Set your spirit free. It’s the only way to be.

Hey, the Grammy Awards are on right now! You know — that corporate vomit-fest that has lost any remaining shred of credibility and is really just an excuse for Lady Gaga to wear another costume the bloggers and journalists will write lame, snarky shit about the next day while masturbating in a pool of lukewarm adjectives.

You probably thought a long-winded rant/tirade was coming, but no. That’s all I’ve got. I did at least quote the Spice Girls in the title of this post. I have better things to do with my time, like slowly starting to delete the lyrics on the pages for the last several albums and replacing them with scans of the original handwritten lyrics. Everyone has their lyrics typed up on their websites/blogs, and I think it’s a bit more interesting to have something unique to look at. I’m not saying my handwriting will set your soul aflame. I just think it’s a bit more personal than the alternative of text on a screen.

So far the album pages to get the most amount of handwritten material are probably LOVE SONGS FOR NIHILISTS, GROWING SIDEWAYS, and BRAND NEW SHINY LIE. I plan on doing a lot more of this over the next little while, so there’s lots of scanning ahead. Even if no one else ever reads those album pages, I’m having fun doing this for myself. And I’m finding some fun things along the way, like my handwritten setlist for the solo show I played at Phog back in January of 2005. Written on orange paper!

“Ambient Guitar” and my revamped version of “Skinny Ditch” would soon end up on the NOSTALGIA-TRIGGERING MECHANISM EP, while “Like a Deeper Brother” and “Wipe That Stupid Face off Your Smile” were played once at that show and then never heard again. Some of the lyrics for “Deeper Brother” were later recycled for “Judas Goat”, which is so much better than the song some of its source material was drawn from it’s not even funny. I played electric guitar throughout my set, making for a very different slant on some of the material (like the normally synthesizer-centric “Surprise, Sunrise, Turpentine”). I wasn’t altogether happy with my performance at the time, but now I kind of wish I had the foresight to record it. I think it would be interesting to look at now.

I thought I would turn the camera on this afternoon when I felt an idea starting to bubble up. This might be a better demonstration of the way songs just sort of happen than the last time I tried filming myself writing something. You don’t see the idea evolve into a complete song, but that’s because I stopped playing when I got hungry and ate lunch. You gotta heed the call of the stomach. There’s the seed of something there that I like, anyway. Now I just need to finish unearthing it on another day. I edited six minutes of footage down to three and put no effort into guiding or “writing” the music, so what you see is what happened.

Fair warning — this is nowhere near as exciting as the video of a finished song being recorded from the last post, and I recorded it using the camera’s built-in microphone instead of any of my gear. There isn’t any profanity in this one either, sad to say. Still, maybe it’s something to watch on a commercial break while you’re waiting to find out who’s going to win the Grammy for “best album written by nineteen other people and mastered to sound like distorted garbage even though a disgusting amount of money went into the production of the thing”.

Can you tell I’ve been neglecting to trim my face bush for longer than usual?

(Note: you can hear what this song eventually turned into over HERE)

Oh yeah — the box of CDs at Dr. Disc was empty, so I filled it up again on the weekend. I’ll have to check and see how the box at Phog is doing.


  1. The Grammy’s give you Cancer. And shouldn’t it be “Grammies”? I guess it’s not GRAM-atically correct. See what I did there?

    Also, the phrase “face bush” is a little disturbing. I’ll give you a call tomorrow my friend. Ces, busy these jours. Tres Busy. Pamplemousse!

  2. I meant “bush” more in terms of shrubbery. Or that band that had a big hit with the guitar ballad “Listerine”, and then the frontman married Gwen Stefani and entered her tragic kingdom. Maybe I should stick with the phrase “face cactus” instead…

    I think they should just rename the Grammy Awards “An Evening of Artistically Bankrupt Bullshit” and be done with it. There’s a career for me in marketing! I know it!

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