Los Angeles/Week One: Work

Back in Minneapolis, safe and sound.


Week one went very well...


Solid physical re-connections are always important with other human beings that are of importance to you. I (of course) expected too much to get done in the 3 days that my singer had with us, but we walked away with a new song, the beginnings of a couple other new ones, and a re-kindled excitement to this whole music thing that we share. Lots of possibilities on the horizon, changes coming, directions being explored...all very exciting stuff. And the best part is that we all actually still like each other when we're not nodding out, wasted, and/or tweaked out (depending on individual drug of choice). It may sound simple, but take away all of that padding after all of those years, and sometimes people wake up and go "What the fuck am I doing with you?!?" I just read an interview in Bass Player magazine with Nine Inch Nail's new bassist Justin Meldal-Johnsen, who's played with everybody, and found this quote to be quite applicable; in response to the question "What makes you the right guy for this gig?":

"...another thing (is) more basic...a clear, drug-free persona, because that's the way he rolls. We're all grown men in our 30's. and we want to do this really well. We're pros, you know? Punctuality, preparedness, a direct understanding of the human-to-gear ratio...he needs all of that."

I'll leave you with a few more shots from the work week:





Next Up: Los Angeles/Week Two: Play (or "Why Los Angeles Is More Fun Than Minneapolis")

Satisfied Sighs

This is from my balcony at the Magic Castle Hotel, a part of the Magic Castle, here in the heart of Hollywood.

I'm with my favorite person in my favorite city, I'm full of fresh sushi, and have a convertible in the garage downstairs to whisk me and mine away to any of the multitude of amazingly interesting things there are to do and see here. As they say, life does not get much better than this.


Minne-what?

At the Key Club, Los Angeles, CA.

Sent from my keyboard player's iPhone...

The first time the four of us have been in the same room together since last September. Taking a break from work and checking out my good friend Charlie's kick-ass punk rock band Black President.

Back to Work!

I am currently gearing up to get on a plane with my keyboard player very fucking early on Monday morning.

Destination: Los Angeles.

Purpose: To rendezvous with my guitar player and recently transplanted singer.

Goal: To work for one week and walk away with completed demo recordings for our new album.

I'm really excited. This is our first major get together in...shit...a long goddamn time. I've only seen my singer once since last November, and it wasn't a pleasant experience whatsoever. But this is looking to be a very fresh endeavor. He and I haven't been sober and creative together since 1999. It's a very "the-stars-are-all-lining-up" kind of feel. We have A LOT of material to work with; I alone have almost 20 completed and recorded songs (sans vocals), not to mention what the other four guys have. If anything, the hardest part will be keeping focused on the goal without getting lost in the vast amount of amazing material we have to deal with. This shit is good...I mean really good. Of course, I'm biased as all hell, but I can say with all honesty that these are the strongest songs right out of the gate that we've ever had. The last time my singer and I had all of our faculties in order and worked to our potential, we got signed to a major label, lived in a mansion for almost a year, and then went on a world tour for 18 months. When our engine is running properly, we are a dangerous group of men. Add 7 years of life experience to the mix, and you, gentle reader, have on your hands a force to be reckoned with.

So I'm going to try and not over-pack too badly. I'm a totally obsessive boy scout, and usually end up more prepared than I actually need to be, but better safe (2 back-up terabyte drives) than sorry ("Dude! It won't turn on!").

And after a week of working, my girl is flying out to meet me, and we will proceed to experience all that Los Angeles has to offer. Well, as much as we can cram into one week. I can tell you this: there aren't enough days in the week to even begin to visit all the dining establishments I want to. But, I will try, making sure at the very least to hit:

-In-N-Out Burger
-Nozawa
-Los Burritos
-Carney's
-The Rainbow Bar and Grill
-Dan Tana's
-The Chart House
-Roscoe's Chicken & Waffles
-Canter's
-Pink's
-Jack-in-the-Box
-Carl's Jr., and
-Bossa Nova

First order of business upon my return: Join a gym.

Concerned Southern Transmissions

Well, after over 2 years of silent rotting and festering (alright, it wasn't quite that bad), the offending tooth was scraped out of my mouf (sic) this afternoon. It didn't take all that long; I was out of there in less than an hour. The best part? The gas. The worst part? Eventually Dr. Annette was finished and turned off the gas.I gotta tell ya...if you're ever in a similar dental situation...spring for the gas. You can thank me later for imparting that little nugget of hard-earned wisdom on you.

It was, however, very interesting, and quite honestly enjoyable, to be "chemically" altered like that after such a long period of mental clarity. Of course, I realize it wasn't a "neccessity", per say. Despite my somewhat daunting presence, certain kinds of pain turn me into a big fucking baby. But I'm sure I could have toughed it out. So why didn't I?

Because a medical freebie, for this sober guy, is a win/win. There are hardcore sober Nazis out there who won't even take Benedryl, much less accept an "easier, softer way" regarding office surgery. But as much as I love the uniforms, I ain't that Nazi. Will the gas turn this pain-in-the-ass ride into a much more pleasant one? Yes? Well fire it up, doc. It's 2008, not 1908, and I'm into utilizing the tools science has created for just such occasions. If I wasn't in such a great all around mental state, I could see it possibly being an issue. I mean, if I was using ballpeen hammer to fuck up my grill solely because I wanted nitrous oxide and pain killers, that would be a problem. But things are remakably great (which I've come to believe is the byproduct of dropping out of almost all local social circles; to me, having more than five people to be accountable to is just a fucking headache...but more on that another time), and I'm pretty damn certain that there was no subconscious mischief going on. The Vicodin I was given did just what I thought they would. Nothing. It got rid of the pain, but my prior opiate abuse coupled with my size means I would have to take 8 of 'em to feel anything remotely close to what a "normal" person would consider "high". And I don't know about you, but my liver can't handle 4000 milligrams of Tylenol all at once anymore.

So right now, I've got a small piece of neon green sponge tucked into the hole so I can smoke and (hopefully) not get dry socket. I hear that shit hurts somethin' awful. And you know me...



From the book "The Truth About Chuck Norris" by Ian Spector:

"Chuck Norris never loses at rock-paper-scissors because he never plays rock-paper-scissors. He plays rock-paper-scissors-roundhouse kick. Chuck Norris never loses at rock-paper-scissors-roundhouse kick."

Another Great One Gone

R.I.P. Don LaFontaine (August 26, 1940 – September 1, 2008).

You might not know the name, but you know The Voice...

"When you get to heaven, it's not God's voice you hear. It's God trying to sound like Don." -Ashton Smith/voice-over

My uncle ("Guitar Center's weekly Tuesday sale!!!") as well as my late father ("This...is CBS.") are and were, respectively, voice-over talents. I grew up "in a world" where 'the voice' was king, and being surrounded by so much talent and so many stories, I realized early on that no matter how great your product was, without the voice to sell it, you've got nothin'. So I was really sad to hear that Don had died of complications due to a collapsed lung this past week.

(Cool tidbit: At Voicehunter.com, my dad is #4 under Voice-Over Icons, right behind #3, Mr. LaFontaine. If there is indeed a heaven, my dad and Don are no doubt drinking 40 year-old scotch and trying to teach God how to get his voice that deep.)


Also, I'm starting a side project called "DANGER!CRAYON!". Here's the cover of the CD:



A'ight...the Metalocalypse season finale is almost on.


Have a nice Monday.

Mah Birfday

It was my birthday this past Sunday. I love my birthday. I've seen that as people get older, they tend to dislike reminders of that fateful day when they popped out of the oven, bloody and screaming. But I still love it. I woke up to a balloon and streamer covered house, although I forgot to taste the crepe paper streamers (why do we do that? We know it tastes like shit, we've known since we were 5 years old, but we do it anyway...such is the human condition I guess). My girl made me blueberry pancakes with Cool Whip and served me bacon from The Most Kick-Ass Bacon Dispenser In The World. We had the "Itis" pretty bad, so a two hour nap was next on the agenda. Some present opening followed, which included this amazing offering from one of the greatest movies ever made:



Yes! The Big Lebowski action figures. I've been wanting these for the past year! She got me "Hoodie" Dude and "Special Mission" Walter. Now I'm on my own special mission to "collect 'em all", as Mattel might say. They're even coming out with Donnie and The Stranger action figures sometime in the near future. I'm abnormally excited about this for my age, which is a good indicator that I'm only as old as I feel...and most of the time I feel about 12, so I'm cool.

Later, we went and had some dinner, and then I was presented with (and this is for the record) the best birthday cake I've ever had in all my years on this planet. It even beats the airbrushed KISS cake I had when I was 15, which has been the benchmark for awesome cakes up until now. It held the record for over 20 years, only to be finally outdone by something that didn't even have icing. Now that's sayin' something.

Anyway, the evening ended as most successful birthdays do, with somebody crying, burned, and bloody in the basement. Oh happy day!