Something new

Didn't want anyone to feel cheated by the old catalog, so I fooled around thursday night and recorded something new. Short and sweet.

Joe Torre's Last Press Conference

I had no idea when this song came to be that blogging limitations would help cement the idea.

As far as I know, the only way to host an .MP3 is to create a movie of the file by using an application called Windows Movie Maker. See you add the song, choose a picture, and then create a movie. Blogger will host .MP4 not .MP3. So that is what Ill do.

EXPLANATION:

As I was watching the 2007 MLB Playoffs, I knew, like the rest of the sporting world, it was do or die for Joe Torre. Win the World Series, keep your job...anything less, you are fired. I could also see the response he had as not just a coach but as a man. We all know it is a what-have-you-done-for-me-lately world, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with does it? Just cause we know something to be true doesn't make it fun. Joe was dealing with what I thought was an irrational situation while trying to maintain his dignity. Not easy.

Anyway, as the Yankees lost and were eliminated, I had this feeling that it was his last game as a coach. Not that I care about the Yankees or the well being of the team, but something was very real about the emotion Joe expressed that day. And as Joe took the podium for his last press conference, (which I thought to be his final act of his career and feel slightly cheated that he is coaching again) this song was written:

SONG:





NOTES:

Musically, you may notice the gradual speeding up in tempo. This comes from not being very good and not using a metronome.

Also, the only image from the actual press conference I was watching is the next to last with the red background.

A change of format

From now on, this is a music blog. Not about music, but a blog with songs and or song sketches. There will be mostly three sources for the music:

1. Me
2. Me and some friends playing acoustic
3. Me and some friends playing electric


So let's start this thing. One thing to keep in mind is that as a writer, I don't really complete songs or give them titles. I like to keep my art alive by not holding to concrete form, but just writing in the moment and mixing the collective influence.

So maybe that's just a bunch of crap words for saying I am lazy and, as some people like to say (who read books about this kind of thing) a classic commitment phobe.

Here is a song sketch that I wrote sometime ago, maybe 2000? I think I wrote it in Montana at my Geologic Field Camp next to a campfire late at night and fairly drunk.





Sound quality may not be good, so you might need headphones...

Any comments would be welcomed. I have quite a backlog of songs, so I will be posting frequently so if you like one or hate another, let me know.

Measurement point for frequency

Give me a minute...









..





........we're in the trough.




I think the Internet is an obsessive-compulsive activity. GLAZE. Deer. Headlights. I mean, isn't there five or six websites you call the cycle? Glance, nod, check, dismiss. It's like a book you are reading, and the chapters change, only the lesson is the same.

I'm rambling. I am disappointed with my ability to diversify my surf. I'm stuck. Got a cool site? Hook me up, yo.

I mean, I once in a while throw in a random, discover something new, get into it, then bail..............yes, not only is that the description of my love life, but my entire life. All is conserved.


Ok, since I am posting with extreme cathartic bias, here is an old poem I wrote on a lonely, lonely day. Warning: This is so high school.

A whole needs splitting
Chaotic rhythms need mending
It isn't the end or beginning
just an elastic stretching
---> Rhyming looses my meaning

Think of a pattern.

Is it static?
Does it need attention?
Are the edges crisp,
Or woven in linen

If it moves, does it vary?
Appearing straight
In line
With no derivation?

Is there a stop-start-finish?
Perhaps a faux-granite
Slung over a chipboard mattress.

Should it be omni-present?
Existing without from
But deadly in its limits.

Could it tackle?
Kill the lesser seen
Disable, silence, crumble, and wean?

Should I wrap it
Heart-felt and sewn?
Mail it on the fourth


Do I own it, give it, feel it, or learn it?
Could it feed me, do I pay it?


Will it loose its focus,
Only to regain it?
Appearing weak
With marks that dictate impatience?
Wavering lines that allude to consternation?

Looks that suggest movement
Subtle but invasive-

It sure does look pretty.
I am an addict to its function
Spun-out as a result.

MOVE. COME ON.