The Austin Chronicle has an excellent article about the making of Voxtrot and their first LP, set for release next week.
Before reading the article, I was curious about the album and knew I'd buy it. Now, I am excited.
That's the power of music features.
Listen: Voxtrot, Kid Gloves.
Buy: Voxtrot, Voxtrot.
What we name ourselves is so important to us, and relatively inconsequential to everyone else.
We know this. Still, we torture ourselves coming up with something cool, but not precious. Nothing too "on the nose" but not too completely abstract. Seriously, over the years, I have spent hours, if not days, engaged in these discussions.
I am not creative. By that, I mean that I am not considered creative: I am no artist/writer/musician. I do have strong opinions. I figure, I am a consumer of music (or whatever), and I am not afraid to be uncool. It's kind of my profession.
So, the creative guys do their thing, and then, I get a vote.
We almost flipped names over the past couple of days. I have loved the name we've been using for a few months. It's a great name. It may be profoundly uncool in ways we cannot quite conceive, but I am long past caring.
For now, we're sticking with our name. It's an easy decision: it's who we are.
We received the first unmixed song from the band's new album on Monday.
To say that we all lost our minds is an understatement. While listening to it for the first time, at the 1:26 mark, I looked down at my hand and I had somehow dialed my partner's entire phone number, so there I sat, yelling into the phone, before it was even half over. Honestly (and I am so glad the guys do not know I write this) I was completely overcome by emotion.
Why?
Well, we already knew it was "a great f**king song." Still, in the hands of our amazing producer, it was somehow better. Now, I have worked with producers before, and I have sat in studios before. I have heard music be pulled from the ether. But, I have never seen such impressive alchemy.
After I heard the entire song, I called our producer and told him I loved the band, him, the manager, their mothers, and everyone who has ever had anything to do with the project. And I meant it.
Now that we're nearing completion, my work begins in earnest. It's scaring the hell out of me. The secret is that it's good enough that I could completely screw up and it would be okay. But, we should keep that between us.
I know without a doubt that Summer is going to be fascinating.
I get a lot of unsolicited contacts from prospective clients. Normally, I am unresponsive and I rarely take on unsolicted business that's not referred to me.
Tonight, I needed a break from the film and fashion stuff, so I returned an unsolicited music call I got this morning.
I ended up having about an hour-long conversation with a rapper who wanted to know exactly what it is I do and how I could help him. I gave him a lot of information and told him how to do a lot of stuff himself. I also sent him to cdfuse.com, of course. I have no idea whether I will work with him or not. (I'll know once I get his package and review my calendar.)
Honestly, that's the thing I love about music. It's like muscle memory. I was exhausted and burned out from a long, hard month. Somehow, just going through the basics and relaying some old anecdotes completely re-energized me.
I didn't have to really think . . . it's just all there.
It was a perfect break from today's irritations and frustrations.
The line-up looks good, but I don't know that I am going this year.
I have been averaging about 5 hours over the course of the Fest for the past few years. I skipped it completely last year -- I was supposed to be in LA, so I neglected to buy passes. Then ended up in Austin anyway, but they were sold out and I didn't feel like getting comped.
What makes it completely ridiculous: it's in my neighborhood. The old entrance was a 10 minute walk (downhill) from my front door.
I've spent the past two days at two restaurants that share a parking lot. I haven't decided yet if that's actually lamer than it sounds. In my defense, it's in my neighborhood and they have excellent free (and secure) wireless access and plenty of outlets.
Last night, I met up with E and S after an event so we could strategize for today's big meeting with F. Except F ended up showing up a couple of hours in. We ended up sitting and talking and drinking for hours.
Then, we met for lunch at 1ish this afternoon. F was extremely late. Almost 2 hours late, I think. After all our substantive discussions, and a fine late lunch, we walked back over to Uncle Billy's for dinner. (Seriously, I love that place.)
I took no notes . . . mainly because I have absolutely no intention of negotiating the deal or actively participating in any discussions.
It feels as though everyone is on the same page. We are definitely all excited to move forward and we'll be making that decision soon.
It's hard to believe how quickly this year is passing. I remember disctinctly conversations I had in November as though they happened last week instead of 7 months ago.
I may have the masters next week, which means the bulk of my work will begin on that project. High stress, but it sounds really great.
At some point, I need a serious vacation: no work, no phone, no email, no talking. I just want to lay on a beach or wander aimlessly around France.
Today on the phone, I entertained a brief fantasy of running away from it all. It could never happen, but it was great to imagine that I would be able to just skedaddle. The place did not matter: anywhere with a beach and strong drinks.
Tomorrow will be a crazy day, but I know we're making progress and I am working with people I really enjoy.
Still, a beach beckons . . .
Melinda gave an good performance of Love You Inside Out. As performed by Feist, this is one of my favorite songs.
Listen: Feist, Inside Out.
Buy: Feist, Let It Die.
The past three or four weeks have been a complete blur.
I have had clients in town, new projects to launch, and deals to close. It's all insane.
I just got home about 20 minutes ago (1 20 am) after an extremely long day that just kept getting longer and longer. It was great, though, and now, I am too wired to sleep.
I have not been listening to much music (the more I talk about music, the less time I have to listen). Last week, I listened to 30 songs. 30!
All day, I have had one song going through my head:
Big Boi ft Purple Ribbon Allstars, Kryptonite.
This has been a favorite song for a while. It's a great club song -- incredibly catchy. As I drove from meeting to meeting, or walked from parking garage to wherever, Kryptonite kept playing in my head, over and over.
Listen: Big Boi ft Purple Ribbon Allstars, Kryptonite.
Buy: Big Boi Presents ... Got Purp?, Vol. 2.
This week, I have been listening to a blend of new and old. These songs have stuck with me as I have wandered around town making and trying to implement plans.
Anita O'Day, I Didn't Know What Time It Was.
This has long been a favorite song. It's Rodgers & Hart, and though I have heard it dozens if not hundreds of times, the meaning eludes me. Perhaps, because it's reflective, it's quite sad, though the lyrics would suggest happiness.
This is the refrain:
I didn't know what time it was
then I met you.
Oh, what a lovely time it was,
How sublime it was too!
I didn't know what time it was
you held my hand.
Warm like the month of May it was,
and I'll say it was grand.
Grand to be alive, to be young,
to be mad, to be yours alone!
Grand to see your face, feel your touch,
hear your voice say I'm all your own.
I didn't know what time it was
life was no prize.
I wanted love and here it was
shining out of your eyes.
I'm wise,
and I know what time it is now.My face actually hurts from smiling so much.
Everything clicked. Mission confirmed. I am slightly giddy.
I wonder how I will be able to sleep since I have been home for only 30 minutes. Long enough to wash my face, call S to deliver the update, and say goodnight to an already sleeping (and mildly irritated) A.
Tomorrow, we reconvene to work out details and I am introducing them to some of my team.
Excellent question, M. Thanks for the reminder that posting has been a little sparse of late.
The past few weeks have been crazier than usual as I near the finish line on a bunch of projects.
In a few minutes, I am dashing downtown to meet with my partners on a big project we've been talking about for 6 months. Everyone flew in at the last minute for us to knock out some mission business and reconfirm the foundation as we move forward. I am extremely anxious about the meeting, though the fact that they are here shows a strong level of commitment.
I also have some projects lined up to fall under the big project. If we can pull it off, which I believe we can, we will do something really special.
My nerves are getting to me a bit. It's a good sign actually . . . adrenalin pumping, focus sharpened, etc.
A is sick. The cat is sick. I am fine.
The vet is closed, because it's Saturday. Emergency care says wait and watch, so that's what we're doing. It's nerve-wracking. She's 11, and she's never been ill.
She's also an incorrigible brat: she talks all the time, she curls up on or next to the keyboard as I type, she thinks she's the boss, and she insists on sleeping under the blankets with her head on a pillow. She sleeps in between us, her small 7 pound body pushing one of us to the edge of the bed (as seen above).
Update: The emergency vet gave us great advice. Her behavior never changed, so we watched her and after about a day, she recovered. We've been slowly giving her bits of food and now she's completely well.
I have been waiting since 2005 to say that.
Every five years, D'Angelo would emerge from his cave and release something amazing:
1995: Brown Sugar
2000: Voodoo.
In 2005, we waited. And waited. And waited.
Nothing.
That year, John Mayer endearingly wrote an open letter in Esquire, which said, in part:
I'm writing to ask you to put out a follow-up to one of the few records to change my life forever, Voodoo. When Voodoo came out in 2000, I stood in line at Tower Records in Atlanta at midnight to get it . . . I'm no less excited by it today than I was when I played it full blast in my mother's Plymouth Voyager on the way to my bullshit job.Now, in honor of A's birthday, we have a new D'Angelo song.
Guardian Unlimited has "The perfect playlist for the neighbour from hell," featuring Motorhead, House of Love, The Damned, and others.
The Passion of the Weiss has an imagined "Emperor's New Clothes" conversation about Deerhunter.
The New York Times has an interesting post about artists rerecording old tunes for licensing deals, cutting their labels out of that lucrative piece of business. Nice.
Boing Boing has a link to Lookout Records, who are selling digital punk and alternative tracks.
I Am Fuel, You Are Friends links to a track by The Noisettes.
Idolator has a list of the Best and Worst Singles of the 70s.
A condition of a recently negotiated deal involved the mastery of "Don't Stop Believin'" in the key of C.
When I mentioned this to my mother as she was awaiting her Aer Lingus flight yesterday, she reminded me that my brother and his crew often fill those random, standing-around, smokin' and jokin' on-set moments singing the same song over their headsets.
Listen:
Of Montreal, Don't Stop Believin' (Journey cover).
Journey, Don't Stop Believin'.
Buy:
Journey, Greatest Hits.
They are in the studio, recording the album. After all the pre-production, we're finally underway. Someday soon, we'll have an album.
It's been a lot of work to get here, and we have a lot of work left to do, but, finally, it's all happening.
I believe in celebrating small moments, especially when they are in the middle of a big project.
So, I am exhaling for a moment.
Yes, really.
Mark Ronson's Version is an absolutely fantastic album. I've been listening to it all afternoon (well, in between Grindhouse and talking on the phone to S about music and H about film).
It hits all of the elements I love: 60s soulful, funky arrangements, British (for the most part) pop songs, British pop singers.
It's like he knew and made the perfect Musette album. In reality, it means I have extremely universal taste. It also means we're on the cusp of a complete motown revival now that our English friends are leading us back to rediscovering our own music. Again.
The album is released on Monday in the UK and can be purchased from Amazon and the complete album is streaming on Mark Ronson's myspace.
A and I went to Alamo South to watch Grindhouse this afternoon.
If you haven't seen it yet, go! It works as a double feature much better than as two single films. Alamo had an actual intermission in addition to the faux (or not) trailers, and I assume other theaters would do the same.
A few brief thoughts (spoiler-ish only if you're like me and like to blank-slate everything):
It was really, really excellent. There were moments of horror, and moments of hilarity. They were both clever and well-acted (when they were supposed to be).The only problem we had with the movie is that we ordered food during the first movie, directed by Rodriguez. Biiiiig mistake, shared by the rest of the audience.
Kurt Russell is amazing. I have not thought much about him as an actor in a long time, but he's really amazing.
They really got the tone and style right with the movies. The first one reminded me of cheap horror movies we used to watch on Saturday afternoon tv. The second reminded me of Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!-type Roger Corman movies we used to watch in college.
Of Montreal - Heimdalsgate like a Promethean Curse (live) on Vimeo
Just watch as they recreate the video for one of 2007's best songs. Live.
Originally spotted on Shameless Complacency.
UPDATE: Obviously, vimeo took down the clip. It's too bad, it was quite extraordinary. At some point, NBC needs to work out its clip policy.
jefitoblog has an eclectic "Friday mixtape" that includes Matt the Electrician, along with Genesis, Kool Moe Dee, Tom Petty, etc.
(Fun Fact: I attended a charity dinner in 2003 just because he was the opening act, after I had heard him live on KUT's Eklektikos.)
Austinist links to am post about Austin band Golden Bear. I find myself painfully unaware of Golden Bear, though they have been getting great reviews. Sometimes, my stunning ignorance surprises even me.
Austin Sound reviews Peel's new album in the context of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. It's an excellent review:
It's in this regard—the club-sandwich vocals, the busy-but-not-too-busy musicianship, the playfulness of the atypical sound effects and distortions—that they are most reminiscent of CYHSY. It takes seamless studio work for both Peel and Clap to make it all happen, for this is ludicrously difficult music to put together. If the puzzle pieces do not click perfectly together then things fall apart quickly. On Peel, the joints never show.
