random stuff

Take me on.

Almost everyone can remember where they were and what they were doing when they first heard A-ha’s breathless pop classic “Take on Me”.

Post Malone was in his parents’ basement, tattooing a portrait of Louis Althusser on his left ass cheek with the aid of a stolen compact mirror. Willie Nelson was alone in the back of his tour bus, trying to smoke a breadstick after burning through his entire stash of pot. Britney Spears was giving her sister’s Barbie Doll the evil eye and contemplating drowning it in the bathtub.

Someone you might not expect to be a fan is Gordon Lightfoot. In a little-known interview with Canadian Tire Magazine, Gordon once opined, “It really is the quintessential love song. It grabs you by the throat and forces you to eat a pile of hummus, whether you’re hungry or not.”

Dive deep enough into the Dark Web, past the secret Fifth Harmony porn films and the failed standup comedy of Donald Trump, and you’ll find a bootleg recording of an intimate show Gordon played for a small but appreciative audience in the mid-1990s, backed only by a pianist. For the only time in the great man’s long and storied career, he chose to put his stamp on a number of obscure covers, from Sepultura’s “Ratamahatta” to Swing Out Sister’s “Breakout”. Tucked away at the very beginning of the show like a quiet prayer is a song that has touched the lives of so many, written by some very photogenic Norwegian dudes.

Here’s Gordon Lightfoot singing “Take on Me”.

Take on Me (live)

If it came from a bull, and it smells like a bull…

There’s this thing called the RPM Challenge. It started back in 2006. Participants record a full-length album that’s ten songs or thirty-five minutes long, and they do it inside the month of February.

I’ve never done this. I used to record albums in a matter of days all the time, but for whatever reason I don’t think any of them were started and finished in February. Not since I started working in the digital domain twenty years ago, anyway.

My friend Joshua Jesty, on the other hand, has been a proponent of the RPM Challenge for about as long as it’s existed. He hasn’t made a “February record” every single year, but I think his latest instalment is his sixth. That’s some serious commitment to the cause right there.

This time around he asked a bunch of different friends to contribute to the album. I was one of those people. The thing is, he didn’t just ask me to play on one of the songs. He asked me to make the cover art too. And if you know me, you know I’m not someone who’s ever asked by anyone to do that sort of thing, because I’m not really a visual artist.

I am, however, a little bit nuts. I like to make up for my inability to draw freehand by tracing on top of existing pictures in a computer program that wasn’t designed with that in mind and then warping the context. In this case I took a photo of Josh holding a bowling ball in front of his face and turned the bowling ball into a massive mound of crap. Then I added a gloating bull to make the album title Nonstop Bullshit literal.

He used that image for the cover art, unmodified.

The song he asked me to play on is a pretty, atmospheric ballad called “Endless”. Josh felt it needed some dobro at the end, so I pulled out this guy, who’s been feeling a little neglected.

I’m not one of those crazy bluegrass pickers who can play frenetic, brain-melting slide solos. I tend to gravitate toward simple, melody-based things. I sat with Josh’s song for a bit until I felt I’d figured something out, recorded a handful of takes with a single Pearlman TM-250, and picked the second-last one. It wasn’t the best technical take, but it felt the most like me. Then I sent it off as a WAV file and Josh stuck it in his song.

Check it out.

I feel pretty good about that solo, I have to say. It isn’t flashy, but it works.

Elsewhere, things are getting back on track. My pseudo-vampire sleep schedule, while workable, drifted to the point that I wasn’t seeing a whole lot of daylight anymore, I didn’t have a lot of energy, and I couldn’t get much done. After not having to go a night without sleep to reboot my sleep cycle for more than a year — a pretty monumental accomplishment when I used to have to do it every few weeks — I admitted defeat and did it again. I’ve now been back on days for almost two weeks, and though readjusting to eating meals at normal times was a little strange at first, it’s nice to be reminded just how much time a proper day gives you to accomplish things.

My goal now is to pick a song every day and either evolve it in some significant way or finish it. So far, so good. Guest-related fun is starting to pick up steam again as well. Tara Watts is supposed to swing by in a little over a week to sing on something (remember her? I used to play in her band six million years ago!), and a few days after that a flautist is supposed to come over to record magic flute things.

I just might manage to reach my goal of thirty musical contributors on YEAR OF THE SLEEPWALK after all.

Boulevard of bokeh dreams.

I just bought this thing — a 50mm Canon lens that’s been nicknamed “the nifty fifty”. For a year or two I’ve been talking myself out of getting it for one reason or another. I’m not a professional photographer, I doubt I’ll ever progress far beyond “bearded hobbyist”, and I don’t need an assortment of lenses for what I do…but it doesn’t hurt to have a second option.

That inescapable thought was what swayed me in the end.

For less than $200, this lens is insane. It isn’t a Zeiss Makro Planar, but it isn’t trying to be. One thing it allows you to do is blur parts of the image that are out of focus in a way that’s really pleasing to the eye. This effect is called “bokeh”. It’s also called shallow depth of field, but I prefer the idea of someone trying to say “bouquet” and sneezing at the moment of truth. Best of all, it’s fast, so it doesn’t mind low light situations.

Though this isn’t a great picture, it’ll give you a bit of an idea. The light in this room is far from ideal. Most lenses would either refuse to take an in-focus picture or laugh at me while ejecting themselves from the camera body. The nifty fifty didn’t care. The shot is a little grainy, but it has no business looking this decent given the lighting situation. Notice how the floor beneath the snare drum isn’t just out of focus in a conventional way — it has a creamy quality to it.

Sneeze it with me now: bokeh!

I’m just starting to play around with it, but I’m not feeling any buyer’s remorse.

There’s a learning curve here. With no zoom, you’re forced to move around and really think about composition. I’m not sure how much I trust the autofocus when it comes to still images. I’m probably going to have to get more comfortable using manual focus to get the most out of this lens.

These are good things, and they’ll lead to better, more artistic pictures.

Even so, the nifty fifty has given me a new appreciation for the kit lens that came with my Canon T5i (an EFS 18-55mm zoom lens). Everyone craps all over this thing and says you can’t take good pictures with it, but for my modest purposes it’s been great. The autofocus is fast, quiet, and almost never seems to hunt. The image stabilization allows me to shoot video handheld without things getting too jerky. It isn’t amazing in low light, but it sure beats the pants off of the Pentax point-and-shoot of yore and shoots much cleaner, deeper-looking video than my Flip friends. It’s never prevented me from getting the shot I wanted, and sometimes that zoom really comes in handy.

My point is, it isn’t the glass in the lens, but the lass and her hens. Wait…that’s not right. Ask not what you can do for your camera, but what your camera would do if forced to watch Samurai Cop on an endless loop. No…that’s still not it.

Eh, you get my drift.

(Seriously, go watch some clips from Samurai Cop if you want to collapse in a bewildered fit of animal laughter. It has to be up there with The Room and Troll 2 in the pantheon of the most hilariously bad films ever made.)

The answer, my friends, is written on a cheque.

Apparently Bob Dylan accepted a big smelly bag of money so Budweiser could use “Blowin’ in the Wind” in a new commercial they debuted during the most boring Super Bowl of all time. Somewhere someone who once believed Bob was the voice of their generation is vomiting up a winter scarf.

I’ve reached a point in my life where I can understand why a young or struggling artist would allow their song to be used in a stupid commercial. If they’re offered a life-altering amount of money, they can tell themselves the payday will enable them to make the art they want to make and get it into the ears of more people. That’s not a bad thing, assuming they’re not making bad music. I’m not going to tell you I wouldn’t at least be a little tempted if a good offer came my way, and I don’t even want my music to reach a lot of ears.

With Bobby, I just don’t get it. You can’t tell me the guy needs the money. If there was any doubt, at least we now know the man doesn’t hold any of his songs sacred.

Let us remember better times.

Worse than this weirdness — far worse — is the news that Disney is releasing a live action remake of Aladdin. Are they really that bereft of ideas? In the right hands it might not have been horrible. Guy Ritchie does not have those hands. His hands are wrong. Very wrong.

From what I can tell, he handed CGI duties over to a blind mouse with a drinking problem. A lot of what’s in the trailer looks less realistic than the animated film did. Hell, this looks more true-to-life than some of the backgrounds in the new movie:

Will Smith is playing the Genie. Nothing against Will, but his character looks like the most hilariously half-assed green screen creation in the history of film. Think “The Fresh Prince in blueface with the body of a random beer-swilling amateur wrestler Photoshopped beneath his head” and you’re most of the way there.

Enough about that.

My grant proposal went off into cyberspace about two weeks ago. It’s in the hands of four strangers now. I should get an answer in a month or two. Fingers, toes, and earlobes crossed.

WHAT WE LOST IN THE FLOOD has finally slipped off of the CJAM charts after nine weeks straight in the top thirty. That has to be a new record for me. I have no idea who was giving it airplay for such an insane length of time, but I bow before them in gratitude.

I’d like to be able to tell you I’ve been recording up a storm since my last post. That would be a lie. It’s been slow going so far in 2019.

I got my little replacement effects-generating red kidney, the piano was tuned for the fifty-third time, I was all set to get back down to business, and then I got sick. Again. At least this time it wasn’t so bad (I started eating zinc and vitamin D the second I knew something was coming, which seemed to cut my usual symptoms in half), but I still lost some time when I don’t have a wealth of it left to work with.

Motivation has been a problem. Even now that I’m not trembling beneath the covers with an upset stomach and angry elbows, it continues to be a problem. But you know what hasn’t been a problem? Writing songs.

The well kind of ran dry for a little bit. Well, that’s not quite right. It only felt like it did. See, I’m used to writing all the time. Musical ideas show up on a daily basis, pretty much, even when I’m asleep. Some of them turn into songs. Some don’t. And then the words show up when they feel like showing up.

For a while nothing much was showing up at all. I didn’t sit down and try to force it. I don’t work that way. Nothing good has ever happened when I’ve tried. It just wasn’t happening, and there wasn’t much I could do about it.

I started to think it was my first real brush with writer’s block. Then I looked at how much writing I was doing in the run-up to the supposed dry spell.

I started writing for YEAR OF THE SLEEPWALK in March of 2014. Not counting the latest batch of songs, and not taking into account any of the sketches that haven’t yet been fully fleshed-out, in that time I’ve written six songs with Adam (Mr. Shimmer Demolition himself), eleven with Steven, twenty-eight with Gord, and two hundred and thirty-six on my own. A dozen of those two hundred and thirty-six songs were meant for either AFTERTHOUGHTS or FLOOD. The rest were written specifically with SLEEPWALK in mind, even if a few ended up on STEW and a few more ended up on FLOOD because they made sense there.

Two hundred and twenty-four songs written by one person for one album might not seem like a whole lot when it’s spread out over a period of five years. That only averages out to forty-five songs a year. But consider: about a hundred of those songs were written in the last ten months of 2014, and the vast majority of the rest were written in 2015 and 2016. Things slowed down a lot after that. I wouldn’t be surprised if I only finished a dozen new songs last year. By my standards, that’s downright anemic.

What happened was, I went on a real tear for a while there. The sketches and undeveloped ideas from 2014 to 2016 might even outnumber the finished songs. I’ve been pretty prolific for a pretty long time, even if I haven’t released a lot of albums in recent years, but I don’t think I’ve written with a sustained fury like that since I was in high school and had to resort to writing lyrics in the middle of most of my classes to save my brain from atrophy.

When I look at the bigger picture, it makes sense that things would taper off at some point. You can’t keep writing like that without your brain exploding. And I think on some subconscious level the songwriting part of my mind probably said, “Maybe it’s time to take a bit of a break. You’ve got some serious catching up to do in the recording department.”

Still, going too long without writing has never been good for me.

Just as I was starting to get worried, I picked up a guitar and a new song happened. Then I sat down at the piano and wrote another one. And another one. And it snowballed from there. In the past week I’ve written eight new songs. Three of them still need some more words, but other than that they’re done.

There was no feeling of a switch being flicked. Songs just started coming again. You know what they say: visions come to prepared spirits.

I’m not sure how many of these most recent songs will end up on the album. I think at least a few of them are worth tackling. I’ve already recorded piano and a vocal track for one of them.

Baby steps.

It’s a brand new ear.

I swear these years keep going by faster all the time. It’s getting a little unnerving.

2018 was not as productive as I hoped it would be. That’s been a recurring theme in recent years. It was a definite step in the right direction, though. Jess’s album was released. Ron’s album hit the finish line and will hopefully see the light of day early in 2019. And I was able to finish one of the two major albums I’ve been working on while putting a decent dent in the other.

As a rule I don’t have many feelings about a year one way or another when it’s brand new. It’s up to the year to show me what it’s going to be. But I’ve got a sneaky feeling this one might be pretty good.

(That probably means we’re all doomed.)

If nothing else, 2019 is going to be the year of YEAR OF THE SLEEPWALK. It’s not a choice anymore. I need to get that album done before it gets too big for me and starts thinking it can boss me around and stay out all night without calling.

One reason for serious celebration — this year we’re getting the Deadwood movie we were supposed to get more than a decade ago. I didn’t think it would ever happen.

It’s really happening. Really. For real.

Of course, you can’t have pancakes without a little mediocre cocaine. We’re also getting a live action Cowboy Bebop series, whether we want it or not.

You’d think writers and producers who have such defective, corroded fucking brains they’re rendered incapable of generating any ideas of their own would have changed career paths by now, opting for something more suited to their abilities — landfill-licking, or drinking hair growth serum, or the like. But no. Steadfast in their idiocy, they go on remaking and rebooting existing films and television shows with diminishing fucking returns, as if someday, if they recycle the right thing the right way, they might manage to produce through sheer luck something other than a piece of shit.

(Spoiler alert: this lazy, cynical, money-before-brains way of working will always produce a piece of shit. Also, the above paragraph was my poor man’s attempt at emulating something approaching Deadwood’s unique marriage of eloquence and profanity. Couldn’t resist.)

Anyway. I hope you did something fun to ring in the New Year. Me, I switched back to my old shampoo. And if that doesn’t set the tone for the excitement of the year ahead, I don’t know what will.

Mailtastic.

Good news, at least for me — things are more or less back to normal at Canada Post. I was able to send out a bunch of CDs today. They should show up right around Christmas. Spending $50 through UPS or Purolator to send an album to a single person in Ontario wasn’t going to cut it. I’ve still got a few more packages to put together, and then I should have everyone who’s on the most recent version of the “mailing list” taken care of.

WHAT WE LOST IN THE FLOOD is at #2 on the CJAM charts this week, sandwiched between Parquet Courts and local band Huttch.

Sometimes I think if I sent CDs to a handful of other campus radio stations in Canada, and I got a decent amount of airplay outside of Windsor, I’d stand a chance at placing pretty high on the national charts. The airplay from CJAM alone has been enough to get a few albums up around the #100 mark over the years, so it doesn’t seem like much of a stretch to assume a bit of airplay from other stations would lead to a better showing there. The idea of some hip indie band looking at the charts and seeing they’ve been bested by an obscure artist no one has ever heard of…that’s some funny business.

Then I think about how much work would be involved in scoping out all those other radio stations, getting a feel for their programming, and finding the DJs most likely to be receptive to what I do (because the whole “send an album and a one-sheet to the station manager” approach is too impersonal for my taste, and the concept of a one-sheet has always been depressing to me).

Yeah. I think I’ll leave things the way they are, notwithstanding a package that’s going out to a nice fella in Michigan who requested some music to play on his radio show. It’s time-consuming enough just putting together half a dozen packages to send to friends. At least when I do that I know I’m going to get something back — a message of thanks, or sometimes an actual conversation. Besides, I’ve always kind of liked the idea of CJAM being the only station on the planet that knows I exist.

With a red light of triumph in his eyes.

Happy Halloween from a much younger vampiric version of me.

Here’s some spooky news: only one song on WHAT WE LOST IN THE FLOOD still needs a bit of work. Aside from that, all I need to do is tidy up some mixes and make sure the track list I’ve sussed out works as well on CD as it does on paper. Then she’s done and ready to be packaged. The album page is a bit of a work in progress right now, but I’m impatient and didn’t want to wait to put something up on the blog’s sidebar until the official release date. A lengthy blog post detailing everything you never wanted to know about the making of the album and the secret messages embedded in all of its songs should be along soon.

The plan was to try and get both FLOOD and YEAR OF THE SLEEPWALK finished before the year’s end. It’s going to be quite the herculean feat if I can pull that off now. This has been a year of two brutal upper respiratory tract infections, each of them robbing me of the ability to do any serious recording for at least a month. If not for the second one, FLOOD would have managed to sneak out into the world sometime in September. Instead, thanks to germs and bronchitis, it’s only wrapping up now.

Assuming I find a way to avoid getting sick again as the colder weather makes its move, there are about sixty days left in 2018. Even if I make use of every one of them, there’s a good chance I’ll come up short.

I think I can get SLEEPWALK most of the way there. I’m going to give it my best shot, anyway. An early 2019 release is nothing to be ashamed of, but I have to say I’m a little disappointed to be looking at that as the most realistic outcome. I’ve always been a big fan of the old one-two punch. A right cross isn’t going to have quite the same impact if it’s following a jab that was thrown last year.

Even at my least inspired, if you told me there would someday be this wide of a gap between solo albums, I would have laughed and said, “Not on your life.”

Of course, there’s no way I could have known I’d find myself making an album involving forty different contributors. I couldn’t have predicted that I’d end up recording so many albums for other people (seven albums in four years may not seem like a lot, but I ended up playing most of the instruments on half of them, and it’s a lot of work taking on the role of both “arranger” and “one-man band of session musicians” when you’re also recording, mixing, and mastering the stuff). And there’s no way I thought I would still be giving occasional baths with the garden hose to an elephant in the room named THE ANGLE OF BEST DISTANCE twelve years after I first started putting it together in my head.

I’m confident the finished albums will justify their long gestation periods, assuming you’ve got the stamina and interest to sit through them. But man, am I looking forward to having something resembling a clean slate when they’re done.

You don’t guard my picks anymore.

Remember this guitar? It just got a slight facelift.

It’s been more than a year since Gord dumped it on me in a near-unplayable state like a pet he didn’t want anymore. He’s never asked for it back, though if he knew I put some work into bringing it back to life I imagine he’d be glad to take it off my hands.

That’s not happening. I consider it my guitar now. If nothing else, I look at it as partial compensation for all the times I had to pay for album-related things without any help from him.

After cleaning it up and making it as comfortable to play as possible, there was one thing still bugging me. It was that pickguard. It looked tacky, and even a generous helping of Gorilla Tape wouldn’t get it to stay put. It kept sticking its goofy face out no matter how many times I pushed it back into place.

Johnny Smith suggested scrubbing off the ugly residue the old pickguard’s glue left behind with sandpaper and putting a new ‘guard on. I asked a luthier about making me a custom pickguard. He quoted me a price of $200.

$200 for a strip of material that’s worth about as much as a bag of chips and ten minutes of work to cut and glue it. I don’t think so.

I found a nice sheet of tortoiseshell online for less than a tenth of that price. It was a glorified sticker, but to the eyes and fingers it would look and feel the same as any other pickguard. When even the coarsest sandpaper was having trouble with the stubborn glue residue and starting to take some of the finish off, we decided to go ahead with cutting the tortoiseshell adhesive to shape. Easier to cover up the mess if it was that reluctant to leave.

First we traced the shape of the tacky old pickguard onto a thin piece of cardboard that came with a calendar. I don’t know why I was hanging onto it, but it sure came in handy here. After cutting it, we used the cardboard stand-in as a guide for how to cut the new pickguard. The full sheet was a little bit too small for this Hummingbird-style design, so the very top doesn’t quite touch the side of the fretboard the way it’s supposed to. You only notice if you take a close look, and it doesn’t bother me. It gives a guitar that was already imperfect more character.

This isn’t the best picture. It was tough finding good light at this time of night. But I think you’ll agree this funky axe is a lot prettier now. The old pickguard looked like something someone designed while they were high on Windex. It didn’t fit. This one makes a lot more aesthetic sense, playing off of the sunburst finish in a nice way. And it sits flat! Oh joy of joys!

Unrelated but worth a mention — the other day there was a nice little capsule review over on the Ride the Tempo blog for Jess’s song “This Body” (off of QUIET BEASTS). The guy who wrote it has written flattering words about almost every single thing I’ve recorded and produced for other artists over the last few years, and yet he seems determined to ignore my own music until the end of time.

I once sent him a Facebook message thanking him (he complimented my lap steel playing on “Howler”, after all) and offering to send him some CDs in the mail. It wasn’t about trying to drum up any attention for myself or hoping he might write something about me. My only agenda was thinking he might have some interest in hearing the solo work of the person who recorded all those albums he seemed to be a fan of. It was an attempt at expressing gratitude through sharing some music he otherwise never would have known existed. I asked for his address and included links to a handful of songs so he’d have something to listen to in the meantime.

He sent a terse reply saying he’d listen and write a proper response soon. That was in May of 2016. I think it’s safe to say “soon” is never going to come.

I’m not miffed about this. I think it’s a fun little running joke. I expect him to write something about Ron’s album when it hits Bandcamp while continuing to disregard me as a musical force in my own right. Gotta keep the streak going.

In sickness and in stealth.

There’s a good chance the Papa Ghostface album I’ve been working on would be finished by now if not for this one thing: I got hit with a stupid cold/sinus infection. Again. It must be about the tenth time it’s happened in the history of this blog just as I’ve been gearing up to finish something.

I thought the ridiculously clingy cold I got at the beginning of the year — one of the worst I’ve ever had — would satisfy the Germ Gods and they’d leave me alone for at least a year or two. I guess I was wrong about that. I almost never get sick twice in the same orbital cycle. 2018 must be my lucky year.

It’s the same thing every time. One day I wake up with a raw throat no amount of water will soothe. That’s the tipoff. I know the next day I wake up I’m going to feel like hot garbage. I always hope the garbage won’t move up into my head so I can at least work on mixing things even if I can’t sing for a while. That hope is always in vain.

This time there were a few new wrinkles. A good chunk of my vocal range disappeared for a while. I’m used to sounding like a bullfrog for a few days when the cold first comes on, but once that passes I usually have access to just about my full normal range, no matter how congested I am or how much I’m coughing. I’ve written a lot of songs over the years when I’ve been sick and made rough recordings to preserve vocal melodies and the like. That wasn’t happening this time. For a while there I sounded like someone who was paying the price for spending the better part of a day screaming at a protest without a megaphone.

It was a little disconcerting. I’m not used to my voice being just about gone and not knowing when it’s going to come back.

To my great relief, it was a temporary thing, and now my voice is back to its old spry self. But I’m past the two week mark now, and still coughing. I don’t know if my immune system has decided to start slacking off, or if whatever bugs have been floating around over the last year or so have been stronger than usual, or what. I’m just frustrated to have lost a good chunk of recording time.

Even my ears haven’t behaved the way they normally do. Instead of everything getting muffled for a while in both ears, only the left one was affected by the congestion. It wasn’t even that awful. Things were just off enough to make listening to anything on headphones more maddening than enjoyable, because the stereo balance was never quite right.

I seem to have turned the corner at last. The cough is finally starting to lose some of its authority, and the other day I contorted my jaw in a strange way while brushing my teeth and the normal range of hearing in my left ear returned in an instant. At least I can get back to work on mixing songs that need some work in that department, even if any amount of serious singing is still probably a recipe for a coughing fit.

I know I’m lucky in the grand scheme of things. Aside from the occasional stupid cold like this that takes its sweet time going away, I have no health issues to speak of. A lot of people have it much worse. It’s just a pain in the ass when you’re this close to finishing something and some bug comes along and says, “Nope. This is as far as you go for now. Have fun waking up tomorrow with the pain from your throat radiating into your ears with such force that you feel like your head is a demonic furnace. Enjoy being a baritone for a while.”

I always mean to take advantage of the downtime when I’m sick by getting back into a good reading rhythm, unplugging the laptop and digging into some of the books I’ve got piled up around here. In January I set a goal on Goodreads for how many books I wanted to read this year. I’m twenty-five books behind schedule right now.

I made no progress at all on that front. But I did gorge myself on Cyanide & Happiness animated shorts. So it wasn’t a total loss.

I also discovered my new favourite comedian: Joe Pera.

I have no idea if his deliberate way of speaking is his actual voice or just a persona he puts on. It doesn’t matter. At a time when most comedians feel a need to scream at you about their sex lives or some narrow-minded take on the politics of relationships, Joe whispers soft truths and gently skewed observations. It’s the sort of stuff you chuckle about under your breath instead of busting a gut over. I like profanity and insanity as much as the next person, but it’s kind of wonderful to come across someone whose brand of comedy is so…wholesome.

Current favourite blues song:

Current favourite non-blues song:

I’ll try to put up an out-take from the PG album or some such thing sometime soon. Gotta get things back on track, even if I’m still coughing and cantankerous.

I know when to go out. I know when to stay in. To get things done.

So said David Bowie. And while I don’t claim to possess his powers of knowing what to do and when, I do seem to have rediscovered my ability to get things done.

All of the sudden, fourteen songs slated for inclusion on the PG album are either CD-ready or the mixes just need a few adjustments. That leaves six or eight more songs to work on, depending on what I decide to do with the two I’m starting to feel iffy about.

Trying to guess at a release date is always a good way to jinx myself, so I won’t do that. I will say this: the finish line just got a whole lot closer. It’s a good feeling.

On the subject of things that aren’t too far away from being released, Ron snuck a song off of his forthcoming album onto his website. You can head over HERE if you’d like, scroll down a little bit, and click on “Sweet Solitude” to get a sneak peak at what’s around the corner.

What else is new? I keep feeling a strange urge to start an Instagram as an excuse to motivate myself to take more pictures, and to have a place to put some of the images I can’t share here unless I want to turn this into a glorified photoblog. The trouble is, Instagram is owned by Facebook, Facebook has some pretty troubling ideas about who owns your intellectual property, and it can lead to people like this giant dildo who calls himself an “artist” profiting off of your work without permission or ascription.

I realize it’s unlikely anyone would ever want to steal one of my pictures. I’m not a professional photographer. Then again, someone once stole the cover art for one of my albums that didn’t even feature proper cover art. I’ve learned if it isn’t nailed down some lazy person is bound to convince someone else to pick it up for them only to rip it out of their arms and say, “Mine!”

Maybe it’s best not to go down that road.