Bought a pair of glasses at Sol Moscot.
I dig ‘em. Big round and groovy. Good glasses are like eye makeup. I have little tiny faux-Asian eyes, I like how specs accentuate them.
I was a non-specs guy when Soul Coughing was just playing clubs, and then I got this pair I liked, and by the time we were taking photos for the CD jacket, I was wearing them constantly. Mistake. When the record came out, every other word you read was geek, geek, geek, nerd, geek.
I guess the sexy geek paradigm is big with some, but the word chafes me.
More so than my other categorical bete noire, “beat poet.”
A guy I met sitting on a ridge overlooking Asmara, who told me about being troubled by voices in his head. “They don’t want me to do my life.”
Despite the tale of mental illness, he’s a very elegant guy, in a very Eritrean way.
A few days at “Knapsack” Pete McNeal’s house.
Pete and I are here, at his little house in West Los Angeles, going through a batch of new tunes. The idea is to hard-wire the songs to the beats–I’m looking to overhaul my approach to guitar–having for years been an entire band as a mere guitarist, the Haughty tunes were a situation where every instrument had to come to the guitar part. I want to shake this up.
Pleasant here of course. I have difficulties with Los Angeles. Mostly the light, intensified through the lens of the pollution. My friend Tina Fallon descrbed it as “Boring, in both senses of the word.” It’s true. Sometimes I feel like I’ve gotten a beatdown from the harsh whiteness of it.
But the music is coming together. I’m toying with the idea of getting a guitar player. Guitar players are difficult, sonically, for me. Many of them are too locked into genres, even those who can switch effortlessly between genres, and a lot of the cats with true style have trouble being in an ensemble. What I want is a guy who sounds like ME, except REALLY GOOD.
We ate at Chuck’s house in North Hollywood. News: Chuck is a GREAT COOK. I had no idea. Oh my God, a culinary beatdown. Best ribs I’ve ever eaten in my life. And he made a cheesecake. I’ve lived in New York since the 80s, and yet, no empty hyperbole, this was one of the best slices of cheesecake I’ve ever had. It was like, the ribs were astonishing, but the cheesecake, well, now you’re just fucking with me.
It’s snowing like hell in New York. Big flakes! I love the big flakes.
The TV keeps flashing a list of the biggest blizzards in New York history, and one date sticks out for me: January 8, 1996. I remember the day because I left Brooklyn to go and buy my first Magnetic Fields and Elliott Smith CDs. I saw them both, amazingly on the same bill, at a tiny club a few days beforehand. So January 8, 1996 is pretty much the day my music took a sharp left turn towards Skittish.
It was so lovely. The East Village was so white, and silent–you could hear another guy trudging in the snow two blocks away.
Apparently the reason everybody’s telling me that Sufjan Stevens is awesome is because Sufjan Stevens is awesome.
Pete McNeal is now “Knapsack” Pete McNeal.
Chuck is now The Legend.
I’m blogging on a cruise ship in the middle of the sea; nothing but water for miles.
We’re doing the Dave-Matthews-and-friends cruise; a bunch of bands, G. Love, Ozomatli, N. Miss Allstars, Lucas from Blue Merle, Soulive, Bob Weir, and others, played on boats that sailed to the Bahamas, where Dave played a gig.
Sadly the weather was hideous–rain for three straight days, then a horrible storm during Dave’s set. Rain so hard it actually hurt. Dave saved the day by coming on each of the boats and doing acoustic sets.
Our sets were really fun, raw and good, with hardcore fans carousing and dancing in this weird on-ship nightclub with kind of a disco 80s vibe. (The decor on the boat is really surreal and astonishing)
Scrap met Trey. Scrap loves Trey. Scrap is beaming.
We woke up this morning and found ourselves in the middle of the ocean. Which was surprising because we were supposed to dock at an island and hang out on a beach. It was rainy on the island, so they just decided to drive the boat around aimlessly in non-rainy seas.
We dock in Miami tomorrow; we have 8 hours ’til our flights home, so Chuck’s gonna rent a minivan, and we’ll all tool around South Beach, look at the pretty people on rollerblades, and resolve to get lipsuction.