Steve here.

While we’re working on sorting out our recording arrangement (meaning, the location and situation in which we’ll finally make this album), we’ve been doing as much pre-recording as we can.

Today: guitar parts for “In My New Language.”

dear music lover,

you don’t hear from me often. and just like that uncle of yours who calls around the holidays to ask for money, when you do hear from me, my tidings are unsolicited, irrelevant to your own goings-on, and often include subject matter that you don’t want your children overhearing (see my past posts on our blog, but make sure you have your parents’ consent first). i guess the only real difference is that i’m not looking for a handout. well, that, and unlike your delinquent kinsman, i’ve never been convicted of a felony. key word: convicted.

i’ve decided, for reasons that are too multifaceted to expound upon here, to end my tenure with good night, states. okay, wipe the tears from your eyes and/or that shocked expression off your face. we’re still friends. at first, it’ll be a little awkward when we both show up to your party and one of us is there with somebody new, but after a while, you’ll just forget about that time we asked you to be the dj at our wedding reception.

i’m hopeful that for everyone involved this change will be an opportunity for continued musical endeavors that are even better. i certainly expect much more great music from good night, states, and i hope you’ll still be listening when their next release becomes available.

i’ll leave it to your imagination as to whether or not i’m leaving good night, states to join the folk-rock band that may or may not have been alluded to in the title of this letter. for my sake, i sure hope not.

to all of our fans and all of my friends and relatives, thank you so much for your open ears and moral support. i hope that you will continue to follow good night, states as they move forward without me. i’ve still got my band email account for now, so you can direct your well-wishes/death-threats here . if you’re a friend or a family member, just call me with your death-threat, preferably after 9:00 pm or via the at&t network.

farewell,

joe

p.s. i did actually receive a death-threat once on a good night, states postcard, but if you were hoping to be the first, be consoled: i take the time to read all my fan mail, and if you really are plotting my assassination, you may even get a reply.

to be fair, we’ve eaten fairly well today. my wife packed joe and i excellent homemade breakfast sandwiches and a thermos of strong coffee this morning. that carried us through the 1 o’clock show pretty easily this morning, but we were ready to eat by the time the five of us (with tim tobitsch, band friend and megan business partner, as a stand-in for trevor, who had to return to work: they have similar hair) drove off to get some lunch at tessaro’s in lawrenceville.

other highlights include fantastic guitar tone from both myself (new speakers, KT77s) and joe (new speaker, mojo), seeing part of meeting of important people’s set, and some good laughs at tim’s idea for a “tutoring & repo” business (your scores improve or you lose your house!).

on the whole, though, this is the part of the plot where The Real Meaning of the story’s events are really called into question. the moral is unclear. after all, joe and i can have excellent guitar tone, eat well, and fine each other $129 at home and without 13+ hours of driving.

dear reader, even for those of us who believe in more than coping, some days feel like a page of hemingway.

whence, dear reader, the hero will shortly enter the scene with flourish, very possibly from a conveniently placed rope.

or something like that. in our case, the real version would now include a very polite state trooper. although we are still on track to wow the passersby at WPTS Day, the speed of our progress and the height of our spirits are both somewhat reduced. this has now become quite an expensive trip.

ah, troopers. how faithfully you discharge a duty of such immorality. if only you could be persuaded of that which we, the frequent travellers of pennsylvania interstates, know in our deepest parts: your law is no law at all. it is bare graft, collected with undisguised coercion, only designated a “tax” by the ultimate destination of the lucre squeezed from the common man.

if only i wrote protest songs.

dear reader,

that’s right; it’s me. i’ve missed you all. i decided some weeks ago to return to blogging here with a vengeance, but now it’s happening and i couldn’t be happier.

actually, i could be somewhat happier. the occasion of my first post in over two months is not, truly, something about which i’m particularly excited. owing to some not entirely unforeseen but certainly uncontrollable externals, joe and i will be departing shortly from nj to play a c. lunchtime show in pgh, and returning shortly thereafter to nj. (go ahead, check the time. i’ll be back here by 9 tonight.)

so… though i am sadly without brilliance or insight at this hour, you can look forward to blogs and tweets throughout the day that will no doubt keep you informed of our progress in an entertaining way.

ps. did you like “in the impossible tension?”