Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

Creative

Now I’m a bassist

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We just loaded out from my first Philly show as a member of Filmstar.

Bass was played. I did not magically forget how to do it when we got on stage, which was a great relief. I had worries that I was going to look down and suddenly discover the bass was totally alien to me, like I was holding an accordion, or something else arcane that I don’t know how to play.

Bagpipes, possibly.

It’s weird to be sitting on the bottom of the mix. With Gina everything has equal weight – guitar against guitar, vocal against vocal. Either of us can dip out for a second and things stay in motion.

With Filmstar if I stop playing there’s no bottom! The bottom falls out.

Well, after one experience with that early in the set, I learned my lesson pretty quickly.

The other strange thing was being so LOUD. I am not a loudness junky when it comes to music, so I’m not used to the way instruments and amps resonate differently at higher volumes. It kept taking my by surprise.

It was a good set. Fast, a few bumps, but nothing I’m going to hold against myself forever.

So, yeah, now I’m a bassist. Seriously, me as the rhythm section? Where do I come up with these ideas.

Video Demo: “End With Me”

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Last night Gina and I held an epic Arcati Crisis rehearsal with our drummer Zina. We’ve worked our way up to eight drummed up tunes, and now we’re adding other special features like electric guitars and effects pedals.

We’re going to figure out this band thing, one way or another.

Meanwhile, I spent seemingly every free moment of yesterday singing the arpeggio D-F#-A-D-F#-A-D, which spans all the good bits of my singing range. However, on a weird set of vowels the top D can be a bit of a beast to get on top of, and of course I wrote myself just such a troublesome set of sounds when I penned “End With Me” shortly after posting about Eric Smith on Sunday night.

Can bad vowels stop me? Hell no. I mean, have you heard some of the audio on here from ten years ago? Not even bad singing can stop me.

Anyhow, here is a late-night first take on “End With Me,” another song from my soundtrack to Eric’s novel, Textual Healing. This tune has a slew of references to the book, including some specific lines. The recording has plenty of rough edges, but it sounds right, and I’ll take rough and right over mannered and plasticine any day of the week.

(Okay, not really, but let’s just think that for the purposes of this post.)


(Watch the video on Facebook, where I occasionally demo brand new tunes for my likers. Also, you can read the lyrics there.)

How Eric Smith rocked my world.

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Story time.

A few weeks ago Britt Miller, my partner in all things FAME, posted a link to the first segment of Eric Smith‘s “podiobook” – a podcasted audiobook version of his forthcoming novel Textual Healing with Britt contributing a special voice-acting appearance.

Eric Smith was one of those people that everyone I know knew, but I did not. Still, I occasionally followed his adventures on Twitter, which is what one does these days when you don’t know someone everyone else knows and you want to know why they all knew him already.

It turns out they mostly know him from running Geekadelphia, editing uwishunu, and working for Quirk Books (of Pride and Predjudice and Zombies fame). Eric’s also a professor and a music photographer who spent time touring with a number of bands.

I knew about a lot of those things separately, but didn’t know Eric connected them. I was intrigued – by Eric, by the idea of the advance podiobook, by Britt’s appearance in it, and by hearing Eric’s voice read his work – so I listened. And in the span of about an hour of my on-and-off listening to the podcast, a song popped out…


(watch the video on Facebook, where I sometimes demo sneak peeks of new tunes before releasing them anywhere else)

…so, doing what any DIY songwriter would do after midnight having just moments ago written a new song for a book by someone he knew only through his extended circle of friends, I recorded my first run-through, posted it to my Facebook page at two in the morning, and tagged Eric in it – off-handedly suggesting it was the first of a number of songs I’d write for his novel.

That resulted in Eric commenting “?!” about eight hours later, which in turn lead to an email exchanges with the extremely genial Mr. Smith, who now I suppose I finally know directly instead of just knowing of via the knowledge of other people I know. Eric sent me an advance copy of Textual Healing and I am now committed (personally, not by contract or gentleman’s agreement or anything) to write at least four songs for the soundtrack of his book.

I just finished my second tune a few minutes ago, but this time there’ll be no insta-video. The phrases are so darn long that I’ll need to do voice exercise for a few days before I can get from breath mark to breath mark on the verses.

I’m happy to finally know who Eric is, and to have his passion project inspire some passion mirrored in me. Head to his blog, Eric Smith Rocks, to catch up on the first few episodes of the podiobook, and keep your eyes and ears open here for more tunes.

PS: About ten minutes after I posted this I wrote another song. Three down! One to go!

28 years, 51 weeks: pt. 4

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Thursday, September 16, 2010. 28 years, 51 weeks, 2 days.

When I packed meticulously for our gig I wasn’t considering the half mile walk up slight hill to the trolley.

Well, I was considering it pretty hard when I set foot out the door with my guitar, a canvas beach bag of clothing, a display box of free discs, and a boombox loaded with my voice exercises.

That’s my life. I mused it as I dragged my belongings uphill to the trolley line, and I mused it again nine hours later while singing my vocal warmups in an empty office while rain started to obscure my view of the city.

Backstage @ The Tin Angel, 9/16/2010

It felt a little odd to be singing my silly warmups at the office – they aren’t meant to sound good, and I was nervous that some late-working colleague would think I was actually a horrible singer despite all my crowing about voice lessons. By the end of the tape my voice felt good and sure – a welcome relief after being allergy-ravaged the day before.

Maybe the gig wouldn’t be so bad afterall.

Being me, I timed it perfectly – my voice tape would end and I’d have five minutes to pack up and catch a cab to our sound check at the Tin Angel.

So, of course, literally the second the tape finished our building’s fire alarm began to sound its klaxon. Between ear-splitting rings, a calm voice intoned, “Stand by for instructions. Do not use elevators.”

Do not use elevators. I was carrying 40+ pounds of personal belongings 38 stories above the ground. Stairs were not so much an option.

I sat on the ground in our elevator lobby, festooned with guitar, beach bag, display case, and boom box, as the klaxon rang on. Three minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Surely if it wasn’t a drill I’d be dead by now. [Read more…] about 28 years, 51 weeks: pt. 4

28 years, 51 weeks: pt. 2

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Tuesday, September 14, 2010. 28 years, 51 weeks.

Tuesday was a day. That’s the most positive thing about it I can muster. That, and work never reached the temple-pounding stress of Monday. I even left on time.

At home I desperately attempted to render some order to the studio. My gear had been in disarray since our house concert, with mic stands and guitars strewn through every room in the house. The back-to-back rehearsal and gig the prior weekend had scattered things even further. I was finding microphones in couch cushions and quarter inch cables under my bed.

Still tidying, from my attic window I spotted Gina walk across our driveway and up the path to our door. Having shed my work clothes I wore only underwear as I flung open the window and screen and hollered, “Be right down!”

Laundry, I reminded myself, you need to do laundry for the gig.

I barely managed to get myself into a pair of jeans by the time I hit the front door and Gina smiled, accustomed to finding me in states of half dress ever since she lived in the apartment above mine in 2001. [Read more…] about 28 years, 51 weeks: pt. 2