Tuesday, March 15, 2011

That's the Sound of the Saints...

I have sang in a few bands.  Worked at a few record stores.  Meaning my music preferences are more based on emotion than technical mastery.  That being said, while I may not be able to intelligently discuss the best solos of the century, I can converse with anyone on music.  And I have.

There has never been and will never be anything more bizarre; equal parts doubt, exileration, anticipation and fear, than performing live.  I have been awfully good and equally tragic.  I have never owned the stage.

I was asked the the other day about why I was not doing anything music wise.  I have been asked that somewhat often in recent years.  I take it as a compliment.  If I truly sucked, I like to think no one would question why I am not pursuing music actively now.

It is difficult to be a singer (with limited musical talent).  Excuse me, a vocalist.  I have hit notes, and devised melodies.  I plan on having my buddy Jason string my acoustic guitar (I really am a novice).  No doubt I will write the same song I have written over and over again since I was sixteen.

My last band The Bullitts actually used that bit, or the chord progression.  Andy Dahill, took it and made it a true song.  I excited that it was a small musical contribution.  And it was a tune called "Killer," which I wrote about Arthur Kane of the New York Dolls (R.I.P.).  Lyrics that were not incredibly impressive but that I am still proud of.

I turn 30 in a month.  I have time to get up and perform again of course. 

I have recently realized how deeply music undercuts my every day life.  How I say hello.  My stride walking the streets.  The way I contemplate my future, and even more exhaustively, my past.

"So Killer, you will never get, never ever gonna get your due fame,
 But Killer, we will never look, we will never look at the world the same."

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