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Poor Mix Master Kev. You think I’m burnin’ the candle at both ends? Kevin’s in, like, four bands, plus running the studio, plus the day job, plus he has to put up with me and my sick new addiction. I am addicted to Eggz. Eggz are black plastic egg-shaped purcussion instruments that sound wicked awesome…

I stopped by Dough’s rehearsal space Saturday night and met the band’s puppy, Queenie who showered me in rough-tongued kisses. Puppys’ll do that: clean or not, dressed up or down, busted and broke, they’ll love you. Unconditionally. My friends are like that too — the tongue notwithstanding — and I have some great ones. Kevin,…

I’m in the iso booth, headphones on, strumming a second voicing to ‘Long Shot’ on my Martin and I think, ‘Huh, this sounds like a rocknroll record.’ Kev and I spent a few hours in the studio tonight adding some incidental parts to the new record. Here’s the latest news: The title of the record…

The failure of cell technology spelled sushi for one tonight. And while company would have been nice, the relative calm of my Hell’s Kitchen apartment is a welcome refuge. And that’s really all I need for tonight: refuge, rest, and maybe a bowl of ice cream. I’m not dealing with, say, Rwanda size discord. The…

I am a shitwatcher. I watch shit. I promised Nick “The Reverend Nikoli Volkov” Dedering Smith that I’d title my blog “Shitwatcher” after snubbing his previous post suggestion on “CDs as semi-permenant plastic tatoos.” See, The Smith Family was packing up from yet another performance, this time at Two Boots in (surprise) Brooklyn, when Nick…

There were four girls in my homeroom named Jenny: Jenny Clarke, Jenny Rexroat, Jenny D’Lucia, and Jenny Ebert. My first public performance was in fifth grade at the Oliver Wendell Holmes Elementary talent show. I sang the theme from ‘The Greatest American Hero’ (“Believe it or not I’m walking on air / I never thought…