We spent the weekend putting finishing touches on our June 1st release and beginning the song you will meet for yourself in July. I had the pleasure of playing a fantastic Baldwin baby grand, thanks to our friends Katie and Martin. This particular piano was perfectly in tune and with an action that I would describe as primly starched collar yet surprisingly easy going, which wasn’t a problem, until we attempted to execute a glissando.

The middle 2 1/2 octaves simply refused to yield to any sideways pressure on the keys.

If you have a piano and a friend at your disposal, you can perform the following exercise to feel as if you were there with us on Friday night: begin at the high end of the keyboard and glissando to the E which is a tenth above middle C. When you reach that E, have your friend depress firmly the sides of your head with the lower part of his palms, at the middle of your skull, to disable your hearing. Meanwhile, you remain glissandoing until the B two octaves below middle C, at which point your friend releases your ears and you continue to ravage your finger down to the very last note on the keyboard. Neat, huh? Anyone who sends footage of themselves performing this act of solidarity with the Good Night, States keyboarding department will certainly receive some great door prize. For example, the piano currently in our living room. If you can get it out the door.

Recording has some significant ups and downs for me, spanning the heights of sheer jubilation that I AM ACTUALLY DOING THIS!! at the age of twenty seven, really playing rock and roll that other people will hear - and maybe even like - perhaps for years and years to come, to the lows of timing my nerve-induced intestinal dysfunction so that it looks like it was Steve’s idea to take a break from the sound board where he has just listened to forty three attempts at the pre-chorus and while he’s having a slug of some hard liquor, I’ll just run to the bathroom, la di da, and be there for twenty minutes attempting to keep my malodorous misfortune to myself so as not to dispatch my compatriots on the other end of the headphones.

I have been in this band just over one year, and it has only recently occurred to me that the constant exposure to the recording process has caught me up on a lot of skills that might normally take much longer to evolve. Were I to play in any other band, any other normal, hard drinking, tattoo laden, good-times-havin’ rock band, instead of our workaholic, long-distance, perfectionist, goal-driven, music mastery focused little family here, I would probably have one album under my belt at this point, and therefore about one week of recording experience to my name. Good Night, States has taught me a phrase on which will.i.am spent a lot of money, but far fewer editing hours than Steve is spending on our upcoming release, to spew, namely: Yes. We. Can.

And. Nearly. Every. Weekend. Too.

My confidence seems to be growing, along with it a distinct sense of hope about my tiny, fragile, late-bloomer musicianship, and also I now take legal amphetamines which certainly make the world extra bright!

Oh Yeah! She Wrote A Blog Post!

dear reader,

feels like the home stretch here. i sat here mixing for so long yesterday i don’t even want to do the math. on saturday, two very good friends are getting married (to each other, no less!), and i’ve got quite a bit more preparation to do for the pieces i’ll be playing.

but let me just celebrate for a moment with you. i’m really happy with “good times, so wearily desired!,” and i sincerely hope you’ll give it a listen (the in the impossible tension tracks have been moved in the player and are after the short films songs. you can do it. you can find it).

it turns out that working on songs very quickly goes a long way towards precluding the crafting of messages i usually try to do as a songwriter. this track, consequently, is maybe a bit more candid in some ways than most. granted, allyson still doesn’t know what it’s about, but she did say, “does it have something to do with proust?,” which is really pretty insightful/awesome. [earlier versions of the lyrics actually included proust AND his madeleine (!), but it just sounded too weird. (raise your hand if you have no idea what i’m talking about.)]

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A LONG, PHILOSOPHICAL EXPLANATION OF THE PREVIOUS PARAGRAPH WITH LITERARY REFERENCES. IF YOUR FACE BEGINS TO HURT OR YOU ARE PREGNANT, SKIP IT.
the story runs thus: i had come across the original english title of marcel proust’s famous work, which i believe is remembrance of things past. it struck me because, although sort of pretty, it doesn’t have the strength or provocation of in search of lost time, which is more of a translation of the french title (i think there’s a later english version with that name). naturally, any confusion/comments/complaints/suggestions in the gretz household regarding proust are directly put to our resident proust expert, allyson. come to think of it, she’s the only expert on the subject i know–resident or otherwise.
the significant part of this is really the conversation that allyson and i had about proust’s re-experiencing of the past, and the questions it naturally raised for me. is it possible to remember ANYTHING factually, without re-interpreting the experience? can one even trust his memory, consequently? the more personal counterpoint is that nearly all memory has a sort of negative emotional screen for me, which is probably why i emphasize the interpretational aspect of “memory.”
END WARNING.

so, “good times, so wearily desired!” is a song that shares my experience of and outlook on memory, or at least part of it. the lyrics should be up pretty soon. you should probably disagree with what the songs says, ultimately, but you should also bop along to the consumer electronics of yesteryear.

oh, yeah, the celebration. i kinda got sidetracked there. well, i gotta go, but YOU should have a beer.

happy 15th.

dear reader,

good morning. by the time i post this, many of you will probably be at work, or on your way. did you forget anything?

i admit to some pretty continual confusion about where all of my gear is (pittsburgh? ramsey? the coat closet?), but that certainly can’t quite account for what joe and i did last friday morning.
we were running pretty late, heading out to the ‘burgh to write “sometimes i see you on the lawn” and finish recording “she wrote a letter.” on our way out we perused our in the impossible tension rig, which in our defense is a pretty intense mix of junk electronics, labyrinthine routing, and recording equipment, and joe asked obligatorily, “do we need any of this stuff?”

“no,” i said, car running and clock ticking. “i think we have everything.”

this is the scene where all the footage is fast-forwarded. (actually, we had a really nice trip. joe drove so i could work on the song a bit more, and later on 28, so i could play him eagles songs on the guitar. although he didn’t know that.)
in fact, everything would be fast-forwarded, AND the screen would be split so you could see megan’s repeated communications with katie white (yeah, katie white!) to secure a piano for recording “she wrote a letter,” of course all while i fudged my way through “the greeks don’t want no freaks.”

so jt pulled up to the bakers’, opened the door, and reached back for his jar of peanuts. i don’t really like the ones with paprika. he got this real slow, deep smile, like he does.
“we are so stupid,” he says. “SO STUPID.” following his meaningful looks to the pile of equipment in the back seat, i get a sinking feeling.

this is the part where it’d cut to a flashback, and i’d see ALL THE RECORDING EQUIPMENT sitting there among the casios in nj. maybe the music would swirl up in dark, forboding washes that make the viewer wonder with a deepening sense of dread, WHO WILL THE KILLER GET NEXT!?

joe, of course, starts laughing. “look at me casually eating peanuts! this is so funny!”

at this point trevor walks out his front door and waves once from the porch. we look at him, and back to the peanuts. joe just laughs more.

“EVERYTHING is funny when you’re so casually eating peanuts,” he roars. “Here, you have to have one!”

“oh, man.” i take one. stupid paprika.

epilogue: good night, states, continued on to a productive songwriting-only weekend, and planned to finish “she wrote a letter” in two weeks. megan caused a miniature explosion that launched a needle into joe’s leg, dan napped a bit in the sunshine, trevor did GNS computer-related stuff that i don’t really understand, and joe recovered sufficiently to consume 1.5 chicken fried rices from tram’s, as did i. flat, gluten-free bread was baked in the meadow where all the characters would eventually frolic unto the forgetfulness of the disrepair into which has fallen their family’s estate and which will certainly be undone by their forthcoming marriage to the wealthy and upstanding Mr. Max Harding; NOT the forgetfulness that leaves you 400 miles from your recording gear.

ps. just a friendly reminder–we’ve got track two of in the impossible tension coming out on thursday. it’s great. for those of you who had a little trouble getting into “arsonist’s blues,” this will be easier. i promise.

pps. a couple of folks have confessed personally to me being behind with the internet releases. i understand, but people, it’s only gonna get worse from here. if you haven’t downloaded “there is a treasure” yet, do it NOW. (please.)

ppps. if you did forget your lunch today, go to franktuary.

pppps. oh yeah, and i beat tetris again. those dancers are awesome.