People’s (Des Moines, Iowa)
Harder To Believe
Milk & Honey
Hollywood Arms
Radio
Dear Elizabeth
Wonderwall
With The Nadas
Des Moines Arts Festival (Des Moines, Iowa)
Harder To Believe
Milk & Honey
St. Anne (Of The Silence)
California Stars/All I Want Is You
Wonderwall
With Andrew Wagner and The Nadas
These Romantic Dreams In My Head
It was only last night, but it already seems like a long time ago.
My friends are the best. I’m lucky for them. We had a really good time at the “Besides” CD release. Primarily because it wasn’t so much about the CD release at all, but about a bunch of friends getting together to have some beers and sing some songs.
I went to the gig straight from work, which is even lamer than it sounds. I had a bunch of square meetings — bandwidth, DSL vs. DS3, Vivix video production, cabling, A/C, T&E, yada yada yada — and then had to recalibrate and try and get in some kind of rock ‘n roll head. Luckily, my buddy Dan and his pal Valerie helped. We shared a cab downtown, and then went to a bistro just down the street from Pianos. We bumped in Ryan crossing the street, which never happens. A few minutes later, I ducked out for some Excedrin (no better way to get your rock on than alcohol, caffeine, and acetaminophen) and bumped into Chris crossing the street — which never happens.
So we had a beer and some laughs and I choked down my Excedrin and — and my phone rang. And it was my buddy Wes Verhoeve, co-founder of Family Records, Cross Pollination, and The Undisputed Heavyweights.
“Dude,” he said. “When are you on? The sign says 9:30 but it’s 8:30 and some other band is just starting to set up.”
Fast forward to 9:15. The other band still hasn’t gone on. I can’t find the dude who booked me. So I’m sitting there texting Abbi thinking (like the dudes in “Lethal Weapon”), “I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”
But then Casey and Langhorne showed up. And Meg walked in. Then my buddy Z and his wife Vicki. And Wes Hutchinson. And “G, and Rach, and on and on and on.
And then we’re on stage. And then we’re playing “Harder To Believe,” and I’m thinking maybe we’re playing it a bit too slowly. And wondering why everyone’s talking. And then the lights dim, and I remember Casey telling me that he’s been trying to remind himself to smile while he plays. And I see Rach singing along way off in the back. And I smile, and lean back into the song, and…
Casey joins us on harmonica for “No Surrender.” Our performance is great, and heartfelt, but the song choice goes over like a lead balloon; it’s way too quiet and mellow for such a loud room. But I don’t care. There’s a thesis tucked away in there. And it isn’t for everyone chattering away at the bar, it’s for Casey and Wes and Ryan and Chris and Tony and me.
And then the dude says “ten more minutes” in the monitor and I think, “Already?” So I play a line of The Heavyweights “Roll Your Windows Down,” tear into “Elizabeth,” then turn “Wonderwall” into “Ina Gada Davida.”
Moments later, it’s over, and we’re downstairs singing along with our pals in Sundown. And smiling. And then we’re in a cab, our heads on each other’s shoulders…
In a few hours, Abbi and I are hopping a plane to Iowa to meet up with our pals in The Nadas and sing a few songs with them too.
So it dawned on me. When I was a kid listening to Styx’s “Paradise Theater” in those big, padded earphones, I never even began to imagine what being a grown up would look like. I never imagined any part of my rock ‘n roll fantasy other than being on stage, or in a music video, or in the pages of Rolling Stone. And in all of these years in New York, I never imagined I’d actually be a part of something, something meaningful and moving and small and simple.
But here it is. This is what it looks like. It looks Chris and me harmonizing while a thunderstorm pours rain on the city. It looks like Ryan squinting through his glasses and banging on his drums. It looks like Tony dancing in a lime green tie, Abbi and Meg laughing in the corner, and Casey, Wes and Andy grinning at each other. It looks good. It looks real. Like waiting your turn at a show, knowing full well that the universe takes its time to deliver those dreams. And even when they arrive, they look a little different than you thought. And then they pass. And you wake up the next morning, and wipe the sleep from your eyes, and do it all over again.
The Last Time – MP3
My hand to God’s, here’s how it happened.
I woke up late on account of getting home late from last night’s “Besides” release with a bonus Sundown show afterwards. I jumped online to update the set list on my site, then checked out Sundown’s site to see if they’d updated anything (like, “We hung with our buddy Benjamin last night and boy is he talented!”). From there I surfed to Wes Hutchinson’s site, which autoplays “Long Day” from his CD, “Down In Flames.”
Next thing I know (and I’m really not sure what happened in between, but I know it wasn’t brushing my teeth), I’m strumming my guitar and this chorus comes to me, melody and all: “I believe I’m going down for the last time, the last time / And I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do, oh no / Yeah I believe I’m going down for the last time, the last time / And baby it’s you, baby it’s you.”
Then I bang out a coupla’ verses (and realize afterwards that “falling” can go either way: in or out of love, which is a good thing). So that’s, like, 9:30 this morning. I start recording and finish just after noon. Which is when it occurs to me that I should check to be sure I haven’t ripped off Wes outright. Furtunately, I haven’t.
I’ll tell you this: were it not for that chain of events — every one of ‘em, from last night’s show to this morning’s hangover to Wes’ inspiration — well, I wouldn’t have this song. And that’d be a shame, ‘cuz this is a pretty kick ass song. Enjoy.
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Pianos (New York, New York)
Harder To Believe
Milk & Honey
Intent On St. Paul
St. Anne (Of The Silence)
No Surrender
Roll Your Windows Down/Dear Elizabeth
Wonderwall
Stars And Hearts And Broken Things (Part II)
What a shitty day.
I was soaked straight through before I got to the office, then I had meetings straight through — including one that began at six o’clock. That’s the one at which I kinda’ lost my shit.
Which isn’t the point of this story.
After work, I walked by Rudy’s to pick up my guitar, but Rudy’s was closed. So I waded through the soggy, tourist-choked streets to the cobbler to pick up my shoes, but the cobbler was closed.
Back home, I cranked the AC, sat on the couch, and nursed a beer.
Chris came over to rehearse for tomorrow’s show around 8:30. We pruned the set a bit, losing some of the chaffe. Outside, a thunderstorm was breaking over the city. Lightning was streaking above the buildings.
Somewhere in the middle of “No Surrender” (yes, that “No Surrender”), I forgot about all of it.
Blood brothers on a stormy night with a vow to defend, indeed.
Besides
I’m getting married in October. Which is thrilling. But, on top of working for The Man, producing a documentary with my brother, and training for my eighth NYC Marathon, it makes for a hectic year — one in which releasing a new CD is out of the question.
So today I’m releasing two new CDs.
Kind of.
This massive life transition motivated me to do some housekeeping (literally and figuratively). In cleaning out my closets, I found all sort of recordings I thought you might like to hear.
“Besides” Volumes I & II collects twenty-five previously-unreleased, re-mastered recordings ranging from my first solo sessions (1993) to outtakes from “Love & Other Indoor Games” (2004). Along the way, you’ll find covers of REM (“Second Guessing”), Matthew Sweet (“I’ve Been Waiting”), and The Police (“Message In A Bottle”).
The two-cd set is available on most major digital distributors, including iTunes:
Also, as I’ve mentioned, I’ll be performing with my pals Chris, Tony and Ryan on Thursday night at Pianos in NYC, and solo on Saturday night in Des Moines, Iowa. I may even make a cameo Sunday night at Smitty’s in Waterloo.
But as much as I like having things to do with my time, and money in my pocket, this whole “Besides” project (which began last fall) isn’t just about squeezing days from a crowded calendar or blood from a stone. It’s some kind of milestone, a boundary to mark what was, and what will be.
As frustrating as it can be to make music as a sideline (some might call it a hobby, but that phrase kills me), it’s not something I want to give up any time soon. I like organizing my thoughts and feelings around rhythm and melody. I like standing up with a bunch of friends and negotiating some new sounds between us, something that didn’t exist before. And heck, I’ll say it, I like the sound of applause. Ask Abbi: I talk about making a new CD all the time. I even know what I want to call it.
But I figure all good art needs some sort of gestation period. And given that I’ve released eight CDs in the last seven years (ten with this double-CD!), well, it seemed like a good idea to take a breather, re-assess, re-think, re-calibrate, and then really step it up on the next one.
Anyway, that’s the thinking. Here are the songs you’ll find on the records, and where they came from:
Tracks 1-5 (Wax & Feathers,” “Crossing To Safety,” “Rebecca,” “Flood” and “Keelhauling”) derive from my 1993 solo debut, “Always Almost There,” which was previously unavailable on CD.
The Syracuse New Times described “Always Almost There” — recorded with producer Steve Feldman in the months after I graduated from Syracuse University, thusly: “The introspective nature and acoustic foundation of the songs put the album in the Toad the Wet Sprocket or R.E.M. vein, but this is not a sound-alike record, but rather Wagner on display. Over soft-strumming, airy guitars, Wagner sings with strength, clarity and passion.”
Tracks 6-11 were recorded in the winter of 1994 with guitarist Eric Gilman by producer Luke Gilfeather (both of whom went on to produce “Out Of Your Head”). The album includes re-worked material from “Bloom,” (“I-90,” “Late November Mind,” “She Said, She Said,” “Kathryn (Of A Thousand Faces)”), outtakes (“Five Star Day”) and covers (The Police’s “Message In A Bottle”). Though released as a limited-edition casette, none of these songs were previously released on CD.
The final four songs on Volume I (“Manifest Destiny,” “The Michael Song,” Matthew Sweet’s “I’ve Been Waiting” and “Debris”) were recorded in the spring of 1997 with Steve in his Palm Springs, CA, studio (where he and I later recorded “Crash Site.”
“Broken Wing” was recorded in New York City with “Crash Site” engineer Duke Rashkow in the September 2000 sessions that also produced my most beloved single, “Dear Elizabeth.” (I told someone the other day that all of the time and money I spent on rock ‘n roll was worth it for “Elizabeth” alone). The progression would later evolve into “Live Forever” on “Love & Other Indoor Games.”
The solo acoustic demo of “California” was recorded with producer Kevin Anthony in August 2003, just a few days after I wrote it. The song was re-recorded for “Almost Home.”
“She’ll Come Undone,” and “Second Guessing” — an REM cover from the band’s “Reckoning” album that was a one-time fixture on my live set lists — are outtakes from the “Almost Home” sessions. “Annalia (Come Back Home)” was, in fact, originally written and recorded in 1999 (in Aruba, of all places). This version was re-recorded for “Almost Home,” then scrapped (I didn’t like the drum sound).
This demo version of “The Rest Of My Life” was radically re-thought by Kevin and guitarist Chris Abad for “Love & Other Indoor Games” LP. I totally went out and had a sandwhich while they changed it around. You can hear second version in this music video, but the demo never saw the light of day.
Finally, “Christopher Street,” “Beholden” (a riff on “Catcher In The Rye”), “Cast A Spell On You” and “Wishes” (beware profanity!) — were recorded in November, 2003, with Kevin just prior to his relocation to Minneapolis. I released as a limited edition bonus EP for people who pre-ordered “Love & Other Indoor Games.”
By the way, I used to write a music column at The Saratogian called “B-Side” (my last installment — written at the tender age of twenty-four — was headlined “True Confessions Of A Music Journalist-Turned-Monster”). For those of you who remember actual vinyl records, the b-side is the flip-side of a single. It’s usually the place where musicians play a little fast and loose with expectations, releasing covers and instrumentals and — arguably — disposal tracks that only the most obsessive of fans cares about. I’m not sure that’s the case here, but fast and loose is the spirit this release is intended.
Either way, I hope you enjoy listening to these songs as much as I enjoyed recording them.
This Place That I Call Home
“Where are you? L.A.? Chicago? Honduras?”
“Um, no,” I say. “I’m walking west on 45th Street.”
I’m on the phone with my buddy, Nadas front man Jason Walsmith.
“I gotta’ warn you,” I say. “New York City’s finest are doing one of their anti-terror swarm things, so it might get loud.”
“I gotta’ warn you,” Jason says laughing. “I’m making Mitchell a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich.”
Jason’s called to clarify weekend plans.
“I’ve heard rumors you’re stayin’ with Stephanie and me.”
Yup.
“And Mike tells me you’re playin’ some after party with us.”
Yup.
Jason’s not the first to check in about our trip to Iowa (Abbi’s first). Mary emailed me the forecast, and promised fireworks. Mandy emailed to find out my schedule; she’s working on a reunion with my old pal Greg Lage (with whom I went to high school in suburban Philadelphia). Mikel emailed a request (“I trust you know what you want to play, so I’ll lobby for “California” and then get the hell out of the way.”) Tricia emailed me an entire set list of requests. And Chase is just lookin’ forward to hangin’ (me too).
I told Abbi that more people are coming to my Des Moines show than my New York one.
Tony, Chris, and Ryan are all backin’ me up for the Pianos show on Thursday, which is a cool surpise that worked out at the last minute. Casey’s gonna’ make a cameo. The band rehearsed on my patio for an hour last night, then made a big pitcher of margaritas with the wives.
Then I’m joining all of my Authentic Records pals at the Des Moines Arts Festival on Saturday.
No matter who shows up where, I can’t wait.
‘Cuz golden hour or not, 45th Street is gettin’ kinda’ old.
Because Tomorrow Is Not Today
Midway through The Undisputed Heavyweights’ cacophonous, careening, and compelling performance Friday night, front man Casey Shea found himself sprawled across a table top.
The wild-eyed singer was freshly fatigued from a six-week, cross-country tour with his other band, Sundown. Less than 72 hours after touching down in New York City, and with nary a moment to rehearse — let alone remedy a wicked cough and bone-deep exhaustion — Shea was perched precariously between a table full of giggling co-ed’s martini glasses, microphone in his right hand, red wine in his left.
“I gotta dig my way out of this ditch I’ve gotten myself into,” he cracked before dragging himself to his feet and staggering to the mic stand.
New York City’s finest acoustic-based, Vaudeville-come-Catskill, rock ‘n r ‘n b review was assembled at the venerable — and sold out — East Village venue, Joe’s Pub, to kick off a summer-long residency.
When the band — guitarists Wes Verhoeve and Jeff Jacobson, bassist John Price, and drummer Patrick Carmichael augmented by a trio of horns — took to stage and began vamping on its hilarious lounge parody, “Money,” (“You tell me you love me / But I know what you really want / Money!”) with nary a sign of its front man, , some audience members began to buzz.
Was Shea too ill to perform? Was there some dispute amongst the Undisputed? Was Shea’s two-timing creating some creative tension?
As if on cue, Shea slipped through the black curtain and into the spotlight. With just a swagger and a wave, he dispelled all rumblings. Soon, the wild-maned front man was posing, preening, and promising deliverance.
“Can I get an ‘Amen’?” he asked rhetorically.
The crowd replied with bone rattling gusto, “AMEN!”
The band lurched and swayed through staples, “Bitches Be Trippin’,” “Cold Blooded,” and “Lartigue.” Mild-mannered Jacobson took the helm for his distinctly Doobie Brothers-esque “Back To You” (from his recent self-titled release). All the while, Shea strutted across the stage like a caged tiger, periodically ducking from the spotlight to tug on his bottled water and regain his composure.
While Shea’s soaring tenor and Tasmanian Devil shtick is the band’s proverbial Howitzer, The Heavies come loaded to bear with secret weapons. Jacobson’s solos are staggeringly nimble. Verhoeve’s chugging rhythm grounds both Shea and Jacobsons’ histrionics. Price’s five-string bass lines pop and prod the songs along. And while all three play the Laurel to Shea’s Hardy, the band is the sum of its parts.
Like all great assemblies, the show’s highlight came in the band’s most plaintive moment. “Roll Your Window Down” — like a bridge or a sermon — punctuated the feel-good irreverence of the Heavies’ set with sweet, mournful melancholy.
Tomorrow is not today
And this is getting hard
And you’ve got nowhere to go
‘Til it’s too late
Headlights guide
You’re lost in bright light
Soon, The Heavyweights had done the impossible: moved a room full of jaded New Yorkers to sing along.
In the end, then, Shea dug himself out just fine. Standing there drenched in sweat before the adoring crowd, shirttails untucked and tie asunder, his mashed-up Sinatra/Bono/Brown mug gave way to a grateful smile.
Anyway, Shea doesn’t dig ditches. The talented singer/songwriter and riveting performer scales mountains of apathy, then stands on the cliff’s edge between granite and space, and leans forward. Watching him twitch, trip, and twirl there on stage is an exciting thing. Knowing that he’ll always land on his feet is more exhilarating still.
Editor’s note: The above review was published to MTV News’ new live concert blog, You R Here.
Make It All Alright – MP3
This one found me.
I was finishing my coffee, just pacing around the living room with my guitar, when I started strumming this progression. I mumbled nonesense until “baby take a look at me” and “someone save me” emerged.
The rest is here on tape (or, um, mp3). Those polyrhythms you hear in the bridge and final chorus, by the way, are me bangin’ on a wooden stool (on the right) and a plastic chair (on the left).
I’m not nuts about the vocal; I probably should drop it a half-step. But, well, too late… until I officially record it for the next record anyway.
I always knew I should’ve been a drummer.
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