HUGE BLACK MAN

Sorry for the delay. The last two weeks have been busy, which should never be an excuse for not being busier. But I still need to develop a knack for posting on the road, amidst the snow and chaos of my lifestyle.

And that’s where I was: eight shows, nine days, five states. It started on Thursday, February 15 when Mr. and Ms. Nave and I watched the riveting and unfortunate series finale of HBO’s Six Feet Under. I say “riveting” because the show is/was amazing. I say “unfortunate” because I could watch that group of actors and writers work together forever and ever. The show worked because it felt so attainable. The heroes seemed more like acquaintances that had picked up and moved to L.A. rather than Hollywood stars trying their hardest. More importantly, the heroics had nothing to do with burning buildings, atomic terror threats, or vague biblical situations (all biblical-ity is overt in SFU, like it will be when you leave work tomorrow and some guy calls everyone on the sidewalk a sinner as you walk to your car). Instead the heroics involve commonplace moments, like someone saying “than you” and meaning it. I can’t say enough about it and I’ll never forget it. That must mean it’s going on my Amazon wish list . Here’s the last six minutes of the entire series.



After SFU, I slept for a few hours, woke up, and then drove to UC Berkeley. It was a bright and overexposed Friday, crystal clear and warm. Great turnout in Berkeley: plenty of real fans, surprise fans, and new people who were kind enough to pay attention to us. We sat at a Peet’s for a few hours then drove to Reno. The traffic was actually a space/time continuum that bloated our perception of the drive time. Took us twice what it should have to get to Reno. This should have allowed us a better chance at being caller 20 and getting to choose tickets for “Fall Out Boy or The Killers” on the radio, but I could do no better than “sorry bro, you’re caller 14. Keep trying bro, alright?” Of course it wasn’t fucking alright. As if it wasn’t difficult enough to be moored in temporary dimensional slowness. Radio DJ’s don’t understand me.

We played in Reno that night, then stayed in town for 30 more hours. Utah show fell through, so we ate pizza and went to a mall. The Gap’s spring line seems designed for companies that are about to seriously disappoint investors. What the fuck is “the boyfriend khaki” anyway? First three comments with the correct response win tickets to my heart. The seats will be good this time; my management is telling me that I can make that a promise.

I gambled my first one-dollar at a slot machine at the Cal-Neva called “The Magic Wood.” The whole time I wished the machine was not so in tune with my sense of humor. I also wished it was a pinball machine with the same theme (talking trees, devious nymphs, prescriptive foliage, a place for lost souls). I could have used a multi-ball.

Then we were in Boise with Tera Melos and Damiera. Every band was guaranteed $50 to play, which I wasn’t aware of until they paid every band $90. The Venue was happy. That night I felt tired.

The next show was in Lewiston, ID. It ruled.

Then I turned 24. After dealing with needing, then putting, then taking chains on and off our van for 15 miles (aka two hours), we cruised into Seattle, where I had a great night. I ate some salmon chowder, some Costa Rican tilapia with mashed potatoes, and some crème brulee, which was garnished with a birthday candle. Shout out to the birthday candle industry. I also had a pomegranate mojito. Here’s a joke about salmon I recently created: “one guy asks another guy, ‘If I were a salmon, do you know what kind of salmon I would be?’ Then the other guy thinks about it and says, ‘No, what kind?’ Then the first guy looks at the second guy very seriously for many seconds and says, ‘A king salmon.’”


This is what I look like after 24 years of what they call ‘The Struggle.’

Later on, still in Seattle and in the midst of my first karaoke experience since my birth at Kaiser, Oakland, I learned an important truth: One can’t really understand “Like A Prayer” until one sings “Like A Prayer” with the flavors of cheese bread on one’s tongue. You can quote me on that. I can show you my research.

Then we played Bellingham and Eugene and Chico and Davis. Thanks for coming out if you came out. The shows felt good.

Through all that, the coolest noise in the background was a supergroup of friends called Huge Black Man. The band is composed of my band’s drummer, Noah Clark, in concert with Tera Melos guitarist Nick Reinhart, bassist Sam Phelps, and Anton Patzner, a curly violinist and touring member of Bright Eyes. A few months ago these four came together for about eight hours and recorded seven songs. To me, this music sounds like an eclipse: rare and phenomenal. I can’t believe that these four have connected in this way in these variegated lifetimes. They just got mixed, thanks to Avi, at Springman, who will release the songs for free online and for cheap on vinyl. Here’s “Unprotected Flex” from Huge Black Man’s debut, Hugh Jackman.



Download ”Unprotected Flex” by Huge Black Man.



Visit Huge Black Man’s LABEL and keep an eye out for free music/cheap vinyl.

BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN

Ever feel like you’ve said it three times when you haven’t said it at all?

What a weird weekend. My band went on vacation and left me alone for 72 hours to finish up vocals on some demo songs. Nine-and-one-quarter songs, of which I made two sound partially tolerable. I finished about half of the rest, but blew out my upper register during hour 30 of the 32 hours I spent trying my best. A light bulb went out in the room minutes before my voice turned to mush. It was terrifying.

As my Last.fm can testify, I couldn’t really listen to any music when I was away from the rehearsal room. In my apartment—where I took most of my meals—I sat in silence, alone and gravelly, drinking a cup of Throat Coat per hour. All I could think about were melodies that didn’t quite work and lyrics that I did or didn’t find oppressive, insincere, too-ridiculous or any of the other things that drive me crazy about lyrics. Literally, I would go to the practice space around 2 pm, then come home around 2 am. Before going to sleep all I could do was drink tea and watch Twin Peaks Youtube’s until I knew I’d have some sort of nightmare. On Sunday night I dreamt I was in a house that only had stairs on the left side of this ochre room, and when I walked up the stairs it became pitch black until I emerged in the same room I was in before, with the same crooked frames on peeling walls, unsavory faceless people on torn velvet couches, and that same flight of stairs going up to the left. Somewhat logically, I looked out a window. Outside looked like that dreamy desert from Beetle Juice, with a few more of these houses that went up five or six stories to the left. Like I said, weird weekend.

Friday was great, though. All day long I felt excited about being alone with these songs that have been months in the making. I threw my iPod on shuffle at work and enjoyed the randomness of the 12,500 songs crammed in there. Admittedly, I hoped for inspiration. The third song to come up was this Bruce Springsteen song, “Downbound Train.” I’d never really listened to it before and until The Boss comes in I swore it was a twangy Cure song. It’s a great song about lonliness. I listened to it three times in a row. I thought about the song all weekend. It hovered above my own songs, a distant statute of tamed greatness blurred across a weird desert of my own flat notes, awkward words, and imagined monsters with Michael Keaton’s face.



Click to download “Downbound Train” by Bruce Springsteen from the album Born In The U.S.A.







Bruce Springsteen’s WEBSITE.
Bruce Springsteen on LAST.FM.
Bruce Springsteen on WIKIPEDIA.
Bruce Springsteen on ELBO.WS.
Bruce Springsteen on HYPEMACHINE.
Bruce Springsteen on AMAZON.

THE POSTAL SERVICE

One of the few things that could have made this poster better is if the headliner was, in fact, The Postal Service.

Two Saturday’s ago we played a good show in Reno, NV. The spot we play is a tiny bar called Satellite. I’m going to call it our “spot” because we’ve played there at least four times, not counting that one time at a different venue through the same promoter—or the show we’re doing there in ten days. Shows at Satellite are fun. The crowd is always young and excitable, and they’re not going anywhere else anyway, so you know someone close to your age and drunk will be ready to get down.

Another cool thing about Satellite is that the employees and owners are friendly and attractive. That Saturday, the only thing better than the drink specials was the bartender’s iPod mix. In quick blurs of audacity, she would cut off a recognizably great song (like the blurpy first seconds of “SexyBack”) and, in a flash, be playing something totally better.

The primary example being this peach gumball from electronic artist John Tejada: a remix of Postal Service’s “Such Great Heights.” Tejada slows it down; if James Scott Tamborello’s original mix was a frantic, impassioned dash towards distant love, Tejada makes it a confident jog, like indie rock Fabio Lanzoni approaching Jenny Lewis on a white sand beach in the South Pacific. Oh my god, I just reread that last sentence. So “crit.”

When this came on at Satellite, it wasn’t instantly recognizable. But when Benjamin Gibbard’s vocals drop, sounding even clearer at the slower speed, I melted. I found the remix on iTunes. Turns out it sounds great when it’s not Saturday night in Reno, too. The things you learn in The Biggest Little City In The World.



Click to download “Such Great Heights (John Tejada Remix)” by The Postal Service, from the album Give Up as remixed by John Tejada.




The video for the original, un-remixed “Such Great Heights” by The Postal Service.


The video of “We Will Become Silhouettes” by The Postal Service. Directed by the guy that did Napoleon Dynamite and featuring Jenny Lewis.

The Postal Service’s WEBSITE.
The Postal Service on MYSPACE.
The Postal Service on PUREVOLUME.
The Postal Service on LAST.FM, where, according to wikipedia, the song “Such Great Heights” has been in the Top 10 most played songs list since the website's inception.
The Postal Service on WIKIPEDIA.
The Postal Service on ELBO.WS.
The Postal Service on HYPEMACHINE.
The Postal Service on AMAZON.
Learn about the upcoming release from Tamborello’s other project, Dntel.
Support The Postal Service’s LABEL.

THE FALL OF TROY

An unflattering picture NAVE took of this prototype Gibson guitar.

I have little perception of how many of my 21-25 year-old friends enjoy The Fall Of Troy. I’m almost certain none of the damaged-artsy noise kids do. Same goes for the post-damaged-artsy kids who moved showering up on the prerogative list about the same time as Clap Your Hands Say Yeah overtook Xiu Xiu as the show-to-wear-a-party-dress-at. I think most of my math-rock friends probably enjoyed TFOT back when the band played basements for free, though I’m unsure they’d admit it now. I’m sure that my “post-hardcore” friends like TFOT, and I’m certain that all my 15-20 year-old friends love (or are about to love) TFOT.

I know pigeonholing doesn’t make or keep friends, so let me be clear: I don’t care who likes TFOT and I’m stoked for whatever they’re liking instead. But a lot of people love TFOT and I think these people—though younger—have amazing, significant reasons for their appreciation. I think the qualities of the appreciation—it’s pretty fervent and viral—make TFOT a new yardstick in an industry changing so fast it’s psychedelic. TFOT farmed a cult of fans from the ground up. The band toured incessantly since all the members were under 18 (they are now 21-ish). The trio easily outshined the zillion-watt lights burning out the decade’s first international music scene. Instead of doing this by innovating mascara usage, pissing off an Osbourne, or rehashing Mötley Crüe, TFOT succeed by updating the progressive swirl of Rush so that kids into My Chem could compute. In fact (and here's a big compliment), I'm sure TFOT is a gateway band for a lot of kids, leading them to music outside of the mentioned "scene." That scene—like a totem with only one repeating face—had become profitable, popular, and largely disposable long before TFOT entered the pit. It remains that way today. Really, it's stronger than ever, as we’ll see next Tuesday when Fall Out Boy bury The Used with an album of songs that Robert Edward McCracken should have purchased the rights to years ago.

Don’t read into this too much: I’m not saying this scene of scream/sing after-emo produced TFOT. Nor does TFOT sound remotely like FOB (hopefully you're still with me). I am saying that I’m impressed that this scene allows for a band like TFOT, and I’m especially impressed with TFOT’s ownership over its career within the homogeny that helped foster its success. The case-in-point is the seemingly hand-selected lineup for the band’s current headlining national tour. All the bands are exceptional in their own way: Portugal. The Man, one of Fearless Records’ recent stabs at remembering a better past, are as progressive—if softer—than TFOT; Damiera, labelmates with TFOT, take Cap ‘n Jazz-style math rock and give it a dose of contemporaneousness; and Tera Melos, the love of my life, provide the purest, unhinged artistic integrity that I’m arguing this tour is full of. It’s a big deal that a band like TFOT, that will end up selling out a majority of the shows on this, its first national tour, is willing to assure this sort of musical quality succeeds in its wake. And succeed these bands will: I’d feel like Judas by mentioning just how much income all the bands are generating, but be assured, the numbers across the board are very high.

That should mean that the audience will grow and (hopefully) sustain for every band on the tour. I went to the kick off for the tour, a show in San Francisco that might have sold out twice over. The line was enormous. Half the attendees (myself included) missed most of Melos waiting outside. I’ve seen a bundle of sold out shows at the 250-ish capacity Bottom Of The Hill. I’ve noticed types of sold out shows: Minus The Bear sold out the night of, so it seemed fairly packed, but not too crazy. The Mars Volta (on their first tour ever) and Thrice (way back in the day) were much fuller. Or maybe the crowds had more panicked energy, as if they knew it wouldn’t be like this again.


This kid, upon finding out that the show was gonzo-sold out, decided to try and jump the razor-wire fence. We have no idea what happened to him, but rumor has it he’s trapped in the maw.

TFOT’s crowd had that energy, as if next time ‘round it would cost $45 to see TFOT open with Circa Survive for Coheed And Cambria at the 3,500-capacity Warfield on the “Equal Vision Records Just Made Another $50 Million This Year Tour.” But at BOTH, people went apeshit for every band. Melos’ music, peerless as it is, earned polite applause and confusion, which usually means that everyone’s brains were (understandably) about a minute behind what was happening on stage. Damiera and Portugal. The Man had more and more people singing along. And TFOT had 200 fists raised for an hour straight. TFOT ringleader Thomas Erak could step into the crowd like a Jesus-in-girls-jeans and walk all over his fans, who looked even happier than when their guitar hero wasn’t touching them. Erak shreds phenomenal riffs, and this is what gets me wettest about this whole salad of screamo, prog, math-rock, and pop: it’s founded on incredible, thoughtful musicianship.

As songwriters edging their way into the centrifuge of pop culture, TFOT bring more to the table than most bands of comparable size: key changes, timing switches, riff after riff, solos, jams, all captured by wicked musical choreography. The band represents many things, the most important of which—from where I’m standing and singing along—is the proliferation of technical audacity in the mainstream marketplace. I think that cultural tastes seem to change when cults outgrow themselves. Rarely does music this complex cause a cult audience to outgrow itself, and rarely still does that growth even begin to take over the scene itself.

TFOT will release an anticipated album in just a few months. They know there’s an army of interest. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m wordy when I’m excited, and I’m excited that music this creative can make such an impact. It gives the future a lot of purpose.

Click to download “You Got A Death Wish, Johnny Truant” by The Fall Of Troy, from the album Doppelgänger.

Click to download “Marching With 6” by Portugal. The Man from the album Waiter: "You Vultures!".

Click to download “Lessons” by Damiera, from the album M(US)ic.

Click to download “The Werewolf And Ben” by Tera Melos, from the vinyl-only release Drugs To The Dear Youth.


This is a new song, probably my favorite I’ve heard. Live at Bottom Of The Hill. No one is holding it together.


“I Just Got This Symphony Goin’” live in Italy.


Tera Melos playing at The Door in Dallas. There were over 800 people at this show.

The Fall Of Troy’s WEBSITE.
The Fall Of Troy on MYSPACE.
The Fall Of Troy on PUREVOLUME.
The Fall Of Troy on LAST.FM.
The Fall Of Troy on WIKIPEDIA.
The Fall Of Troy on HYPEMACHINE.
The Fall Of Troy on AMAZON.
Support The Fall Of Troy’s (and Damiera’s) LABEL.

CHICK COREA

This photo can be found here.

About 22 hours ago, I sat in my room working on my movie. My experience with ideas has me understanding that ideas are uncontrollable, which is to say I don’t remember when or why or where I decided to start thinking about this random batch of ideas as a movie. I think it just happened. Last night, however, I do remember that I started thinking about my movie while I was making a really late dinner and listening to the singular, progressive jazz pianist, Chick Corea. I was cooking up some fried matzo, no kidding. Literally, I was just using a spatula, when all of a sudden strange strands of dialogue start bleeding out of my mind and into the antechamber of my brain-space. I don’t recognize it at first and think to myself, do I even need dialogue for anything? Then I remembered: the movie.

My movie is about a woman named George who has three productive, happy, and functionally unique personalities with three separate, successful careers, tastes, and styles. Two of these personalities fall for a cameraman named Dizzy, who works for a team of doctors following Geo around all the time documenting her unusual condition. (Most of the characters come to call her Geo.) I’m calling the movie The Origamist, because the only tendency the personalities share is a passion for (and skill with) manipulating paper.

So, here I am, deep inside what was tomorrow night just yesterday. The space of a day allowed me a chance to parse the dialogue I trotted out last night. Through the misty looking glass of retrospect, I've decided on and posted my favorite bit: This dialogue occurs as one of Geo’s personalities sits on a park bench folding paper. She is confronted with three children in Halloween costumes who come play in the park all the time and are familiar with one of her other personalities sitting on the same bench and folding the same paper the same way.

Below the dialogue is a great song Chick Corea performed called, “Toy Room”—a title that perfectly describes the feeling of unexpected late night inspiration.

DIALOGUE FROM THE ORIGAMIST, A WORK IN PROCESS, RATHER, PROGRESS.

COWBOY: I reckon you owe me a swan.

INDIAN CHIEF: ...And me a leaping frog.

ALIEN: You assured me of a spacecraft.

GEO: Excuse me?

COWBOY: Get foldin’ bandito! Or else I’ll shoot ya!

INDIAN CHIEF: I’ll scalp you.

ALIEN: I’ll abduct you.

GEO: Do I know you guys?

COWBOY: Of course you do.

INDIAN: It’s us.

GEO: It’s you?

COWBOY: You betcha! Now git to it you varmint!

GEO: (Playing along) Take it easy there, Butch Cassidy, or you ain’t gettin’ nothin’.

COWBOY: I’m not Butch Cassidy.

GEO: Oh really? Then who are you?

COWBOY: (Removes hat, whispering) It’s just me.

GEO: That’s probably true.

ALIEN: I’m an alien.

GEO: I can see that.

ALIEN: You can?

GEO: I think so.

------------------------------------------------------


Click the song title to download “Toy Room” by Chick Corea.


Chick Corea's WEBSITE.
Chick Corea on PUREVOLUME.
Chick Corea on YOUTUBE.
Chick Corea on LAST.FM.
Chick Corea on ALL MUSIC.
Chick Corea on WIKIPEDIA.
Chick Corea on WIKIQUOTE
Chick Corea on AMAZON.