Boo! (Or, Crossing The River Styx In Costume)
My favorite Halloween was at the end of my least-favorite year.
I was ten-years-old. My parents were separated, soon-to-be divorced (saw that comin’, right?). My mother was in Washington, DC. Chris and I were with our father in Oak Park, Illinois. It was, as I’ve written before, a particularly dark, confusing and chaotic time.
In those days, Chris was playing a lot of Dungeons & Dragons. It was a time before I ever considered what constituted “cool,” frankly. In retrospect, though, he was deep in nerd territory: Coke-bottle, tortoise shell glasses, braced, Chicago Bears jerseys. I can say that now because he stonewalled my attempts to get into the game.
That shadowy, imaginary, ten-sided world captured my imagination, though. Somehow I got it into my head that I wanted to be The Angel of Death. You know, the ferryman that shuttles the dead across the River Styx — the boundary between Heaven and Hell in Greek mythology. Anyway, I’m not sure that’s what I was thinking at the time. Still, I had a vision: black robe, skull mask, and a great, tall staff with a serpent.
My mother wrestled with burlap and thread in her basement apartment for weeks. My brother loaned me his Boy Scout walking stick. My aunt bought me a skeleton mask and rubber snake. And my father threw a party.
Cameron Gong came as a zombie. Mike Jeffries came as The Scarecrow. Dusty Wells wore a simple, classic white sheet. Artie was a baseball player, Robbie was a pirate, and Robbie’s sister glowed white in her princess costume.
We raced from house to house in our leafy, suburban neighborhood, collecting candy, laughing and singing, then dashing home to devoured Twizzlers, Snickers, and Milk Way by the fistful. Our exuberance was the epitome of childhood. There was no subtext, no context. Nothing else mattered.
The rest of 1980 was Hell, to be sure. And it didn’t get much better for a while there. But I did make it back across the river — if not to Heaven, then somewhere close enough.
The next year, I recycled the robe, bought a flowing-white beard, and spent Halloween casting spells in my wizard costume.
Anyway, Happy Halloween to my favorite kids, and the kid in all of us.
Next News Now: New Business Model for News
Left to my own devices, I would have fled the scene. In fact, if transparency is the hallmark of blogging, than I’ll be honest: I did flee the scene.
Instead of networking over lunch at the City University of New York’s New Business Model for News Conference last week, I took my salad at my own desk, then returned for breakout sessions.
See, the room was crowded with heavy hitters from NPR, BBC, AP, Reuters, News Corps, and The New York Times; academics from Harvard, Columbia and NYU; entrepreneurs from Now Public, Daylife and Outside.in, plus serious 2.0 pundits like Buzzmachine’s Jeff Jarvis. Heck, Craig from Craigslist was there!
What’s more, the room crowded with heavy hitters was a small one!
The morning began with “lightning rounds” from innovators like former ABC World reporter Charlie Sennott who’s launching GlobalPost.com (a international news video service), and graduate student David Cohn who’s launching Spot.us (a site that endeavors to fund enterprise journalism through public donations).
Now, I love this stuff (as you gather from the three conferences I’ve attended in the last year or so: Youth Pulse, On Hollywood, and EconSM). I’m an academic at heart; I love ideas. Moreover, though, I consider a fair portion of my job description to be answering the question, “What’s Next?” And these conferences are obviously good for that.
My real motivation, though, was digging myself deeper into the journalism biz. This was a GREAT place for that.
Still, I didn’t think I’d have to SPEAK in front of everyone!
Well, I did. And here’s how it happened.
Basically, the conference was voluntary. That is, it wasn’t a big-deal, fee-oriented confab. It was more like a one-day think tank, a gathering of curious, forward thinking (and desperate, thanks to a flailing media sector, especially newspapers) journalists who wanted to work through some issues like revenue, modern newsrooms, and building networks together.
So after the morning session, we broke into five groups each charged with answering one question each. For example: “What does the newsroom of the future look like?” OR, “How can public funding serve enterprise journalism?”
Each group had a leader and a “rapporteur” (French for “a person appointed by a deliberative body to investigate an issue or a situation and report to that body”). In my group, “Networks,” our leader was former-USA Today Editor-In-Chief and now-NPR Digital EVP, Kinsey Wilson. I was the rapporteur.
Why did they ask me? Maybe because I sent a fawning email stating unequivocally that I’m a big fan of Jeff’s work (I am). Maybe because they thought it’d be fun to see how the MTV kid stood up against NPR, PBS, AP, etc. Maybe because they drew my name from a hat. Maybe divine folly.
Or maybe it was just a stroke of good luck. Because as difficult as it was to summarize our group’s free-flowing conversation, and as nervous as I was to present it to 100+ heavy hitters, it was a great opportunity to impress some impressive people (which is part of the reason I wore jeans, and bright green sweater with a pink, gingham dress shirt under a slate gray sport coat; I wanted to look colorful but respectful, unique but reasonable, memorable but in-context).
So, when my name was called after just four minutes or preparation, I took a deep breath, strode to the front of the room and began speaking…
If “the value of a network is proportional to the square of the number of endpoints,” then one task as digital journalists is to scale our networks — be they organically-grown, hyperlocal blogs or corporate-driven, international communities — as quickly and effectively as possible.
In a broadly-ranging, nearly consensus-free conversation, the “Networks” break-our group explored one case study, factors necessary to support network growth, and inherent challenges.
Now, that’s what I wrote in the blog post that was the second half of my assignment. I’m certain that I was significantly less articulate (and there’s web video out there for me to prove it; I just don’t have the intestinal fortitude to actually watch it).
But I did my best, and that was the best that I could do. Optimistically, it was a lucky double. At worst, it was a solid single. Either way, I wanted to race out of the place. But I didn’t. I accepted some faint praise from a few of the members of my group (all of whom agreed it was a difficult two-hour conversation to summarize), carried on a few post-conference, networking-oriented conversations (including one with an author/inventor and a woman from the World Economic Forum, and one with the associate dean of the school).
And then I stumbled into the brisk, New York night, alive, excited… and relieved.
Vote Early & Often (On My New Album Cover)
Sure, the fate of the free world hangs in the balance.
No, I’m not talkin’ Obama/Biden vs. McCain/Palin.
I’m talkin’ about you choosing the album cover for “Live From Rockwood Music Hall,” my forthcoming online-only release due at Authentic Records Online and iTunes on November 19th.
There are four album covers to chose from.
All four were taken at the venerable Rockwood Music Hall. All four endeavor to capture karmic the warmth and frenetic energy of the place. You can choose the winner. And it’ll be the album cover… forever!
So what are you waitin’ for? Civic duty time! Go vote!!!
The winning cover will, well, be the winning cover (when the album’s released exclusively at Authentic Records Online and iTunes on November 19th — did I mention that?). So…
My Top Ten Favorite Lyrics (Or, What’s Left Behind To Shoulder Grows Weightless)
In what has become a presumably tiresome refrain amongst my musician friends, I’ve said more than once of late that I’m not sure I’ll ever release another album.
Sure, I’m releasing my Live From Rockwood Music Hall LP on November 19th.
And yeah, I have plans for a big live recording of my “greatest hits” on/around my 40th birthday (still three solid years off).
And of course there’s the full-on box set and tribute album that I’ve asked Abbi to organize upon my death (Imagine: Casey Shea singing “Hollywood Arms,” Chris Abad singing “The Rest Of Your Life,” Jamie Leonhart singing “Carmelize.” Awesome.)
But that’s just what Morrissey characterizes as “Repackage, reissue, repurpose.”
No, what I mean is that — these days, anyway — I’m figurin’ it’s unlikely that I’ll ever crank out another recording of ten or twelve new songs.
See, my guitars are in the closet. ProTools is in a box of patch chords, cables and mics under my bed. And worse, I’m really quite happy which is great for me, but bad for songwriting; nothing inspires like depression.
For a period there between maybe 1999-2005, I was tossing off songs like afterthoughts. The really solid run began with Summer’s Gone and ended with “The Last Time.” I count 53 officially-released songs over six CDs, to say nothing of my two b-side collections (Besides Volumes I & II), or dozens of demos made available on this site.
As I listen back to these albums while heading southbound towards home on Amtrak #153, I hear a pretty decent body of work. And frankly, I kinda’ wonder why I didn’t blow up more than I did. (Though, like I told a kid after my CMJ panel the other day, whatever you do forty hours a week is probably what you’re gonna’ end up being.)
There’s some good stuff here, melodies, vocal performances, and turns of phrase that surprise even me.
Musically, a ton of credit goes to Kevin Anthony for recording two of my best LPs, “Almost Home” and “Love & Other Indoor Games,” not to mention for teaching me how to use ProTools — a gift that has enabled a far longer, far more productive creative arch.
And a ton of credit has to go to some key collaborators, especially Tony Maceli, Chris Abad, Jason Walsmith and Mike Butterworth, all of whom have contributed inspiration, ideas, advice, support, and time.
Anyway, I’m not dying or winning an award, I’m just riding on a train listening to some songs. Here, then — if you’ll indulge me — are my top ten favorite lyrics, why I’m proud of ‘em, and what they mean to me.
“You run because there’s no place to go” (from “Intent On St. Paul” from Almost Home) – I’m not sure what I meant by the line, even within the context of the song (something, I imagine, about an ambivalent, daydreaming waitress’ big city desires). Since every author is his characters (just as every dreamer is his dreams), though, I always think of it in the context of my actual running loops and loops and loops around Manhattan, but not actually going anywhere. Plus, it reminds me of all the times I ran away from a relationship because it was doomed, or, well, I was ambivalent (which is pretty much what the protagonist of the song is doing).
“I shiver to keep myself warm / I shiver to keep myself strong” (from “Shiver” on Almost Home) – I wrote this song in about fifteen minutes one gray, foggy Nantucket morning. I was just rhyming, and singing about the nature of suffering (ie: “That which does not kills me makes me stronger”). Fact is, shivering is one’s body’s attempt to stay warm. So it was penny ante poetry and strict truth all in one. Cool.
“Give away all your love for nothing / Find a place where milk and honey flow / And only we know” (from “Milk & Honey” on Heartland) – I struggled with finding a decent rhyme for “milk and honey,” and while “love for nothing” isn’t perfect, it’s dead on in terms of sentiment. That journey — finding in one’s self the ability to love unconditionally — is the narrative arc of the album. I find the song unflaggingly romantic, and think it was the beginning of the mindset that led to being ready to meet, fall in love, and marry Abbi.
“The air grows heavy with light.” (from “Angels In The Atmosphere” on The Desert Star EP) – This is one of five songs written over a long weekend in Palm Springs. This little passage pretty cool play on words that, if you surrender the meaning of “air,” “heavy,” and “light” to their various synonyms and antonyms, actually makes some sense.
“Halfway between the moon and me / Gravity gives up the sky” (from “How To Be Alone” on The Invention Of Everything Else) – For years, the lyrics on the demo were “Halfway benween the stars and me / Angels and kings collide.” Didn’t make sense, didn’t mean much, and borrowed from a previously-released chorus(“Christmas, 1980″). The creative conceit of the song is “Major Tom, Part III.” That is, I was imagining homecoming as a metaphor through the lens of a depressed astronaut, a guy whose career pinacle had passed. He’s utterly without mooring, or gravity. So when, after weeks of puzzling, the chorus came to me, I knew I had it.
“I don’t wanna’ live forever, I just wanna’ know / That there is something better than a rock ‘n roll show” (from “Live Forever” on Love & Other Indoor Games) – In a way, “Live Forever” is a big, dumb rock song. But it’s also perhaps the simplest, deepest, and clearest articulation of my most basic struggle. Who am I? What am I here for? It’s all in this line.
“I’m writing it down to begin to get you from under my skin / Yes I’m writing it down line by line, to love you or leave you behind” (from “Out Of Time” on The Invention Of Everything Else) – The rhythmic, repetitve phrasing thing going on in this song just came to me. To me, it’s kind of an Elvis move, though I didn’t intend anything, it just happened. The song is sort of like “Summer’s Gone, Part II” where our protagonist is trying to show someone just how much he means what he’s saying. I love the adolescent idea that, somehow, spray-painted graffiti on an overpass is the penultimate expression of that love.
“Hold your breath and you begin to breath / Close you eyes and start to see” (from “Giving Up The Ghost” on The Invention Of Everything Else) – This song may not have seen the light of day without this phrase. I had the music, chorus and concept long before the verses, and though I’m not nuts about the first half of the verses, I love this phrase. To me, the two lines capture the paradox of letting go. Great things can happen when you surrender to their eventuality.
“The New York City skyline is a thousand shattered diamonds / All scattered but still shining / In the early light of day” (from “New York” on Almost Home) – This is a powerful image for me, one informed by dozens of sunrise rides from JFK, and peppered with the dichotomous nature of the city: rich and poor, beautifully filthy, populous but isolating.
“What’s left behind to shoulder grows weightless; you get used to it” (from “Dear Elizabeth” on Crash Site) – This is my favorite. And, like all of the above, it came to me out of nowhere with no idea what it meant. Like many of my songs, “Dear Elizabeth” wrestles with letting go the burden of one’s past. This, to me, remains a poetic turn of phrase to that end. One that serves me still.
The first drafts of most of the songs sit in a box of letters, journals and notebooks somewhere. The ink is faded. The pages are frayed.
And while I used to imagine those pages in a display at The Rock ‘N Roll Hall Of Fame” or my own, private Graceland, these days, I imagine my kids or grandkids flipping though everything, having a listen on whatever sort of device they listen to in the future (wifi chip implants?), and piecing together my life one clue — and one roll of the eyes — at a time.
What about you? Have a favorite Benjamin Wagner lyric? Do tell.
The Next Big Thing
I knew I was in the right place when, ten paces into the student center, I found myself engaged in a conversation about personal responsibility and morality.
Aaaah, academia.
I sat on the steps of NYU’s Judson Memorial Church, CMJ Music Marathon registration headquarters, there in the shadow of Washington Square Park, for a few minutes before my panel. The city grows quiet quickly there. Taken together with the crisp, fall air and changing leaves, I felt immediately collegiate.
The CMJ College Music Marathon is the seminal college rock mag’s Sundance or Canne, blowing through 1100 bands and hundreds of panels in five days. Attendees are primarily college radio program directors, venue bookers, indie labels, journalists and bands. My pal, Jimmy Landry, asked me to moderate a panel, something called, “Gadgets For Tweakheads & The Next Big Thing.”
The conversation (at least as I saw it) between a few dudes from software and hardware companies (Zune, Sandisk, Overlay TV, A&M/Octone) was intended to explore how sites like last.fm, lala.com, ilike.com, etc and hardware like the iPod, iPhone, Google Android, Zune player, etc have a bearing on discovering “the next big thing.”
Now, you probably don’t recall is that I have a song called “The Last Big Thing.” I wrote it a long time ago, in my twenties, back when I still believed (or wanted to believe) that I was not only the next big thing, but the last next big thing. This is before the Internet, before ProTools, iTunes, MySpace, Facebook. This is before everyone and their kid sister was recording their own music, and giving it away for free. And before I had thirteen years of MTV to taint my optimism a little bit.
So the gig was appropriate, perhaps, given that I’m dubious there are many “next big things left.” Moreover, I’m not much of a “tweakhead,” at least in contrast to some of the real niche players like Engadget or Gizmodo. Thought it occurs tome now that, in the music/editorial/technology space, maybe I wasn’t such a bad choice. Which may be why Jimmy asked me to moderate. And why he listed me on CMJ’s homepage alongside company like DJ Spooky and The Bomb Squad.
Thing is, I knew in my heart of hearts that my panel was essentially me and a bunch of festival sponsors. But I was hellbent on no one in the audience feeling like the thing was a boondoggle. I wanted to find something cool and interesting to talk about other than four sales pitches. So I did a bunch of homework, and prepped an outline for our discussion which I distributed to the four panelists. I called it our “set list.”
After my introduction (during which our young NYC hostess mispronounced “Syracuse”), I read a quick preamble.
The next big thing is a tall order, and these days, something of an impossibility. There’s a lot of noise, and very few signals. And few examples of truly “big things” that redefine categories. So instead of trying to be definitive soothsayers, we’ll simply endeavor to explore the spaces we know now, and maybe shed light on what’s next.
The hour and a half-long conversation went pretty well. Key phrases were “social,” “community,” and “discovery.” We managed to avoid total derailment when some knucklehead in the front row interrupted to ask what the wi-fi password for the event was, then derided us for not knowing. It was really interesting to be in front of a room full of kids, especially since I still feel like one. It was apparent quickly, though, that I’m not. I’d never walk out in the middle of a panel discussion, for example.
Funny thing is, I was pretty wound up about the whole thing. I wanted it to go well, to be meaningful, and provide some value. They may have been pulling my leg or being kind, but both Wes and Annie (whose attendance was both a surprise and a delight) said they thought it was interesting.
I’ll say this: The NYU Kimmel Center is a beautiful, state-of-the-art building. The view of New York City spread out below a bright-blue sky was breathtaking. My brief CMJ moment wasn’t very rock ‘n roll, though it did make me wish I was back in college again. At least until I got home to Abbi.
Because the “next big thing,” as central as it is to the Myth of American, is just a myth. It’s all about the right here, right now.
The Rainbow Connection
When I was about nine-years-old, my mom had a record called, “I’m Getting My Act Together And Taking It On The Road.” I never listened to it myself. I never had to; it was on the record player incessantly.
The single was called, “Strong Woman Number.” It was a post-ERA, liberation song full of self-awareness and self-discovery.
The album cover was a wildly-curled brunette back-lit by red stage lights.
Which — fast forward thirty years — may as well have been singer/songwriter Jamie Leonhart at her sold-out Joe’s Pub performance tonight.
Jamie’s set was extraordinary, somewhere between jazz, cabaret, Broadway, and the Brill Building. She’s part Carol King, part Fiona Apple, and part Billy Holiday. Her voice… Her voice!
You’ve heard her on “Killing The Blues (from “The Invention Of Everything Else”), you’ve heard her on “Baby It’s Cold Outside” (from last year’s “A Family Holiday Benefit”), and you’ll hear her again singing “Blue Christmas” (for this year’s “A Holiday Benefit, Volume II”), but if you haven’t heard her do her thing, you haven’t heard her at all.
Jamie has absolutely exquisite control of her voice. She twists and turn it on a dime, whispers, hums and bellows, and delivers angular, syncopated verses and boldly-sweeping choruses. And she’s always, always at the epicenter of the beat and the note.
Between songs, she is genuinely (and adorably) surprised by the sound of her speaking voice, and the very words she says.
Jamie takes performing seriously (when she came over to record “Blue Christmas” last night, she turned down Abbi’s offer of a glass of wine; “Gig tomorrow,” she said), and she meansevery word she sings.
All of which is what makes Jamie’s shows so special. Here is the sound of a woman at the height of her musical powers wrestling out loud with demons, doubts, and desires. Here is the sound of existential quandary, growth and development, set to song.
Jamie sings about “shedding [her] second skin,” and “dislocating front the mess you made.”
“If I could take away the pain I would,” she sings, “for just one moment the world [would seem] so perfect.”
“Who put these words in my mouth?” she asks.
Even her choice of covers is revealing. In her melancholy version of Lou Reed’s “Perfect Day,” she sings, “You made me forget myself.”
It’s difficult to imagine what my friend, a self-professed “control freak,” should find so necessary to forget: she is immensely gifted, beautiful, and successful. Likewise her husband, Michael. And — for that matter — her eight-piece band.
But that’s what makes Jamie’s shows — and Jamie herself — so special. Her songs deeply and delicately tease out the some core component of the human condition. Who am I? And how do I know? Throughout her stellar performance, I was reminded over and over of a lyric from my very first album, “Bloom.”
“I wonder if I will ever be the kind of man / To stand above ourselves, outside.”
Fifteen years later, I still wonder. And so, apparently — and gratefully — does Jamie.
Nothing’s more appealing than someone whose is great, but humble; strong, but modest; open, but not exposed. And nothing’s more appealing than the courage to be vulnerable, especially dressed-up and well-lit in a room full of strangers.
Set to meticulously-arranged horns, upright bass, drums, and the tightest pianist you know? Makes for one heck of a school night.
Random Notes, Volume LXIV
Even through my slightly-swollen, slightly-bleary eyes, the sky was beautiful this morning.
Jamie Leonhart (God bless her) came by again last night to track another “Blue Christmas” vocal for our “Holiday Benefit, Volume II” compilation. You’ll recall that she came by last weekend to record some backing harmonies with me, but that was before it dawned on my that the song could easily be more of a duet. She’d had a long day, and was a little wound in advance of her big Joe’s Pub show tonight, but I asked her to channel her best Patsy Cline. She delivered a smooth, countrified harmony with ease.
This morning, Abbi and I rose before the sun to knock out five miles. We’re in the home stretch of our marathon training (t-minus twelve days and counting). Our last long run (fifteen miles) was Saturday morning. We’re down to a handful of 3-6 milers now. (Last year this time we were training by walking from our cabana to the dive shop in the Maldives.)
My feet felt like wooden blocks as we approached Central Park. The sky was still dark blue as we ran through Columbus Circle. We paused for traffic, and I craned my neck and spun around like a tourist. The park was quiet save for the sound of bike gears, jogger’s foot falls, and wind through the leaves (which are just beginning to change). Abbi and I jogged in silence. There were just two things on my mind: “I can’t believe I have to run 26 miles,” and an endless loop of “Blue Christmas.”
And CMJ, which starts today. I’m moderating a panel, “Tweakheads,” tomorrow afternoon. It’s a panel on new technology in the music business which, on paper, makes sense for me to moderate. When I imagine the audience for the panel — college kids, mostly — I have to assume they’re leaps and bounds more advanced than me in terms of “what’s next.” I’m more in the “what’s next for big corporations who are primarily interested in adopting new things that create revenue.” Anyway, should be interesting (and nerve wracking).
My pals The Nadas are in town for CMJ too. They’re performing Thursday night at Alphabet Lounge (right before Chris Abad), and again Friday at Rockwood. I emailed Jason about their trip and my forthcoming live album yesterday. He wrote back early this morning, “I read about the CD on a Google alert.” I replied, “I’m the worst label signee ever.” And we had a laugh.
Which, I suppose, is a decent way to start any day.
Live Blogging The “Holiday Benefit, Volume II” Recording Session
On December 1, the follow up to our now-annual holiday benefit compilation — aptly titled “Rebel Spirit Presents: A Holiday Benefit” — will be released at New York City’s Canal Room.
This year’s record features twelve holiday covers and originals from New York City singer/songwriters like Brent Shuttleworth, Casey Shea and Rosi Golan, plus our collective recording of “Happy X-Mas (War Is Over).”
This is the live account of our all-star recording session.
11:59AM – On L train approaching Lorimer Street with Chris Abad and Jamie Alegre. Once again, we’ve spent 99% of our commute talking politics. But with Palin on SNL last night, and Powell endorsing Obama this morning, there’s lots to talk about.
12:14PM – You know you’re in Brooklyn when you pass a woman in Nicole Ritchie sunglasses and Ugg boots dinking coffee from a recycled jar of almond butter.
12:25PM – Chris, Jamie, and I pile into Kyle Paas’ Kingsland Studio. Jeff Swart and Tony Maceli are already in place.
12:31PM- Casey Shea arrives, and instantly requests coffee.
12:43PM – We’ve listened to “Happy X-Mas (War Is Over)” fifteen times already. Tony’s plugged in. Chris, Jamie and Casey are all strumming acoustics. Chris is playing a very Greek-sounding part over Casey and Jamie. “Let’s Greek this shit out.” There are seven dudes in here already. In three hours and seven minutes, there will be another dozen singers laying down vocals.
1:04PM – Our version is coming together. We’re playing it a little faster, with a bit more roll on the snare. “Less plodding,” was my request. The room sounds great. Kyle and Jeff are taking our rehearsals, just in case.
1:08PM – Jamie and Kyle discover they’re both from Canada. So they’re talking in Canadian.
1:18PM – We’re debating whether to end like the original recording (applause, laughter, etc), or with a slow-fade. I’m on the fence. Casey votes we end it our way. Slow fade it is.
1:19PM – I finally notice the giant, framed, 4×4-foot Beatles poster over the drums. Perfect.
1:28PM – Jonathan Goldner arrives with the DV camera.
1:41PM – Jamie leads the band through a Mozambique-flavored version of “Happy X-Mas.” Casey is on bass. Tony is on acoustic. Already, our session’s fallen apart. Our final version will be more Lower East Side by way of Brooklyn, but this is cool. And fun.
2:02PM – Testing drum mic levels with Casey’s “Lartigue” with Kyle Pass on drums, Tony on acoustic, and Jamie Alegre on bass. Casey tells me Lartigue is his sisters middle name, and his grandmother’s name (though we all know it’s about his wife, Langhorne). Now they’re playing “Houses Of The Holy.” We’re getting there… slowly.
2:13PM – Ok, maybe not. The guys just played “From Me To You” while Kyle and Jeff fiddles with mics and knobs and such. Unrelatedly, my DayQuil is wearing off.
2:24PM – Sound baffles are up.
2:36PM – Just worked out how we’re gonna’ iso everything: big room will take drums, bass are d.i. (direct input), Chris and Casey will track scratch guitar and vocals from iso booth.
2:45PM – Just ordered a pizza from Carmine’s on Graham Street. Going to pick up some beer. My work here is done.
2:55PM – Lost in Greenburgh (somewhere between Greenpoint and Williamsburgh). Brownstones and duplexes next to modern condos. Weird.
3:01PM – Four six packs: two Budweiser and two PBR. Sixteen-ouncers for maximum efficiency.
3:16PM – Miraculously find my way back to Kingsland Studios (89 Kingsland) like a carrier pigeon or Hansel & Gretel. Can hear the guys tracking from the street.
3:17PM – Pizza arrives. “No pizza ’til the track is done!”
3:24PM – I chase my DayQuil with a PBR.
3:25PM – Drummer jokes begin. “What do drummers and models have in common? They both hang out with rock stars.”
3:35PM – Ryan Vaughn shows up.
4:06PM – Kelley McRae and Bryan Dunn arrive.
4:10PM – Rebel Spirit founder (and singer/songwriter extraordinaire) Deena Goodman arrives.
4:20PM – Brent Shuttleworth arrives.
4:29PM – Jamie Leonhart and Rosi Golan arrive.
4:35PM – Derek James arrives. It’s on!!!
4:51PM – I’m inadvertently double-fisting.
4:42PM – Ryan’s tracking cajone. Then we sing.
5:03PM – Brent makes the mistake of asking about why we’re doing this record. Ten minutes later, he knows all about Mister Rogers & Me, 826NYC, last-year’s recording, and 90% of my life story.
5:16PM – Ok, Ryan tracked cajone and tambo, now Casey’s tracking vocal before racing to a gig. Then the rest of us are on. I’m sweaty and have already had too much to drink.
5:38PM – Just tracked my vocal. No pressure at all singing three takes with a dozen talented singer/songwriters listening. None at all. Anyway, got it. And Goldner got it on tape. Now Rosi’s on.
5:43PM – Casey’s gone. Rosi’s tracking. Tony and Jamie are on their way to gigs, though I’m holding them a sec for a group photo.
5:56PM- Ben is in the booth with Deena and Rosi and Chris and I have taken over the blog. Ben is giddy and all is good, though we’ve lost the majority of the band to fatigue.
5:58PM – Derek is playing the “Time Warp,” entertaining those of us who are not singing.
6:01PM – Ben’s back, and yelled at me. Yunno, in a nice way. Still.
6:04PM – Ben yells at Derek, begging him desperately to “BRING THE THUNDER.” Also, Ian Axel arrives clearly having not slept in days.
6:07PM – We’ve hit a lull. Everyone seems a bit subdued. Ben’s on the terrace, and it’s quiet in the room. Derek is tracking.
6:14PM – I have hijacked the blog. It’s Deena. My face is very hot. So is the studio. HOT.
6:24PM – Benjamin here. I’ve regained control of my blog! We’re in danger of mutiny here on account of general boredom, so we’re skipping straight to the big choral finish, then getting back to individual tracks.
6:29PM -First off, Ben is no longer in control of the blog (it’s me, Jamie Leonhart) and it’s true, mutiny is here. Ben’s trying to regain control, but it’s not happening. And he yelled at me again. Yunno, in a nice way.
7:03PM – Benjamin is in the bathroom. We’ve just finished the group singing. Mayhem is the word to best describe the event, but it was successful nonetheless…
7:08PM – Benjamin says the F word for the 457th time today.
7:13PM – Aaargh! Benjamin here.
7:20PM – Ian to Kelley: “So what do you do?” Kelley to Ian: “I write beautiful songs — from my MIND!”
7:38PM – Ben has given up on the blog, so I’ve taken over (Jamie again) After all this time, I finally did my line. Yay. And now I”m going home. Peace out.
7:41PM – Given up is a stretch, but I am tired. And maybe just a little buzzed. Anyway, Jamie, Brent, and Bryan just tracked their vocals (much rock!) so we’re DONE!!!
7:51PM – We’re not exactly done yet… Final ad libs and outro harmonies. Wags and Leonhart go to work.
7:58PM – Ok, almost… Chris orders car service as we prepare for two last tracks: Chris singing harmonies, then Jamie vamping. THEN we’re done.
8:03PM – Car’s here. We’re done for reals!
Benjamin Wagner “Live At Rockwood Music Hall” Due November 19
I’ll be releasing a new EP, “Live At Rockwood Music Hall,” on November 19th. The 8-song recording will be available exclusively on Authentic Records Online and iTunes.
“Live At Rockwood Music Hall” tracks were culled from three separate Rockwood Music Hall performances over the course of sixteen months: March 25, 2007; July 10, 2008, and September, 25, 2008.
My longtime band mates and pals Chris Abad (guitar), Tony Maceli (bass), Ryan Vaughn (drums) and Jamie Alegre (drums) all appear on the recording, as does singer/songwriter extraordinaire Jamie Leonhart.
“Live At Rockwood Music Hall” is being mastered by Jon Locker at his Sonic Factory Studios.
The track listing includes electric and acoustic performances of songs from “The Invention of Everything Else” and “Love & Other Indoor Games,” plus a number of covers.
1- Giving Up The Ghost
2- The Last Time
3- Promise
4- How To Fight Loneliness
5- Killing The Blues (featuring Jamie Leonhart)
6- Live Forever
7- The Boys Of Summer
8- Wonderwall
It’s worth noting that the performance of “Promise” — a song written for my wife — is taken from the March 25th performance, exactly two years after our first meeting there, and two weeks after getting engaged.
Now, you know that Rockwood Music Hall is way more than just another New York City venue.
Since opening its doors in 2003, Ken Rockwood’s Lower East Side rock club has been the epicenter of a new singer/songwriter movement, playing home to talents as diverse as Bryan Dunn, Misty Boyce, Wakey! Wakey!, Sundown, Chris Abad, Rich Girls, Jeff Jacobson, Lara Ewen, Dan Torres, Ian Axel, Brent Shuttleworth, and many, many more.
Moreover, founder (and Professor & Maryanne front man) Ken Rockwood and Tommy Merrill have built a home for local musicians and music lovers alike. At an era of online social networking, and a city city crowded by isolation, this intimate, brick-walled room has become a de facto community center.
I was lucky enough to get in early, and have been performing there regularly since just a few weeks after it’s grand opening.
It’s appropriate, then, that my first real live album (“February 25, 2005″ was a solo performance recorded in my living room) should be recorded in that great, great-sounding little room with Ken Rockwood himself on the mixing board.
Voting for album art will begin next week.
Meanwhile, mark your calendar: “Live At Rockwood Music Hall” arrives November 19th. We’ll celebrate the release — how else? — with a full-band performance at Rockwood.
Roll Your Windows Down, Part III
All the best stories are trilogies (or should have been): Star Wars, The Bible, Lethal Weapon. There’s something elemental to the rise, fall, and major lift.
And all the best heroes go out on top: Perseus, Odysseus, James Dean.
Tonight then, to that end, we celebrated the cacauphonous conclusion of the Lower East Sides’ favorite white-boy, acoustic rhythm and blues revue: The Undisputed Heavyweights.
Scuttlebutt was that our pal Casey — the heart, soul, and shtick of The Heavyweights — had chosen to close the chapter on this sideshow before the tawdry, silly tale grow tired or cliché, or, worse, eclipsed his earnest, soulful solo efforts. Fresh from the pursuit a bonafide record deal with his all-star, three-part rock trio, Sundown that was dashed by corporate homogenization, there was the distinct sense that Casey was shedding the excess layers to get back to where he came from: three chords and the truth.
First, though, one, last epic performance. And everyone got in on the act. At one point, opener Mike Grubbs (aka Wakey! Wakey!) had ten local musicians on stage with him, including Stellastarr guitarist Michael Jurin, and singer/songwriters Tanya Buziak and Tarrah Reynolds.
And why not? The Bowery Ballroom is where indie goes to go big. For a lucky few — The Strokes, Nada Surf — it’s a bridge between the dank, black-box, low budget-back end LES stages, and The Technicolor Big Time.
And while our boys could probably have crossed that bridge, there’s some kind of beauty in their not. This is a band that never released more than an unmastered, crowd-noise cluttered EP. A band whose introductions last ten minutes, and more resemble a Baptist revival than a rock show. This is a band whose irreverent, gimmicky live show fills the room, but whose substantive, moving songs (a few of ‘em at least) fill your heart.
This is a band that — as Casey exclaimed early in the performance, went undefeated — “One hundred and fourteen thousand, fifteen million, billion… and 0!!!”
That record alone had the audience hanging on his every whisper and howl during “Money,” then turning nostalgic during “Back To You” when he leaned into guitarist (and Laurel to his Hardy) Jeff Jacobson, and harmonized, “Remember when it felt so nice?”
Casey’s “Lartigue” and Jeff’s “Lunch in the Park,” though, began to reveal the true appeal of The Heavyweights. It’s not difficult to imagine the two spending endless afternoons debating John and Paul, “The White Album” and “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.”
But it wasn’t until Kyle Irvin’s cameo on Sam & Dave’s “You Don’t Know Like I Know” that it dawned on me: like Eminem and Elvis, Casey & Co. bring the irrational exuberance of the Deep South to the chilly, industrial north. For just a brief window of time, The Undisputed Heavyweights have created a space in this cooler-than-thou metropolis where it’s ok to be enthusiastic. It’s all about the James Brown squeals, the Muscle Shoals arrangements, and the Memphis horns. It’s all about the “Amen!”
And the sex appeal. When, during the languid, loungy, “A Girl Like You,” our sweaty leading man found himself in a hailstorm of over-sized underpants, he greeted the obviously-orchestrated overture by tugging a purple thong over his trademarked white jeans and strapping gray briefs and pink granny pants to his ferocious mane.
All good things must end, though, and The Heavyweights did so the only way they could, with a final, rousing, full-on sing-a-long version of the band’s beloved, “Roll Your Windows Down.” This time, as Casey sang tenderly to a rapt room, “Because tomorrow is not today, and it’s getting old,” we knew he meant it.
The band stumbled offstage, but we kept singing the refrain over and over like a mantra until, finally, wistfully and warmly conceding, “It’s all behind you.”
