• My album is back on track. Really, it is. Trust me.

Ever since I started running into snags in the process of making my album, I’ve joked that I’m still not as bad as Axl Rose, who took ten years or so to finish “Chinese Democracy”. And so I remain, because I am happy to report that proofs for the new artwork arrived today and, save for one typo, look good. The same could not be said for my last round of proofs, which were riddled with errors I somehow missed (lack of sleep caused by twin-itis maybe?) and became box after box of CDs I’m really not sure what to do with (I have some ideas). Save for the massive waste of money, though, I’m glad to have had the chance to redo things. The new artwork is much better, the new song order is better and the copy inside the album that describes the album’s origins is tighter. So, the million dollar question is: when will it be available? Within three weeks, give or take a few days. To all those who have stayed with this blog throughout my bumpy journey I offer a huge Thank You. And free music, because most of the tracks will be available for download with no requirement to upload cash first! Stay tuned.

• The Rolling Stones redux. A rant recant.

On Tuesday of this week, I went to see a new concert movie about an old band. The movie was filmed in 1978 and in it the Rolling Stones put on a fairly blistering show. They play some old songs, the play a lot of new ones off their just-released Some Girls album. They look good. But most important they sound good. Bill Wyman is playing the bass as only he can, Ron Wood is audible and for good reason, Charlie Watts is hitting his drums hard and with a lot of feel, Mick is Mick and Keith is more concerned with playing well than playing Keith Richards. And yet, after the movie I was more reflective and down than inspired and fired up. In my rant I ascribed my reaction to the fact that the Stones are no longer what they were, not even close. I called them a nostalgia act and strongly hinted that they should hang it up. Well, they are a bit of a nostalgia act, no question, I mean, they haven’t released a great album since Tattoo You and they don’t ever change their material, in fact, on every tour since the early 90s, most of which I’ve seen, they try to get ever closer to the original recorded version. But should they stop? Hell no. Keith Richards has commented on this numerous times saying, more or less, what the hell do you expect me to do, go play golf? I intend to die on stage. Good for Keith. So why did I really react the way I did? I think I was just mad that I would never get to see in person what I saw in that theater and I desperately want to. The closest I have ever come to seeing the Stones in their heyday was in 1981, when I saw them at Candlestick Park in San Francisco. I went with my friend Toby Germano and about all I remember was that George Thorogood opened and throughout the whole show — George and the Stones — I could barely see a thing or hear a thing. To get a better idea of the show I saw, I bought “Still Life” but compared to the Stones bootlegs I was already starting to collect and to “Get Yer Ya Yas Out” it was clear I hadn’t seen a great Stones show. I have seen a few good ones since though, specifically 1999 in San Jose and at the MGM Grand in 2002, and I am immensely happy I have these memories. Still, I would truly, dearly love to see the Stones of the 70s, preferably 1972-3, just once, even just one song, hell, I’d settle for an intro verse and chorus. But it’s never going to happen. And that’s what I’m really sad about, not the fact that the Stones are no longer what they once were. Who could be? Who should be?

• A rant about The Rolling Stones.

I just got home from seeing The Rolling Stones.

In a movie theater.

On the screen.

Meaning I saw a movie of a Rolling Stones concert. And that is the only way you can see The Rolling Stones these days.

I’ve never wanted to admit this, but after tonight, I have to. The Rolling Stones are a nostalgia act. Sure, key members of the band still play in the act, but it’s an act. Don’t believe me? Then go watch Ladies and Gentlemen or the movie I saw tonight. If you still don’t think that today’s Stones are a nostalgia act, then we will just have to agree to disagree. I think it was in the Lefsetz Letter where I read about the Stones being a brand and not a band and, wow, does that sum things up. For that is what they are. And it’s a brand for a nostalgia act. And let me tell you, I hate that fucking word. Brand. BRAND. Christalmighty, it’s all I see these days when I read about advertising and marketing. What’s a brand? Honestly, I don’t really know, but the word is a word du jour. Everybody and everything wants to be a brand / is a brand / was a brand. What a triumph of commercialism that people should see being a brand in rock and roll in a positive light. But I digress. Back to the Stones. In 1978, “commercial” was a four-letter word. Punk was not. Punk was virtue, morality, religion. And the Stones were threatened by it so they made a good album, Some Girls, and toured like they had something to prove because they did. They proved it, in my opinion. Then Mick and Keith had a fight or whatever and they toured one last time in 1981, a tour I saw but barely remember, and then the Stones retired. They all came back one last time in 1990, but then Bill Wyman left and, I’m sorry, but he fucking mattered. The Stones without Wyman ain’t the Stones. His bass playing was unique, so weird, so right, so irreplaceable. But you don’t have to be the real thing to be a brand ( you do, but that’s another post ), so the Stones went and got some guy named Darryl Jones and carried on. Good for them, really, I would not want to be in The World’s Greatest Rock and Roll Band and have to hang it up because the damn bass player quit, THE BASS PLAYER, but that’s what the Stones should have done. Like Zeppelin when Bonham died. Like Queen when Freddie finally succumbed. Like Van Halen when Roth... wait... my point exactly. Anyway, it was a great film of a great concert of a great band and it got me to rethink how I look at the Stones today. Keith Richards, Mr. Genuine, is way too aware of his image, oops, I mean brand, to be taken seriously. Ron Wood has ruined himself. Watts jut is not Charlie Watts anymore, I mean that and he would probably agree. And Jagger, well, Jagger is great but then he’s always been an act so it’s okay. Sigh, maybe I will feel different tomorrow but I feel a bit low right now. And sad.

• Remembering how I once thought Itzhak Perlman outrocked Eddie. Still do.

The other day I wrote a post about walking with my Catherine, my Dad, and the babies down a lane on where a cottage still stands in which I used to take guitar lessons. I could remember some facts   about my teacher but not much and then out of the blue he sends me an email saying he’d seed the post and was glad that music was still a part of my life. It’s still a part of his, too, as it should be. Because here’s what I remember now about Tom on Tersch. He might have taught me folk songs but his true passion was classical and every now and then he would play me something from his repertoire and I just remember being slack jawed. I could not imagine being able to play like that. I remember telling my heavy metal friends about Tom and they all nodded in approval. Classical was held in high regard by those of the metal faith, and I even remember one conversation the led into a discussion of Itzhak Perlman vs. Eddie Van Halen and we all agreed that Perlman rocked harder. But back to Tom. He could play a bass line and a melody at the same time. This was mind bending. I mean, people talked about how Hendrix could do it but even Hendrix would agree that he as an amateur compared to Tom. Then there was the fingerpicking technique. Tom used all four and with equal dexterity, as his thumb worked the low notes. And don’t even get me started on the left hand stretches, they looked like medical emergencies. I remember thinking that there was just no way I was ever going to be able to play like that. And read music? Forget it. I just did not have it in me, I was sure of that. Truth be told, Tom probably felt the same way but he never let on. He was always patient and encouraging as I muddled my way through my lessons. In thinking back on all this I’m trying to remember exactly why I quit taking lessons from Tom and I think it was Deep Purple’s fault. Try as Tom might to get me interested in fingerpicking, folk and classical, it just wasn’t working. Probably like trying to teach a fish how to breathe air. And so on the day I asked him to show me how to play a barre chord so I could learn Smoke On the Water and then all I did was practice Smoke on the Water all the damn time and every other exercise on the guitar felt even more like a chore, I knew the time had come. It was going to be rockstardom for me or bust. And I have not given up yet.

• Brewing up a bit of Java Junkie (like a day out of my past).

Before the babies were born, if I wasn’t freelancing somewhere, I whiled away the day writing songs and maybe even going into the recording studio on occasion. December 5, 2010, changed all that. Suddenly, Avalon and Amelia were my main priority and everything not only seemed but also was a lot less important. All of which is to say I haven’t written a new song in nearly a year and my studio days are far and few between. But yesterday was different. I had scheduled a session at Hyde Street eons ago and the day was finally here. In addition, I needed to take the car into the garage and at first I was worried that I would have to rush to drop off the the car, rush to get to the studio, rush through the session so that I could go pick up the car, rush back to the session to rush through any final changes, then rush home to help Catherine with the evening feeding. As it turned out, I didn’t have to rush much at all. The garage is in central in SF, near Hyde Street, so after dropping off the car, I had time to kill and lots of good places to kill it. I opted for Café Rulli on Union Square and after a ten minute walk, I arrived to find a corner table with my name on it. I got out my laptop and my lyric book, arranged my coffee and pastry and proceeded to spend a bit of time surfing the ‘net and catching up on an email or two, but then I packed up and headed out to a bench in the shade where I got out my lyric book again and started going through the many half-baked songs that fill it. Luxury. I didn’t finish anything, but no matter, I made progress on several songs and that meant the world. Around noon, I walked over to Hyde Street where Dave Brogan and Jaime were finishing up getting drum tones and about an hour later bassist Sam Bevan arrived and the session was on. We were going to do two songs, one a reggae number called Java Junkie and the other a Deep Salvage tune called Undeserving. Java Junkie took a bit longer than everyone expected, though, so in the end we opted to do Undeserving another day. And that’s okay. I walked out of Hyde Street into a still bright city, got in my car and was home by six. The babies were still up, but Catherine had fed them on her own (not easy!), so I read bedtime stories and prepped dinner. A good day.

• A trip down memory lane: early guitar lessons.

It’s Fleet Week in San Francisco and that means the Blue Angels and they mean a lotta goddamn noise. At first Catherine and I thought the babies would be cool with the Navy showing off how much fuel it can burn in an hour and achieve absolutely nothing, because our summer in Virginia Beach placed us only a few miles away from the nation’s largest jet base and there were Super Hornets flying low and loud every day from as early as 7:00 AM to as late as midnight. Neither Avalon nor Amelia seemed to be the least bit impressed or even annoyed. But back in SF, it’s been a different story. On Thursday we were out with the stroller and the Blue Angels decided to incinerate several thousand dinosaurs just over 10 feet off the ground and while Amelia yawned Avalon was terrified. There were shrieks and tears and more shrieks and more tears and as we hightailed it back home we plotted how to avoid the noise on Friday, Saturday and Sunday, when full air shows would take place. For Friday, we drove down to Crystal Springs Reservoir, on Saturday we headed to the De Young museum to see the Picasso exhibit (it was cool), and on Sunday we drove down to my parents’ house. We arrived at about 2:30 and after feeding the babies opted to go for a stroller walk down near my old elementary school. Memories were flooding back as Catherine, my Dad and I walked around Ormondale, which has grown considerably since I attended, and as we headed away from the school and entered Georgia Lane, possibly the last road in Portola Valley to be paved (my Dad figures it was less than ten years ago) a small cottage caught my eye. I thought it might be where I once took guitar lessons, but I wasn’t sure, so when we all got back home, I asked my Mom. “Oh, yes, that was where you took lessons from Tom.” I remembered Tom. He tried valiantly to teach me how to fingerpick and read music (at the same time, mind you) and as we worked through traditional tune after traditional tune, he would sing. I remember thinking that Robert Plant was better, but Tom had some skills. He was an ace guitarist, had near perfect pitch and infinite patience (important for students like me). He also had KILLER guitars. I remember one was made of Brazilian rosewood, which even back then in the early 70s was virtually unobtainable in a new guitar. Indian was replacing it, but Tom explained how Brazilian had better resonance and created a clear, ringing tone that was highly dynamic. Ever since then I’ve wanted an acoustic made of Brazilian rosewood, but I doubt I will get my wish. Guitars made of the stuff go for thousands of dollars, over ten even. But no matter, I’m not good enough to merit such an instrument anyway. And in the end, that’s what has stuck with me from re-visiting a place from my youth: I was given so many chances, the best of everything really, and for some reason — lack of talent, laziness, the confusion of youth — most was lost on me. On a positive note, at least I’m finally starting to realize how good life has been to me and I am striving every day to live as someone who owes the universe quite a bit. There is still time.

• My version of Guitar Player's list of Fifty Rhythm Guitar Gods.

When my most most recent issue of Guitar Player arrived in the mail, the cover was festooned with a photo of James Hetfield and the headline 50 Rhythm Guitar Gods. I was stoked. I love rhythm guitar and I was expecting a great list, plus some info on how the greats get their tone, maybe something about technique, an interview or two. Sadly, not only did Guitar Player serve up little more than a basic list, but also neglected to delve very deeply into the art of rhythm guitar. I should have known. I mean, the cover shows Hetfield SOLOING. What is it with lead guitar? Yeah, it’s cool and all, but the rhythm guitar makes the song, it’s the riffage. And for me, rhythm is my personal holy grail. It’s one of the few things I truly seek yet believe I have no hope of obtaining for myself. God knows I’ve tried to master it. I’ve studied it, I’ve copped techniques from some of the very best, I’ve spent hours with a metronome, with drummers, with my foot, and yet still I suck at rhythm guitar. So who’s on Guitar Player’s list? Some expected choices, some inspired choices, a few “huhs?” but most important are the omissions. The editor should be lashed 50 times with bottom E strings. Anyway, rather than complain about Guitar Player’s list, I’ve created my own list. It’s not perfect, for sure, and most likely I’m forgetting a few names, but it’s a good list, I think. First up, my criteria, then my list. If you agree, let me know, if you think I’ve left anyone out, please say so.

To make my list, a guitar player has to be:

- someone I’ve listened to a lot and feel I can reference with some authority
- someone who, in my opinion, is indispensable to the band
- someone who is innovative and maybe even has his own style and tone

 
(NOTE: PLAYERS ALSO ON GUITAR PLAYER’S LIST ARE IN ITALICS. ALSO, MY LIST IS LESS THAN FIFTY BECAUSE I'M SURE I HAVE FORGOTTEN A FEW PLAYERS AND WILL WANT TO ADD THEM.)

 
Ritchie Blackmore - Smoke on the Water is just the beginning. Listen to songs like Fireball and Highway Star, his work with Rainbow, especially Long Live Rock and Roll, this guy is unreal.
Peter Buck - When REM broke, all the focus was on Stipe’s voice and on Buck’s Bird’s-like guitar playing. Over time, Stipe remained the cornerstone of REM’s sound, but Buck progressed way beyond being a Birds clone to become one of the most creative rhythm player’s in rock. He’s so rhythm focused, I’m not even sure he can solo!
Lindsay Buckingham - When I first heard Fleetwood Mac Rumours it was my sister’s copy. I dismissed it immediately and went back to my Zep and Priest. But every now and then I would listen to the Mac and, ridden with guilt, enjoy it. Later on, I heard Fleetwood Mac Live and I  listened to the opening guitar riffage to Monday Morning over and over again and went back to Rumours and heard it with new ears. Now I’ve decided that Rumours contains some of the greatest rhythm guitar work and tones ever laid down in pop. Ding on Lindsay: he faded fast.
David Byrne - Where do I start? How about Pschyo Killer from “Stop Making Sense.” How GP forgot/ignored/dimissed Byrne I cannot fathom.
Steve Clark - When Steve Clark died, Def Leppard stopped producing great albums. His last testament was Adrenalize, after that, he was gone and so was Def Leppard’s ability to put out good work And that’s why Steve Clark is on my list. Because in my opinion, it was his riffs and presence that made an entire band great and what more can a rhythm player do?
Elvis Costello - Elvis’ vocals are so distinctive that they captivate you completely and you forget he’salso playing guitar. Great guitar. I could cite a million tunes by EC but instead I’ll just point out that he can tour with nothing but an acoustic and play every song he’s ever written and make it so great you’re cool with it not having the full band. Hell, you might even prefer it.
Bob Dylan - Dylan sounds like Dylan because of his voice AND because of his guitar work.
The Edge - Rhythm like no one else. Bit of a one-trick pony but it’s a helluva trick.
John Fogerty - I guess his brother was in the band and actually was considered the rhythm guitarist, but do I care? No. Further, Fogerty doesn’t quite meet my criteria (he’s not very innovative), but his other talents are so profound, I’ll let it pass.
Gordon Gano - Very, very few rhythm guitarists are as much a part of their band’s sound as Gano. Not sure what happened to him after the “Why Do Bird’s Sing” but, for me, his greatness is forever enshrined by all that came up to and through that final great album.
Billy Gibbons - No one has a greasier groove than Billy. Limited, though.
David Gilmore - Yeah, yeah, yeah, his solos RAWK, but his rhythms had far more to do with Pink Floyd’s greatness. So, so creative.
Jimi Hendrix - Two words: Little Wing.
Gert Krawinkel - Gert is the dude who played guitar in Trio, one of my favorite bands of all time. If you can find it, listen to Trio “Live”. Your mind will melt out of your ears.
Robbie Krieger - Every year I become ever more convinced that the Doors were that most unusual of things in music: unique. I can’t credit Krieger for why, only because every other member was equally indispensable.
John Lennon - Not on GP’s list. Can I still read the magazine with a straight face? No. Leaving Lennon off their list of the greatest rhythm guitar players of all time throws everything else GP does into the spotlight of suspicion. Unconscionable.
Lyle Lovett - When you listen to Lyle you focus on his voice and why wouldn’t you? It’s one of the greatest voices on record. But listen deeper, listen to his playing, he might very well be, despite all of his success, the world’s most under-appreciated guitar player.
Brian May - Musically, Queen was a trio, but you would never know it because of Brian May’s ability to create massive sonic textures. My favorite May moment? When the guitar comes in on We Will Rock You. But then there’s also the intro to Fat Bottomed Girls.
Buddy Miller - Among country hipsters, Buddy Miller is as god, but in the larger music scene, he’s been largely overlooked. Who knows why? Anyway, for country feel and soul, there’s no one better. Not sure there’s anyone all that close, in fact.
Rick Nielson - Take away the dufus outfits and facial expressions, and you’re left with one of rock’s greatest rhythm players. The man can create serious noise.
Jimmy Page - ‘Nuff said. Wait, no, there’s more. Truth be told, I find that Page can be stiff on the rhythm guitar, but when he’s not, well, it’s proof that he’s from outer space.
Joe Perry - To truly understand the greatness that is Joe Perry, listen to “Sick As A Dog” on “Live Bootleg”. Just before Perry takes his solo, there’s a rhythmic breakdown during which Brad Whitford plays a few measures alone before Perry comes back in. It’s a snorefest, so conventional, awful. But when Perry starts, man, I get goosebumps. He’s a little out of tune, a little behind the beat and all rock and roll.
Tom Petty - I am at a loss for words for why GP left out TP.
Prince - “My name is Prince and I am funky. My name is Prince the one and only.”
Keith Richards - The Human Riff. Actually, he’s not human, but whatever.
Paul Simon - American Tune.
Paul Stanley - One of the (many) reasons KISS rocks so hard is Paul Stanley. He’s a killer singer, but his rhythm guitar is the anchor of the band. He’s like Keith in that regard. And his riffs and chord voicings (almost!) always rawk.
Andy Summers - Thank god GP got this one right. Nothing to add.
Richard Thompson - One of the greatest guitarists of all time, and I do mean all. I truly doubt that anyone will come along who’s better. Different, sure, but not better. Speaking of different, RT is one fo the very few guitarists in the world whose playing style is what truly sets them apart, not just tone or hair color.
Pete Townshend - Probably the greatest rhythm player in all of rock, yes, even better than Keith Richards if only because he has been so much more creative.
Eddie Van Halen - EVH is one of the few shredders who interest me because he plays his solos with so much rhythm. As for his actual rhythm playing, no one in hard rock out grooves Eddie.
Jack White - Every White Stripes song is nothing more than drums, guitar and vocals and for White to keep things interesting he’s got to be a rhythmic ace. And he is.
Neil Young - Not on GP’s list. I just don’t get that. I mean from acoustic to electric Neil Young can do it all and if it weren’t for him The Horse would not groove. He supplies all the swing. And the harmonic textures that his abuse of Old Black can generate, wow, Neil is God.
Malcom Young & Angus Young - Everyone goes on and on about how killer Malcolm is, including Angus, so I’ll accept that Malcolm rocks. But the only guy I can ever hear is Angus and Angus lays down the most relaxed hard rock groove on the planet (except for maybe Malcolm, you know, if I could hear him).

• Steve Jobs, 1955 - forever.

“No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

When I learned of Steve Jobs’ death, I was feeding my daughter Avalon her bottle and, as so many other parents must also do, reading my iPhone. The news came via email. I read it, looked up at Catherine, who was feeding Avalon's twin sister, Amelia, and said, “Steve jobs died.” We both almost teared up, then got back to feeding the babies. After all, room had been made for the new and the new were right in front of me. And as I fed Avalon I began to think about writing a post, and I wasn’t sure what to write until I read a post by my friend Dave Tutin. Dave points out that Steve Jobs was a Buddhist and though I do not believe in any religion, there is an aspect of Buddhism I can get behind and it’s reincarnation. But here’s my take: all is energy and we are merely a form of it and when we die our form reverts back to energy. It is my most sincere hope that Steve Jobs’ energy infuses the energy that creates us all and inspires people everywhere to pursue that which is insanely great, to constantly and vigorously question the satus quo, to expect excellence, to put a ding in the universe, and, most important, to “stay hungry” and to “stay foolish”.

Goodbye to you, Steve Jobs, and thank you for inspiring — and continuing to inspire — the human race.

• A gig I will always remember.

On Friday afternoon, Catherine and I drove from SF down to my parents' house and dropped off the babies before heading to a masked ball. The hosts of the ball were my friends Cory and Cindy and while I was pretty sure it was just going to be a party, Catherine was convinced it would be something more, specifically a wedding. Cory and Cindy have been dating since the time of Socrates and engaged for nearly as long, so I could see why Catherine thought what she thought. But I wasn't convinced. Besides, Cory's bar band, Three Chord Monty, would be playing and Cory had asked me to join them for a few numbers so I was thinking about chord changes and arrangements and hoping I wouldn't embarrass myself too much. Furthermore, some very old friends of Cory's and mine would also be playing with us, specifically Toby Germano, with whom Cory and I were both in bands, though not at the same time, and Phil Henderson, who was the drummer in my third band and of all my friends the one who gave music the most honest shot (as a singer) before heading off to law school. There was even the possibility that J Swanson would be joining us. J was the bassist in the Distractions, a bar band Cory and I played in back in the late 80s. The pressure was on!

We arrived at the ball decked out in our masks and other finery and at first we decided it was just a party after all. Cory's band was in full swing, wine was flowing and everyone seemed to be at ease, not on pins and needles. But at the end of that first set, Cory took the mic and announced that we had all been invited under false pretenses. Catherine yelped and soon we were all out in the courtyard witnessing a beautiful and understated wedding ceremony. Cory and Cindy wrote their own vows, a growing tradition I love, and to the cadence of their powerful words were wed under a thin moon hung in a wide Palo Alto sky. 

Soon we were all back in the ball room and Cory's band fired up another set. Then, about mid-way through, Phil and I joined them for two numbers, then Toby took over on vocals for a few more, and all I can say is that as great as it felt for me to play a little guitar with a real, honest-to-god band, it felt far greater to be honoring two people who truly are meant for each other.

Cory and Cindy, congratulations again. By the time you read this you will be in Paris for your honeymoon and I hope your time there and all the years that follow will fill you to overflowing with happiness.

(I've posted a few more photos in a gallery!)

• Virginia Beach, Summer 2011, September.

Here's my final photo album from summer. Enjoy!

• Virginia Beach, Summer 2011, August.

Photos in the gallery!

• In limbo (an update on my album).

Is it just me, or have been posting about how my album is about to be released for a little too long? Argh. Here's the latest. The album is done, but I screwed up some of the artwork and need to redo EVERYTHING. Super frustrating, not to mention expensive, but it must be done. 

I would have finished the corrections by now, but I've been working at an ad agency nearly non-stop since returning from Virginia and just have not had time. All I can say is I am very thankful for the work and the album will just have to wait. But it won't have to wait forever, I promise.

In the meantime, I'll post more photos and maybe a rant or two about the foolishness of HP's board or maybe Obama's budget battles or possibly even some thoughts on the state of advertising.

Please bear with me. This has been a long journey and I will see it through—and then keep on going. 

• How I spent my summer vacation: A photo journal (July).

I really wish I had more time to write about summer in Virginia, but between work and two babies, not to mention a still annoying brain injury, there's just now time. Oh, and my album. And will. And...

Here are pictures from July.

• How I spent my summer vacation: A photo journal (June).

Parenthood has wreaked havoc on my blog writing and music making, so I've not posted in a bit. I plan to get back into things as fall flows into winter, but you kmow what they say about plans.

So, since a picture is worth a thousand words, I'm going to use more of them! To start, I'm creating a photo journal of my summer in Virginia Beach. I've just finished June. July, August and September are coming soonish.

And what about the album, you wonder? Well, it's done, been done for awhile actually, but I just haven't had time to get CDs made and songs posted. Wait, that's not true, I was able to get CDs made, but I screwed up the art work and some other stuff and have to do it all over again. Argh! Give me a few more weeks.

In the meantime, hope you enjoy the pictures. 

• Visiting a spot where one of the world’s most haunting and appropriate melodies was composed.

On a bluff just down from the main house of the Berkeley Plantation and above the James River, a wide, slow-moving body of water here, just a few miles up from where it flows into the Chesapeake Bay, Private Oliver Wilcox Norton, a soldier of the American Revolution co-wrote Taps with his commanding officer, Union Army Brigadier General Daniel Butterfield. General Butterfield was dissatisfied with the standard bugle call of the time for “lights out” and summoned Norton, a bugler, to help him come up with something better. According to stories, the General based his tune on the Scott Tattoo, a French bugle call used by American forces from 1835 to 1860, and was after something less formal and more melodious. He sounded his ideas to Norton, who played them back, and after a time, the general was satisfied.

The custom of playing Taps for military funerals began the same year Taps was composed and is credited to Captain John C. Tidball. In fact, it was first played for a military funeral in the same year and on the same plantation it was composed.

Taps is on of those melodies that seem as old as time, that have always been as they are and always will be. To have stood in the very spot where such a melody was composed was a great honor for me. I lingered a little extra long hoping against hope that a melody would spring forth from the James for me too, but all I heard was a touch of wind and some distant voices.

• An open letter to Steve Jobs.

Dear Steve,

Yesterday’s news of your decision to resign from Apple hit me the way a virus hits Windows: hard, damaging, deep. For you to resign, I can only imagine what your doctors told you -- or what your mirror told you, the one you look into every day and ask, "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?"

I fully expect you to beat this thing. I mean, if anyone can live forever you can. To help fill you with good feelings of gratitude, because good feelings are the very best medicine, here is a highly abbreviated list of things I would like to thank you for.

- Thank you for enabling me to have a career in writing.
Truly, I tried pen and paper, typewriters, word processors (Wang!), PCs, but when I tried the Mac, I finally found my Big Chief tablet.

- Thank you for creating tools that have made it possible for me to improve my songwriting.
Pro Tools on the Mac was a revelation. I’d owned a Fostex cassetted-based multitracker, a Tascam 38 and an ADAT, but when I first saw Pro Tools for Macintosh, I knew I was looking at a tool that could help me overcome my limitations.

- Thank you for inspiring me to attempt to do things that are insanely great.
I first tried a Macintosh back in 1984 or so, when my Dad brought home a Macintosh 512K. Straightaway, I started fooling around with MacPaint, making art work for mix tapes and collections of my original songs. A few years later, I had claimed my Dad’s Mac as my own and upgraded it to a “Plus”, which meant 1 MB of RAM, and started writing more with it. I tried writing short stories mainly, tried writing novels and lyrics, too, but when I finally used it to write some ad copy for a night class I was taking, though I did not know it at the time, in the years to follow, I would spend more time writing copy on a Mac than doing anything else in life. Every bit of copy I have ever written has been the best I could do at the time, in large part because the Mac made the act of writing something I did not have to think about, I could simply write. How cool, so much better than a typewriter or a buggy PC. Over the years, I have owned many a Mac, and I’m not sure I can remember them all, but here goes: Macintosh 512K, Macintosh SE-30, Powerbook 170, Quadra, G3, Powerbook G3, Titanium Powerbook, Macbook Pro (PowerPC), Macbook Pro (Intel), Mac Pro (Intel). All of these machines inspired me to be my very best, to create things of value, to try to do something insanely great. And within a month from now, I will release my first album, an album that would not have been possible without a Mac (or two or three).

- You have made the world a better place for people like me.
When you started Apple, the prevailing power in computing was IBM and IBM was not about providing everyday people with creative tools. They were about top-down command and control environments where only the select few could enter the glass room where the king resided -- just like society at large. Apple, however, was about meritocracy, the computer for the rest of us, the computer that was on the desk, or garage, wherever we wanted it to be. If you hadn’t founded Apple, would we still have personal computers? Sure, and they would run Microsoft DOS and would be utter hell to work with. But more than giving the masses killer technology, you upended culture. No longer were only college graduates from certain schools and certain families in control of everyone else’s lives. You showed that a dropout could have bigger, better ideas, ideas that create more value than Harvard’s best. You, along with Silicon Valley, helped make failure acceptable, expected even, just so long as we were shooting for the stars, which you always have been.

There’s more, I could go on for pages, in fact, but let me leave you with this. If the Grim Reaper is indeed waiting outside your house, open the door and invite him in. Get him seated at a Mac, pour him a cup of coffee and tell him to have at it. He’ll never look up.

Sincerely,

Jeff Shattuck

• The lost song from a Steinway.

(Album update: everything is at the CD plant. Expecting a mid-September release!)

Over the weekend, Catherine and I drove about an hour north of Virginia Beach to Yorktown, where we had booked a room at a B&B and planned to complete our tour of The Historic Triangle, billed as the birthplace of America. We’d already scene Williamsburg a few weeks before, so this time our sights were set on Yorktown and Jamestown. As we pulled into the B&B we could see in the near distance, across a wide, green field, the Yorktown Victory Monument, which commemorates the last battle of the American Revolution. The B&B itself is a 1934 Colonial-style house that has been restored to near new. We entered and after a few quick greetings, we headed into the living room where two pianos dominated the decor. One was a Baldwin, but the other was a Steinway. I headed straight for it to inspect the keys, hoping against hope that they would be real ivory, just so I could finally see such a thing (importing ivory into the US has been illegal since 1989).

The cracks in the keys were a sure giveaway, as was their ever so slightly yellowed color. I was looking at the real deal, a Steinway with genuine ebony and ivory keys and though a few simple chords revealed severe tuning and hammer problems, no matter, I can’t play anyway and the thrill of being in the presence of such an instrument was enough. By chance, we were the inaugural guests of the hotel, the guinea guests, and several members of the family that owns that B&B were on-hand to see how everything went. I got into a conversation with one of them about the piano and he told me it was a Steinway 33 M and had been purchased new in 1933 or 4 and had been in the house ever since. Years of hot summers and cold winters and wreaked some havoc, and a piano repair service figured that several thousand dollars of work would be necessary to fully restore the piano. He said they were leaning toward paying for the necessary repairs, but since no one in the family played seriously and the Baldwin was fine, he thought they might also just leave it be. I, of course, urged him to fix the thing!

That night, I thought of an idea for a song but was too tired to rouse myself and write it down. What a shame. For I am positive that the song was a gift from the Steinway, a piano too long neglected and happy to have gotten some love.

• The myth of the talent myth.

Right now, I’m about halfway through Talent Is Overrated: What Really Separates World-Class Performers from Everybody Else and on every page, I feel like the book is fighting itself. On the one hand, it wants to simply support its title, but on the other, it wants to debunk the notion of talent. I get emotional about the concept of talent, because I have always felt that I have little to none of it for much of anything. I was no prodigy on the guitar. I was not speaking multiple languages by age three. Ask me a math problem and I will visibly panic. Worse, I feel like most arguments against the concept of talent are feel-good arguments. Anyone can be president! Well, I like your drawing! You did it the hard way, but you did it! Most painful of all for me is to be cheerily told that my lack of rhythm is a myth of my own creation. It’s not. Ever since I first picked up a guitar, I have struggled to play in time. I can do it for a few measures, even groove a bit, then I loose the beat. It’s maddening.

“Talent Is Overrated” suggests that a regimen of deliberate practice would allow me to groove like Keith Richards, but I have deliberately practiced groove for way more than 10,000 hours and nada. I still struggle. In fact, it’s such a problem that I hardly play guitar on my album; instead, I work out what I want the guitar parts to be, then I have Tim Young play them. Were it not for this deficiency of mine, I would most likely have taken music far more seriously far earlier in life. I hate that I have this problem and cannot seem to overcome it.

So, what’s going on? Is this a lack of talent? Maybe, but I prefer to think of it as a DNA deficiency. Somewhere in my genes, the necessary stuff for my being able to develop a killer sense of musical time is missing. Now, if I had this potential, it’s certainly possible that I would not have done much with it. Instead of being a bad guitar player who can think up good rhythm parts because I have thought so much about rhythm over the years, I would be a good guitar player who thinks up boring rhythm parts. I dunno...

Bottom line, if talent is defined as a natural potential, then it’s no myth, in my opinion. It’s very real, at least in my case. Which means that no matter what I do, I will never be able to overcome my groove limitations. So instead of beating my head against a wall, I’m working hard on all the other things I can do and seem to have some natural potential for. And I think this is important. I mean, if you’re 5 foot 2, you probably don’t want to spend too much time and energy on getting into the NBA, John Stockton excepted. Whereas becoming a fighter pilot...

• They’re still out there, just waiting to be found.

I follow @wsjrock on Twitter and the other day, I read the following tweet:

wsjrock Jim Fusilli
Meet the Vaccines, who are enjoying a meteoric rise:on.wsj.com/otM7Wt w/audio samples @therealvaccines

The who? A meteoric rise? I had the click through and read more. The WSJ article gushes about the Vaccines and references some bands I like by way of comparison, so I listened. I was crestfallen. Based on the article, I was prepared to hear something really killer, instead, the music seeking to escape from headphones was derivative and stale sounding. And I started to wonder: are there any more great bands out there? Or even just great songs, true earworms you cannot get out of your head. Obviously, the answer is yes, but they are few and far between, that’s just a fact for me.

In a bit of funk following my Vaccination, I was lazing around on Facebook when I noticed that Dave Brogan, who sings a track on my album and plays drums on another, was in a new band called Brokedown In Bakersfield. I clicked through to a video. Wow. You should watch it, it’s up above. Killer. I admit, I was a touch bummed to learn that the song was a cover (yes, I’d never heard it before even though it was apparently a pretty big hit), but I can’t deny the power of this band. Listen to Brogan drive the groove, the chicken pickin’ guitar player, the lead singer, the guy backing her up, the slide dude laying down textures. Maybe it’s just me, but, damn, what a band. What a song. What a difference from the Vaccines.

• What do Jon Sarkin and I have in common? A lot, but not everything.

I just finished reading a book called Shadows Bright As Glass, which is about Jon Sarkin, who suffered a massive stroke following brain surgery. When he awoke from his surgery, he was no longer the same person. An amiable chiropractor before his stroke, Sarkin was now — and remains -- an irritable artist with a compulsive desire to draw. On every page I saw a magnified version of myself.

My brain injury was not nearly as severe as Sarkin’s, and my personality changes have been slight if even existent, but I have no question that Sarkin and I have had a similar experience, his more intense. Both of us suffered injuries in the cerebellum, both recovered with a much stronger artistic interest than before, and both of us are now obsessed with being creative. I’m not as obsessed as Sarkin, for sure, but still, I would wager that on any given day, I spend far more time thinking about music than anything else. Or, at least, I did, until Avalon and Amelia were born. Still, and I feel ashamed to admit this, even with the babies looming so large in my life now, music is always right there in my mind. I think about it when I run, I think about it on walks, I think about it while having conversations with others, I think about it while watching TV, I think about it when I go to sleep, when I wake up, when I drive, eat, shower and do the dishes. I can’t switch it off, either, even though I do try sometimes. In just over four years, I have written and finished about 40 songs, rewritten most of those from 10 to 100 times (not completely, but parts), I’ve had 19 professionally recorded, I’ve started recording another 100 or so (both at home and in the the studio), I started writing about another 50, I’ve discarded more than I’ve written by a factor of probably 50. But it’s not just music. I carry a camera with me all the time (either a phone, or a point-and-shoot or a DSLR), I write this blog, I read books for ideas on how to improve my songwriting and prose and ad copy (hence, mostly non-fiction). In my advertising portfolio, a good portion of the work was done post brain injury, even though I have not worked anywhere near full-time. I also find that when thinking about ads, I can come up with lots of ideas pretty quickly and I rarely run out, they just keep coming. If one gets killed, it’s cool. If ten die, so be it. 100, who cares? There will be more.

When Sarkin, whose works can now sell for more than $10,000 each, was asked if he was grateful for his stroke, he replied, “That’s the wrong question to ask. It’s like asking if you like gravity. The ball is dropped, it hits the ground. It’s not something to like or dislike. It’s the way things are.” If you ask me whether or not I’m grateful for the change, I would have to say yes. No, I do not like feeling dizzy, I do not like worrying when I hold a baby, I do not like the headaches or nausea or vertigo (mild, mostly). I do not like that I lost my job and will struggle to get a new one. I do not like not being able to go fishing. I do not like the burden I know I can be to Catherine. But I do like that I am living a more creative and engaged life. For that, despite all the discomforts and inconveniences, I am grateful.