The first time is never easy.
Ours was a long time ago, in a town not too far away. Grunge was still king. Prince had unrepentantly changed his name to a tattoo, and the Beastie Boys had recently told the world to Check Your Head.
Spaceship Days wasn't even a glimmer in our alcohol soaked imaginations, and the birth of grey was still months away. We were actually on our third or fourth band name by then. This one was less embarrassing than those that had preceded it, but only just; we stuck with it anyway, because we'd been putting the word out about the Big Debut Show and it just wouldn't do to confuse people by changing our name (again) at the last minute. All the cool bands picked an name and stuck with it, no matter how bad it was.
We had been a band for about a month. In that time, we'd already cut our first demo, and had spend the following weeks leading up to the Big Debut Show strutting around like peacocks with our cassette tape feathers stuck up in the air. It wasn't that the recording was especially good (it wasn't) but we were the only people we knew who'd ever even had the brass to try and make one and that meant something. That belief in ourselves carried us along way, and picked up quite a bit of the slack we needed for our skills to catch up.
Still, beneath it all we were only four young men: Matt, Chuck, Greg, and Aaron. Just a breath out of our teens and sitting on the floor of an empty room, we were anxiously waiting to stand in front of everyone we knew and put on our first live performance.
The Big Debut Show was at Aaron's place. He was the drummer so it just made good sense. It was easier for myself and Greg to transport our gear, which included the little 50 W Gorilla Amp that Matt would be using for his vocals. Sure, all the cool bands had PA systems, but we hadn't quite discovered that yet. Our stage was the back porch, which was great with us. The small-ish concrete slab faced a courtyard of sorts, and where our delusions lived that space was going to be jam packed with adoring fans.
Earlier that afternoon Matt had used a sharpie to decorate a semi soiled bed sheet with a picture, and a poem called The Uncoiling. We hung it from Aaron's bedroom window so it could dangle above us as we rocked out because, you know--all the cool bands had a banner. The fact that it was a good ten feet above our heads made no never mind.
I personally remember feeling like I was going to throw up, and then maybe have an accident which no doubt would have led to throwing up again. Throughout all this gastrointestinal distress I held on tight to my 'I'm not scared' face. It wouldn't due to upset my band mates, who were all clinging to their 'unimpressed by this building terror' faces too. Mostly.
Right before it was time to go on, and I had assured myself for the seventh time that my bass strap was not going to spontaneously snap off leaving me guitar-less and mortified, someone started giggling. To this day I still can't remember who, or why but after a moment we all were.
Uncontrollably.
It turned out to be just what we needed. Through the aching ribs and sore from smiling cheeks I suddenly had the sense that no matter what happened everything was going to be fine. We weren't going to melt, or spontaneously combust--we were only going to play some songs for some people. Just as we'd always dreamed.
The four of us will always be connected by that night. It was tense, awkward, amazing, and a more than a little bit frightening in turns but we wouldn't change a thing.
"Hanging From the Satellites" is a tribute to that evening. It coils and slides through the anxiety and exhilaration we felt in the long, long minutes before we began, and hints at the calm out of body surreality of the performance itself.
At the end of our first number, while we were listening to what (in our minds at least) was thunderous applause, we weren't really surprised when the police arrived to shut us down. That sort of thing happened fairly regularly at the swim team parties we frequented in those days. The Big Debut Show was over quickly, but we all were somewhat thankful for the save. Better to leave them wanting more. Just like all the cool bands.
We only had three more songs anyway.
C
Spaceship Days
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
The Particulars of Inspiration : "Big World Pop Star"
Sometimes, songs just happen.
A hook hits you while you’re in the shower, or stuck in traffic, or halfway through the check out line at Target. It’s insistent and awesome. You run home to your instrument of choice, hit RECORD and wait with that sort of mellow, self-satisfied glee that we musical types get while the tune practically writes itself.
Unfortunately, most songs are far more likely to be born old good old-fashioned heartache.
"Big World Pop Star" is one of that kind.
Here’s the tale: It was one of those fantastic and tragically occasional intersections of luck, talent, and being the friend-of-a-friend-who-knows-somebody. The members of Spaceship Days had gone from being ‘those guys on the swim team’ to a solid alterna- rock outfit and were finally going to get the opportunity to prove it.
The venue was a massive one. The projected turnout was epic. The headliner that will never be named (who’s moniker contains the letters m e r) was arguably the most successful band of the era. Enough friends, family, and early concert arrivals stood massed before the side stage to make to make it one of Spaceship Days’ most memorable performances as a band.
For about six minutes.
Then came the metaphorical gut kicking.
The smoke had finally cleared, the fists stopped being shaken, and the untidy language had died down, when Spaceship Days found out that the headliner had taken issue with the venue over comparative font sizes in the area newspaper advertisements, and “a few other things”. Apparently those other things were important enough to cancel the performances of the local acts and have the supporting band take the stage three hours early.
Just as the members of Spaceship Days had begun to really feel their cool quotient rise, a guy with a clipboard and a pair of Buddy Holly glasses had pulled the plug midway through the chorus of the second song. In his wake he left a snide remark, a contemptuous sniff, and a few thousand stunned and staring people wondering what the hell had just happened.
Later the singer of one of the other bands, who were the venerable rock and roll uncles in town at the time, sat down with some of the other dejected players. His crew took the whole thing quite casually, something which would have bothered the members of Spaceship Days had they had the strength to be anything other than mind numbingly sad.
“Pop stars do that sort of shi*t sometimes.” He told the band with that matter of fact shrug that sometimes accompanies nuggets of old guy wisdom. He was right of course, but we never felt quite the same way about that headliner again.
“Big World Pop Star “ is a song not only about that day, but also about all the days before it and all the days after when someone forgot what life was like before video music awards, and platinum records, and clipboard toting minions. This song is what Spaceship Days thinks about not remembering.
A hook hits you while you’re in the shower, or stuck in traffic, or halfway through the check out line at Target. It’s insistent and awesome. You run home to your instrument of choice, hit RECORD and wait with that sort of mellow, self-satisfied glee that we musical types get while the tune practically writes itself.
Unfortunately, most songs are far more likely to be born old good old-fashioned heartache.
"Big World Pop Star" is one of that kind.
Here’s the tale: It was one of those fantastic and tragically occasional intersections of luck, talent, and being the friend-of-a-friend-who-knows-somebody. The members of Spaceship Days had gone from being ‘those guys on the swim team’ to a solid alterna- rock outfit and were finally going to get the opportunity to prove it.
The venue was a massive one. The projected turnout was epic. The headliner that will never be named (who’s moniker contains the letters m e r) was arguably the most successful band of the era. Enough friends, family, and early concert arrivals stood massed before the side stage to make to make it one of Spaceship Days’ most memorable performances as a band.
For about six minutes.
Then came the metaphorical gut kicking.
The smoke had finally cleared, the fists stopped being shaken, and the untidy language had died down, when Spaceship Days found out that the headliner had taken issue with the venue over comparative font sizes in the area newspaper advertisements, and “a few other things”. Apparently those other things were important enough to cancel the performances of the local acts and have the supporting band take the stage three hours early.
Just as the members of Spaceship Days had begun to really feel their cool quotient rise, a guy with a clipboard and a pair of Buddy Holly glasses had pulled the plug midway through the chorus of the second song. In his wake he left a snide remark, a contemptuous sniff, and a few thousand stunned and staring people wondering what the hell had just happened.
Later the singer of one of the other bands, who were the venerable rock and roll uncles in town at the time, sat down with some of the other dejected players. His crew took the whole thing quite casually, something which would have bothered the members of Spaceship Days had they had the strength to be anything other than mind numbingly sad.
“Pop stars do that sort of shi*t sometimes.” He told the band with that matter of fact shrug that sometimes accompanies nuggets of old guy wisdom. He was right of course, but we never felt quite the same way about that headliner again.
“Big World Pop Star “ is a song not only about that day, but also about all the days before it and all the days after when someone forgot what life was like before video music awards, and platinum records, and clipboard toting minions. This song is what Spaceship Days thinks about not remembering.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Spaceship Days: A Band in Conflict.
Spaceship Days have been doing a lot of shouting lately.
There have been shaken fists, pointed fingers, rolled eyes, and unfortunately a even little bit of name calling.
The source of this internal strife is an old one. Its a debate that has raged on since before there even was a band, since we were nothing more than speedo wearing teenagers with dreams of Olympic glory. It's been argued at a louder volume than Redskins vs. Eagles, and more often than Temple of Doom vs. Crystal Skull. Yet, as the years wear on, we're still no closer to The Truth.
That is the question. Which is the better band?
Is it a fair comparison? Maybe.
Are both bands spectacular in their own way? Definitely.
Does this disagreement make as much sense as trying to build a drum kit out of Popsicle sticks and notebook paper? Probably-- but its been two decades, so we're too far gone to quit now.
Alas, Greg has never been much help in our seesaw battle. Whenever Matt or I pose the Big Question, his smug answer was always:
"Pink Floyd."
Guitar players...
As we've presented them to each other over and over, these are The Facts:
Year Founded
Duran 1978
Queen 1971
Number of Members
Duran 5 ( or 3 depending on whom you ask)
Queen 4
Number of Albums
Duran 14* (* the next due in early 2011)
Queen 25* (*Plus one with Paul Rogers)
Top 10 Singles
Duran 14
Queen 18 (at #1)
Number of Times a Founding Member Quit the Band
Duran 7
Queen 1
Top 10 Albums
Duran 0 (but 21 songs on the Billboard Hot 100)
Queen 18 (at #1)
Number of Band Members with the Last Name Taylor
Duran 3
Queen 1
Number of Soundtracks
Duran 1 (a #1 single from the James Bond film that even Christopher Walken couldn't save)
Queen 4 (Including Highlander aka The Best Movie Ever)
Number of Cool Videos
Duran All of them
Queen 2
Number of Albums Sold
Duran Over 100 million
Queen Over 300 million
So those are the numbers....but are any of these things what really matter?
Is a band ultimately only judged by the number of chart topping singles or whether or not those little decorative records the Powers That Be hand out are shiny gold or sparkling platinum?
We think not.
It seems that the great bands--the truly great bands-- give fans like us a little something more. They give us music that we feel, the sort of music that continues to mean something even as the years shuffle by. They give us the songs that remind us of a pleasant afternoon that time way back when, or that wild road trip, or that whirlwind romance that left us with curled toes and face splitting grins.
The greats give us the songs that make us feel like crying, or make us need to stomp. They give us the music that gives us the urge to dance on both of our left feet. They give us the songs that are impossible to forget.
More often than not, these tunes aren't the "hits"; they're the track three on side two's, or the hidden B sides from extra rare imports that we die hard musos will spend insanely irresponsible amounts time and money trying to add to our collections.
Clearly, both of these iconic groups have done these important things for each of us, and yet the quarrel goes on and on. After so long its safe to say that neither of us will ever sway the other, but that doesn't mean we won't stop trying.
One of these bands has to be the winner.
Who would you choose?
C
There have been shaken fists, pointed fingers, rolled eyes, and unfortunately a even little bit of name calling.
The source of this internal strife is an old one. Its a debate that has raged on since before there even was a band, since we were nothing more than speedo wearing teenagers with dreams of Olympic glory. It's been argued at a louder volume than Redskins vs. Eagles, and more often than Temple of Doom vs. Crystal Skull. Yet, as the years wear on, we're still no closer to The Truth.
Queen vs. Duran Duran
That is the question. Which is the better band?
Is it a fair comparison? Maybe.
Are both bands spectacular in their own way? Definitely.
Does this disagreement make as much sense as trying to build a drum kit out of Popsicle sticks and notebook paper? Probably-- but its been two decades, so we're too far gone to quit now.
Alas, Greg has never been much help in our seesaw battle. Whenever Matt or I pose the Big Question, his smug answer was always:
"Pink Floyd."
Guitar players...
As we've presented them to each other over and over, these are The Facts:
Year Founded
Duran 1978
Queen 1971
Number of Members
Duran 5 ( or 3 depending on whom you ask)
Queen 4
Number of Albums
Duran 14* (* the next due in early 2011)
Queen 25* (*Plus one with Paul Rogers)
Top 10 Singles
Duran 14
Queen 18 (at #1)
Number of Times a Founding Member Quit the Band
Duran 7
Queen 1
Top 10 Albums
Duran 0 (but 21 songs on the Billboard Hot 100)
Queen 18 (at #1)
Number of Band Members with the Last Name Taylor
Duran 3
Queen 1
Number of Soundtracks
Duran 1 (a #1 single from the James Bond film that even Christopher Walken couldn't save)
Queen 4 (Including Highlander aka The Best Movie Ever)
Number of Cool Videos
Duran All of them
Queen 2
Number of Albums Sold
Duran Over 100 million
Queen Over 300 million
So those are the numbers....but are any of these things what really matter?
Is a band ultimately only judged by the number of chart topping singles or whether or not those little decorative records the Powers That Be hand out are shiny gold or sparkling platinum?
We think not.
It seems that the great bands--the truly great bands-- give fans like us a little something more. They give us music that we feel, the sort of music that continues to mean something even as the years shuffle by. They give us the songs that remind us of a pleasant afternoon that time way back when, or that wild road trip, or that whirlwind romance that left us with curled toes and face splitting grins.
The greats give us the songs that make us feel like crying, or make us need to stomp. They give us the music that gives us the urge to dance on both of our left feet. They give us the songs that are impossible to forget.
More often than not, these tunes aren't the "hits"; they're the track three on side two's, or the hidden B sides from extra rare imports that we die hard musos will spend insanely irresponsible amounts time and money trying to add to our collections.
Clearly, both of these iconic groups have done these important things for each of us, and yet the quarrel goes on and on. After so long its safe to say that neither of us will ever sway the other, but that doesn't mean we won't stop trying.
One of these bands has to be the winner.
Who would you choose?
C
Thursday, September 30, 2010
The Particulars of Inspiration: "Shadow Walking"
Every now and then, you just get lucky.
The luck might come in the shape of a $20 bill you find in the back pocket of those jeans at the bottom of the laundry basket. It could be finding a code for unlimited ammo scribbled down on the inside of your brand new but previously owned video game, or that crack in the sidewalk that sends you stumbling into your as yet undiscovered soul-mate. For some, the luck is even a life altering Lottery ticket.
Spaceship Days, got lucky with a song.
It was early evening at the HQ, and Matt and I were working on some new music while waiting for Greg to arrive at his customary twenty two minutes late. The tune was a melodramatic little ditty, and as songs are often wont to do, it just wasn't coming together the way we wanted. Getting restless, we decided to take a break. For me that meant food. For Matt that meant more guitar playing.
Suddenly, from the kitchen I heard Matt strumming some chords, and 'doot-doo-ing' at the top of his lungs. I dropped the ham, cheese, and single slice of bread I'd been puzzling over how to turn into a sandwich and ran back into the living room.
Matt was laughing, but I thought what he'd just done was an all together different sort of funny.
"Play that again!" I said strapping on the bass.
"Seriously?" Matt asked, dubious.
We'd been talking about 'bop bops' and 'na nas' and 'la las' and 'woo woos' in music earlier that day, so I knew he was just goofing around, but every now and then...well, you know.
"Yeah," I said. "Seriously."
It didn't take much convincing, or many more chords, and by the time Greg arrived a few minutes later, we had a new new song to work on.
"Shadow Walking"
Shadow Walking is a song about how people sometimes won't see what's right in front of them. Its about bearing the weight of your troubles on nothing but a stiff upper lip, with wide eyes that watch the world go by. This song is for everyone who has ever felt alone in the crowd.
We hope it reminds some that they don't have to.
C
The luck might come in the shape of a $20 bill you find in the back pocket of those jeans at the bottom of the laundry basket. It could be finding a code for unlimited ammo scribbled down on the inside of your brand new but previously owned video game, or that crack in the sidewalk that sends you stumbling into your as yet undiscovered soul-mate. For some, the luck is even a life altering Lottery ticket.
Spaceship Days, got lucky with a song.
It was early evening at the HQ, and Matt and I were working on some new music while waiting for Greg to arrive at his customary twenty two minutes late. The tune was a melodramatic little ditty, and as songs are often wont to do, it just wasn't coming together the way we wanted. Getting restless, we decided to take a break. For me that meant food. For Matt that meant more guitar playing.
Suddenly, from the kitchen I heard Matt strumming some chords, and 'doot-doo-ing' at the top of his lungs. I dropped the ham, cheese, and single slice of bread I'd been puzzling over how to turn into a sandwich and ran back into the living room.
Matt was laughing, but I thought what he'd just done was an all together different sort of funny.
"Play that again!" I said strapping on the bass.
"Seriously?" Matt asked, dubious.
We'd been talking about 'bop bops' and 'na nas' and 'la las' and 'woo woos' in music earlier that day, so I knew he was just goofing around, but every now and then...well, you know.
"Yeah," I said. "Seriously."
It didn't take much convincing, or many more chords, and by the time Greg arrived a few minutes later, we had a new new song to work on.
"Shadow Walking"
Shadow Walking is a song about how people sometimes won't see what's right in front of them. Its about bearing the weight of your troubles on nothing but a stiff upper lip, with wide eyes that watch the world go by. This song is for everyone who has ever felt alone in the crowd.
We hope it reminds some that they don't have to.
C
Friday, September 24, 2010
Use Your Toys!
Once upon a time, there was a Boy with a Computer. The boy loved his computer, and the computer loved the boy. Together, they would listen to music, watch movies and chit chat with friends.
The computer's favorite times were when the boy would sit for hours tap tap tapping on his keyboard, filling up file after file with words he dreamed would one day be printed in big, bright picture books of men and women with capes. The boy's favorite times where when, even if the music player was on shuffle, the computer would play two Catherine Wheel songs in a row--and in really special times, three. They were happy, the Boy and the Computer.
Then one day, the computer died...
Everyone's been through it, that pit of the stomach bubbling, angry feeling you get when an 'essential' piece of technology fails you. The utter frustration of knowing you can do nothing at all to fix it makes the thought of how much money you'll need to spend to replace it is especially vexing.
It could be your phone, your television, or even your car, but when it's your computer there is that extra little sting, an added twist of the How-Are-You-Going-To-Pay-Your-Bills-Now? knife.
When my computer shuffled off to that great Dell store in the sky the only warning I got was a few clicks, a beep and then a flash of that blue screen that I now know was telling me the end was nigh.
I was crestfallen.
My computer had everything on it. Everything. And just like that it was lost.
All my MUSIC!!!
Three years worth of little tales to go into my as yet unfinished graphic novel.
And my TUNES!!! My SONGS!!! They were GONE all GONE!!!
Oh--and other stuff like wedding pictures , account numbers and whatnot. All that vanished too.
Enter my Mother. Beautiful lady. She got me a new computer for my upcoming birthday, just a scant eight months away. I was on the phone with her while setting it up, listening while she rattled off all the new and exciting features on my fresh out of the box gift.
I was nodding, even though she couldn't see me; the nod when my Mom is talking reflex is still strong. She's my hero.
"It even has a built in camera." She said "You can send me videos of my grand baby."
I could only scoff.
"Camera? " I said already thinking about the easiest and most efficient way to get all those songs from all those CDs back into MP3 form. "That's about as useful as me churning my own butter."
She laughed, because our Moms are supposed to help us believe we're funny, but I was eager to get off the phone and get started on the important stuff...
Well, its been almost two years, and my sonic therapy is just now getting back to where it belongs. As it happened, none of my best laid plans were neither easy, nor efficient, but I've gotten my music all back in once place.
While we have never quite gotten as tight as myself and its predecessor, New Computer has been a pretty good sidekick. We watch movies. We type words into files. Shuffle is again in full effect.
We chat with friends too. In fact, we try to answer every email and Instant Message that travels across those invisible spaces between computers all over the world. People talk to Spaceship Days, so New Computer helps Spaceship Days talk back.
Only this time we do it a little bit differently.
It turns out there was a use for that camera after all. Guess I'd better get started churning that butter.
C
The computer's favorite times were when the boy would sit for hours tap tap tapping on his keyboard, filling up file after file with words he dreamed would one day be printed in big, bright picture books of men and women with capes. The boy's favorite times where when, even if the music player was on shuffle, the computer would play two Catherine Wheel songs in a row--and in really special times, three. They were happy, the Boy and the Computer.
Then one day, the computer died...
Everyone's been through it, that pit of the stomach bubbling, angry feeling you get when an 'essential' piece of technology fails you. The utter frustration of knowing you can do nothing at all to fix it makes the thought of how much money you'll need to spend to replace it is especially vexing.
It could be your phone, your television, or even your car, but when it's your computer there is that extra little sting, an added twist of the How-Are-You-Going-To-Pay-Your-Bills-Now? knife.
When my computer shuffled off to that great Dell store in the sky the only warning I got was a few clicks, a beep and then a flash of that blue screen that I now know was telling me the end was nigh.
I was crestfallen.
My computer had everything on it. Everything. And just like that it was lost.
All my MUSIC!!!
Three years worth of little tales to go into my as yet unfinished graphic novel.
And my TUNES!!! My SONGS!!! They were GONE all GONE!!!
Oh--and other stuff like wedding pictures , account numbers and whatnot. All that vanished too.
Enter my Mother. Beautiful lady. She got me a new computer for my upcoming birthday, just a scant eight months away. I was on the phone with her while setting it up, listening while she rattled off all the new and exciting features on my fresh out of the box gift.
I was nodding, even though she couldn't see me; the nod when my Mom is talking reflex is still strong. She's my hero.
"It even has a built in camera." She said "You can send me videos of my grand baby."
I could only scoff.
"Camera? " I said already thinking about the easiest and most efficient way to get all those songs from all those CDs back into MP3 form. "That's about as useful as me churning my own butter."
She laughed, because our Moms are supposed to help us believe we're funny, but I was eager to get off the phone and get started on the important stuff...
Well, its been almost two years, and my sonic therapy is just now getting back to where it belongs. As it happened, none of my best laid plans were neither easy, nor efficient, but I've gotten my music all back in once place.
While we have never quite gotten as tight as myself and its predecessor, New Computer has been a pretty good sidekick. We watch movies. We type words into files. Shuffle is again in full effect.
We chat with friends too. In fact, we try to answer every email and Instant Message that travels across those invisible spaces between computers all over the world. People talk to Spaceship Days, so New Computer helps Spaceship Days talk back.
Only this time we do it a little bit differently.
It turns out there was a use for that camera after all. Guess I'd better get started churning that butter.
C
Friday, September 17, 2010
The Further Adventures of Being a Band Daddy
"When I grow up I want to be in a band. I want to be a mommy too. I can be a mommy since I'm a girl."
It was a bit odd, this declaration, considering that we had been in the middle of talking about sidewalk chalk. Still, after making music at various levels of competency for almost half my life, hearing my daughter Gracen say she might want to try it too gave me a hard, fast flash of pride. Of course, I chose to selectively not hear all the 'be a mommy' bits though.
Sure, she's only five (and a 1/2) and will no doubt want to be at least a hundred more things before finally traveling to that far away land of When I Grow Up, but good Daddies just have to play along sometimes.
"What kind of band do you want to be in?" I asked.
"The kind where I play drums!" she replied with a big grin broken only by the space left by a recently lost tooth.
As a member of the rhythm section, this too was pleasing to me.
Grabbing up a set of $8 conga drums I'd gotten from somewhere about a year before she was born Gracen took a firm grip on my thumb, and pulled. It was Daughter Fu--the classic 'Daddy Come With Me' technique.
Naturally, I couldn't resist.
"Let's go have band practice," she said still smiling.
I was smiling now too. It had been a bit of a tense summer for me. For months I'd thought that all Daddy-ish pursuits had been ditched in favor of princesses and stuffed pigs, but it seemed my little girl had finally remembered that I was fun for something other than setting up pretend tea and cakes for the fluffy toy crew.
"Get your Big Guitar," she said-- which is Gracenese for bass.
So I did...and we proceeded to rock out.
That's when the trouble started.
Now, as someone who's sat through 3,027 tea parties I understand that my child likes to have things just so. Obviously this trait was inherited from her mother, but that's a story for another time. Anyway, about thirty seconds into our jam she stopped banging her drums, and waved her little hands about in what I could only interpret as a 'hold everything' gesture.
My last note faded away into silence. My daughter just stared.
"No Daddy," she said with that slow, deliberate tone that we grown ups use when little ones are stretching our patience. "You have to listen better."
"Huh?" was all I could come back with.
"You have to follow what I'm doing. Just listen to my drums OK?"
"Oh," I had been busted. "OK."
She then proceeded to count me in, but didn't start playing until she got to six.
There was a bit more playing, and a little giggling, then the child reached out and started turning the pegs on my bass.
"What are you doing?!" I barked, aghast.
Never Touch Daddy's Bass is one of the Three Laws, superseded only by Comic Books Are NOT For Drawing In.
"I'm changing the frequency," Gracen said with such big eyed (dig-me-manipulating-my-father) innocence that I couldn't help but get over myself " so it will sound better."
What a diva.
"You sure you don't want to be the singer?" I asked, trying not to cringe as the 'frequency' of my instrument was changed into something I probably wouldn't know how to play.
"Yeah, I'm the singer too." was the smooth reply.
And on it went...
We may not have created a pop masterpiece that afternoon--or anything other than some loosely organized noise accented by our own glee filled laughter--but it was easily one of the most fun times we've shared in the five (and a 1/2) years I've been playing at this gig called Fatherhood.
You know what else? Once we had played until our hands were sore and our gear was all packed away, the "after practice tea party" was pretty cool too.
C
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Particulars of Inspiration...& a video : "Pain in Pretty Things"
Many people, by the time they reach the age of thirteen, have gone through some sort of breakup. Whether it was with your BFF or tween age crush, we can all probably remember the first time we went from having something with someone to having nothing, and how awful it felt. I myself can recall getting none too gently cut loose at my Eighth Grade Formal with an uncomfortable degree of clarity: All the courage I’d mustered to ask for a slow dance was gone quickly as a snowflake in a microwave. There was finger pointing, then name-calling. Through it all Peter Cetera crooned in the background about “The Glory of Love”, blithely oblivious to my pain. All told, it was a lousy way to end middle school. To this day I can’t stand to hear that song.
See, a breakup is a many-headed beast. Sometimes they take too long, but occasionally they’re right on time. They can be spontaneous and quick, or planned with marching band meticulous precision. They can get carried out with a kiss or with a shout. They can end in a cuddle or a cry. They can be a relief, or a Shakespearean in magnitude tragedy. ‘It’s not you it’s me’…’We just need some time apart’…’Let’s still be friends’… and on, and on, and on.
A break up can be a lot of things, but easy is never one of them.
“Pain in Pretty Things” is a song about the part of relationships where they end, and the emotional spiral leading down to that place people never really plan for. The song is an imagined conversation between a Spaceship Days sibling, and significant other who plays drums with an almost famous rock band. It’s about the hows and whys and maybe nots people find to try and explain the reasons they feel the way they feel. The world of Not Easy is the place this song comes from.
“Pain in Pretty Things” is a song not just about breaking up, but about the internal struggle that comes from your head saying that something makes sense, no matter how loudly your heart disagrees.
One of the coolest things about this song--and possibly every song we've ever committed to a re-playable medium--is the fact that this one got covered. Our very good friend the Lovely Ms. Lettie P. performed "Pain in Pretty Things" with her uncle at a school Talent Show.
See, a breakup is a many-headed beast. Sometimes they take too long, but occasionally they’re right on time. They can be spontaneous and quick, or planned with marching band meticulous precision. They can get carried out with a kiss or with a shout. They can end in a cuddle or a cry. They can be a relief, or a Shakespearean in magnitude tragedy. ‘It’s not you it’s me’…’We just need some time apart’…’Let’s still be friends’… and on, and on, and on.
A break up can be a lot of things, but easy is never one of them.
“Pain in Pretty Things” is a song about the part of relationships where they end, and the emotional spiral leading down to that place people never really plan for. The song is an imagined conversation between a Spaceship Days sibling, and significant other who plays drums with an almost famous rock band. It’s about the hows and whys and maybe nots people find to try and explain the reasons they feel the way they feel. The world of Not Easy is the place this song comes from.
“Pain in Pretty Things” is a song not just about breaking up, but about the internal struggle that comes from your head saying that something makes sense, no matter how loudly your heart disagrees.
One of the coolest things about this song--and possibly every song we've ever committed to a re-playable medium--is the fact that this one got covered. Our very good friend the Lovely Ms. Lettie P. performed "Pain in Pretty Things" with her uncle at a school Talent Show.
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