Rock 'N' Roll Updates

Being an unknown rock star in the twenty-first century is a very complicated business. 

On one hand, it's very exciting.  I feel like I'm finally beginning to get my act together a little bit. 

I'm trying to overcome my fear of performing alone.

This picture is blurry, but my name IS on that sign

In the past month or so, I've done three shows by myself. 

1.  I played a 20 minute set as part of a singer-songwriter showcase at a local pub.  It was a competition and the audience could vote for their favorite act every time they bought a drink.  A bunch of my friends from ye olde artist's community showed up and put their alcoholism to good use.  I had a blast playing my set and ended up getting second place in the competition.  Also, some random blonde chick that I didn't know yelled "LAUREN, YOU'RE HOT!!!" when my set was over.  I don't swing that way, but it was still flattering and made me feel very rock 'n' roll. 

2.  I don't know if this counts as a show, but a couple of friends set me up with a local bike shop that needed music to promote First Friday happenings.  I set my keyboard up under a little tent outside the shop and sang into a microphone that was clamped onto a large bike rack (I really need to invest in a real microphone stand).  The owner of the bike shop was hilarious and kept drunkenly requesting random cover songs that I didn't know how to play (really, who goes up to a keyboard player and requests "Whip It" by Devo???).  I finally busted out a rough cover of "Blitzkrieg Bop" by The Ramones, just to shut him up.  When I was finished, the entire population of the tattoo parlor next door cheered and some people came outside to put money in my tip jar.  I butchered a few more punk rock songs and then went back to playing originals (contrary to popular belief that night, those originals were not just souped-up Journey songs).  It was funner than I expected it to be and there was free beer.  I made enough money in tips to buy some French fries afterwards.  Rock 'n' roll.

3.  The prize for winning the songwriter show was a paid show at the same venue.  I was really excited about this and had high expectations.  So I was a nervous wreck when it came time to actually perform.  I had told so many people about the show and thought I would see a lot of my friends there.  Naturally, I was disappointed when only four people came to see me.  The bar was full of people who were there to see the girl I was opening for and everyone talked through my whole set.  I felt like the awkward background music no one was really paying attention to.  I played a song called "Deja Vu" twice as an inside joke with myself.  No one noticed.  I couldn't wait for my set to be over and ended it a little early, handing the stage over to a fake redhead with non-prescription glasses (so lame). 

After the third show, I remembered how depressing playing shows alone can be.  I've had terrible luck trying to find musicians to be in my back-up band, but decided to try yet again.  I really wish I could just clone myself and form a band with all the clones, but I don't have access to that sort of technology.  If anyone knows how to do that, let me know. 

Maybe I'm narcissistic, but I really wish this scenario could actually exist.

As it stands right now, I have a guy who's hypothetically going to play drums for me.  He's the guy I knew in high school who I recently reconnected with on Craigslist because he writes rock operas (life is so weird).  I also had a some cute kid with a Flock Of Seagulls haircut who was very excited about playing guitar for me, but he's been really bad with communication.  I finally heard from him yesterday when he informed me over text messaging that he had a new band. 

His new band is with Tweaked Out Elvis Costello, of all people.  I am so confused as to why he thinks this is a good idea.  Also, I try not to take things like this personally, but I don't really enjoy being ditched for that twerp who can't stay sober long enough to even know what notes he's playing.

Ah well.  I hope they have fun getting high and throwing cake at radiators together.  I am now accepting applications for new guitar players.

The search for a band is so frustrating.

In the meantime, I finally got some CDs printed! 

Yay!

I am so excited about how they came out.  I've currently got some for sale up on Bandcamp.  If any of you are interested, they're only $6 (yes, that includes shipping!).  I don't mean to turn this into a commercial, but I should mention that each album comes with a handwritten thank-you note from the band (a.k.a: me).  You know you want one.  :)

thewantads.bandcamp.com

It's also up for name-your-price/free download still if you don't want to pay $6.  Honestly, I just want people to hear this music and enjoy it.  I would love to be able to live off of this music thing because I hate having normal jobs, but it's not really about the money.  It makes my day every time someone tells me they're listening to my songs.  I write songs and record them because I love doing it, but I also want people to enjoy them. 

Anyway, blah blah blah.  Hi, I'm Lauren and I'm going to go on a rant about my philosophy on music.  I'm going to stop and wrap this up before it becomes something really long that no one will want to read. 

Peace and love, amigos.  More updates to come.  

Lost In Music, Caught In A Trap, No Turning Back...

So no one has pooped in a bucket yet, but I'm sure it's coming. And The Chef is still around, but everything is ballooning into a bigger controversy. Meaning that a bunch of building code violations have been revealed and now there's an impending legal battle. Not to mention the rumor that we're all going to eventually die of asbestos poisoning and possibly other things. It's what we get for thinking that it was a good idea to live in what was formerly an abandoned retirement home. No matter how much white sage you burn, there are things about the building that will always be a little bit toxic.

Luckily, I'm house-sitting for about a week and a half. I get to hang out with the world's sweetest pit bull in Southeast Portland. Burn my latte and call me a hipster, but this is my favorite part of town.

Now if only I can figure out how to work the television here, everything will be perfect. The thing has a trillion remotes and I think I pressed the wrong button on one of them last night. I was doomed to an evening of watching Ye Olde Fuzz Channel. Fail.

In other news, I've decided that I'm going to be done wallowing around in mediocrity and I need to own my life. Meaning, I need finish the album, get a back-up band together, and create a scene. I think I'm holding auditions this weekend if I can get my act together. I'm trying really hard to give the impression that The Want Ads has more than just one person in it. We'll see how that goes. The Poet is acting as my band manager. I need to get him one of those wooden paddles that the manager of Spinal Tap carries around. Painted pink, of course.

I'm also figuring out the cover art for my CD and have spent way too much time in the past week in my bathroom taking pictures that look like this:

As far as other items on the rock and roll to-do list go, I am perfecting my ability to slip in and out of a fairly convincing British accent. Pretty soon, no one is going to know what nationality I really am.

I'm either onto something great or I've hit the infamous Quarter-Life Crisis hardcore. All my friends at The Nursing Home For Artists are very encouraging, but many of them are going through similar crises (of both Quarter-Life and Mid-Life variety).

I'll just keep up the madness and see what happens.


I even went all out and made a Facebook page for my band (become a fan? :D). Everyone knows that nothing is official until it's on Facebook. So now it's official. I'm here to rock.

Except I still have to put myself through the vicious daily cycle of self-doubt. I really just need to get over all of that. And I will. But there is always a moment in the day when I have too much time to myself and realize that pursuing The Rock Star Dream is actually a very scary thing to do.

But it would be tragic if I didn't give it my best shot.

I think my sentiments can be best expressed through a song by Sister Sledge:

That's all for now. Peace out, kiddos.

Dirty Hipsters

Those indie kids never called me back.

With my luck, they probably read my blog.

In other news, the other day I got to witness some guy with tattoos and perfectly scruffed-up hair have a mini freak out at a deli because his sandwich wasn't vegan.

Oh Portland, how I love you. Hehe.

If you've never been to Portland, you can get a feel for it by watching this hilarious video:



Happy Saturday, amigos.

Audition Recap (And A Bunch Of Other Stuff Too)

Hello. Just me again. Maybe the world will slow down long enough for me to write a semi-coherent blog post. Lately, I've found myself overwhelmed by various things that all seem to be happening at once. And then there are the things that are not happening right now, which are also overwhelming. Anyway, blah blah blah, vague vague vague, whine whine, emo emo, moving on. Tonight was good. Hung out with Steve and his crew, had some good laughs and some good food. Put a lot of thoughts on hold for the evening. It was nice.

Aaaand I just realized you guys are probably still on the edge of your seats waiting to hear how my audition went on Sunday (thanks to everyone that wished me luck, btw!). Truth is, I'm still waiting for that call as well. I think the audition went well but apparently they're auditioning multiple people. They said they'll let me know if I'm in or out in a few days. I'm not going to be heartbroken or anything if they don't pick me, but I think it would be a ton of fun to play with them and I hope I make it into the band.

The Michael Cera-esque guitarist had emailed me a few recordings and told me to learn the songs for the audition. I've been learning a lot of new music lately (more on that later) but was able to play through the songs a few times and grasp onto the main riffs and chord progressions. I put on my finest indie rock and roll attire (no, it did not involve that lovely sweater), picked up the boyfriend/body guard, and headed into Portland.

The audition was in the drummer's basement. When we arrived, the guitarist and the drummer where having a drink on the front porch. The drummer was the one member of the band I hadn't met yet. I had seen her onstage with the rest of the band and was unable to tell if she was a boy or a girl. It wasn't until talking to her that I realized she's indeed a chick. She greeted Steve and I and enthusiastically and offered us some warm, old beer that she dug out from under her bed.

We sat around making awkward small talk while waiting for the bassist to get there (the bassist has long, dark hair and doesn't talk - essentially he's a younger, less creepy, slightly more attractive Silent Bob). Once the bassist arrived, we went down into the basement to play through some songs. It was your stereotypical rock and roll practice space (though definitely not as sketchy as the basement I tried out for a metal band in once upon a time...now that was a place I could have possibly died). They even had a keyboard set up for me to play. It was against my natural instinct to leave my own keyboard at home (playing on someone else's instrument is a little bit like running in someone else's shoes) but I figured their keyboard would be programmed on all the right patches.

Since they are a band that "doesn't really jam," the audition itself was short. We played through each of the songs a couple of times. Michael Cera corrected me on the riffs several times and even came over to the keyboard and showed me how to play certain parts. I started taking liberties on a song with a really repetitive chord progression and he told me that the old keyboardist didn't play it like that and that I should play what she used to play. I caught Steve's eye from across the room at this point. I could see him thinking "Uh oh, Rock Star Lauren does not like being told how to rock." It's true, it's annoying, but it was an audition. I think half of what people look for at auditions is someone who can catch on quickly, play what needs to be played, and listen to feedback. And I think I kept up with the band for the most part. It wasn't like playing with Ryan (duh) but it was a lot of fun. Their music is totally catchy and energetic. I want to become a part of it.

"Any questions for us?" says the drummer when it's all over, adjusting her baseball cap. "Anything at all? Anything you wanna know? Anything?"
I can't think of a response fast enough.
"Sorry, I'm acting like an asshole!" she says. "I'm not an asshole, but I'm acting like an asshole, but I'm really not an asshole..."

Michael Cera drinks beer and laughs. Silent Bob is silent. Steve is in the corner, probably taking notes for his next web sitcom.

Soon the whole ordeal is over and I'm back in my truck driving to the nearest Burgerville. The audition took no longer than 45 minutes (quite different than the metal band audition once upon a time - those guys were all on strange drug cocktails and wanted to play for hours and hours because they were convinced that I was the reincarnation of Dio).

Now I just wait and see what happens.

In the mean time, I'm playing at a wedding this weekend. Yes, with Original Sound Trash. It's for two really good friends, but I'm still a bit nervous about the whole thing. We're playing during the ceremony and at part of the reception. And then I'm DJing the rest of the reception. So basically I'm responsible for every scrap of music that is played the entire day. Like I said, these are two great friends of mine so I'm happy to help them out. I'm just nervous. Anxious. Original Sound Trash is not naturally a wedding band. I'm not naturally someone that gets involved in weddings.

Really, I think that if I ever choose to get married, I'm going to elope. Don't worry, I'll take lots of pictures and tag people in them as inanimate objects and random strangers so everyone can feel like they were really there!

Okay, I'm rambling. I should sleep. Yes.

Over and out, amigos.

Lauren: Ugly Sweater Edition (So Hawt Right Now)

The infamous audition for the indie dance/rock band is tonight. This morning I dug through my closet for the perfect thing to wear. Something that proclaims "I AM INDIE." A piece of clothing that would make Juno and all of her hamburger-shaped telephones jealous. I thought that surely there must be one item hiding in the depths of my closet, waiting to make an appearance on this very night.

Just when I was about to give up hope, I stumbled upon this lovely sweater that I acquired from mugging Mr. Rogers' grandmother one fine evening several months ago. Overjoyed with my findings, I had to have an obligatory photo shoot with myself, posing in front of my collection of vintage 45s for dramatic effect. I even attempted to edit the lighting and colorization effects so that all my myspace friends can see how hip, cool, and artsy I am when it inevitably becomes my profile picture. Unfortunately, instead of looking hip, cool, and artsy, it just looks like I'm guest starring in a bad episode of "Touched By An Angel."

Didn't take long for me to lose the sweater and go shopping.

The audition is at 8:30. Steve's going with me for moral support. We'll see what happens. If it goes well, I might be adding another band to my repertoire. If it does not go well, I'll probably at least have something really funny to write about. :)

So The Guy That Wants To Be Michael Cera Called Me Today

"Um, I've never really done this before," says Michael Cera-esque Indie Rock Guy on the phone. "We've never had to audition anyone. Should I just send you a couple of the songs and you can learn them and like, play them with us?"
"Yeah, totally," I say. Why is this phone conversation so awkward? Man, I hate phones sometimes. "And then maybe we can jam or something," I add.
There's a pause.
"Yeah..." he replies. "We don't really jam. We're not that kind of band. We write songs and then we play them."

This response baffled me slightly. I've always thought that jamming was half the fun of playing with other people. Maybe I'm just used to Ryan. We spent a couple of years jamming together on weekends before we even became a legit rock band. Even now that we are a legit rock band, we still let ourselves get lost in free-form chord progressions during practice now and then. We're not The Mars Volta or anything, but we do enjoy jamming. I just assumed that most musicians were into it, too. Guess not.

I try out for this band on Sunday night. I'm sure it will be an interesting experience.

I just hope I'm feeling better by then. I finally broke down and went to Urgent Care today for the crazy headaches I've been having. Had a lovely visit with a really creepy doctor. Acquired a prescription for some supersonic migraine pills.

There's no reason why I should be stressed out to the point of developing a week-long migraine at this point in my life. After all, college is a thing of the past. Isn't that supposed to be the most stressful part of your life (unless you go into politics or get a job as the food taster for a fascist dictator, of course)?

I guess I'm experiencing a different kind of stress. I don't even know if I can fully explain it. It probably all comes back to the fact that I don't really know what I'm doing right now.

But, let's not start that again. I'll figure everything out eventually. Or something like that.

And now - sleep! Supersonic migraine pills are making me sleepy/loopy.

Mmmm...Vinegar...

Bleck. Still feeling sick. Scheduled a doctor's appointment for the earliest time available - Friday morning. In case you haven't noticed, today is Monday.

Determined not to spend another week under the command of a miserable headache, I Googled my symptoms, diagnosed myself with the help of Wikipedia, and got started on some weird home remedies I read about on WebMD. Really hope I'm on the right track with this. Otherwise I just drank eight ounces of vinegar water in vain. Yum-o.

The Michael Cera-esque Representative of the Indie Dance/Rock Band has not called me yet. Probably a good thing. He might smell the vinegar on my breath through the phone and decide that I'm too awkward for indie rock.

Then again, is there really such a thing as being too awkward for indie rock? Last time I checked, awkwardness was one of the core principles the entire indie scene was founded upon.

On a completely unrelated note, I'm thinking of adding some sort of reoccuring weekly theme to this blog. You know, something along the lines of dedicating every Tuesday to reviewing a new band I've discovered or posting a witty anecdote every Thursday. I haven't quite come up with my angle yet. I would love to hear what you guys think.

Here are a few ideas for possible weekly posts I could start:

- Songwriting Sunday: Once a week I put up a new (or old) song that's in the works.
- Flashback Friday: I tell a funny story about what a ridiculous geek I used to be. Maybe I'll even reminisce about various moments in pop culture and how I was affected by them.
- Awkward Wednesday: My life is really just an ongoing string of awkward moments. Perhaps I'll share one of these moments with you every Wednesday.
- Bad Movie Monday: I dedicate Monday's post to movies so bad, they are good.
- Music Monday: I dedicate Monday's post to music that I think the world should know about.

Anyway, those are just some ideas. Don't worry, this blog is not going to go gimmick happy - I'm only going to pick one of those options (if that). This is the part where YOU tell me what you want to read about on here. Any of those sound appealing? Apalling? Got any better ideas? Or is the reoccuring weekly feature too cliche?

Help me, Obi Wan Kanobe! You're my only hope!

Gah, I think that vinegar is doing weird things to my brain. No more home remedies for me.

When John, Paul, and George Met Ringo

Lately I've been wondering what it was like when John, Paul, and George met Ringo for the first time. I always imagined there was immediate chemistry there. Maybe they took one look at him and said "Blimey, you've got a cool name and there is no one on the planet that looks quite like you do. Let's get that Pete fellow out of here, we want you in the band." Maybe the clouds parted for a moment and a blinding ray of light shone down upon Liverpool. Maybe a majestic voice from above said, "John and Paul, my children, I have sent you a drummer. Go forth and rock."

Or maybe Ringo simply replied to a desperate want-ad he stumbled upon one night when he couldn't sleep. Maybe he went to an early performance of The Beatles, was intrigued by their music, and awkwardly left his phone number with a very drunk John Lennon. Maybe Paul McCartney flippantly promised to call him sometime in the next week. Maybe George Harrison was standing there silently, unsure of how to act when not onstage.

I've been playing in the same band for so long that, until recently, I've forgotten all about the strange process of trying to connect with other musicians. Musicians are a weird breed. We're emotional, competitive, creatively-driven creatures who often lack standard social skills and have an affinity for irresponsibility. We crave the limelight but often don't know what to do when it shines on us. Honk if you agree.

And since bands are made up of musicians, they're pretty weird things too. The relationship between bandmates is sometimes almost a cross between a dysfunctional family (minus the obligatory holiday get-togethers) and a really involved romantic relationship (minus the romance).

Anyway, I was recently cruising the musician want-ads on Craigslist (my favorite thing to do when I can't sleep) and I stumbled upon a pretty cool indie dance-rock band that needed a keyboardist. I listened to them on myspace, fell in love with their sound, and sent them an email. I emailed back and forth with them a little and ended up going out to see them perform last night.

Now, I know some of you are going to read this and think I've gone mad. "What about Original Sound Trash?!" you will ask. "What about Ryan and trash rock and making an OST album and all of that?!"

Rock bands are not exclusive creatures. Our friend Jack White shows us that it is possibly to be involved in as many as three bands at a time. Of course, it helps that the man's guitar skills are just plain sexy. But he is somehow able to musically multi-task and pour his talent into three bands.

(I'm not trying to compare myself to Jack White here - I know he's a one-of-a-kind rock sensation. But I'm just pointing out that the multiple-band thing can be done.)

And though Jack is fantastic in The Dead Weather and The Raconteurs, The White Stripes seems to be his musical child. If I do end up joining another band, Original Sound Trash will still be my number one. I'm just at a point in my life where I want to make all kinds of music with all kinds of people. You know, try on the starving-musician lifestyle for size and see if it fits.

Original Sound Trash began so organically that I barely know how the whole auditioning thing works. Four years ago, I started college and was determined to play music with other people. I spent all of orientation weekend targeting boys that looked like musicians. Ryan was the only guy I talked to that didn't get all weird and think I was trying to hit on him. Instead, we just talked about our love for Simon and Garfunkel and exchanged myspace urls. We snuck into the on-campus practice rooms to jam a few days later and the rest is history. Or something like that.

Once I tried out for a Shakespearean metal band (mostly just because I was bored and wanted to shake everyone up), but other than that it's been awhile since I've tried to dive into any new music projects. So last night, I put on my indie rock attire (doesn't really matter what you wear as long as glasses with big, black, Woody Allen-style frames are involved), took some pills for a headache that had been around since Tuesday, and headed downtown in hopes of making a good impression on this new band. Took Steve along with me and got there early enough to scope out a group of people that looked like the band.

"I think that's them," I whisper to Steve.
"What?" he says. It's loud in the room and I am whispering.
"Be right back," I reply, and strut off to the bathroom. Once in the sanctuary of the ladies room, I pull out my iPhone with the intention of looking at a picture of the band online. I discover that my battery has died. I fix my hair, take a moment to read some of the fantastic bathroom graffiti, and return to the table Steve is sitting at. I ask to borrow his iPhone and use it to pull up the band's myspace page. I scroll through pictures and look at the group of people in front of me. Just as I suspected - it's them.

"Go talk to them!" Steve says.
"I will in a minute," I say. I'm bad at approaching groups of people I don't know. Remember how I said musicians don't always have the best social skills? I'm really no exception.
"Want a beer?" offers Steve. "It might make this easier."
I shake my head and remind him that I took stuff to kill a migraine before the show. He agrees that alcohol probably wouldn't be a good idea for me but goes to get a beer for himself, strategically leaving me alone to talk to the band.

I wait until they look like they aren't totally involved in a conversation and approach them. "Hey...are you guys (name of band)?" They nod. I then introduce myself as the girl who's been emailing them about playing keyboards. Fortunately, one of them remembered who I was and greeted me enthusiastically. He wore tight pants and reminded me of a less-cute Michael Cera. His phone rang in the middle of our conversation and he answered it, walking away from the table and leaving me to interview the bassist. I was not trying to interview him but he was not that talkative so I nervously launched a game of 20 questions. Michael Cera came back to the table. I wished them both a good show and went to find Steve at the bar.

And it was a good show. The music they made was catchy, danceable, and over-all something I would love to be a part of (the same could not be said about the Shakespearean metal band I tried out for once upon a time). I gave Michael Cera my phone number before I left and we agreed that we would all get together and jam sometime next week.

They weren't like "OMG WE LOVE YOU, GET PETE BEST OUT OF HERE AND BE OUR RINGO," though I didn't really expect them to be. I'm not going to get my hopes up too high, just going to see what happens.

And this just happened: Michael Cera texted me, thanking me for coming out to the show and saying he'll be in touch soon about getting together. And after a long debate about whether or not to use a text smiley face at the end of the reply or not, I texted him back saying the show was great, blah blah blah.

What will happen? Will Lauren the Keytar Master and Avoider of 9 to 5 jobs add another band into her life? Or will this simply become another amusing anecdote, residing in the same category as the Shakespearean metal band?

Staaaaay tuned!

Fingers Crossed

Today, that Steve fellow that I am rather fond of is going to approach the operations manager at his job. He is going to ask the following question: "Can I have two months off to travel around the country with a local indie band and film their rock tour?"

I'm praying this conversation goes well.