Sunday I installed the new version of iTunes - usually I'm pretty lax about my updates but iTunes was giving me weird errors so I thought it would help. With the new install, came "Genius," a nifty little side bar for iTunes that recommends music or creates playlists based on a selected song.
I decided to try it out and see what it would say. To be honest, I was wary. I selected my favorite Buddy Holly song - (I don't care) Baby you're so square (which, by the way, Joni Mitchell covers - how wierd is that?). Genius created a playlist which I have yet to listen to - it was an interesting mix of old rock n roll and punk which, for me, is an excellent sign and Genius recommended a few Buddy Holly songs I didn't own.
So I begin trying this for various other artists, styles, etc. At some point, I click on The Cramps ... and what? iTunes now carries two albums - A Date with Elvis and Stay Sick - that I have had on backorder from Amazon fo-ever! Amazing!
I kept looking and end up on Face to Face. What awesomeness does iTunes recommend?? An EP called So Why Aren't You Happy? that came out with Ignorance is Bliss and was only available from Best Buy!
Dear iTunes - I love you. I know you didn't carry all this stuff before because I've searched for The Cramps album but now that you do, I am forever grateful.
On iTunes:
The Cramps - A Date with Elvis
The Cramps - Stay Sick
Face to Face - So Why Aren't You Happy? EP
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
The New Mission - How To Be A Rock Star
I've been thinking of changing the "mission" of this blog. It's not that I won't or don't enjoy posting cd/band/concert reviews and writing about other people's music; it's more that I think I need an outlet for my own process of doing music - my own frustrations really. In jest - seriously - I'm calling it "How To Be A Rock Star." At the moment I actually find that really unfunny ...
When I came to New York 2 years ago, I felt ready. Ready to pursue music for real - not quit my job, starving artist - but pursue it with a responsible gusto. You know, practice once a week, play shows, record. I felt like it was my time - a new beginning - time to do the stuff I wanted to do.
Here I am 2 years later. On the surface, I'm in exactly the same place I was. Only playing for myself; dreaming of something more; lowering my expectations to desperately attempt to accomplish something, anything. It's true that I do practice with a "band" but despite an attempt in the last year to push things into gear, I seem to have hit a plateau. I know what I need to do and I know that it means starting over on some level. While I know deep down this is the right thing to do - getting rid of dead weight will keep me from drowning - it's depressing. It's depressing to feel like you've put a lot of work into something and have nothing to show for it; no sense of accomplishment; nothing but shame when people ask you about it.
Perhaps that's melodramatic. I guess it is. I think this feeling is so raw and poignant for me because it's a feeling I lived with for most of adolescent life ... and we all know how hard those hang-ups can be to get over. I will say this - that connection between my past feelings and my present - is somewhat comforting; it somehow lessens the blow.
To be fair - to myself at least - I have learned many things in the last two years. My voice has begun to bloom and I will actually sing in front of people. I have improved my songwriting and am able to write not just in inspiring flashes but when I need or want to. I've become more comfortable with guitar and with playing with others. I've gained confidence in my own abilities and my own vision. That's a lot.
But what's missing - what, it seems, is always missing from my life - is other people. People who can share my vision and level of commitment. I have sometimes flirted with the idea of being a solo singer songwriter and it always feel like such a cop-out. I want a band! I want to rock! The truth is the community, family aspect of punk has always appealed to me in a 'something i want but don't have' kind of way.' I wish I could say, truthfully, 12 or so years after I discovered The Descendants, that I had that. I wish I could say it, but I can't.
When I came to New York 2 years ago, I felt ready. Ready to pursue music for real - not quit my job, starving artist - but pursue it with a responsible gusto. You know, practice once a week, play shows, record. I felt like it was my time - a new beginning - time to do the stuff I wanted to do.
Here I am 2 years later. On the surface, I'm in exactly the same place I was. Only playing for myself; dreaming of something more; lowering my expectations to desperately attempt to accomplish something, anything. It's true that I do practice with a "band" but despite an attempt in the last year to push things into gear, I seem to have hit a plateau. I know what I need to do and I know that it means starting over on some level. While I know deep down this is the right thing to do - getting rid of dead weight will keep me from drowning - it's depressing. It's depressing to feel like you've put a lot of work into something and have nothing to show for it; no sense of accomplishment; nothing but shame when people ask you about it.
Perhaps that's melodramatic. I guess it is. I think this feeling is so raw and poignant for me because it's a feeling I lived with for most of adolescent life ... and we all know how hard those hang-ups can be to get over. I will say this - that connection between my past feelings and my present - is somewhat comforting; it somehow lessens the blow.
To be fair - to myself at least - I have learned many things in the last two years. My voice has begun to bloom and I will actually sing in front of people. I have improved my songwriting and am able to write not just in inspiring flashes but when I need or want to. I've become more comfortable with guitar and with playing with others. I've gained confidence in my own abilities and my own vision. That's a lot.
But what's missing - what, it seems, is always missing from my life - is other people. People who can share my vision and level of commitment. I have sometimes flirted with the idea of being a solo singer songwriter and it always feel like such a cop-out. I want a band! I want to rock! The truth is the community, family aspect of punk has always appealed to me in a 'something i want but don't have' kind of way.' I wish I could say, truthfully, 12 or so years after I discovered The Descendants, that I had that. I wish I could say it, but I can't.
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