Brilliance

Posting yesterday slipped my mind on account of the Tennessee Titans’ miraculous throttling of the Baltimore Ravens, but I’m back and in it to win it. 

So, “wake up with the sun,” the new Climb The Sky single, out 1/17.

If you followed my short-lived weekly song project, you’d have endured a profoundly mediocre incarnation of this song, performed by an ass in a red fedora. Oh, life.

Version 2.0 is, well, better. We kept my original verses and choruses, but the fleet-of-fingy bridge - the coolest part of the song - is Gid’s. The arrangement is also all Klein bros (Gabe, it turns out, is a gifted accordionist, because that’s a thing that people are). 

“wake up” is our first truly collaborative effort. I realized that if this band was going to get off the ground, I needed to invite Gid and Gabe into my world and trust them to be brilliant.

Neil Peart

Neil Peart, drum-nerd messiah, underrated lyricist, and one third of the greatest Canadien rock band of all time, passed away a few days ago. 

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before, but Neil was the primary influence behind this newsletter. The dude’s written, what, eleven books? At least that many. And they’re good. Confident, nourishing prose, disconcertingly candid observations about life “in the guilded cage.” For a musician seeking to dip his toes into the waters of the written word, there’re few better examples. 

And I connected with Neil in other ways. He was an avid reader and indulger in the arcane. He spoke like an anthropomorphized tweed jacket, coming across, unintentionally but not surprisingly, as aloof. He was nerdy and prickly and tricky to categorize, while being undeniably badass.

Rest in peace, Neil Peart. I’m glad you’re no longer in pain. You inspire me in so many ways. Thank you. 

Wake Up...

…With The Sun, the upcoming Climb The Sky single, is out next Friday.

I’m very happy with and proud of it.

Over the coming days, I’ll be sharing how the tune came together, but for now here’re the lyrics:

wake up with the sun

fall asleep with strangers

there is sickness in the noise

better get to know your neighbors

I have been lost

aim and take my shot

you gotta get in to get out again

a window to the street

morning agony unspoken

we all have trophies on our feet

from a fate defined consolation

I have been lost

aim and take my shot

you gotta get in to get out again

so wake up with the sun

I swear you are not in any danger

Be Kind

It’s easy feeling ignored in this business, but it’s seldom personal.

Take, for example, the state of my inbox. 

Now, you could say “oh that’s not so bad, you should see MINE” or “wow, you suck at correspondence,” both of which prove my point, which is, for all intents and purposes, I’m Schmucko the Clown compared to those with genuine recognizability and clout in this dog-eat-anything business, and I, woefully anonymous and lacking sexual magnetism, have unread messages in the thousands. 

So yes, the music director or A&R person you’re trying to hunt down is inundated. But that doesn’t mean they don’t want to hear from you.

We all have unique talking monkey problems. Be patient, be respectful, and be kind.

Adjustments.jpeg

Simoleons

You’d be amazed how many successful, recognizable artists live hand-to-mouth.

Touring overhead’s high, management and label cuts are significant, and generally the biz of show doesn’t pay quite what you think.

Spotify etc is wonderful, but we’re talking about streams in the millions before there’s enough money, say, to knock out a car payment. 

If you’d like to put hard-earned simoleons directly in your favorite artist’s pocket, consider paying to see a live show, splurging on the VIP package, buying vinyl or a t-shirt directly from the artist, or supporting via artist-friendly sites like Bandcamp.

We love you and we thank you.

Just Music

I’m writing this in the trusty ol’ Red Bicycle, prepping Climb The Sky’s upcoming single release, Wake Up With The Sun, along with re-releasing our other singles with new artwork, etc. 

A turning point in my enjoying starting a new band’s been embracing that I have no idea what I’m doing.

Already, I’ve made bush league mistake after blundering, head scratching error, flailing inelegantly in a universe that teenagers have mastered, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a tiny bit embarrassing.

But there’s something about jumping head first into a thing, with zero prep and negligible commonsense, and wouldn’t you know it, I’m learning stuff, and learning stuff quickly, and no one, to my knowledge, has died, or even been critically injured. 

I’ve made music my livelihood, but it is, at the end of the day, just music, and sometimes I need to remind myself of that.

“Too Busy”

It’s time to call out “I’m too busy” for being the lazy, nonsense response that it is.

You may, in fact, be busy, maybe even very busy, but we all bend over backwards to make shit happen provided we give a shit about said shit. No one’s ever “too busy.”

Better wording might be “given everything that’s on my plate right now, this isn’t something I can take on.”

The answer’s ultimately the same - no - but feels less like a brush off.

Havok

I acknowledge I may be losing a fair number of you with my unapologetic love of metal and its glorious and macabre sub genres, but Havok is one of the best contemporary thrash metal bands in the game, and the record below makes me very happy.

Try cooking eggs to this sonofabitch in the morning - you won’t give a rat’s ass that the curds in your French omelette are too large.

Adjustments.jpeg

Devin Townsend

Taking a short break from playfully satanic, here’s some happy, dare I say uplifting metal courtesy of Devin Townsend, probably the best singer in the genre and I’d argue one of the best singers anywhere.

This performance of “Kingdom” by the Devin Townsend Project’s been making the rounds for a while - it’s flabbergasting in the kind of way that does your heart good.

Have a watch/listen.

And vocal instructors reacting to this video’s a low-key wonderful YouTube rabbit hole.

Goals

I’m not against setting goals by any means, but which type of goal is important.

‘Tis the season, for example, to finally, FINALLY whip some tunes together and record that EP, and do it by April goddammit. And you do it, and it’s great, and you check it off your list and move on.

But what if the goal’s simply to write music every day? You write write write, and when it’s time to make that EP, turns out you have enough material for a full-length, along with the first act of a musical. 

Results-based goals are fine, but by changing our behavior, our identity, we’re capable of so much more. 

Thank You

Artists, thank you. The world needs good art, and that ours is in it means we’re coaxing the paradigm forward, doing the personal work most are afraid of.

To patrons of the arts, thank you. There are so many of you, stalwart and discerning, listening with hearts and minds wide open.

We’re in this together, putting in the work, unglamorous though it may be, one day at a time. 

Optimism

I’m optimistic about the new year, a sentiment for which I’m equal parts unideal and unwelcome messanger, given I have the easiest life imaginable.

The alternative is pessimism - before you know it, you’re a braying anachronism.

So I choose optimism, as the antidote to complacency, and, frankly, it’s about goddamn time.

The Prize

It’s surprisingly difficult writing a daily email newsletter while on vacation. 

The idea, generally, is jotting down maybe five shareable thoughts throughout the day and picking the least asinine to embellish into a post. 

My five shareable thoughts while making records or on tour or punching underwater through the music biz are, I suppose, a peak behind the curtain, and presumably therefore interesting. 

At the moment, pressing matters include whether or not to tan my asscheeks. My eye’s not really on the prize here.

So, I’ll humbly suggest you check out my friend Claire Saint’s debut record. The Klein brothers (of Climb The Sky fame) produced it and did a fantastic job. 

Adjustments.jpeg

Mummy Dust

The last week of the year is quiet, which leaves time for new plans, new learning, and new opportunities. 

Or, you can lose yourself in Nosferatu-approved post-thrash metal epics about mummy dust.

Thankfully, none of you subscribe to this thing expecting revelatory monologue. In fact, it’s a point of pride that, within the first few months of the MoaT’s existence, every “recognizable music entity dot com” person, realizing this really is just some dingus sharing a meandering thought or two every day and not Answers to the Test, brusquely unsubscribed. 

I’m watching palm trees sway gently in the breeze while listening to the occult evangelized in four-part harmony. It brings me joy. I hope you find yourself in a similar-yet-different place. 

Adjustments.jpeg

Post-Boxing Day Thoughts

Back in 2011, I started sitting in at the Sea Monster Lounge with the guys who’d become the first incarnation of the Allen Stone Electric Ensemble. 

I didn’t have a lot going on. My rock band had broken up, and I’d half-heartedly released a few solo tunes, knowing I didn’t possess the emotional wherewithal to do much with them.

When the chance to sub for my buddy RL Heyer on Sunday nights came up, I suppose I was too indifferent about music at the time to say no. So I said yes. The rest, as they say, is ludicrously improbable and suspect history.

Back in 2011, I decided to take a leap of faith with Al and the guys, not because I thought it would last (precious little does in this business) or that it made sense (the organization at the time embraced what could be politely described as an “improvisational flair”), but because I knew that in restraint lurks the shadow of doubt that prevents me from changing my life.

Time

I’m an ambitious person, and there’s a tendency to want to squeeze every ounce of utility out of the day, which is, on the one hand, admirable. On the other, the one with its middle finger extended, it’s self-sabotaging and, infinitely worse, boring.

I’ve never had a great idea while ostensibly crushing the game. Not one. Lounging in condiment-stained underpants, building teetering shrines to underachievement out of Oreos? Dozens. Hundreds. Millions.

So, what about fun? What about meh? Both are perfectly wonderful states of being, revealing the little gems of quotidian human existence that make our fleeting time on this spinning orb worth while.