Whole Lotta’ Love
My commute to the studio takes me from Ashby Street to 42d Street to Guthrie Avenue. Those are the facts. But I like to think it’s all serendipity.
Hal Ashby directed some of the most heartfelt, oddball films of the 70s, including “Being There” (the working title of my last album, as it were) and “Harold & Maude.” I was too young to catch his films the first time around. But a few years ago, when I finally plunked down the dough for a TV and DVD player, his films were amongst the first that I watched, and watched, and watched. Above all, I was moved by his patience. His films move slowly, naturally, awkwardly: like life.
The bulk of my life, of course, is spent high above at The MTV Times Square. I rarely look out the window anymore, but the pace of life on the street is constantly apparent. From the flash of neon to the sound of sirens, the city is always moves with relentless pace.
Guthrie Avenue, John’s exit on I-235, is, of course, reminiscent of Woodie. Like every other kid who sang around their mom’s piano, “I Knew This Land Is Your Land” early on. And of course I know Arlo’s classic, “Alice’s Restaurant.” But until Wilco and Billy Bragg hooked up to record some of Woody’s unfinished songs, I didn’t know much else. I just know that, to me, the a granfatherly element about him. I carry him with me.
Though my commute from Jason’s to Jon’s and back is brief, I have been listening to two CDs in particular: The Rolling Stone’s “Let It Bleed” and Matthew Sweet’s “Girlfriend.” Whether or not those influences will seep into the new recording remains to be seen. We’ve dropped all kinds of references while recording: from Beck to Wilco, John Mellencamp to Oasis, Bob Dylan to Lucinda Williams. Of course, with The Nadas contributing so much, I’m confident you’ll hear a healthy dose of their straight-up of heartland rock as well.
We’re almost done recording basic parts, so the track listing is pretty much set:
1- Better Than That
2- Harder To Believe
3- Milk & Honey
4- Cry
5- Dark Blue
6- Untitled No. 1
7- Long Way Down
8- Heartland
9- Dry Your Eyes
10- Do It Again
11 – Girlfriend
In fact, Mike, Jason and I just wrapped the acoustic version of Matthew Sweet’s “Girlfriend.” Mike plays mandolin, a far cry from Richard Lloyd’s Big Star-esque guitar work on the original. But it perfectly captures what I’m going for here: a little bit folk, a little bit city, a little bit country, a little bit rocknroll, and a whole lotta’ heart.
Do It Again
“When’s the last time we sucked that hard?” Jason asks.
“Um,” I offer, “yesterday?”
Jon chimes in, “Dude, I haven’t been to the point of playing whole notes in a long time.”
In fact, last night’s Lenexa, Kansas show was right on: loud, loose, and a helluva’ lotta’ fun. Considering the way the band set me up for it — Jon called it his “least favorite venue ever” — it wasn’t half bad. The audience ate up The Nadas, and we’re really pretty gracious to me.
My virgin foray in The Nadas¹ tour bus was, to be sure, a bit different than I’d anticipated. Meat Loaf’s former ride proved a little cramped for the six of us (Jason, Mike, Jon, soundman Smitty, tour manager Charidy, and me), despite front and rear lounges plus nine bunks.
This old workhorse has seen some miles. The cupboards swing. The carpet’s torn. The AC gasps. The generator overheats. And the bathroom has odor issues (not from anyone on board: there’s a strictly-enforced number one only rule).
Still, I’ve never had more fun on a road trip. The crew entertains one another effortlessly. Everything and everyone is fair game. There is no line separating appropriate from not.
“Mike,” Charidy says. “I might just throw up a little bit.”
Mike¹s finger’s up his nose to the knuckle. He plucks a hair.
“This one’s from my head, I swear.”
I spent the balance of the trip devouring “So You Want To Be A Rock & Roll Star,” a music industry memoir Semisonic drummer Jacob Slichter. It seems oddly appropriate to be reading while on tour with these guys, as both The Nadas and I find ourselves at a time in our lives where we aspire to grow our art and our careers, but tempered with some sort of adult reality.
Jason and Mike have been performing as The Nadas as long as I’ve been performing as, well, me: twelve years. Collectively, we’ve released some fifteen or so CDs. The Nadas, though, have ridden in vans from Los Angeles to New York City. They’ve lived it (and have the bus to show for it). I’ve pretty much stayed put, venturing out for a few days at a time here and there. We’ve taken radically different approaches to our careers. This is their day job; MTV News is mine. I often question that, wishing that I’d gone for rock and roll 100%, and wondering where I’d be if I had. Probably not here: I met Jason at Sundance. On MTV’s dime.
We’re both releasing records in the fall, The Nadas’ “Listen Through The Static,” and my “Heartland.” Neither of us is certain what will come next. The Nadas will tour heavily behind “Static,” then focus on some other burgeoning projects: Authentic Records and a downtown studio. Me? No idea.
This much I know: I’ll finish the book by the time we hit Omaha.
We leave tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, Jon and I are wrapping up vocals. For a young producer, he’s really got some great chops, and creative ideas. He had me singing through three mics, jumping around, and playing air guitar just to get the right energy for the “Harder To Believe” vocal. It was a long way around, but I think we got it.
Next stop, Nebraska…
Stay tuned.
Now That I Found You
The worst rock show billing, or so they say, is second billing to the puppet show. The Nadas might argue otherwise.
I’m in the driver’s seat of Louise, The Nadas tour bus, which is parked outside Des Moines University. The boys are playing a Welcome Back picnic. And they’re none too thrilled.
I picked up a few sixes (Harp for Jason and me, Miller for Justin and Jon) mid set, which they appreciated, and cleaned the bus, which they didn’t notice.
Between sets, Justin explained the intricacies of beer dice (“Dude, they have brackets for that shit!”). Jon tells me groupie stories (“My groupies are either guys, or girls looking for Mike, he says”).
Tonight’s event is what I call a tough room, even though it’s outside. The students — osteopaths, all — are apathetic, at best. Worse, the gig started well before sundown. And there’s no booze.
I feel for the guys.
***
Later, I’m watching the merch table for Charidy when Jason calls me from the stage. “Can you come up here when you have a minute?” he asks. I leave the merch to Smitty, and strap on an acoustic. “What are we doing?” I ask. “Something that repeats a lot,” Mike answers.
Thirty seconds later I’m leading the band through “Do It Again,” which only Justin’s played before. My voice is shaky. My heart’s in my throat. I’m not making any eye contact. But when the band joins in, I start smiling like a ten-year-old. I start working the room. When Mike hits the solo, I start jumping around like I’m in Good Charlotte.
The band’s second set finds them performing for the die hards: fifty or so undergrads scattered on the grass before them. Though the band appears to be loathing the gig, they see the humor of it, and even begin to have a good time. I can’t help but smile. Mike does cartwheels. Jason makes up lyrics. They rise to the occasion.
***
Later, Jason and I drive the Sunbird to a bar around the corner called Wellman’s. Mike parks the bus parks on the street. The Nadas are on the jukebox when they walk in the door. Jason squelches my proposal to introduce them. A young DMU student name Dave is thrilled they’ve arrived, and keeps repeating, “You guys rock!” And they do. Because they can, even when they don’t want to.
Melody Kings
I know ya’ll think making records is all hookers and blow, but I got news for ya’: it’s hard work.
Case in point: today. Jon, Justin and I got started on the new album Jon’s East Des Moines studio. And while it was fun, and productive, and we had our laughs and such, peoples, I’m tellin’ ya’: it was hard work. We were on the job from nine o’clock this morning (how un-rocknroll, huh?) ’til nine tonight. Here’s how it went down:
9:48 a.m. – I hit the Kum-n-Go for a Hot Pocket© and some Krispy Kremes©. A cop is investigating a rogue needle found in the parking lot. Dispatch reports that there have been two previous incidents at the intersection of 29th and Lanard in the last twenty-four hours: a hit and run, and petty theft. Where the hell am I?
11:33 a.m. – Justin gives me his bio while Jon’s fiddling with knobs. He grew up in Kansas before moving to L.A. on his eighteenth birthday. “I told my dad I’d have the city down in three weeks.” He stayed three years, before returning to the Midwest.
12:16 p.m. – We begin tracking drums for “Harder To Believe.”
1:24 p.m. – Jon suggests to Justin: “Play like you’re tired, you’re in New Orleans, and you’re a little overweight.”
2:14 p.m. – We take a break to eat smoked pork loin, Doritos, and Gatorade.
2:53 p.m. – “God, Bob Barker’s 80-years-old,” Justin says. “The Stones must be in their seventies!”
2:54 p.m. – Jon calls Dirk’s Guitars. “We need a kick drum that goes boom.”
4:02 p.m. – Jason delivers a 1948 WFL Ludwig kick drum in exchange for a slice of pork loin.
4:03 p.m. – Jason calls from the highway. “Damn, that’s some good pork.”
4:04 p.m. We swap the kick drums. It lights up. “Melody Kings” is painted in cursive on the front. It definitely goes “boom.” Jon and Justin are inlove, immediately trying to come up with enough cash to buy it. Dirk has delivered in spades.
4:59 p.m. We wrap drums on “Milk & Honey.”
6:04 p.m. – My cousin Sarah calls from Denver to say she’s heard I’m playing Cedar Falls on Saturday night. The word is out.
6:19 p.m. – Justin’s tracking on “Better Than That.” Jon tells him, “I’m thinking aggressive 70s funk here. But not Phishy. Definitely not Phishy. Not even a little bit.”
6:58 p.m. – Jon and Justin decide to destroy some furniture. Apparently, this is not the first time.
7:23 p.m. – Jon and I form a plan for the rest of the recording. We resolve to work on ten tracks within the week. Then I’ll leave the tracks with Jon at the end of the week for him finish tracking and mix. By September 15. Ambitious? Totally. Fortunately, we’re tracking over demos and using existing guitars tracks, so some of the work’s done. Also, some of the songs will be solo acoustic (“Dry Your Eyes”) or nearly so (“Long Way Down”). We also root around my hard drive for a tenth song and decide on “Falling Backwards,” which is crazy raucous.
8:02 p.m. – I track acoustic guitar for “Long Way Down” and “Dry Your Eyes” on Josh Davis’ Gibson. Thanks Josh!
8:48 p.m. – I track “Long Way Down” vocals in one pass. It may not be a perfect vocal take, but it demonstrates my approach to this recording: “I don’t want to be precious. It’s rocknroll, people.”
9:11 p.m. – I drive my Pontiac Sunbird back to Jason and Stephanie’s cranking Matthew Sweet’s “Girlfriend” with the windows down and the AC on.
11:36 p.m. – Jason and I are typing on our respective G4s when a commercial for the Iowa State Fair comes on KKCI-TV. “Go nuts with The Nadas at the Iowa State Fair!”
Talk with ya’ later, after Jon, Justin, Jason, Mike and I get back to work on the record and The Nadas next big rock show.
The Tourist
Saturday was a head-spinning rocknroll tour of Des Moines. Sunday was all about getting my bearings.
I didn’t leave my bedroom-turned-recording studio until well after noon. I wasn’t sleeping, though, I was working: recording a new song that came to me in my sleep (“Long Way Down”) and uploading my first batch of photos. When I finally ventured out, The Walsmith’s were out to lunch. I poured a cup of coffee, and settled in with The Des Moines Register.
The majority of Americans, I imagine, consider Des Moines, Omaha, Lincoln and the like to be flyover country; fall asleep and you miss it. If I hadn’t been born in Iowa City, and raised in Chicago and Indianapolis, I might as well. But Iowa has always been home to me.
There are those who doubt my intentions in this declaration. It is true that I lived in Iowa less than a month. My birth was induced over Labor Day Weekend in an effort to get it over with in time for my father’s first semester as a Chemistry professor at Charles County Community College in rural Maryland. And so my claim to Iowa as “where I’m from” could be considered dubious, at best. But for the entirety of my thirty-three years, this is the only place I’ve even returned to with any regularity. With the exception of nuclear family, fully half of my extended family still lived in The Hawkeye State. For a man who grew up in six states, the statistic alone constitutes home.
There’s more to it than math, of course. There is an authenticity here that can’t be bought. It is born in the soil, I think. It is forged from the great thuderstorms of the wide prarie. In a sea of manufactired authenticity, the place and its people are the real deal.
And so there is great comfort in being here here. My exhaustion notwithstanding, I feel at home. I feel relaxed. I hear music in the trees, and on the wind. I feel alive and asleep all at once.
