Ten Reasons I Should Have Taken Up Needlepoint Instead
The last few weeks in the studio have been sort of painful. It came to a bit of a head last night when I found myself preparing dinner between takes and swearing under my breath -- well, maybe not so much "under."
Abbi said, "I've never seen you so moody!" Which was a really sweet way of telling me to pull my shit together.
So I was tracking vocals just now thinking about why the recording of "The Invention Of Everything Else" has been so difficult, my obvious and tiresome over-commitment notwithstanding. Here are ten reasons, in no ...
Studio Chicanery (Or, My Weekend In The Closet With Chris)
Just how long does it take to nail a guitar solo?
Even if you're only a casual Rolling Stone or Spin reader, you've probably read the same B.S. I have about first takes. Yunno, Slash is talking about the "Sweet Child Of Mine" solo on "Appetite For Destruction" and he's all like, "Yeah we just rolled tape and nailed it on the first pass."
It happens... sometimes. Over the course of fifteen records, I can count such occurrences on exactly one finger.
I wrote a simple little song called "Glider" during the (drug addled) recording of ...
Extra Pickles, As Always
Years ago, when I was recording the first of two albums ("Almost Home" and "Love & Other Indoor Games") at my pal Kevin Anthony's Control One Studios, I began most sessions with a delicious, toasty Turkey Ranch Sub from Quiznos on 23d Street.
Tonight, Chris and I are editing just a few blocks from there, so I reprised the ritual... with extra pickles, as always.
The neighborhood feels a little different. Madison Square Park (where I recorded the city sounds you hear throughout my cover of John Denver's "Leaving on a Jet Plane"), for ...
The Dirty Life And Times Of Warren Zevon
I'm pretty sure I'm not a tortured artist, though I may be a masochist.
Most readers flock to best sellers, pap like Joseph Hellerman, Dean Koontz, or Scott Turow. Nothing wrong with that; I enjoy a blockbuster page-turner like the guy in the next seat on the plane.
My pap, though, is the rock bio.
Last year, I devoured "U2: At the End of the World" by Bill Flanagan (a CBS Sunday Morning contributor and MTV SVP over whom I emphatically and somewhat embarrassingly gushed when I bumped into him in an elevator recently).
A few weeks ...
Top Five Boneheaded Sports-Related Injuries
I've made two fairly boneheaded training mistakes in the last two weeks.
Two weeks ago, I decided it would be fun to jog up then sprint down a mountain above Los Angeles just two hours before boarding the red eye to New York, and two days before the Brooklyn Half Marathon.
And yesterday, I set out for a quick five-miler having not eaten dinner or breakfast, with no money in my pocket, then got carried away and stretched the run to eleven miles.
The ramifications for both were minor. Two weeks ago, I limped around with sore quads ...
The Rock & Roll Husband
I distinctly recall standing next to Abbi in Brooklyn, staring way down Flatbush Avenue towards downtown Manhattan. We were testing the waters together, trying to find a neighborhood in which to move. The process, though, was pushing some other buttons.
"But it's so far away!" I whined.
Later, on the subway, I articulated what I was going through only slightly better.
"This is about who I am, what I’m worth, and what it all means," I said.
For some reason, I just couldn't imagine how I was going to do it all: hold down a ...
On Everything Else
Sometime just before I asked Abbi to marry me, I cracked open a fortune cookie that read, "Everything will soon come your way."
Not to gloat, but today felt that way.
First, Jamie Leonhardt and I made a date to sing "Killing The Blues" next weekend.
Then, Chris Suchorsky's Damnwells' documentary, "Golden Days," hit my mailbox.
Then, I got an email from sometimes-Nada keyboardist (and otherwise badass pianist) Tony Bonenkhamp who said of my proposal for some sort of post Hy-Vee Triathlon benefit show at his Des Moines venue, "I am ...
You Feel Like Home To Me
I blame Jason Walsmith.
It was last June. The 30th, to be precise. My wife, Abbi, and I had flown into Iowa City that morning, then streaked westward on I-80. My pal, Josh Davis, was performing on the Authentic Records' stage at the Des Moines Arts Festival when we pulled up to Western Gateway Park. Jason met us backstage, then whisked us off to do a radio interview.
Fast forward a few hours. The sun is setting on a sky choked with barbeque smoke. Everything is cast in deep, warm reds. I've performed my solo acoustic set to a lawn ...
What Happens On The Upper East Side…
Yes, that's Ashton Kutcher with his arm around my wife.
I should've seen the signs: her new Kabalah bracelet, "The Butterfly Affect" in our Netflix queue, "Punk'd" on TiVo. And she's been wearing a lot of leapard prints.
If only I weren't at the office all day, then in the edit all night. If only I were taller, and had more facial hair. And more money.
Oh well, at least he's a nice boy from Iowa. And we do both wear baseball caps.
I kid, of course.
While Chris and I were editing "Mister Rogers & Me," Abbi was enjoying a ...
The Astronaut’s Lament
It's Friday night at 6:43 and I'm still at the office when it dawns on me.
'Shit, I still have to pick up the master tapes.'
Master files, really, but what's a little nomenclature between friends?
All I want to do is go home, grab a beer and hang with the wife. But Travis Harrison and "The Invention of Everything Else" is waiting for me at Serious Business Studios. I make haste for the N train.
Trouble is, I'm a wee bit crippled on account of sprinting down a small mountain. So I'm taking the stairs down to the subway like an ...
