The Contrarian

Why I Don't Play Live (Often).

But when I did, it looked a lot like this.

My co-worker Chhaya just published a really thoughtful post about touring (and traveling for work) over at Liquid Sunshine. Unlike Chhaya, I never felt called to a life on the road, but I certainly understand outgrowing something you previously held dear. For me, it's live performance, which so many people associate with the music, but I now find tedious. And it's not all about travel, although I definitely did my share of that back in the band days.

The driving was fine, and the company was occasionally tolerable, provided I'd had enough coffee/booze/sleep. What always got me was the waiting around. I really hated dragging my shit into the club and being basically trapped there between soundcheck (if you were lucky to get one) and set time. Sure, you could walk around town, but there's always the need/compulsion to get back to the venue. You could sit at the bar and drink, but if you have the relationship to alcohol that I have, that isn't always the best idea. (I'm a perfectly jovial drunk, but the problem is if I start, I just keep right on going. This can lead to messy performances, which I really can't stand.) So mostly you just roam around bored, every sticker on the walls confirming your understanding that there are simply too many bands out there.

You don't really meet the best and the brightest on the road, either. Soundguys will talk you ear off about their new compressor and how they once ran front-of-house for Whitesnake. That's if they talk to you at all; often they just mumble monosyllables. Until you spill beer into their monitors, that is. Then they demonstrate a quite colorful vocabulary.

Audiences, while often appreciative, are typically soused. They shout ridiculous shit at you (especially if you're the frontperson). Sometimes they even get up onstage and step all over your pedals. Believe me, I've been tempted to react like Jay Reatard does in this here clip. Actually, I do recall getting a little testy back in the day. (If I caused any unanticipated dental work, you have my sincerest apologies.)

Also, the pay pretty much sucks for playing live. I've found I can much more easily subsidize my gear habit by mixing/mastering other people's work. Don't get me wrong, I have been paid pretty well for shows, but I always had to split it with other people! (Plus it was the old days.) Hmm, maybe I'm just selfish.

It's true that there's something exciting about the chemistry between the right players. I've been there before, and some pretty incendiary shit came out of it. Unfortunately, it's a lot like relationships: the volatile ones usually produce the most passion, but are the hardest to sustain. Intensity can so easily slip into mutual antagonism.

The only downside to studio life these days is that there's less value to recorded music. Pricing is pretty well fucked, with major stars setting out the online begging cup. But as Don Van Cleave of the Coalition of Independent Music Stores told me just yesterday, we're only about seven years into the Digital Disruption. It will eventually stabilize. Or so we hope.

Another problem with studio work is that it really brings out your perfectionist tendencies. I still write what I consider to be interesting music that's well-played, but since I have essentially endless amounts of time to revise and re-envision, I can take forever to release anything. I thought my new record, Northern Lights, was done, but now I think I'm gonna make some further alterations. I'm like Axl Rose but without the hair extensions. And I can play everything myself, ha! 

Wow. That's a lot of blathering. But I guess that's what blogs are for.

At The Doctor.

My chronic lower back problem has finally driven me to seek professional counsel. (I also blame the pain for yesterday's lack of posts.)

I'm currently sitting in the orthopedist's exam room, awaiting my fate.

More later, I'm sure. . .

UPDATE: Got x-rayed, poked and fondled by a really decent-seeming doc who told me I have an inflamed disc. Part of the problem, we both agreed, is that I've put on around 30 pounds in the last year or so. I'm not fat, per se, but I'm on the way to having one of those weird old-man bellies that you can rest a beer (or multiple copies of Golf Digest) upon.

Doc gave me some anti-inflammatory meds, light painkillers and a lumbar doohickey, like Steve Buscemi wore in Ghost World. He also told me to lay in bed for the next couple of days. So I'm working from home, which the cats totally dig. I'll be plugging away right about up to primary returns time, when I'll give myself completely over to Chris Matthews and Keith Olbermann. I'm sure I'll have plenty to say about that tomorrow. Oh, and thanks for the kind words, duders.

Mountains 'n' Mormons.

I've been taking a lot of pictures of Utah sundry, and will post soon. We checked out the venue yesterday. Majestic. I'll upload some shots when I get a second. We play this afternoon at 2:30. I feel pretty good about our performance in rehearsals, but there are some lingering doubts about the technology. Fingers crossed. Our piece is being recorded, so there's a good chance I'll post it here for your consideration.

In the meantime, read about George Dvorsky's existential angst. I would rarely want anyone to speak for me, but I'm happy to point to this post as an example of my own intimate uncertainties.

Sick But Solid.

Got me a ferocious cold just in time for my trip to Utah tomorrow. Oh, well.

"Gypsy" is a decent late-period Fleetwood Mac song.

Talked to the incredibly brilliant (and indubitably British) Peter Jenner this morning. He was in Old Blighty; I was in my PJs. Early in his career, Peter organized the Hyde Park Free Concerts, which melted many a mind. He also managed a little act called Pink Floyd. These days, he works with Billy Bragg, while simultaneously trying to inject artist-oriented ethics into an industry not known for its moral responsibility. We recorded our conversation; it'll be over at the FMC blog once I get a chance to review and edit it.

Working at the intersection of music, technology, policy and law: fascinating. Talking to heroes and having them actually live up to your expectations: priceless.

Stressed.

Long, tough weird day. I was a little testy out of the gate, but I'm doing better now.

We might wait on the house. Things in our lives aren't perfectly stable at the moment, and buying a house requires a certain level of security. But we've got time. My only worry is that this particular property is gonna go, and we'll be left looking at shitholes. (Which make up the lion's share of properties in our price range.)

Links:

I wrote a review of Carla Bozulich's band Evangelista for Dusted. I think it's one of my better ones. I'm gonna try to catch her/them at SXSW.

Wrote a short little thingie for Washington City Paper about a local DC band called The Moderate. It's a weekly feature they have called "One Track Mind," where you get a close-up look at a tune from an up-and-coming act. On deck for WCP is a review of the new Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds record, Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!. Looking forward to that one.

Scored a little press for the organization in today's Pitchfork news. Just doin' my job.

Jeff Tweedy blogs for the New York Times about his migraines, depression and panic attacks, all of which he's conquered without pharmaceuticals. Way to be, Jeff. Wish I had that kind of fortitude.

I can't tell you how pissed I am at the brewing delegate battle, so I won't. I'm doing my best to avoid any political coverage, lest I blow a gasket. You know it's serious when Casa del Casey becomes a Chris Matthews-free zone.

See you tomorrow. I'm hoping it's a better day than this one was. . .

Free Is The New Lame.

Taking a break from arguing with Ben (hard to do — he's got a fascinating mind) to wish everyone a happy weekend.

Brooke and I are gonna look at houses tomorrow with a realtor. Whee!

There's an article in Wired by Chris Anderson (The Long Tail) about how everything in business is destined to be "free." (Does this apply to gasoline and groceries?) Here's two takes on the piece: the first is by Future of Music Coalition's kick-ass intern Alexei Painter (that's his real name!); the second from ex-radio honcho and current music-media whiz Jerry Del Colliano.

For the record, I think Anderson is off the mark here. Believe me, I understand how the internet has undermined certain long-standing business models; I deal with the fallout every day at work. But I don't want to live in a world where recorded music has no value other than to get people to your live show, where they might buy a t-shirt. Mostly because I abhor playing live.  (It's got nothing to do with stage fright, just good old fashioned misanthropy.)  Yet I live for the studio, where I can tweak and experiment to my heart's content.

I've said it before: you wouldn't expect Da Vinci to recreate the Mona Lisa from scratch in one after another dive bar, so  why should musical artists be compelled to regurgitate their songs night after night? Unless they want to, that is. And not all of us do.

Boring Is The New Quiet Was The Old Loud.

"I've got a few minutes to kill before my shift at Starbucks. Wanna collaborate on a toothless weeper for the masses?"

Why does everyone think that song from Once is so damn great, when it plainly sucks farts? Is this continued evidence of the adult-contemporarification of so-called "indie" music?

Scruffy Redhead and his Shy Girl Friday seem like sweet kids and everything (at least from what I saw on the Oscars), but their little duet is the definition of pap.

Just had to get that off my chest.

Comcast is The Devil.

Crappy service, high prices, anti-competitive market dominance, misleading broadband claims, poor technical support, annoyingly high-volume advertising, secretive (and possibly illegal) traffic "shaping," weak-ass On-Demand selection, piss-poor packaging structures, useless website.

And they can't even get someone to my house to add a service within the 4-hour window they quoted me TWO WEEKS AGO. You start to understand why Mona "The Hammer" Shaw took such drastic action.

People, I implore you: do not vote Republican (or even Libertarian). There needs to be stricter Federal regulation of all corporate entities doing business with the public spectrum. Sorry, but the the "market" can't "decide" this shit. Or else you get our current situation, in which consumer choice is strangled by profit-hungry monopolies and US broadband penetration is the laughing stock of the rest of the free world.

Your next President is gonna decide how the FCC is staffed. Let's make sure it's not with cronyist douchebags.

Oh, and FUCK COMCAST.

UPDATE:

The technician never came. He was supposed to be here at 11 AM. I called Comcast a total of 11 times. With each call, there was approx. 30 min. hold time. With each call, I was told that the they'd contacted dispatch and the technician would be ringing me directly within fifteen minutes. He never did.

On my 8th call, at 5 PM, I was on hold for around 20 minutes. The customer service rep came back on to tell me that the technician had come to my building at 4:45, and asked the concierge to be let up. The front desk supposedly called us but "we didn't answer." So the technician simply left.

I checked in with our wonderful concierge, Clyde, who told me that no one from Comcast came to our building today. They lied! When I called back, I was told a supervisor would ring me in a few minutes. Never happened. When I called back again, I was told that there was no way they could send back another technician, 'cause it was quittin' time. Nice.

On my 11th Comcast call, I finally spoke to a woman who actually gave a shit. She told me they could simply FedEx the DVR to us. Wow. And only after 8 hours and 11 calls!

It is my fondest wish that the new Democratic administration (preferably Barack Obama's) will put pressure on the FCC to revoke Comcast's franchise license. At the very least, Congress should hold hearings to investigate the company's monopolistic hold on the cable industry.

I encourage anyone who has had similar experiences to log them at www.ComcastMustDie.com, and to write your representative to alert them of the company's fraudulent and anti-competitive behavior. You can also file comments with the FCC urging Chairman Martin to take Comcast's neutral net violations seriously.

Thank you and goodnight.

Sick Again.

Why is the goofy man with no pants pointing a gun? 'Cause he's a high school chem teacher, duh!

Brooke is super-sick; I'm on the mend. We both had a nasty stomach flu. Her ailments were compounded by an adverse reaction to prescription medication. Almost had to go to the emergency room, but thankfully, the worst has passed.

Let's talk TV for a minute. Yeah, I know — the writer's strike is still wreaking havoc on programming. But Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert are back on, at least. I even caught a new "Real Time With Bill Maher" the other day. I missed that feisty bastard.

There's also a great new show on AMC called "Breaking Bad." It's about a high school chemistry teacher (the dad from "Malcolm in the Middle") who starts cooking meth in order to pay his family's medical bills. The comedy is pitch-black, but the situations — particularly the broken middle class stuff — ring grimly true. AMC is gunning to be the new HBO, and they're off to a good start."Mad Men" was truly excellent, and "Breaking Bad" looks similarly promising.

I'm not sure if I should be embarrassed to reveal this or not, but we're getting pretty into "Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles." Way better than it has any right to be. And it's got Summer Glau — the freaky weaponized teen from "Firefly"/Serenity. She plays the "good" terminator, and looks mighty fine doing it.

Did you guys catch the last Democratic debate? Holy shit, I thought someone was gonna lose an eye.

Matching the debates for intensity is everybody's favorite "best show on television," "The Wire." Omar vs. Marlo is shaping up to be a battle royale.

If that shit's too heavy for you, try Metal Elvis:

OK. Time to hit the Benadryl.

Weekender.

Cartoon *borrowed* from Toothpaste for Dinner.

Sometimes you just gotta listen to "South Side of the Sky" by Yes, and dig on Bill Bruford's slippery snare action and Steve Howe's staccato ascending guitar runs.

'Cause it's fun.

Finished my Magnetic Fields review. Now I've only got Black Mountain, King Crimson's Great Deceiver reissues, a Kaada/Patton DVD, Jesu, Dead Meadow and Richard Swift left to go!

There's no good movies out this weekend. And I'm in the mood for a picture. JJ Abrams' hush-hush, giant monster flick Cloverfield hits theaters next week, but it's hard for me to get that excited. The previews look like the '90s Godzilla remake with Matthew Broderick, but shot with shaky handheld cameras for added "realism." And the cast of unknowns remind me of annoying NYC hipsters, or at least the Central Casting equivalent. But  hey, JJ Abrams? Right? Right?

It's a foggy, rainy evening here in the District. I think it might be a nice night to kick back and read. There's an article about "The Wire" mastermind David Simon in the new Atlantic Monthly that I'm psyched to finish. Of course, I've always got my massive CIA book to try and plow through.

I have one last song to finish on my new record, but unfortunately it's just the vocals that are left. For some reason, I just can't seem to get up the steam, even though I've already written the core melodies. Maybe I can get to it tomorrow.

Sunday, I'm off to Mark's house to rehearse for our appearance at the 2008 National Conference of the Society for Electroacoustic Music in the United States, which takes place in Salt Lake City, Utah in March. Whee!

What are you guys up to?