Cerebellum Blues

The most important members of the band: family.

It wasn't too long ago that I was naive enough to think that there were more important things in this world than immediate family. There are not. And Sunday night, it was my honor to be the assistant host for my my dad's 71st birthday. Catherine, my fiancé, cooked up a feast, and afterwards, my dad cracked the bottle of scotch I gave him, and he and I shared a few sips.  It means the world to me that I am so close to my parents. and I know that in every song I write, somewhere their influence runs strong.

The singer. Not the song.

Last Wednesday, I had the IMMENSE pleasure of working with an INSANELY talented singer. Pending his permission, I'll say who it was (no one famous... yet), but I don't want to run around telling everyone who I had the chance to record with until I know it's cool. For now, I'll call him Pipes.

The tune we were putting vocals on was Money, and I wanted Pipes, because the song has a tricky melody, but it needed to sound rock, and having heard Pipes' stuff, I figured he could really nail it. Man, did he ever. Not only did he belt out the main vocal line with power and pitch, he also layered up some harmonies and background oohs and ahs that roohl. I've always been a huge fan of harmony singing, and what Pipes put down on "tape" was just awe inspiring. He crafted up to four-part harmonies, yet the main melody never got lost and the rock factor actually went up. Crazy.

Stay tuned for more details.

In praise of the perfect song.

Okay, I know, in something so subjective as music, perfection is impossible, but if I had to vote for a perfect song, one of the few that would recieve my nod is U2's Walk On. First, the topic is brilliant: universal, , individual, simple, complex -- all at once. Then there's the structure. From the get-to-the-point-but in-an-oh-so-cool-way intro to the build of the second chorus to the anthemic out chorus, the song just gather momentum so gracefully and intuitively that I am in awe. I mean, wow, what an achievement this song is. Even more impressive, there is another song that is very nearly Walk On's equal the same album: Stuck In A Moment. I'm so inspired by U2's craft, that I am hereby committing myself to writing a song with, at the very least, an out chorus.

The return of Stumped.

This is WAY off topic for Cerebellum Blues, but I'm using this blog to announce the RELAUNCH of Stumped, my political blog. Going forward, Stumped will no longer be my commentary on the upcoming presidential election; rather, it will simply be my way to let off steam about how politicians talk to me. I fully hope to post some thoughts that will be offensive to many, persuasive to some,  and boring to no one.

The beginning of faith.

Let me be totally clear: despite the fact that my glib little headline is a reference to Sam Harris' book "The End Of Faith", I am not exactly religious. However. There is something supernatural, divine even, about The Maton. Ever since my friend Brad first loaned me this guitar, it has given me songs. Seriously. I pick the thing up, and a song comes to me. Weird, I know. And just this last week, I was bound and determined to write a song on my Fender Strat. But after numerous false starts, I picked up my Gibson. Nothing. Nada. Just horribly boring, cliché changes that would only be tempting to a sell-out, a commercial hack, a man without sympathy or taste. Then I relented. I grabbed The Maton and within minutes, yes, mere minutes, I had a chord progression and a melody that seemed cool. I fired up Pro Tools, dialed in a beat from Strike, and presto, my song took shape. Is god in The Maton? Is The Maton god? I dunno. But despite being an avowed atheist, I find myself believing that somewhere within The Maton lurks a spirit who has the gist for song and, for whatever misguided reason, has decided to bestow that gift on me. The Maton rocks. Long live The Maton.

A post is brewing. Stay tuned.

Medic!

Well, I suppose I should have been ready for this: my recently purchased Pioneer SX-850 and SX-880 receivers BOTH have problems. They each suffer from one side not sounding quite right most of the time, and downright wrong some of the time. Luckily, there is a place in Berkeley that fixes vintage gear (who fixes ANYTHING anymore?), and on Friday I will take my gear there and get everything fixed up.

Update: New photos coming soon and other stuff sure to be more important than anything else you're doing right now. Or not.

On Easter Sunday, Catherine and I drove down to my folks' house, where, after dinner, I went on a mad hunt for an old photograph of the Fender and Marshall amps I once owned. Little did I know, my hunt would yield much more than just the photo I sought. I came across a veritable treasure trove of Kodak moments (just one example of which graces this post), and I've been spending the last few days going through them all and selecting the best (and least embarrassing) for import into my computer, so that I could post them. Sadly, however, my import method (a camera) leaves a bit to be desired, and on Thursday, I plan to haul my photos to a Kinko's of some sort, and scan them all to a CD-ROM. Stay tuned!

Meanwhile, the album is STILL underway. I have a session tomorrow with a singer, and soon, Toby and I will lay down a bunch of guitar tracks, and Toby will belt out some rockers. Parallel to all this, I'm prepping a new demo of Coming Together (By Falling Apart) for The Man In Nashville, and will get that into the ether ASAP. I'm also thinking about a new arrangement for one tune, maybe two, which might require new sessions with Sam and Andy. Argh! This is hard work.

Last, but certainly not least, I will finally be calling Dave Tutin to talk about licensing issues and other business-related stuff in order to prep for a meeting I have yet to schedule with an entertainment lawyer. I'm leaning toward using Creative Commons (thanks, Mark, for the Coulton links!), but I dunno. Mulling...

Friday afternoon rehearsals.

This afternoon, my friend Toby came over and we went over six tunes of mine that we'll be recording in the coming weeks. Eons ago, back in Whittier, California, where Toby and I, along with Prince-wanna-be Mike Price, were living in a converted Sears storage shack, we used to noodle on guitars all the time for hours and hours on end. One of our favorites was Love in Vain, according to the Rolling Stones, but in the years since, we have very rarely gotten together to just hang out and play like we did back then. So today was pretty cool. Toby brought his vintage Ibanez PF-300; I played my Gibson CS-336. And we just went through song by song, talking parts, mood, tone, whether a 12-string might be good, a Marshall, a Tele, a Strat. The only difference between now and so many years ago: nada. We were right back in it.

Sometimes music really is in the air: a walk along Fisherman's Wharf.

Yesterday evening, Catherine got home from work a bit early (for her), and with daylight savings time in gear, the night was still young, so we decided to go for a walk. I grabbed my new camera -- which I'm still figuring out how to use -- and we headed down to the waterline and walked toward a sun that was setting behind the Golden Gate Bridge. As we talked and I snapped a few amateur photos, it struck me how lucky am, despite my health woes, to be with Catherine and live in a place that truly is possessed of magical beauty. We ended our walk at Ana Mandara, a restaurant at Ghirardelli, with a glass of wine and chicken skewers. Then it was home for the final episode of the final season of the wire, possibly the best show ever to grace TV, and an episode of Top Chef, trash TV at its best.