There’s No Such Thing As A Singer Songwriter

19 Jun

I think alot about music. My music, other people’s music. I am a student of the game. And what you realize about many great artists is that they are exceptionally great at one thing.

Take a look at Robert Johnson. He was an amazing talent—a guitar virtuoso, a hellified singer, and an incredibly terse and impactful songwriter. But his legend is as a guitarist. That is the thing he is most remembered for. Nobody could play like Johnson.

Ray Charles. The Genius. An innovative vocalist, a boundless musician (did you know that he played saxophone too?), and an unparalleled arranger. But what is his legacy? His voice. Ray developed the ability to put his whole heart into every note he sang. Nobody could sing like Ray.

What about Bob Dylan? The quintessential singer-songwriter. He invented the genre. Before Bob, you had songwriters and singers, and ne’re the twain shall meet. But Bob successfully combined the two. But you can’t really be the best at two things. So when the deal goes down, which is he? He’s a songwriter. That is the aspect of Bob’s artistry that endures. Nobody can write like Bob.

I think there’s something here. It seems like maybe in music and life, you can accomplish more if you focus on less. But it’s hard. It’s so much easier to just try to do a bunch of stuff. It lets us off the hook from having to choose something.

But then you wind up like everybody else who can kind of do everything and is known for nothing. Maybe if we figure out what that first anchor is, we can bloom from there.

How To Stand Out In A Crowd

17 Jun

Tropical storm be damned, I wasn’t about to miss The Oblivians.

I sloshed over to the South Street Seaport through the rising flood and headed out on Pier 17. There was a big tent, this must be the spot.

I approached the hand-stampers, a couple of young girls. The one looked at me.

“Are you here for the concert?”

“Yes. Why, is there something else going on?”

She smiled and stamped my hand. “No, go ahead in.”

I was wearing my work clothes, shirt and tie. Maybe she thought I was too square for the rock show.

When I got inside, I saw why. Everybody, and I mean everybody, was dressed the part of a rock n roller. It was kind of a turn off. My bullshit detector kicked in immediately and I was kind of sizing people up trying to figure out who was the real thing and who was just playing pretend.

This kind of put me in a sour mood. I started feeling like a crabby old guy. But then I realized, no, I’m not just a crabby old guy. I’m searching for authenticity, in myself and in others.

Or maybe I am grumpy cause my socks are soaked.

The opening band started playing and I went to the back of the tent. Got myself a hot dog and sat down on a picnic bench. Took my book out and started to read. It’s fun to do whatever you want to do, even when it’s totally weird like reading a book at a rock show.

The band ended and The Oblivians were up next. I started to get pumped. I stood up, looked around, and suddenly felt very proud that I was the only guy in a shirt and tie at the whole show. I’d rather just do me than look like eveybody else.

As I waded up to the stage I started seeing some familiar faces. Jon Spencer of the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. Eric Davidson from the New Bomb Turks. Yes! These people made me feel at home. It didn’t matter what I was wearing, I was among kin.

The Oblivians took the stage. They sounded perfect. I felt victorious. End scene.

Here’s me singing my favorite Oblivians song, Bad Man.

What I’ll Do When I Die

13 Jun

Everybody wonders what happens when we die.

Maybe we just go into the ground, food for the worms. Maybe we go to an awesome place where all the other dead people we miss are waiting there for us, good as new.

But I was at the gym today and my mind started to wander. I started thinking, what if when I died, I just woke up in a big open area of nothingness. Like basically a huge, infinite, empty room.

This was kind of interesting to think about. It was neither terrifying nor comforting. It just kind of was.

So I started to think, well what would I do once I got there?

I figured the first thing I would do is sing. It would probably sound good with all that inifinite reverb. I would sing and clap my hands. It’s the sound I’ve been trying to make all these years, the sound of my dad singing and clapping in the shower.

After I got tired of that, I think I would say out loud how I really felt about everybody I had lived with. I would probably cry some, and scream some.

It’s hard to say the things you really feel about someone to their face. Not because you don’t believe it, but it’s just that the words don’t come out sometimes. Or maybe it’s just awkward.

But right now, I’ll just say Mom I really love you and you are just a picture of sweetness.

And Dad, you’re my hero.

Grandma, I didn’t understand you until I was 20 years old. Then you died. Now I understand you more every single day.

There. That wasn’t so hard. I would probably say a whole lot more, but I just wanted to experiment there a bit.

Once I had said all that, I think the only thing left do to would just be to start running. I would run as long as I could and then just stop and rest up and then keep on running.

Maybe it would be peaceful. Just to go on running forever.

Dad Rock

12 Jun

Learning To Sing

11 Jun

I love to sing. It’s so pure and so joyous when you really let it all hang out.

I have done alot of bad singing over the years.

And still more, lots of reluctant, unsure singing. This is worse than bad singing.

But I’m working on it. I want to be a great singer who can put his heart into things.

The Good Stuff Takes Time

6 Jun

Been reading some Steinbeck lately. It’s hitting me in a funny way. A new way to look at life. I remember my dad took my sister and me to an old black & white showing of The Grapes Of Wrath when we were kids. I was bored to tears. The good stuff takes time I guess.

Anyway there’s a line in The Winter Of Our Discontent that I really liked…

A story has as many versions as it has readers.

That’s cool.

Anyway, wanted to share a different version of “Georgia Sky” than the one I posted a few weeks back. Here it is, on piano.

What Does It Mean To Be An American Man?

4 Jun

Does it mean humbly providing the best living you can for your family?

Does it mean using your God given gifts to create something new in this world?

Does it mean forging ahead despite your reluctance to doing so?

Does it mean questioning your path and purpose on a daily basis?

Does it mean being grateful for the opportunities you’ve been granted?

Does it mean towing around a rock of discontent in your belly until you die?

Does it mean coming home to relax and watch the evening news?

Does it mean taking the kids to Disneyland and savoring their delight?

Does it mean accepting the limitations of your existence?

Does it mean revolting at every turn no matter what your age or status?

Does it mean laughing along with the nation to the jokes on the late show?

Does it mean risking it all in the name of personal fulfillment?

Does it mean dreaming of something better, though it may never come?

Does it mean sweating through the night under the weight of time?

Does it mean kissing your wife and telling her you love her?

Goodbye, Maxwells

3 Jun

Hoboken’s legendary Maxwell’s is closing its doors. I don’t know what to think.

It’s sad. Is this just what happens as you get older? Things decay, and then eventually die.

And so it goes with scenes, and bands, and nightclubs, and all else that is of this world.

That’s why songs are so important. Because they aren’t of this world.

They live on no matter what. They change and grow, shrink and expand. They meet us in the dark alleyways when we need them most and on the bright sunny days when we love them best.

I saw Sloan at Maxwells on the Navy Blues tour. I think it was probably ‘98 or so. It was a great rock n roll show, Chris Murphy with his shaggy brown hair and goofy glasses slipping down his sweat covered face as he tossed out the effortless swagger. And forget about it when he got behind the kit. That’s the crazy thing about Sloan, they all trade instruments throughout the show–everybody plays everything.

My bands played there dozens of times over the years. It was a great venue, lots of memories.

But tomorrow comes a-callin’ and there’s no sense in pretending she ain’t here. A fond farewell to a great piece of my rock n roll story.

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How I Snatched Victory From The Jaws Of Defeat

31 May

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So who is this skeleton guy anyway, and what does it have to do with Brother Paul?

Well, I’ll tell you.

Sometime last year, my friend Jay Kundrath asked me & Spicy to back him up for a few gigs on bass and drums. We were joking around and came up with the name Worst Nightmare as our name. You know, like Petty has The Heartbreakers, well we’d be Jay Kundrath’s Worst Nightmare.

Fine, done. I even drew up a little logo for it here:

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The first show as Worst Nightmare went really well and some people even commented on the logo on the flyer. So when Jay booked another show, I took the next logical step: I ordered Worst Nightmare stickers. Yes! They’re awesome. If you want one, just email me.

OK so that was that.

Fast forward like almost a year later. Remember I was telling you about Butcher’s Muchachos and all that? Well I thought maybe that little skull from the “i” in “Nightmare” could work in some kind of logo… like so:

butchers muchachos

But like I said, it never really got off the ground.

So this cool looking guy was just kind of lost and useless and it seemed like maybe he could work as a logo for Brother Paul.

I mean I drew it after all, and isn’t that the old saying, that the painter always paints himself?

I’ve Been Chosen

30 May
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