ever had. It’s the creation of the Fog City Diner in San Francisco, an eatery so cheesy to look at you just can’t believe it would be any good. Oh, but it is good. Everything I have ever had at Fog City has been clearly killer. But what’s so special about this drink? And what does it have to do with songwriting?

We’ve all heard the phrase “less is more”, and unless you’re talking about, oh, stuff like ammo, it’s probably true. And Fog City’s Bloody Mary is a study in this phrase. There is no stalk of celery, no garnish, save for a thin slice of lemon, no ice, no garish splatter of pepper over the surface of the drink. Even the glass looks plain, almost disappointing. When the drink arrives, you might think the bartender a layabout. But bring it to your lips and it reveals something else entirely. For the bartender that makes this drink knows of what he mixes. The flavor is bold, rich, complex, cold… right.

Despite its minimalist appearance, a drink such as Fog City’s starts from a place of abundance. Bartenders who work at Fog City have it all: The finest booze, the freshest vegetables from the kitchen, mountains of clear, cubed ice, every tool a mixologist could want, a clientele willing to pay for whatever, so long as it’s not whatever. 

But they know that abundance is a mixed blessing. Because the best drinks are not created from more they are created from less. And so Fog City's mixologists always start with a simple question: what does this drink need? And once needs are met, work stops.

Songwriting is the same way. The English language offers up more words than any other. Chords can be voiced myriad ways. Tempos and beats adjusted. Add the cornucopia of cacophony – and, yes symphony, too – that can be created with mere movements of a mouse on today’s computers, and there’s just no other way to put it: modern songwriters start with an embarrassment of riches.

What to do? Be like Fog City. Ask what your song needs, and, though this is most certainly a subjective question, err on doing too little rather than too much. Is this an invitation to be a little lazy? NO. It is always harder to take away than it is too add. And the real work starts not when asking yourself what more you can do, but when musing on what you need not do.

Limbo, limits and living.

Ever since I suffered a severe traumatic brain injury in 2006, I feel as though I've been in limbo. In fact, the only thing I can think of that's not in limbo is my relationship, seeing as how Catherine consented to marrying me, despite my addled brain and penchant for throwing up* at inopportune times (thankfully, not much of a problem anymore).

But everything else? LIMBO. Album, job, basically my entire future.

Oddly, enough, however, my limbo lounge of a life has been motivating. I think the reason is pretty clear: before my accident, I never thought much about running out of time, there always seemed to be plenty of it, so I put stuff off, pouted more than I should have, fretted over a lot things not worth fretting over. But now, now, everything is different. For the first time ever I worry about running out of time, about not getting done the things I want to get done, about missing out on things -- and it KILLS ME that I can't push myself very hard every minute of every day. And because of my limits, the moments I do I have when I feel good, find me with more motivation than I've had in ages. I have stuff I want to do, damnit!

So, even though, I have no moments in which I feel like my old self -- I'm always dizzy, I'm always worried about headaches and fatigue and I have weird, jerky Parkinson's-like movements -- I feel like I just might be living a richer life than ever before.

Still, it'd be nice to wake up and not feel like crap!

* Brain injury patients vomit like pros, because vomiting affects the PH balance in the brain, which can get thrown out of whack by a brain injury (I think, doing a bit of research on this now).

My world in six songs.

I'm in the middle of reading Daniel J. Levitin's book The World In Six Songs, and I've just finished the bit where he writes about the six songs that have influenced him most.

His are:

• Autobahn, by Kraftwerk, for the geek bliss it created and how it gave birth to techno.
• Beethovan's Sixth Symphony, performed by Herbert von Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic, for how the piece effortlessly lays out its main theme and then supports it with counterpoint throughout.
• Revolver, The Beatles,  (he chooses the whole album as a "song", because he listens to it start to finish) for how it marked the Beatles' transition to more sophisticated song structures and for its sense of fun and camaraderie .
• Through My Sails, Neil Young, for the harmonies this song inspired CSN to add.
• The Great Gig in the Sky, Pink Floyd, for the way it merges classical techniques with rock.
• Night and Day, Stan Getz, for Getz's sax tone and economical playing style (Levitin plays sax).

Now, as lists do, this list got me to thinking... what would my six songs be? Man, this is gonna be hard, but here goes:

• The Beatles, Roll Over Beethovan, for the way it got me into music.
• The Beatles, The Night Before, for the vocal and overall sound of the song -- no other song has made me wish I could sing the way this song has.
• The Rolling Stones, Get Your Ya Yas Out (the whole album), for the way it changed my entire point of view on rock guitar, clued me into the importance of rhythm, and has continued to inspire me as a guitar player and a songwriter.
• Deep Purple, Smoke On the Water, for how it made me want to play ROCK guitar. With a pick. And a loud amp.
• Green on Red, Five Easy Pieces, for the way it introduced me to the independent/non-major-label scene and opened the doors for me to REM, Dream Syndicate, Violent Femmes, Iggy, The Clash, etc, etc.
• Neil Young, Powderfinger (Rust Never Sleeps version), for the way it changed my mind about the electric guitar by combining music with noise, yet doing so with a very straightforward song.

Anyone else out there have a list of six songs?

Am I better than I used to be at recognizing insights?

Before I get into this post, let me start by saying that I think a song idea is very much like an insight, an “ah ha!” moment. Ideas for songs tend to arrive in a flash and for some inexplicable reason, songwriters are able to know instantly whether a song idea holds promise or not. Sure, a song is more subjective than a mathematical insight, but the mental experience is the same: you have been thinking about something and suddenly, out of nowhere, an answer presents itself, and you recognize that it is indeed the answer.

So, when I spied an article in a recent New Yorker that explored the nature of insight, I got to thinking about, you guessed it, songwriting and my brain injury. As I’ve posted ad nauseam, I think my subdural hematoma, bestowed upon me by a tile wall in 2006, has altered my brain in some way that makes writing songs easier for me than it was Before The Fall. And as I read the New Yorker article, I was looking for some answers about my condition.

 I’ll cut to the chase: none jumped out, but, I am, maybe, slightly less mystified.

 According to the New Yorker article, insights

“[come] with a burst of brain activity. Three hundred milliseconds before a [test] participant [communicates that he has had an insight] [there is] a spike of gamma rhythm, which is the highest electrical frequency generated by the brain. Gamma rhythm is thought to come from the ‘binding’ of neurons, as cells distributed across the cortex draw themselves together into a new network, which is then able to enter consciousness. It’s as if the insight had gone incandescent.”

 Whatever… BUT, the article goes on to report that:

 “When the scientists looked at the data, however, they saw that a small fold of tissue on the surface of the right hemisphere, the anterior superior temporal gyrus (aSTG), became unusually active in the second before the insight. The activation was sudden and intense, a surge of electricity leading to a rush of blood. Although the function of the aSTG remains mostly a mystery—the brain is stuffed with obscurities— [scientists weren't] surprised to see it involved with the insight process. A few previous studies had linked the area to aspects of language comprehension, such as the detection of literary themes and the interpretation of metaphors.”

Now this is interesting, because the anterior superior temporal gyrus is located toward the back of the lower brain, so its signal has to bubble up to the cortex before it can be processed and recognized for the flash of genius it is. And, if you are a loyal reader of this blog or have had the misfortune to sit next to me at a party and ask me about my brain injury, you will know that my subdural hematoma was on the back of my cerebellum, or, the rear, lower part of my brain. You will also know that Yuri Danilov, a neural scientist at the University of Madison and one of the very few people to be able to actually help me recover faster, theorized that my injury affected the way my lower brain and upper brain communicate. So, could it be that in addition to my motor skills being adversely affected by my fall, my songwriting skills were affected in the opposite way for the same reason? Hmmm...

Sadly, I just don't have the cranial horsepower to go much deeper into this subject, but if anyone out there reading this has some thoughts, please share!

For further reading on how we arrive at insights, check this out.

New photos are up! Click "FOTOS" on the nav bar above to view.

Quick note: the album offers to viewing modes, one with thumbnails and descriptions, and two with full photos and no descriptions (stupid, I know, but blame squarespace!).

Vacation.

Late Sunday afternoon, Catherine and returned home from two week visit to the East Coast, where we stayed with her folks for several days in Virginia Beach and also headed down to the Outer Banks off the shores of North Carlolina for a long weekend. Here's a sneak photo peek. Stay tuned for more.

A hole in the sky.

The other evening, Catherine and I were walking along a beach on North Carolina's Outer Banks when the picture at left presented itself to me.

"Like a hole in the sky I could reach right through," was my first thought.

Then I thought about my album.

I'm reaching for the stars, it's true, and while some of my hopes might be futile, as Neil Young once sang, "It's better to burn out than fade away."

I don't want to burn out, but there is no way I'm going to just fade into the sunset of this world leaving things worth reaching for untouched.

Emotional time bombs.

A very odd thing happened to me today. I was on the porch of my hotel room overlooking the Atlantic, and I was reading a book called First Person Plural, by Cameron West, when my mood just plummeted.

The book's author has multiple personalities, and it chronicles his journey from first becoming aware of the problem to, well, I'm not sure, because I haven't finished it yet.

The passage that pulled the ground out from under me described a scene in which Cameron West was pulled over for speeding, but by the time the cops got to his door, one of his "alters" had popped to the fore, and before long, everyone was completely confused. First, the alter was a little kid, not a grown-up, so when the cops asked for a driver's license he barely knew what they were talking about. Then the cops sensed that maybe their man had a little bit of the captain in him, so they gave him a breathalyzer test. Nada. Finally, someone called his wife (the author is married). She arrived and took him home, where he broke down for being such a nut and she comforted him.

My situation is not nearly as bad, but, there have been many, many times when Catherine, my wife, has had to escort me from restaurants, explain to passers-by that even though i was lying on the pavement I was fine, cancel things important to her to deal with me, and on and on and on. Sure, life is better now, but it's still not what it once was and might never be again. And as I read the passage described above, this lurking knowledge that not only have I been severely altered by my injury, but also I'm not the only one it affects, popped to the fore like one of Cameron's "alters".

Thankfully, Catherine was right there when it happened, saw the change immediately, and reassured me as best she could. Several hours have passed, and I'm back on an even keel and looking forward to dinner, but the little emotional bomb that went off today wasn't the first and won't be the last. Best case scenario: it'll be the last one during this trip.

The song that started it all. And the last preview before I finally release my album!

In 2006, several months after bonking my head and suffering a traumatic brain injury, an idea for a song popped into my head. I was walking back home from Peet's Coffee on Fillmore, and the words "too many demons and too few saints" materialized out of some ghetto within my grey matter and on getting home I grabbed my Steinberger and set to work. I had been watching Tom Petty At the Fillmore, so it's possible my riff idea was, um, inspired by Jammin' Me, but I didn't realize this until much later, so the riff stands, dammit.

I wrote the song quickly — lyrics, chords, arrangement — but, per usual, rewrote the lyrics about hundred times before finally asking my friend Toby Germano to sing the song. And it was this speed of composition (lyrics aside) that struck me. I had never written a song so fast and so easily before. Could I write another? Or was Demons and Saints a freak burst of creative energy, a simple coalescence and outburst of all the many hours, days, months and years I had spend thinking about writing songs but not actually doing it?

Many months later, I was at Hyde Street Studios working on Here Comes the Weather and, during a break, I asked Larkin Gayl about her songwriting. She, too, had gone for years without writing a thing, but absorbing music and musing on what she might someday create. Then — she described it as a flood bursting forth — the songs came. She had been through a tough breakup and the trauma had shattered whatever was holding back the music within her. My trauma was not quite as poetic, I simply fell against a tile wall in the bathroom... while peeing, I might add, but the result was similar: songs, songs, songs.

Since that day when "too many demons and too few saints" materialized in my mind, I have written more songs than in all the years that came before. I now understand what Neil Young meant when he talked about songwriting and described it, if I remember right, as a curse. I wish I could find the interview, but he described ideas for songs as intrusive (my word, not sure if it was his) and that they had interrupted countless moments in his life. Because when the muse called, he listened. He stopped what he was doing doing, reached for a guitar and quoted the muse as best he could — no matter the time, no matter the place. I'm not that bad, but I'm close.

What is this song about? Fairly simple: over time, we have more hard times than good, more sad memories than happy, more losses than gains. It's not true (I hope), but then, who cares? It's only rock and roll, but I like it. Hope you do, too.

DEMONS & SAINTS

My future was once wide open
I had my plans, I had my dreams
I was not yet broken
I thought I had whatever I could need

But life changes
Throws you curves
Asks you to live
For better or for worse
You make mistakes
You do some things wrongYou try to turn back
But you're too far gone
And you've got...

Too many demons and too few saints
To count your blessings or ever cut bait
I know, I know they say it’s never too late
But I've got too many demons and too few saints

And I remember when I was new
I had my faith, my beliefs
I told lies I thought were true
Some days I even felt at peace

But life changes
You lose your guide
You want so much
You're never satisfied
You try to stop
You try to turn back
But you're too far down
The wrong path
And you've got...

And still life changes
Throws you curves
Asks you to live
For better or for worse

It takes a toll
Little by little
Before you know it
Rome burns while you fiddle
And you've got...