Just wanted to post real quick about my recent project.  I’m working on a one-man Hmong musical project, funded by a Minnesota Arts Board grant.  It’s super nice to get back into producing — it just really makes my heart sing.  (pan intended)  I booked Waterbury Studios for the recording sessions and was able to upgrade my recording setup with a nicer mic (AT4050) and preamp (Focusrite ISA Two) that I’m stoked about.  It’s going to be an almost-all acoustic affair with drums, upright bass, cello, drums and myself playing the acoustic guitar and piano (though piano will be samples — it’s hard to find/record upright piano full of character).  True to form I am planning to incorporate classical and Asian influences liberally.  It’s been some time since I produced a proper recording for someone other than myself but I feel very confident that I’ll achieve some great results.

Not sure if I’ll update this blog very often but I do try to post somewhat regularly on my new YouTube channel for guitar/songwriting stuff.  Just gotta keep doing what I love.  I am happily busy.

Dada was/is an amazing songwriter, but while I have much to appreciate on most other aspects of their catalog — their crafty songwriting, soaring vocals, subtly virtuosic guitar playing, and so on — lyrics, unfortunately, is where I usually have a disconnect.  They tend to stay on quirky, sarcastic or intentionally juvenile topics about some high school fantasies, and while they are all well-crafted, I just can’t relate to them.

This song is one of the few exceptions.  In fact, this song is responsible for hooking me to Dada to begin with — I believe I was sampling this song in a store somewhere (does that mean I was listening to it when it was new — back in 1996?  Possibly) and the chorus just blew me away.  It still does, in fact, I can’t believe they can make it sound so huge with just two voices.  Heroic, profound and surprisingly poignant at the same time, Dada puts their considerable genius into a timeless (pan intended) message, instead of capturing a snapshot of a certain time like they do with many of their other songs.

Time is your friend
Time is your pal
Don’t you try to fight her
Time is a mustang
That you cannot tame
So don’t you try to ride her

Time is a ship
Caught in the wind
It’s never always sinking
Time makes your bed
Then sleeps with your head
Sometimes I can’t stop thinking

I’m wasting so much of my life
Waiting for tomorrow

Ride the rocket
Kiss the locket
The sand is running down
Burn the candle
Turn the handle
I am here, I am now

I have to live now.  Because there’s no other time to live.  Past is gone, future is not here yet.  I know it’s so obvious, but yet those are two dimensions I occupy myself with most of the time.  It’s a message I heard many times yet I still need to fully embrace it.  But every time I put this song on, I have an inspiring reminder.

I just found out that Jerry Gaskill, the drummer of one of my Hall-of-Famers King’s X, has been hospitalized since late February because of a massive heart attack he suffered.

To help aid his mounting medical bills, a special download album of a 1991 live concert has been set up on their own label Molken Music.  I bought it, though haven’t actually listened to it — if they’re pulling this particular date out of their vault, I assume it’s a killer show.  But that’s really not the point.  It’s very conscientious of them to offer a product instead of a simple donate button, but in this case the latter probably would have been appropriate, too.

Their upcoming tour has been cancelled in the light of these events.  I believe they have to go on tour to make ends meet — particularly Jerry, who doesn’t have a plethora of side and solo catalog like Dug and Ty do — so if you are a fan, please spread the word and buy the live album.  I personally never understood why he’s not an in-demand session drummer — good drummers are always in demand and Jerry is certainly one of the greats.

Anyway, here’s to Jerry — get well soon!

Then I realized that that’s really not helping me, that’s why it didn’t feel good.  I need to focus on where I want to go, instead of where I am.  You don’t get to the destination just by looking at the current location.

So, here’s my current wish list of sorts.

First and foremost, I want abundant time and resources and demand for creating my music.  It’s so much that realizing what I have in my head, it’s what I do all the time.  And to know and have people around me who are really appreciative of what I do.  I work hard to create uniqueness and authenticity in my songwriting and guitar playing — and they don’t go unnoticed.

To go with the above, I want to invite more champions in my life.  My singer Bob is one of my champions — more people like him.  More people who think highly enough of what I do that they make it their business to help me do what I do.  Like Bob’s singing and arranging of gigs/performances, others can contribute with their interests and gifts — executing marketing plans, web development (I can do it, but my time is needed elsewhere), design, photography, legal, organizing, proofreading, social networking, and most of all, putting a gun to my head and demanding music.  ;-)

I would like to equip myself with tools that make production effortless.  A new quad-core MacBook Pro with SSD, my two electric guitars serviced and set up with noiseless pickups, finish assembling my pedalboard, 1-2 quality mics and mic pres.  A new pair of glasses are needed, too.  After that, I am dreaming of putting together a custom guitar, one that reflects the unique person that I am, just like Brian May’s guitar.

I want time to organize my office/studio — so that I can get rid of everything I don’t need and have a uncluttered space, all set up and streamlined for making music and playing my guitar.

So that’s where I am going.  I don’t know why it’s so scary to come out with naked desires like this, but there I have it.  These are what my heart desires, as of March 13, 2012.

The National strikes me as a fairly mellow band, thanks to Matt Berninger’s laid-back baritone, though even on the mellowest of their tunes the drummer Bryan Devendorf provide deceptively peppy beats.  On this one, he positively drives the band to a rare moment of outright uplift — and coming at the end of a 13 mid-to-down-tempo dirges, it just seems to catapult the mood.

I don’t know if this will strike the same way to female listeners, but from a man’s point of view, the self-assuring chant of “I used to be carried in the arms of cheerleaders” come straight out of some low-teen fantasy.  Stated without a hint of self-consciousness or embarrassment, it just plows over whatever self-restraint I may be feeling.  This is a soundtrack of a man who’s psyching himself up to take a stand, to finally become what he always meant to be.  And to get to that point, indeed we have to sound a bit megalomaniac and self-indulgent inside.

And it’s OK if that’s what it takes.  It’s better to talk silly in your head and be a man, than show up to be less than who you are.

This is nothing like it was in my room
In my best clothes
Trying to think of you

The English are coming
And I don’t know what to do
In my best clothes
This is when I need you

I’m the new blue blood
I’m the great white hope
I’m the new blue blood

I won’t fuck us over
I’m Mr. November
I’m Mr. November
I won’t fuck us over

 

Talking about this song really reveals which era I belong in, doesn’t it?  I had forgotten about it myself, only to remember it when I was thinking about songs that raise my vibe.  Believe it or not, this is the first song where I felt buying it off of iTunes was exactly what I wanted to do.  I’m old-fashioned that way and so far I’ve never bought a single song via any of the digital download stores, always preferring to buy a whole album on CD.  But this is the case where I really, really loved the song, but really didn’t want the rest of the album.

Listening to it now, what really works for me is the soaring melody, introspective lyrics and J.R. Richards’ thoughtful-sounding voice.  The chords, song structure and arrangement all seem fairly standard, almost generic to me otherwise — so it shows how I have a soft spot for the three elements I listed above.

Lyrically, I liked the freshness of referring to God as “her” but what really hooks me in is the yearning I feel in the line “am I very far?”  Far from what?  From God?  Why is he going to see God — is he dying, or about to commit suicide?  I am not sure, but these words really work for me, because they just paint a picture, a very vague sense of a story– and let me fill in the blanks.  Beautifully done.

It’s getting cold, picked up the pace
How our shoes make hard noises in this place
Our clothes are stained, we pass money, cross our people
And ask many questions like children often to do

Tell me all your thoughts on God
‘Cause I’d really like to meet her
And ask her why we’re who we are

Tell me all your thoughts on God
‘Cause I’m on my way to see her
So tell me, am I very far?

I made a mistake when I released and promoted my first solo album in 2007.  I did not know about the First Follower.  I had a First Follower (well, I think I did, in the hind sight — now I’ll never know for sure) but I didn’t think it amounted to much.  After all, it was just one fan!!  I got discouraged and burned out, and I stopped promoting my album, the best and proudest thing I’ve done with my music thus far.

Bummer.

Fast forward to last year.  I’ve been so, so fortunate to have been working with my singer Bob Yang.  9 months after starting our collaboration, he continues to just blow me away.  (Note: many of my projects didn’t last 9 months)  The other day I played a gig with him, for the first time in years.  We played three of my songs (and a cover).  Bob’s wife was in the audience and she seemed to have known every word of my songs we played.  I was not expecting for anybody to sing along, let alone recognize my songs, and this freaked me out.

It occurred to me recently, that in Bob I did find my First Follower.  Well, he’s more than a follower, as he’s now my collaborator, a duo.  But while I had lost faith in the musical value of my first album — my excuse was that I never cut it as a singer — somebody else didn’t let that get in the way of finding value in my offering.  Apparently Bob’s been playing my music to his family and friends.

I’ve always dreamed of finding fans, of learning that my offerings have made an impact on somebody.  Bob thinks highly enough of it to join me.  Saying that I am happy doesn’t really do my current state justice.  I feel bewildered, still in a state of shock and disbelief.

We are only a few weeks away from releasing the most ambitious piece of music to date — Bleeding Redwood.  This is the first from-scratch new music Bob and I are releasing.  It’s a piece I’ve been wrestling with for over a year — but thanks to Bob (and my friend Adam Lutz who played bass) I’m almost at a point where I can get it out of my systen.

It’s been amazing to co-create with someone who’s a fan.   I am excited to find more people like him, as I share more of my gifts.

And here’s the music video I made for our first song “The Must-Save List.”

I loved my studio.  It was my little empire, a place nobody else could go without my letting them in.  It was a crammed, ugly little space (as most band rehearsal studios tend to be) without any windows, but I loved my studio.  I was safe there.  It’s been almost 2 years since I started renting that space.

The problem was that my studio was 6 miles away from home.  When the weather was nice, I biked there.  It took me about 25 minutes one way, it was a good exercise.  But during winter, I take the bus.  Which is a bit more stressful, because the bus came once every half an hour.  It’s often late, but obviously I don’t know until I get there.

To top it off, this year they’re doing constructions for Light Rail on University Avenue.  It’s about to be shut down for the winter, but for a week or so in November it took me a full hour to get home.

The week before Thanksgiving, I was downstairs in our basement, and the thought occurred to me.  I should set up my studio here.

Now, my wife has been asking ever since we bought our house this spring — why don’t you work from home?  And every time she did, I’d say, no, I don’t have a place for me to work at home.  By that, I was referring to my sacred little space — the privacy of having a detached, personal room, where I can belt out some Guns n Roses tunes (which I cannot sing) without care as to what others would think.  I needed that safe space.

Plus, we were going to use the basement more — we have an old gas fireplace there that, amazingly, puts out NO heat.  And our central heat has no ducts coming out there, strangely enough.  So we planned to replace the fireplace with one that emitted actual warmth.

But, over the course of this year we decided to spend the money on insulating the house properly first.  It’s partially because we didn’t use our basement very much, although it’s fully finished.  We don’t need that space right now.

The basement isn’t getting used.

That thought, and the fact that it took a full hour to get home, must have really settled in.  I loved my studio, but here was an empty space at home, where I didn’t have to spend one precious hour each day getting to/from, and I didn’t have to pay additional rent.

So over Thanksgiving I brought it up to my wife, who pretty much welcomed the idea with open arms.   I moved my essentials that Sunday to basement and tried working from there the next week.  Sure, I can’t turn up the volume as loud when I was playing music — but I could still listen to music with my beloved speakers.  I didn’t miss the privacy very much, in fact, I sort of liked being there because kids would actually come down and play in the basement.  It’s a little distracting, but not as much as I feared — and I enjoyed having them around.

So this last weekend I rented a moving truck and moved everything back home. I originally was going to move on Sunday but in came Minnesota winter with a bucket full of snow, so at the last minute I switched to Saturday and made the move.

The funny thing is, there was nothing heavy to move that day.  The heaviest equipment I own was my guitar amp and that was already moved.  My desk and my sound insulation boards are bulky but not heavy.

But I lightly twisted my ankle while moving by landing on it funny, and I hurt my back after that because I was moving things around while compensating for my painful ankle.

Which is funny because I also hurt my back when I moved in to that studio 2 years ago.

I didn’t have any reason to break my back, I wasn’t carrying anything heavy, nor did I feel overtly stressed about moving.  I was sort of surprised myself by how quickly this move went from conception to execution, but still.

But it seems that moving a studio is destined to be a back-breaking experience for me.

It’s really fine, really.  A couple of days spent working from bed really isn’t a big deal, in the grand scheme of things.

But the next time I move, I’m going to see if I can do it without breaking my back.  :-)

Nothing else is changed except for the vocals, but what a difference it makes!  I hope you enjoy it.