Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

my music

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

Monday Music: Arcati Crisis, live @ Tin Angel

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Last Thursday my acoustic indie-pop duo, Arcati Crisis, made our fourth appearance together at the Tin Angel. It was our second as co-headliner, and first closing the show.

I think we were pretty awesome, and I have brought you video to back up my claim. Watch as we tear through “Holy Grail,” “Glam / Standing,” “Video Killed the Radio Star,” “Dumbest Thing I Could Do,” “Fisher Price,” and “Better,” all in one convenient playlist.

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Did you like what you heard? Share it with a shortlink: bit.ly/actin1009

I’ll tell you more about the circumstances leading up to the show in my “28 years, 51 weeks” posts over the next few days. Until then, just enjoy the music.

Bad Good Gig or Good Bad Gig?

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Gina and I played an Arcati Crisis set at Collingswood 2nd Saturday this weekend – an outdoor gig singing on the street to folks exploring the restaurants and events on Haddon Ave.

By any objective measure, it was a good gig. We played for almost two solid hours, we drew crowds of passers-by multiple times, we gave away half of our CDs, and we even reaped a significant amount of donations from our pseudo-busking!

Arcati Crisis playing Collingswood 2nd Saturday, as shot by Jay Donahue.

However, subjectively the gig sucked. I was angsty from the start when the band before us ran over a bit. I didn’t feel like our mics were balanced, and I couldn’t hear my guitar. I broke a string that’s only two weeks old in the middle of “Video Killed the Radio Star.” I was distracted when donations started to blow out of Gina’s guitar case. I completely forgot any semblance of chords to “Standing.” I lost the roadmap on “Hungerstrike.” I was a measure behind on the bridge of “Moscow, Idaho.”

In my musical life I have my off moments and flubbed changes, but I never miss entrances or get out of sync. I just don’t. Yet on Saturday I was so out of sorts that I literally stopped our set halfway through to play a solo song in a desperate attempt to regain my focus.

This morning I wrote Gina an email, partially stating:

My head was just in a completely other place, and I could not get completely centered again. It was really unprofessional and I feel shitty about it.

Then I stopped by my colleague Jay’s cube, and the first thing he said was:

You were really awesome on Saturday.

And, you know what? I don’t think it was just Jay who felt that. I feel like we got more smiles and complements during the set on Saturday than we’ve ever had at that sort of background music gig ever before.

What’s the secret?

I suppose there’s something to that reckless abandon of messing up and and moving on. A decade ago I was more apt to say “art is in the imperfections,” but now I prefer to deliver the same perfect performance every single time.

Decade-ago Peter would ask me, “What’s the point of that?”