Welcome to the Working Week

While buying my ceremonial croissant this morning, the radio in my coffee shop treated me to the soothing sounds of Richard Marx. It was at this point where I remembered how my weekend had been full of GOOD music and that Richard Marx was a fitting auditory punishment on a Monday morning. And if you're a Richard Marx fan, I apologize. I hope we can move on.

See, this weekend was chock full of wonderful Bay Area bands and Birdmonster mixes, none of which remotely reminded me of "Right Here Waiting." We got a song called No Midnight mixed and in the bag this weekend, which is one we used to play live until the logistics of instrument switching and miked banjos dissuaded us for the last few months. I mentioned it early and said it had a "civil war-y" sort of vibe and, well, I know that might not make sense, but it will when you hear it. It has the bonus of being a one-take sort of song, with Pete's vocals & guitars being done at once, during our third day. We were thinking of recording the whole ditty at Brad's house, but, lo and behold, the version we got at Grand Master remains one of everyone's favorites from the whole session. I even got to sing at the end. But have no fear. It's more of a sing-a-long, yelp sort of thing than a showcasing of my non-existant harmonizing abilities. These would frighten and scar you and the CD is supposed to do the exact opposite.

Which brings me back to good music and Saturday night. We were invited to Oakland to play the Metro with Street to Nowhere, Poor Bailey, IO (I mean, Dear Static), and Brilliant Red Lights. I'm telling you kids, it was three or four hours of five goddamn rocking bands for about $2 each. We had a blast. There were fiddles backstage, for crying out loud.

At the end of the show though, something odd happened. A guy who looked strangely familiar approached me and asked me if we'd visited a guy named Trevor in LA while we were recording. Turns out we had, as Trevor was our guitar fairy godmother, getting us fancy electrics for an overdub or two and pointing Dave & I in the direction of a tech who would work on our instruments & not leave them in state of sad disrepair. So, after saying, "yeah, we know Trevor," this guy says "I'm Matt. I came in the Trevor's office when he was giving you guys directions." Not a thrilling story, I admit, but one with a point. The music world is a tiny place. I would have never expected to see a Los Angeles native we'd met a month before up at an all ages gig in Oakland, let alone expected that he'd be working with the aforementioned Street to Nowhere. So, if you'll excuse me, I have to walk to Walgreens & apologize to Richard Marx. I think he's working the register on aisle 3.