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.  

Post-Apocalyptic Interlude

I've been really busy...

Busy running from aliens and fighting off the undead.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, it's because the invasion hasn't happened in your part of the world yet.

It all happened so fast and is difficult to explain. Just watch the video...

And download the album here. These are songs that can save the world, or at least give you something to rock out to before the zombies arrive in your town.

Peace and love, comrades. Stay strong in these strange times. I hope to communicate with you again in the near future.

My Complicated Relationship With Rock & Roll Vikings, Part One: The Beginning

I've never been good with break-ups. It's hard to admit that you aren't happy with the way a relationship is going and that you would be better off without it. I never want to hurt anyone's feelings or cause a conflict. Which is why I'm currently in an awkward position. I know I need to end things, but I have been putting it off because I don't even really know how to end things.

Let me back up a little bit.

I am involved with low-budget production of a rock opera about Norse mythology.

It's not really working out.

Allow me to recapitulate...

It all started a couple of months ago when a stumbled upon an intriguing Craigslist ad: "Wanted: Musical Director For An Original Rock Musical."  Naturally, I had to click on it.  I read through the ad and realized that I met all of the major requirements (meaning I can read music, play piano, and I love rock musicals), so I replied on a whim. 

It wasn't long before I got a response from a guy who's name was strangely familiar.  I couldn't place where I had heard his name before, so I just went ahead and read his email without giving it a second thought.  He told me that he had composed a rock opera and was looking to produce it in town within a few months.  There was a link to some of the music from the rock opera, so I clicked on it to see what it sounded like.  I landed on a page with a couple of weird recordings and a picture of the composer.

I gasped.  This guy was definitely someone I went to high school with.

...And middle school. 

We were in the high school marching band together.  And symphonic band.  And middle school jazz band.  And advanced high school jazz band.  We were in the rhythm section together - he played drums, I played piano.  We practically sat next to each other in jazz band but never actually talked to each other.  He was an awkward redhead who didn't talk and frankly, I didn't really talk either.  So naturally, we were not friends simply because we couldn't figure out how to manage a simple conversation. 

Plus, he was always making out with that second-chair clarinet chick during lunch.  It was gross.  It offended me.  They needed to get a room. 

Anyway, here he was, that awkward redhead from high school, resurfacing in my email inbox six years later with what he described as "an epic rock opera of awesomeness."

I stared at the email and tried to figure out what to do.  I've really come a long way since I was a socially inept teenager and running into people that knew me in high school is generally a drag.  Maybe I should just delete his email and pretend it never happened?  After all, he was pretty weird back in the day, wasn't he?  I thought about it and realized I didn't actually know him.  Besides, the whole thing was oddly sychronistic.  Maybe I should meet him for coffee and see what's up?  

And so I scheduled a coffee date with him.  As I drove there, I couldn't help but wonder if he would remember me from high school or not.  How was I even supposed to handle that?  What if he didn't remember me at all?  Was I supposed to bring it up?  Was I supposed to act like I was meeting him for the first time?

A text message reading "Btw wearing a pea coat and have red hair" came through on my phone as I was looking for a place to park.  I laughed.  He did not know who I was.  I buttoned up my big green coat, sent him a text that said "Haha, me too!" and walked towards the coffee shop.

I saw him immediately when I entered the coffee shop.  He was sitting at a table in the middle of the room and was indeed wearing a pea coat.  He pointed at me and said, "It's YOU."

I pointed at him and said, "It's YOU."  This was awkward.

He continued to point and said "It's YOU" once again.  This time I pointed at myself and said, "It's ME!"  We laughed, made some clunky smalltalk, and I excused myself to go order a cup of coffee.  When I returned with my drink, we had to go through the whole "Soooo, what have you been up to since high school?" conversation, which was strange because (as I established earlier) we didn't really talk in high school.  Still, we had to compare notes on our post-high school experiences as well as gossip about a whole bunch of irrelevant people from marching band that I honestly forgot even existed.  It was definitely the most I had ever talked to this guy. 

Just when I was beginning to regret meeting him for coffee, the conversation switched to a more relevant topic: his epic rock opera.  Over the next hour and a half, I learned the following things:

-  The rock opera was his original composition and has never been performed before.
-  The story is based on Norse mythology.  Yes, Loki and Thor and vikings and all of that crap cool stuff. 
-  All of the lyrics/words were written by a guy he met online who may or may not live in France and speak English as a second language.
-  The script has severed heads in it.
-  The music is not "Broadway rock."  The music will "blow your f@#$ing mind."

He babbled on about how he was inspired by "Tommy" and "Jesus Christ Superstar," excitedly explaining that the music was written for a large ensemble of electric guitars and string instruments.  He said he planned to produce it in a couple of months and he needed someone to act as musical director.  Could that someone be me?

It sounded like a wacky project, but who doesn't love a good viking?  It sounded like fun.  Besides, I've got my own rock opera cooking in the back of my brain files (can't forget about good old Goat Man) and working on a project like this could give me a little insight into how it's done.  And I definitely needed an excuse to leave my parents' house and meet new people...

So I said I would do it.  I climbed on board the viking rock opera train as the fearless musical director.  And it was strange, but I was excited.

Well, I was excited until my inbox began filling up with pages upon pages of complicated sheet music...


To Be Continued...

Something Fun That's Going On Today...

So I've gotten involved in a contest on YouNow and I'll be going up against 8 talented musicians today at 6pm Eastern Standard Time. I'll be broadcasting a live performance from my apartment, which is pretty exciting. If I'm in the top three, I move on to the next round of the competition.

I hate to shamelessly self-promote on here, but I would love to see some of your friendly little avatar faces in the virtual audience. Using the site is really easy - you can just log in with your Facebook account and then you are free to vote/comment on anything.

It should be a pretty good show. Looks like I'm up against the following people:

- Guy that sounds like Johnny Cash
- Guy who sings like he's in Creed
- Blonde chick who plays piano
- Guy with cool stage name
- Chick with bubbly personality
- Guy with guitar and beard
- Boy who loves boy bands
- Guy I'm FB friends with but don't actually know

I expect the competition to be fierce. I also expect it to be totally entertaining.

Hop over to YouNow.com in a couple hours and check it out? :D

This One Is Long But At Least It Has Pictures

Most of you probably don't know this, but I used to truly believe I could not sing.

I would try to sing, but my voice didn't sound like the voices I heard on the radio. I think somewhere around the time of middle school someone verbally confirmed the fact that I could not sing. And that was that. It was all okay because I was good at playing the piano. I didn't have to be good at singing too.

Of course, I secretly wished I could sing. But I knew that I could not. I wrote songs with the idea that someone else would sing them. I went to college, teamed up with someone who played guitar, and made him be the lead singer in our little band. We called ourselves "Good Quail Hunting," which was funny until everyone forgot about the Dick Cheney incident.

Eventually, we booked a show in a coffee shop near campus. This wasn't a big deal - except it was. I had never really performed outside of a band concert or piano recital (there were a couple of hellish talent shows in there but I would prefer not to think about them). We spent hours practicing and perfecting our set list, which consisted mostly of awkward cover songs (I think we even opened with Coldplay and transitioned into "Birdhouse In Your Soul" by They Might Be Giants...yikes). I handed my bandmate a couple original songs in hopes that he would sing them.

I don't remember if he was getting the phrasing wrong or couldn't hit the notes or what, but I do know that I landed into the position of singing these songs.

"But I can't sing," I remember saying.

"You're not that bad. It's sort of like talking but try to do it on key," my bandmate said. His lame words of encouragement somehow worked. The night of the show came, the coffee shop filled up with kids from our dorms, and next thing I knew I was singing.

I don't want to give you the impression that I opened my mouth and was suddenly Mariah Carey. I was quiet, flustered, and so nervous that I felt the need to face the wall. I was embarrassed, so naturally my neck got really red and splotchy. So not rock and roll.

Unfortunately, a clip from that night is still kicking around the Internet. If I had any common sense, I would delete it. But I'll put it up here so you guys can cringe along with me.




Yes, I know - my voice has dropped about two octaves since that performance five years ago. I'm not really sure what's up with that. When people ask me about it, I usually just tell them I went through puberty. It's a really good way to weird people out.

But I digress. The point is that I got over myself and sang. It was strange and nerve-wracking, but people clapped and gave me compliments after the show.

Five years later, I am my own lead singer. I still have moments of feeling self-conscious about my voice, but I know that I am capable of getting on a stage and belting it out. When I was 19, I had no idea I would someday have the nerve to do that.

Why do I bring all of this up now?

Because I recently overcame another psychological block. This one has to do with that six-stringed beast known as the guitar.

When I was four years old, my dad gave me an acoustic guitar for Christmas in hopes that I would grow up learning to play it and become some awesome folk singer chick. And I had lots of fun laying it on it's side and getting picks stuck in it. But every time I tried to learn how to actually play the thing, I would get frustrated because it was difficult and hurt my fingers.

So I accepted the fact that I was not meant to play guitar and embraced the piano. It all made sense throughout college, when "Good Quail Hunting" evolved into "Original Sound Trash" and there was always somebody there to add guitar sounds to my keyboard melodies. When the band officially broke up in February, I found myself on a mission to find other guitar players. Whenever a new acquaintance even just briefly mentioned owning a guitar, I would go into interview mode until I knew whether or not I wanted to initiate a jam session.*

I felt musically naked without a guitar player.** The sound I've always envisioned for my songs is bigger than just a girl with a keyboard. As many of you know, I've been working with a few different guitarists on getting some recordings done. And though the songs are turning out (mostly) how I wanted them, the process has been an absolute nightmare.

I wrote a little bit about this in an earlier post. One guy has strung me along for months. Another one is just no good at sending emails. And the other guy has a history of being really creepy towards women (of course, I didn't find out about this until I was halfway through the recording process with him...yikes***).

There was a point where a weird little light bulb went off in my head. "I should just learn how to play the damn guitar so I don't have to deal with this crap," I thought.

A couple days later, I had retrieved my guitar from my parents' house and was learning the chords to an ancient punk song with The Poet. Keep in mind that this guitar is about 20 years old at this point. I've dubbed it Old Crusty. It goes out of tune every five minutes. I still managed to figure out how to play "Whole Wide World" by Wreckless Eric on it.

I have to admit, I felt bad ass.

I even borrowed The Poet's guitar (which is significantly less ancient and actually has a strap) and paraded around town with it in the name of my new music video.

Keepin it classy in front of this sketchy building

Naturally, this is a promo for my upcoming laundromat tour of 2012

I got some really good footage too, though I'm still a little bitter about that thing that happened at the laundromat that day.

Laundromat security was not a fan of #occupymusicvideo

But let's not get too political.

It quickly became apparent that if I was really going to learn to play the guitar, I needed one that would stay in tune. I also needed one that I was excited to play - maybe even one worthy of a name cooler than "Old Crusty."

So I went to pawn shops. I haunted music stores in Southeast Portland. I pretended that I knew more than the two chords involved in that Wreckless Eric song and I tested out fun electric guitars, trying very hard to ignore the dudes there that actually knew how to play. There was a hot pink guitar that caught my eye, but I decided to wait. Logically, I knew I shouldn't be buying a guitar when there's rent to pay, but that didn't stop me from doing my research.

I kept a close eye on Craigslist. Lots of cheap, Walmart-style black and white guitars that were probably Christmas presents for bratty teenage boys at some point in time. Lots of expensive, fancy guitars that people are now trying to trade for cash because the economy is terrible. I was about to abandon my Craigslist efforts when I saw it.

My guitar.

Yay

I emailed back and forth with the guy about pricing, then stared at the numbers in my bank account until I could justify making this investment. The price was right, so I came to the conclusion that buying a functional guitar was a very practical career move and was possibly more important than buying food. I conned The Poet into coming along with me (didn't take much conning - he's been a very enthusiastic supporter of my guitar hunt) and we rode off into the night to look at this guitar.

The place was a little bit hard to find, but when we finally found it and knocked on the door, a black guy with dreadlocks answered. He was wearing a Jimi Hendrix t-shirt, which I noted as significant because it was Jimi Hendrix's birthday. The whole interaction was normal enough - he told me the history of the guitar, I tried it out, The Poet assured me that it was indeed a bad ass guitar, the guy offered to throw in a lot of accessories, I announced I would take the guitar.

"I hope to see you play that live someday," Dreadlocks Guy said as he showed us the door.

The door closed and I felt excited, musically liberated, and a little bit rebellious.

You better believe I played Wreckless Eric until my fingers were sore.

Photo taken while jamming out to Wreckless Eric with other beginning guitar players

And then I learned another chord so I could play "Blitzkrieg Bop" by The Ramones.

And then I learned another chord so I could play "Sorrow" by David Bowie.

Soon, I was noodling around and coming up with my own little songs. And when my neighbors saw me in the kitchen later, they commented that I was sounding good. This blew me away. I was sure everyone in the building was sick of my guitar playing, or at least Wreckless Eric. They were probably just being polite - except that no one here is that polite.

I know that everyone and their dog plays the guitar and that in reality it's probably not very hard. I also know that I'm still at a very basic, embarrassingly elementary level on this instrument. But I still feel accomplished. I feel as though I can and will learn to play this thing. I'm not expecting to become some sort of guitar goddess, but I do feel as though I can get to the point where I can play my own songs if I keep practicing everyday.

Mostly I'm just determined to make this rock and roll dream happen. And I want to be done getting hung up on ideas like "I can't sing" or "I can't play guitar."


And with that, I shall end this extremely wordy post.

Except I think that I should mention that I named my guitar Jimi.

And now that I think about it, I can't think of any white girls that play black guitars...

*shrugs*

Peace and love! Until next time, amigos.**** <3

* I usually did not want to initiate a jam session - way too many guitar players in Portland are into experimental noise rock.
**I was also just mad that my stupid band had to break up, but that's irrelevant.
***Don't worry, Mom, I had a body guard.
****I promise I won't be so long-winded next time!

Don't Judge A Book By It's Cover...

Important things first:

I found my cat mug. I know that some of you were worried.


It was laying in the communal sink first thing yesterday morning. I gave it a very thorough scrubbing and made preparations to kill the fatted calf in celebration. I tried to ask it what happened, but it remained silent and refused to tell me of it's misadventures. Silly cat mug.

I'm just glad it made it home safely.

In other news, I almost cried last night when my studio guy blew me off yet again. The story this morning is that he fell asleep and forgot that we had a meeting planned. I guess it's understandable and I plan on forgiving him, but I've had a rough time working with musicians lately and last night's incident didn't help my frustration.

It didn't help to discover that Amanda Palmer played a ninja gig in town last night. It was free and I missed it because I was busy waiting around not checking Twitter. I actually didn't find out about the show until this morning and it made me want to crawl back into my bed.

I love music, but I'm beginning to think there's something wrong with musicians. I know, I know, I am a musician and there's probably something wrong with me too. And I really don't mean to offend anyone, so take everything I say with a serious grain of salt. But it seems to me that all musicians have that one obnoxious trait that you just have to deal with if you plan on working with them.

Take the guy that stood me up last night, for example. He's a great musician and I'm pretty sure he's genuinely a nice person. I think we're actually sort of good friends. He's got a great ear and loves to pretend he's George Martin throughout the recording process (meaning that sometimes perfectly manicured symphonies show up in my tracks).

So what's the catch? He's flaky! And maybe it's just karma getting me back for my own ongoing state of mild flakiness, but he takes the flaky thing to a whole new level. This is not your average "I'm a couple days past the deadline" kind of flaky. This is the "I went to Kansas for a month and forgot to tell you" kind of flaky. This is the "It will be done on Tuesday... no, Saturday... no, next Tuesday... no, next Saturday..." kind of flaky.

There was a point where didn't hear from him for weeks and I decided that I should just start throwing songs at other people. After all, the halls are full of creative-types here. Surely someone could help me out.

So I examined the list of local suspects and came up with the following options:

1. Pretentious Art School Hipsters That Wear Matching Ponchos And Ride A Vespa.
The Good: They have a really expensive microphone and will record for cheap.
The Bad: Their skills seem mediocre at best and they really like editing nature sounds into the background of tracks. Also, they think they are the hottest thing to ever set foot in Portland. Probably has something to do with the matching ponchos.

2. Guy Who Was Supposedly Kicked Out Of Portugal. The Man For Being An Alcoholic.
The Good: He's experienced.
The Bad: Um, he's an alcoholic.

3. Sensitive Singer-Songwriter Guy With Schizophrenic Tendencies.
The Good: He's very efficient, talented, etc.
The Bad: He appears to have a very significant mental illness.

4. Guy Who Appears To Be In His Own Solar System And Probably Has Some Form Of Asperger's Syndrome.
The Good: Charges ridiculously low prices and is secretly a sound-mixing genius.
The Bad: Conversation is difficult. Also, he's a bit unpredictable.

I chose Option 4, mostly because The Poet had a hunch about it and I've learned by now that he's right about things. For example, if he tells you not to go to Texas with your friend and her cousin, you better stay home because it's all a front for a drug smuggling operation. Anyway, he kept saying "Why don't you try Option 4? I think you should just give Option 4 a try..." At first I was too busy trying to make plans with The Pretentious Art School Hipsters to give it much thought, but that wasn't going in the direction I wanted it to go and I thought "Well, I've got nothing to lose..."

So I rounded up a buddy (there was no way I was going into that room alone) and handed my newest song to this guy.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: So, here's my song.
Him: Cool. *loads it onto the computer* So didja have a lovely day today?
Me: Yeah, it wasn't raining. How was your day?
Him: *spaced out look* *smile* Great! I was picking up candy wrappers downtown! I found some real cool ones!
Me: Okay...

He also informed me that though he plays guitar, he considers his main instrument to be the gourd flute.

This is not going to work, I thought to myself. I'm going to have to make things work with those hipsters.

It was at that moment that the project finished loading into Logic and he began flying around on his computer like he was controlling the Star Trek Enterprise.

And less than a week later, he handed me three tracks that actually sound pretty good. Consider my mind blown.

Don't judge a book by it's cover, boys and girls.

Will figure out how to upload said tracks and share them with you soon.

In the mean time, I've got more tracks to finish, a flaky musician to track down, and a couple of music videos to shoot.

Oh yeah, and somewhere in there I need to figure out grocery shopping.

I also need to fix my sink, which is a big, rusty, clogged-up, uncooperative mess. I brush my teeth in the shower these days...

You know you want my life. :P

Not Dead

Ack. I have been neglecting this sphere of blogs and I deeply apologize. It's not that I haven't had anything to write about - it's that I've had too much. I sit down and open up a new post only to stare at the blank window, overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of things I want to report in on. But I'm determined to get over that and post something.

It won't be a very long post. I am exhausted. It's been a strange week. An exciting, nerve-wracking, weird little week. Things are lining up, I think. Or maybe I'm just being overly optimistic...

Meaning my album is almost done (I think?).

Ack. It went from a 5 track demo to a 7 track demo and now I think I'm going to make it a full length album. It would be easier to just have a 7 track demo, but that's such an awkward track number for a CD. I'm almost there - I'm just going to have to make it the real deal.

Blah blah blah. This can't be interesting at all. It's just all I've been thinking about and stressing about... Therefore, it's what I am writing about.

I'm going to bed. More tomorrow.

In the meantime, keep a lookout for my cat mug. It's gone missing.


That is all.

New Music Video And A Free Song For YOU

So it's been a busy but exciting week. I've been slowly getting my act together in the rock and roll department. I'm not really sure what happened, but somewhere in there I realized I needed to stop waiting for things to happen and start making things happen.

That being said, I spent the majority of the past week immersed in a music video project. It was designed to be a fairly simple shoot, but it quickly evolved into hours of filming myself singing the song in various outfits and settings. I covered myself in blue face paint and rode the community elevator up and down in the middle of the night. I borrowed an old button-up shirt from someone and wore it backwards like a straightjacket. I recruited a few friends to be in it (including The Mad Scientist, who's performance as The Mad Evil Doctor is unbelievable). I put on a flashy dress and we all danced around in the basement..

I also met a few of my new neighbors while tromping around the hallways dressed as a crazy person. I really know how to make a good first impression sometimes.

But anyway, after spending three days meticulously editing the whole thing together, I'm ready to show it to you guys. I'm pleasantly surprised with how it turned out (it looks like it actually had a budget behind it!) and I hope you guys like it.

Here it is, just in time for Halloween...



To celebrate the release of the video, I'm giving the song away for free on Bandcamp! To get the song, click here, then click "Buy Now." It will ask you to name your price. There's no minimum so you can snag the track for free! I think you just have to put in your email address and join my mailing list. Anyway, I encourage all of you to grab the song, load it on your iPod, jam out to it in your car, get your friends really drunk and make them listen to it, etc. Basically, just enjoy it. And spread the word.

That's all for now. Peace and love.

My New Concept Album

I'm working on a concept album entitled "Seen And Heard On 82nd Avenue." Naturally, it's based on things I've seen and heard while both sitting on my front stoop and looking out my window.

Tracks include:

• "Is That Guy In The Park Sleeping Or Dead?"

• "Imma Shoot You!"

• "No I Don't Have A Cigarette And I Know That's Not What You Really Mean"

• "I Don't Care How Hot It Is Out Here - When You Look Like THAT, You Shouldn't Wear THAT!"

• "Wait Up, You B@#$% A$$ M@#$&% F@#$&%!"

• "Heyyy, Do You Folks Have Gaaanja?"

• "Somebody Get That Girl Off Of That Bicycle And Into Rehab"

• "Man With Turrets Waiting For The Bus"

• "Sorry, I Don't Have A Lighter"

• "Seriously Guys, I Do Brain Imaging For The Government!"

• "The Bus Stop Is NOT A Urinal!"

• "Here Come The Cops!"

• "Imma Cut You!"

• "We Are Not Being Abducted By Aliens" (this track is simply the sound of the bus stop being power-washed at 2am)

This album will surely come with a panoramic photo of the scenic 82nd Avenue. It will also come with a parental advisory warning.

You will LOVE it.


P.S: This is all a joke, in case you couldn't tell...

P.P.S: My neighborhood isn't really as bad as I just made it sound... I mean, I wouldn't recommend it to tourists, but I've never been beaten up or mugged.

P.P.P.S: I think I'm probably a city person, but I might be needing a break from the city soon. Can you tell? :P

Wake Me Up When September Ends

I'd like to open this post with a couple of relatively trivial news yet fun items:

1) I have finally hopped onto the Twitter bandwagon. Does that make me a Twit? Anyway, I currently have one follower and it's the guy that lives across the hall from me. Also, I don't know who to follow aside from random celebrities that I adore. So I would love for you guys to seek out my friendship in the Twitter Universe and show me how it's all done. My page is over here.

2) I'm signed up to do a live musical broadcast on younow.com at 4pm today (that's Pacific Standard time - if you live on the East Coast it's going to be at 7pm). It's a really cool site, I'm excited about it. You start with a minute and if people "like" what you're doing you get more time. So, if you're in the mood to pop over there in a couple of hours and cheer me on, I would totally love that.

In other news, my CD project is in limbo because the guy that's mixing it dropped off the face of the Earth one day and woke up in Kansas. I think I nearly cried when I got the text message with that news in it. I feel as if that one five-track disc is the missing piece in my whole rock and roll scheme. And until it's done, I'm destined to be stuck in limbo. Did you know that last week I actually wore PANTY HOSE because I was attempting to get a job as a church pianist? It felt downright unnatural. The worst part is that they didn't even hire me because they need someone who can play the organ too. But I'm over it. I've started putting up ads all over Craigslist advertising my fine skills as a funeral musician. I figure that people are always dying and in need of piano accompaniment. Sadly, I'm yet to get a response.

But enough about jobs! I love what The Poet always says to me: "Lauren, you have a job - you're a rock star. The pay just sucks right now." I try to maintain that mentality, though sometimes it's difficult.

I was talking to an old friend yesterday and we decided that September is always the worst month because everyone goes back to school except you and it forces you to become nostalgic and re-evaluate the current direction of your life. My friend just got hired as a full-time personal trainer though, so I don't really know if he understood what I was talking about. He excitedly talked about how he was going to make so much money at his new job and asked me all about my job prospects, suggesting that maybe I should just go back to school.

I really have no desire to go back to school, but I've noticed that a lot of people are doing it, probably just as a thing to do.

(from Scott Pilgrim vol. 5... yes, my love for these comics is shameless)

Anyway, I'm slipping into rambling-mode here.  I've spent a little too much time in my head lately, can you tell? 

Last night was good, though.  It's been awhile since the whole crew has gone out because Purple Hair moved closer to the river and The Fonz has been living in the woods.  But we all came together last night for pizza at Sizzle Pie and drinks at the B Side (gah... I feel like such hipster scum when I drop names of places like that).  It was really good to get out of my neighborhood and even better to get out of my brain. 

Somehow, I ended up as designated driver, which is usually a blessing in disguise.  Honestly, I have never woken up in the morning and thought to myself "Gee, I'm so glad I had all of that alcohol last night!  I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to be so obnoxious and now I feel all happy and peppy and wonderful!"  But I digress.  The end of the night was particularly spectacular, with The Mad Scientist babbling incoherently to himself in my truck and The Poet shoved between us trying hard not to laugh. 

"People gotta do what people gotta do!  I saaaaaid people gotta do what people gotta do!"

These are the words that The Mad Scientist said the whole way home.  He's my friend, but duuuude... Next time, he's taking a bus.

I did get a nice "Sorry for my drunken behavior" email from him this morning.  I'm starting to get whole collection of those.  Usually they leave his computer at about 6am and are addressed to whoever was present on the scene of his drunken strangeness.  My personal favorites include an apology for publicly groping someone and a clarification assuring us that he does not really think he's Kanye West. 

I really don't think about how strange my life is until I start typing things out like this... 

I Am Exactly The Person That I Want To Be

This is my theme song right now. I listen to it at least once every day, usually in the morning when I'm still waking up. It's very honest, empowering, and never fails to make me grin.

Don't tell anyone this, but I cried a little bit the first time I heard it. I'm not really a person that cries when listening to music,* but this song gets me. So I thought I'd share it with the big bad blogiverse. :)

Aaaand I think that's all I've got tonight. More interesting updates and stories to come, I promise. Also, I'm participating in a blog swap tomorrow, so expect an awesome guest post!

Peace out, amigos.

*Except for when I listen to David Bowie's "A Space Oddity" when I'm really sleep-deprived. Sometimes, thinking about Major Tom being lost in outer space is too much for me to handle.

Updates And Stuff...

So I'm all done with my house-sitting job. I think I managed to get the place all cleaned up and back to normal. On Thursday, The Studio Musician came over and we turned the basement into a recording studio. I sang into a microphone for about six hours and at the end of the day we were three tracks closer to the finish line. I can't even begin to describe how exhausted and accomplished I felt at the end of that day.

I'm really excited about this little five track album and can't wait to let you guys hear it. I'm pulling out all the big guns. When all is said and done, this CD will have all of the following things:

- sound clips from old horror films

- badly pronounced German lyrics

- a song about the end of the world

- me singing back-up vocals to myself (in stereo!)

- a perfectly manicured pop orchestra (think: Abbey Road)

- a little punk guitar action

- an organ playing a cadence you might hear at church

- a cheesy, yet potentially face-melting guitar solo

- an epic five minute song with no real chorus

- the word "cerebellum"

- a chord progression that screams "grunge"

- slightly melodramatic and theatrical vocals

- a musical collaboration with the local poet

- keytar!

Dude. I can't wait till this project is actually done and I can show it off.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to make The Want Ads into a real band... I think I have people coming to audition today but nobody responded to my last email... So I don't really know? Stupid Craigslist interactions. Hmmmfph.

As for news from the commune... The Management has started raising everyone's rent. Except they're doing it randomly. And everyone has a different percentage that their rent is raised by. So that's messed up and will probably be the catalyst for World War Three around here.


Except battles with The Management have been raging before that happened. Remember a couple of posts ago when The Chef got in trouble for putting a peaceful banner out of his window?


Now they're hanging out of a whole bunch of windows. Solidarity in honor of freedom of speech, yo. Let's see The Management try to shut that down.

I think they've given up on this particular battle. So far, the only opposition I've encountered was from the guy that lives below me. I got a little carried away with my banner and let it hang all the way down the side of the building, blocking the window below me. One day, I came home to this charming little note taped to my door:


My reaction?

- There's a guy here named Tom?

- Has he lived below me this whole time?

- Oh man... I bet he was the guy pounding on the ceiling the time The Fonz and I just had to have a midnight dance party to Milli Vanilli. I'm still really embarrassed about that. I should meet Tom at some point and tell him I don't actually like Milli Vanilli.*

- I remember looking at room 207 before I moved in... isn't it tiny? Like, dorm room tiny? How on earth are there 17 house plants in there?

- More important question: Why are there 17 house plants in there? Does Tom have a obsession with jungles? Is he growing a small army of cannabis in his window or what?

- Whatever. The note was nice enough and I can never say "no" to a request that comes packaged with an awkward doodle.

So I fixed the banner, which is still proudly waving away outside my window.

Anyway, I've got to wrap this up so I can go deal with the auditions (or lack thereof). Gah. Why does finding a back-up band seem like such a daunting task sometimes?

Peace out, kiddos.


* Okay, I secretly like Milli Vanilli.

The 27 Club

I logged into Facebook today to see my newsfeed exploding with the words "RIP AMY WINEHOUSE."

Honestly, I wasn't a huge fan of her. I didn't dislike her and she has a couple of good songs that I jam out to occasionally, but I didn't love her. And I feel like her death really shouldn't be a surprise to anybody. Yes, it is tragic, but maybe she should have actually gone to rehab instead of saying "no, no, no."

Too late to make her go to rehab now. She's a certified member of The 27 Club now and is now probably hanging out with Kurt, Jimmy, and Janis somewhere.


When I was a teenager, I secretly thought that joining The 27 Club would be a good life plan. After all, when you're 15, you have over a decade before The 27 Club becomes an option. That seems like enough time to accomplish rock and roll fame. Plus, when you're a teenager, the prospect of being any older than 27 is slightly nauseating. Joining the ranks of Kurt and Janis at a young age and leaving behind a legacy just seems logical. It's either that or do even scarier things...like turn 30.

But as I got older, The 27 Club began to seem less appealing. Now that I'm sitting at age 23, I want nothing to do with a young rock and roll death. I'm only four years away from being 27 and I love my life way too much to plot the end of it.

Plus, you can really only join The 27 Club if you're a famous rock star. I've got a long ways to go before I'm eligible.

Not to mention I'm too square to die of a drug-overdose and not quite dark enough to kill myself. So that leaves all of the fairly lame rock star death options: a plane crash, choking on vomit, a bizarre gardening accident...

I am so over The 27 Club.

Besides, turning 30, or 40, or even 50 has got to be better than having the words "vomit asphyxiation" become part of your eulogy.

But anyway, I digress. And all that's really left to say is this:

Rest in Peace, Amy Winehouse. You were totally a hot mess and sort of looked like a man in drag, but you had a voice on you and knew how to work your own style. Thanks for the songs about the rehab you did not attend and tell Kurt I said "hey."

And now I should really close this post before I come up with more insensitive things to say...

A Tuesday Night In June

Roll the days up into an endless montage of coded words and coffee cups. This is the summer that happened when I was twenty-three.

Sitting under a tree as the sun set on Tuesday night, illuminated by an array of Christmas lights and sparkly fabric, I played music for my friends and neighbors in honor of Solstice. Encouraged by the drunken cheers, I belted out song after song until somebody from upstairs filed a noise complaint. It was the most fun I've had in awhile.

There had been a rumor that I was going to open for a friend of The Chef's who was visiting from out of town and was previously in a well-known alternative band. Just when I was starting to get excited about that possibility, I was informed that the guy wasn't answering his phone and would not be gracing us with his presence. So I became the headliner and the opening act became The Chef's infamous sound sculpture (an air mattress with train whistles and pan flute parts shoved into it so that it makes a shrill and obnoxious wheezing sound when turned on).

I've had some strange opening acts in my short time as a performing musician, but it doesn't get much weirder than the singing mattress. I feel as though I have finally arrived in The Land Of Rock And Roll.

There was also a nice moment before the show when The Chef was attempting to cook a chicken on a beer can under the grill and completely forgot about it. The result? A large cloud of smoke and one very black chicken.

Fortunately, it was set up as a potluck and other people brought food. Mysterious, vegan-friendly food, as one might expect from a Solstice celebration in an artist's community. But at least this time, we didn't have to go around and announce the ingredients used in each dish just in case somebody had a food allergy (yes, I have been to a potluck like that...it felt like a "Portlandia" episode...).

It was a pretty good crowd of people. Naturally, the usual crew was there - The Fonz, The Poet, Purple Hair, The Fallen Nun, The Chef, Jack, The Dancer, The Jewish Guy From New Jersey. The old guy that makes weird photoshop art involving floating baby heads. The Feng Shui lady with hair that belongs on The Trinity Broadcasting Network. The silent Canadian guy who generally only comes out long enough to bake special brownies. The woman with a dog that looks like Wishbone. The grumpy old lady who makes tassels for a living. The man who has been known to wear a dress on occasion. The Cute Poet Boy and his strangely butch girlfriend. The resident lesbian folk singer. The hipster who has dedicated his life to painting well-known cartoon characters holding cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon. The guy who aspires to go to butler school. The duo of sexually ambiguous hipster boys we lovingly refer to as "The Gnomes."

And me, in my summer dress, playing songs about love and giardia under a light-up tree.

All the rocks that society hands to us in boxes and backpacks become irrelevant in that moment. The elephants that have crept into our rooms over the past eight months go into the corner and drink too many tall boys. In the morning, we will once again face the reality of being starving artists in the twenty-first century. But in the garden, breathing in the music and laughter with the warm June air, that reality is unimportant. And life suddenly seems so very simple.

One day I will look back on all of this - this moment in time, this summer that happened when I was twenty-three - and I will laugh at the absurdity of it all. I'm laughing now and I'm still in the midst of it. But I wouldn't have any of it any other way.

Happy Summer, boys and girls. <3

Caught In A Bad Romance

I think I have already confessed to you guys that I love Lady Gaga.  I know, I know, I fail at being a true hipster.  But "The Fame Monster" rocked my life when it came out.  I fell in love with her outrageous fashion sense, her bizarro music videos, her impeccable choreography, and her crazy fun beats. 

At first I was somewhat embarrassed to admit that I, the queen of all things indie and alternative, admired this glitzy pop icon so much.  However, it didn't take long for me to become unashamed of the fact that I had joined the ranks of the millions of Gaga fans (or "little monsters") roaming the planet.  "Bad Romance" has been my ring tone for months now. 

She even pops up in my dreams occasionally.  Yes, Lady Gaga is alive and well in the world of my sleeping subconscious.  Once I had a dream that Lady Gaga and I were at Costco together and we were throwing meat around like it was a football.  The intro to "Bad Romance" played repeatedly (probably because my phone was ringing next to my head in real life) and I couldn't help but note that the meat we were tossing around was raw, raw, raw-ah-ahhh.  Sigmund Freud could probably have a field day with all of that.

But I digress.  The point is, I have an ongoing affinity for Lady Gaga. 

That being said, I must confess something else:  I'm not digging her new songs. 

"Born This Way" was fairly contrived and unoriginal.  But it was catchy and I was glad that she was finally coming out with new stuff, so I let it slide.  I downloaded it and jammed out to it on my iPod, being careful not to cringe at some of the cheesy lyrics.

I was a little bit turned off by the video.  I know that Lady Gaga videos are weird by definition, but her slimy, cosmic, alien mythologies took things to a whole new level of strange. 

And then she went public with "Judas" - the ultimate train wreck.  I expressed my disappointment in the form of a lengthy Facebook status.  This only resulted in a conversation with a random Italian guy who friended me because we both like "playing the keytar." 

When I went into the kitchen that night, The Chef was singing "Poker Face" while downing clamato beer (it was on sale at the gas station).  He had read my Facebook status and had his own opinions on the matter.

"Don't be too hard on the girl, Lauren," he says, taking a swig of the bright red liquid in his glass.  "She's boring me too, but I think she's just tired.  She needs to take a break so she can get back on her game.  Her stuff is so lacking right now."

He launches back into a chorus of "Poker Face."  I become slightly relieved that he chose to have this conversation with me in person rather than on my status.  Though I always enjoy a good awkward Facebook moment.  Consider the following:

 

Note To Self:  Gay Italian Theatrical Electronica jokes belong in the kitchen, not on the Internet.

I'm getting off-track again.  I apologize.  

The moral of the story is this:  Lady Gaga is bumming me out.  

I even ranted about it on Facebook again yesterday after listening to her new single, "Hair."  First, it was received with crickets.  Then, it turned into a conversation about something else.

As you can see, I never heard back from this friend.  I'm beginning to think it frightens people when I refer to my fictional characters as if they are living creatures.  Personally, I think it's hilarious.  But I also think it's funny to list "THE UNIVERSE" as my employer and put my job description down as "Freelance Rock Star."  

It's official - I'm an obnoxious Facebook friend. 

Anyway, Lady Gaga's album comes out next week (assuming the world doesn't really end).  I really want to buy it and fall in love with it, but I don't know if that is going to happen.  I'm already unimpressed.  I'll probably end up streaming it on Grooveshark so I can construct my inevitable Gaga-related Facebook status appropriately. 

Though I don't know if any of my Facebook friends actually care at this point.  But you know what they say:  Once you kill a cow, you gotta make a burger. 

And with that, I think I'm going to go to bed.  Wow, I think this might be the most trivial post I've ever written.  I'll be back tomorrow to ponder the meaning of life.  Or something like that.  

But in the meantime, what do you guys think of the Lady Gaga craze? 

That New Song I've Been Alluding To...

So I briefly disappeared off the face of the blogosphere, but now I am back.  Sorry about all of that.  It was a weird, stressful week for several reasons. 

Long story short, it looks like I'm done being a book agent.  And I don't think I'll be acting as The Bouncer or working in the restaurant downstairs anytime soon either.  I'm back to unemployed hipster status. 

That's a story I might tell tomorrow (if I actually feel like reliving it again), but for right now I have more important things to share with you guys.  Like the new song I've been talking about for the past month!

Here's a sneak peek:



The music video is in the works as well.  I filmed a bunch of it in my bathroom the other night and plan on shooting the rest in the hallways this weekend when all of the hipsters go camping. 

A still shot from some of the footage I took in my bathroom...don't judge

Now I just have to get the rest of the tracks recorded and launch my little E.P. into the world.  They are coming along nicely, actually.  It should all be done sooner rather than later. 

In other news, I had a really great jam session with The Studio Musician today.  He texted me out of the blue and told me he was bored so he was playing through the entire Beatles catalog.  It was only a matter of minutes before I was playing along with him.  I know it's cliche, but you can really never go wrong with The Beatles.  And it turns out that today was one of those days where I just needed to belt out "Let It Be."

It's amazing how completely rejuvenating music can be.  Especially when you make it with someone else.  Though going solo is empowering, I truly miss being in a band.

But at least my new recording sounds like I'm in a band.  That counts for something, right?

And with that, I think I'm gonna go to bed.  Goodnight, my darling blogosphere.  <3

For Better Or For Worse, Techno-Folk Night Is Now A Thing Of The Past

First off, on Tuesday I wrote a guest post of sorts for my friend Allison. She's in England right now and asked me to cover her weekly playlist for her. You can check it out here. You should check out the rest of Allison's blog while you are over there too.

Now that we've got the shameless plugs out of the way, I can tell you that I got through techno-folk night and lived to tell about it. It wasn't necessarily a raging success, but it didn't bomb completely. On a 1-10 scale, my stress level was probably at about 11 the entire night, but that's fairly normal. I think I did an alright job at playing it cool. Though the conversations I kept having with my boss didn't always help:

Boss: So, it's your first time coordinating an event...are you nervous?
Me: (lying through my teeth) Nah, I've totally got this under control.
Boss: You're not nervous at all?
Me: No.
Boss: Well you should be! This is all depending on you!

I have never smoked in my life (and don't plan on starting), but at that moment, I really could have used a cigarette or something.

I did more last night than most people realize. I took care of the musicians when they arrived. I ran all of the sound-checks and got everything sorted out on the technical side of things. I played the role of The Bouncer during the show (though there wasn't a huge crowd or much alcohol to monitor). I bussed the occasional table at the order of my boss.

I was also the liaison to the surprise belly dancing act that somebody booked without telling me. I'm still confused about that part of the evening. One minute I'm jamming out to a strange techno remix of a Beatles song with The Poet and the next minute my boss is introducing me to some chick in a belly dancing costume.

Because a line-up involving the world's most enthusiastic banjo player and a techno guy that comes equipped with trippy movies on a projector is really not complete without belly dancing. Gah.

Tonight will be better.

Which reminds me, I need to get my final playlist together. I've never really DJ-ed anything that wasn't a private party or a college-related event, so I'm slightly overwhelmed. Especially since I had a humbling conversation about software and equipment with the techno guy last night and realized that I really have no idea what I'm doing.

But life is a learning curve, right?

I plan to spend most of the day in my sweatpants and transform into my ultra-hip DJ persona just in time for the event. This week's model of my DJ persona will be wearing a dress that belonged to my mother in 1980something. To your left is a picture of the last time I wore that dress (which, by the way, was a million years ago).

Not quite as good as the leather pants that The Chef had on last night, but it's difficult to compete with that man's fashion taste.

Anyway, there are currently twelve hours between me and 80's night and I've got a lot to do. The first thing on the list involves going back to bed. So I'm gonna sign off for now. Hope everyone is having an absolutely groovy Saturday and hopefully next time I pop up on your blog roll I will have some good DJ stories to tell.

Is It Just Me, Or Can You Hear Crickets Over Here???

Lauren in her natural habitat

Oy.  This blog has been a bit of a dead zone lately and I apologize.  I've let real life get in the way of my standard blogging routine and I'm beginning to hear crickets because of it.  I think I owe you guys a legitimate update. 

After all, I just spent two hours of my life watching "America's Next Top Model," so I think I have time to give you guys the 411 on who drop-kicked who. 

Here's the low-down:  I've been out of comission for a couple of days due to a digusting cold/sinus infection.  Probably made myself sick from stressing too much, honestly.  A couple of weeks ago, I cooked up a deal with the guy that owns the restaurant/venue downstairs.  As a result, I've turned into a booking agent of sorts and have been frantically trying to fill this month's calender with shows and events. 

It's all very exciting but totally nerve-wracking.  One minute, I feel like I'm totally capable of providing the neighborhood with quality entertainment (and making a killing off of it).  Then I'll check my email only to discover that one of my headlining bands has to attend a funeral instead of playing a show (people need to stop dying, it really messes things up).  I'll get this gnawing feeling of dread (a feeling I'm all too familiar with) and I'll suddenly remember that I've never done anything like this before.  And then I'll have to convince myself yet again that life is a learning curve, I am totally capable of this, etc. 

This weekend is my "debut" of sorts and I'm terrified.  The monthly art open house is on Friday night and I only managed to book two musical acts:  a guy that plays the banjo and some dude who makes techno with a macbook.  I had a third band lined up but they fell through.  So now I just have the weirdest line-up of all time.

And yes, I've been scrambling to find a third band.  It's gotten to the point where I've started sending Facebook messages that look like this:


I haven't talked to you in a million years, but I'm currently booking acts for a new venue in town and am scrambling to fill the calender for May. I don't even know if you are in a band, but you are playing a musical instrument in your profile picture, so you are getting a message. Anyway, ARE you in a band?

That approach was unsuccessful.  Surprise surprise.  Looks like Friday is going to be techno-folk night.  And it might end at 9pm.

In addition to good ole techno-folk night, I've got an 80's night planned for Saturday.  Naturally, I'm the DJ.  This shouldn't be scary, but it is.  I haven't even tested the sound system yet.  It's going to be held in a space that was once the chapel of an old folk's home.  The pews are still perfectly in tact and I'm not sure how to move them!  Once I get my laptop plugged in and get people dancing, it will be great.  But until then, I'll probably be one high-strung kid. 

Maybe I'm in over my head.  Or maybe I'm onto something really cool.  Maybe I can keep this up all summer and avoid getting an obnoxious minimum wage job.

In other news, the recording process is still going really well.  The Studio Musician recently emailed me his latest cut of the new track.  I think it's just about done!  Hopefully I'll have it up here in a couple of days so you guys can listen to it.  It's so exciting because it sounds like an entire band.  In reality, it's just me and a guy I hired to play a bunch of random instruments.  Shh, don't tell anyone. 

Anyway, those are the most significant things I have to report.  Well, other than the fact that people still refuse to stay in the categories I think they belong in (I know, I said I was going to stop putting people in boxes, but sometimes I do it without thinking).  And the awkward moments in my daily life are getting so professional that they sometimes announce themselves (i.e:  "Would you like to have an awkward moment, Lauren?"  I said "no," but the moment was awkward anyway...). 

But I will save all that for another post.  I should probably go to bed.  It's not even midnight yet, but I need to kick this sinus bug by the weekend.  There is nothing hot about a DJ with a stuffed-up nose and a plugged-up ear. 

Peace out, amigos.  This is DJ Lauren, signing off. 

Soul Aslyum and Sausage

I'm feeling fairly rock and roll today. 

I think it's the Soul Asylum connection I have going on right now. 

While I was doing my laundry today, The Chef made me this T-shirt:

 

When The Chef lived in Minneapolis in the 80's, he made the same T-shirt for the drummer of Soul Asylum.  The drummer wore the shirt on the cover of this album:

The logo is larger but it's still the same design made by the same person.  I can't help but feel cool.

As a side note, Soul Asylum's "Misery" was my favorite song when I was seven years old.  I feel like that probably says something about me but I'm not sure what. 

In other news, I was downstairs working with The Studio Musician until a little bit ago.  I can't wait to show you guys what we've been cooking up.  Right now, it's just at the tedious phase of him mixing it and me telling him to tweak different instruments.

Me:  "Can you put a little more guitar on the chorus?"

The Studio Musician:  "Yeah...I have nine guitar tracks layered there...which one do you like best?"

Me:  "Oh wow, that's intense.  Uh..."

The Studio Musician:  "Yeah, don't even look at the computer screen...no one likes to see how the sausage gets made."

It's going to be some great sausage when it's all done. 

Anyway, that's all for now.  Another lame post.  I'll be back on my blogging game soon.