http://www.thiswinkis.com/2009/04/fool-me-once-shame-on-you-fool-me-twice.html

So it’s time to build the band.  I have settled on a three-piece:  drums, guitar and bass.  I have been looking for players for a long time but was unable to find the right fit.  Going from the recording/mixing mindset to the live performance mindset can be difficult.  But the actual creation of this record has been extremely diverse.  The material begs to be played live.

Then again, the live show is going to be a little heavier than the record–not emotionally, just sonically.  Which is the way it should be.  I need the performance to be a little different than the recording.  There is so much fear these days about misrepresenting a project by playing it differently live.  That’s ridiculous.  It’s idiotic to assume that a song, even a recorded one, should or could be replicated live.  A real song is different each time through.

But lately, live shows have been walking down the other path.  Most of the time I see a band these days, they do their best to mimic the record.  Sometimes they play to their own cd–does anyone else feel insulted when that happens?  Like I just came to your show to see you play your music almost exactly how it sounds on the actual disc?  Except, of course, that everything will be a little out of tune.  And I might even catch a few moments where the temps don’t sync.  How wonderfully inspiring…  Unless you’re playing to 2ok people, leave computers out of it.

Some groups warrant playing to beat boxes or drum machines.  Sometimes a tour calls for a particular vibe–and in those cases it works.  But not rock bands.

Needless to say I am nixing the loops, beats, macbooks, drum machines, and play alongs of modern “live” music.  Because it’s bullshit karaoke.

A still from a video shoot.

I spent Saturday shooting a new video for The Joke.  We are not quite finished but this image describes how everything felt.  In a good way, of course.

Because it's spooky

I spend a lot of time thinking about the Aral Sea.  A catastrophe.  Read about it here.  There are places around the world like this–places that should be well known.  Places with histories that need to be considered.  History is only boring when people don’t mess it up.  Which is rare.

I used to frequent this greasy spoon called “Linda’s Breakfast”.  And actually it was a group of friends that would go.  There is nothing unique about that.  Lots of people go there.  Plenty of groups.  Plenty of nights.  And then it gets a little boring.  And then the reunions feel good when everyone is back in town.  And then I imagine that the trips to Linda’s Breakfast just die down like mine did.

Eventually my group of friends stopped going to Linda’s Breakfast.  For various reasons–people move around, change jobs, change schools, etc.  I think I kept going there for a while–which means I had to go alone.  It was a strange feeling to sit at the counter or at a small table and not at a large booth.  And it was strange to sit and listen to the words of people I did not know.  I was accustomed to focusing on the voices of friends, of being a part of the discussion.

So I don’t go to Linda’s Breakfast anymore.  It has literally been years since I set foot in the place.  Frankly, I don’t even know why I feel the urge to write about a diner I no longer frequent.  But the place has made its way into discussion a number of times in the last couple weeks.  I was even invited, late one night, to go there for a western omelet.  But, as I said, I don’t go there any more.

Maybe it’s just an example of how people eventually just let memories be what they are:  memories.  Maybe because I know the place would make me a little lonesome.  Or just that I don’t want to go eat in a greasy diner.  But it was a place I frequented with people I once knew well.  I don’t know those people well anymore.  So that must be it.  Just driving past the place conjurs up all the ghosts and the memories.  Sometimes, if it is night when I drive by Linda’s Breakfast, I can see inside from the stoplight.  I always look inside for anyone I might recognize.  Not that I would go in and join them–but just to know they’re actually in there.

I was contacted a couple days ago by a music blog–from Iran, no less–regarding the video for The Joke. It’s cool.  Speaks for itself.  Below is a grab from the blog itself.  Or check out www.thiswinkis.com

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About This Winki’s

Every living particle has its day. This blog talks indie music big time but sometimes deliberately deviates and goes too far. Make yourself at home as you surf through our reviews, lists, and sometimes news, all written by yours truly. Please don’t take our opinions too personal, you may get pneumonia. And in case you were wondering who’s this Winki creature and why this joint sounds so out of tune, watch Mulholland Dr. and you may get a clue! Stick around.
P.S. There’s almost no illegal material here so stop spying around. If there’s something to download, it’s declared free by the original artist.

Lately

Well it isn’t snowing but maybe there will be an inch or two on my car in the morning.  I drove through the half-rain tonight.  From downtown.  The lights on the trees were telling me it was the holidays but I know better.   Something about the bleakness got me thinking that it’s time to get back to NY and do a show.  Maybe at Joe’s Pub or Pianos.  The weather can have that effect.  It can evoke anything.  Because it touches us directly.  It can bring back feelings and memories.  It can make you want something.  It is a part of one’s environment.

So I was driving on the 10 and the half melted snowflakes were falling quickly.  The lights of downtown are diminishing in my rearview and the periphery of the freeway is dark.  Silhouettes of houses and buildings lean back from the rushing lanes of traffic.  I have to wonder why all this traffic on a Sunday night in early April.  Because it only makes sense–people are out and antsy.  The last almost-snow of the year.  One step better than a simple cold rain–still a little beauty in the process.  Even if you never see the crystals themselves.

When I got home I put on an Interpol record (Turn on the bright lights) and played “NYC” 5 times.  Ok, so I miss NY.  Strong memories of particular seasons.  Nondescript events and friends I have long since lost touch with.  There was a time and place for that Interpol record; it was and is monumental in my life.  Like so many others that resurface a long with all the memories.   And it’s good to go back and remember things the right way.  Which is really the wrong, partially inaccurate way.  It’s better.