Music in the womb. . .

Last night we put a headphone to Sienna's belly.

The baby went ape-shit.

Play list? Not something to overlook.

Started with some classic 1-4-5 rock and Weezer.

Beatles: "Come Together"

And so on. . .

And it was KICK KICK KICK KICK KICK.

We played a lot of stuff for Peja when she was inside, and sometimes she'd kick a bit, but nothing like the reaction we got last night.

What we learned? Male voices get a bigger reaction. Instrumental sections aren't as interesting as vocals. And the best/biggest reaction was for. . . A bit of Opera -- "Nessun Dorma", which I think is kind of hack for people that like Opera, but it might be my favorite song.

HOLA BRAZIL!

Alright, so that's spanish, and they speak Portuguese in Brazil. . . But maybe it's close.

When I redid the site, in all it's "kinda working" glory, my hook-up to google analytics got cut off. So, for a while, I couldn't tell if just my sister, or my sister AND my mom were reading the site. At least not without asking them. So, I got it hooked up again last night (involving the very TECH process of cutting and pasting some code into the html of this page. . .), and today, I'm informed that I've had 12 visits from brazil! From 12 different computers.

I'm under no false impression that my South American friends got here on purpose, but still, if they return, I would like to extend a kind greeting, in the hopes of securing venues and lodgings on our world tour.

Uh. . .

Jay.

A Question of Values

The finger is fine.

I am just a baby.

I was walking around with Peja today, delivering invitations to a tea party she's hosting ('cause that's what dad's do), and I was thinking about venues and shows and why I seem to do everything the hardest fucking way.

I've probably bitched about this before, and if you're one of my friends who plays music, none of this will be news to you.

So, how it goes:

You play free gigs, charity gigs, at bars that host them knowing they'll sell a bunch of booze, and organizers charge at the door and keep that for whatever cause. You get exposure, and sometimes free drinks.

You get booked by bars for small $ They pay you, based on how many people you brought out and how much they drank. So, lets say you bring out 25 friends, and they all spend $10-$15, the bar pulls in $250-$375, and gives you $50-$100. If there's a cover charge involved (and if there is, you generally have to run the door, which means an extra person) you might get all of it, half of it, or none of it. If you get the door money, you generally don't get the booze money. Again, you're mostly looking for exposure, and again, you get a certain number of free drinks.

If you're a cover band, you might get booked at a bar for half-decent money (maybe $200-$300) for the night. You'll play 3hrs or so of the greatest classic rock shit that you hate, take abuse from the drunken crowd, and walk out with some decent per/hr (not counting the time it took you to learn 3 hrs of music - say 40 songs). Now, these gigs can be played willfully unprepared, especially if you're a drummer -- don't worry, no one will notice. Oh, you probably drink for free.

There's isn't really a model that doesn't involve bars. Because, it's a lot easier to convince people to come see you at a bar, spend $20 on booze/snacks to see their friend's band play, rather than spending $10 on a ticket to a theatre to see their band play. And there are lots of good reasons for this. Tons. It makes sense to me. But it makes the band into a liquor sales team. And that's not something I'm interested in doing with my band.

So, when you see us booked at bars this fall, just remember that I'm compromising my values, and extra applause is the only balm for my rattled ethics.

Working Turntables

So, I've got one window open watching some internet tv stuff, and then another with news, and then another with some music, and then itunes is running at the bottom with my old tracks playing over and over, trying to convince me that something of value resides therein, and if one thing ends, then the others take over, and I just mute everything except for 2, and that's enough to keep it going, because if they all end, the fucking silence is deafening and the blank screen is blinding, and the general scheme of my life slaps me in the face.

But enough about me.

How are you?

I took my guitar into the shop today. I bought it from my friend James circa 2001 for a tv and $150. The pick-up selector has been acting up for. . . uh. . . maybe 7 years? But since the top of my left index finger is covered with a fresh burn blister, I figured it might be a good time to hand it over to get fixed. 1 Week. They're backed-up at the shop. I blink. Shit, I probably should wait that long so I don't rip open this blister and set it back a while. Alright.

But time off is rough. Everything gets rethought. What about Vinyl? There's a company in California that does Plaskett's vinyl and they'll do short runs -- like, 100 records for $1100; you'd only have to sell 60 at $20. . . Seems like a lot. . . 60 records. . . Since I probably know 10 people with working turntables. . . And selling 60 when I'm not at all happy with a track-listing seems fairly impossible. . . But I really don't see the value of a cd anymore. Have I written about this before? Man, I almost want to just put the mp3's up online and sell the password at shows. That could work, right? No? I guess you could just put them online a la Radiohead, and ask for a donation of the buyers choice.

Man, I tell ya, I took the bandage off my finger before I started typing this, and it's hurting a bit, but not nearly as much as all my whining and soul searching seems to indicate. What a big fucking baby I am.

Jay.

Post-Show, and a 2nd degree burn. . .

The ol' Ebike battery has been acting kind of strange lately, so I just left it plugged into to the charger that automatically turns off. . . in theory. . . for a couple of days. . . And then yesterday, it decided to get hot enough to burn through some of it's plastic casing and give me a 2nd degree burn on the index finger of my left hand. So let's all be glad the show was last sunday, and not this sunday, since the bundle of bandages and antibiotic cream that is now my finger probably wouldn't be able to fret accurately. . .

But since, as I said, the show was last Sunday, it went off without a hitch. Thanks to Tim Lyon from NeXt Church for giving us a great deal on the space and helping us with set up; it is so clearly my favorite downtown venue. It has great sound, a wonderful stage, and the front row seats are couches!

Set List:

1. Society Dames
2. Rusty Voices
3. City Lights
4. Sucker Punch
5. Autumn. . .
6. Crime Spree
7. Fake Blonde Girls
8. Hide and Seek
9. It's Coming Down
10. Something Here That Reminds Me of You
11. The United Stars
12. Say it to Me Now (Glen Hasard cover)

The Barn Flyz were:

Bass -- Kevin Cooke

Drums -- Kevin Holloway

Jay was Jay

Thanks to Tim Tran from the Dorian School of Music for running the sound board.

Look for more shows in the near future. Recording will have to wait for my finger to heal. . .

SHOW TONIGHT!!!

Hey y'all, we're rockin' at 7pm

Be there.

Please?

No?

Come on!

Alright, sounds good.

See you then.

Day 1

I bought some new gear for the studio, and I spent a bit of time today while Peja and Sienna were off buying the stuff I forgot to buy (not my plan. . . or was it? ah, ha ha ha ha ha! ha?), setting up the new voiced tube pre-amp and mic. I was very please with how the new stuff sounded, and I lay down some guide track guitar, bass, and vocals to go back and cover over with shinier ones. I borrowed Peja's keyboard and used the drum machine on it for my headphone metronome. I hate the sound of the one on my recorder, and there's something soothing about the old school rock beat. Also, I think it adjusts in like 15 bpm increments, so it takes some of the fine-tuning out of the equation. . .

Look for the posters. They're everywhere. Except the places I haven't postered yet. . . Pine street, I'll get there.

The Nerd Badge

There's this

And this

And this

And, if I was on top of my game, we'd have a Facebook thing going.

But the only thing I actually take care of, is this blog. So I lost my nerd badge today trying, and failing to imbed some mp3's here, and then regained by staying up late and finally figuring it out (look over there -->)

Alright, so the players don't fit and you can't scan most of the song. . . I did my best. I've got a call into my best internet guy and I'm sure he'll figure it out.

And there's a really awkward youtube feed over there too -->

What can't a blog do?

weighted toward the past

It's around 11pm.

The girls are sleeping.

There are two lists in front of me.

One is the set list for the July 19th Show. (preview -- it's kickin')

The other is the song progress list for the new record.

3 songs in the can. 4 fully written and demoed. 3 with demos at various levels of completion (one is perhaps over-written, with stuff to be cut, but otherwise is fine; another is more of an idea than a song). There are also a few songs drifting around that might sneak onto the record.

The set list for the show is done. Song distribution by album:

Songs for My Seaweed Girl (current record): 3

Great Lakes: 1

How it Feels to be a Rock and Roll Dad: 1

Probable New Album: 2

Lucky 13 (final Jason Middaugh record): 4

Alright, no one but me would notice or give a shit, but 4 of the tunes are from a record that I recorded over 6 years ago. They were written and recorded a whole Peja ago. A medium length marriage ago. And, it's not lost on me, they were written while I was living like a monk/hermit in a farm house near Guelph and pretending to care about an English degree.

Those are tunes I want to play live. The ones that rock the most the easiest.

What does it mean to want to write mellow records while performing rock songs from a previous lifetime?

Next Church, Here We Go!

Alright, so the outdoor dream got put on hold, and instead the very kind and quick responding folks at Next Church are letting us put on our show in their beautiful building.

Details:

Sunday, July 19th, 7pm

Next Church, 89 Colborne Street

Free / Donations

I'm. . .

Enjoying a visit from my nephew, who will be a giant, and his parents, who are giants.

Negotiating the details for the gig on Sunday July 19th. 7pm seems the time time time.

Getting too much sun.

Staying up to late with Peja to watch fireworks with awesome neighbors.

Sleeping in while listening to rain.

Muting the stereo while Peja and her friend sing happy birthday to an imaginary birthday girl.

Looking at pictures of newborn Peja, and thinking about the baby-on-the-way.