Schizophrenic Me

Raining outside. Colplay on in the living room, Radiohead in the bedroom — schizophrenic  me…

Aaaah… the inevitable post show let down. What can I tell you? How do I spin it? Well, we played well. We took some risks: the band performed both “Hollywood Arms” and “California” 48 hours after I introduced them, and well.

“California” was tranformed into a pretty straight Oasis-ish rock song.

“Hollywood Arms” had a Wilco-meets-Radiohead atmospheric feel, like we were all coming down from orbit, a Xanax lullabye.

But I’m hitting this ceiling over and over where I can’t keep counting on my circle of friends to fill a club, especially at 10:00 on a school night, which is frustrating. There weren’t more that 30 or so people in the room. And unless the place is rabid with enthusiasm and falling over themselves with reckless joy, I’m never satisfied. I thought of this as I was playing, and decided I had to give the same amount of energy if the room’s empty or full. And I did. Which made me smile.

I play because I have to. It’s a compulsion. It’s requisite if I want to say I’m a musician. But I need a publicist. This tour needs a publicist. So I’m on the hunt in earnest, perhaps a little late — the tour’s in just barely over a month. But I’ll make it happen. Or smile trying.