I've become a little bit addicted to John Roderick's columns in the Seattle Weekly, where he writes about life as a mid-level rock star and bandleader of the Long Winters. You don't have to be a musician to enjoy it.
The band could not reach a consensus on whether they were individually hungry. I extolled the virtues of [local restaurant] "Ranay's" and made a final endorsement of it even as we were driving past, but the suggestion was greeted with two whimpers, a look of confusion, and an exhalation of breath. OK, done.
But as SOON as we walk in the door of my place, two-and-a-half minutes later, the rabble starts: "Can we order a pizza?" "Is it OK if I open these chips?" "Can I make some pasta?" The enterprising bandleader, a well-known singer, opens my pantry, discovers my canned-chili depository, and says to the room, "Who wants chili?" Four hands shoot up.
Nirvana bassist Krist Novoselic also has a blog there, but it's all political and not nearly as fun.
It'll be at Egan's Ballard Jam House on Friday, July 18th. If you're in the Seattle area and would like to attend (and why wouldn't you? It's going to rock), I highly recommend contacting Egan's and reserve your seats in advance. Egan's is a fancy little venue and seating is limited.
Other details are on my Tour page, but I'll be announcing more stuff about the show as the date draws near.
Hey, if you're in the Seattle area and attending NW Folklife this weekend, look for me performing on the sidewalks. Dennis and I will be bumming around Seattle Center, playing tunes and kickin' it in the sunshine, at least until a Coordinator tells us to move.
For years this particular CD has given me nothing but trouble at the various digital stores, and I have no idea why. Thanks to the folks at CD Baby for figuring out the problem, whatever it was.
O HAI. I've been on vacation for awhile. More on that later.
Here is news: I'm throwing a CD release show for Save You From Yourself. Yes, I know, that particular CD has been out since February. Which is precisely why I'm calling it "Scott Andrew's 'Damn, I Should've Had A CD Release Party!' CD Release Party."
This is going to be a rare full-band show, with Dennis Jolin on drums and Suzanne Picard on keyboard, and maybe a few others if we're lucky. We're working up some very cool arrangements and everything is sounding awesome so far. Seating at the venue is limited so if you're in the Seattle area and would like to attend, watch this space for details. (The Demo Club is a safer bet.)
Here are Dennis and Suzanne messin' around at last night's rehearsal:
Just outside the city is a gigantic cliff. Hundreds of people are lined up at its edge, and they're tossing all sorts of items over the edge to see if any of them fly.
A lot of things aren't designed to fly, but that doesn't stop people from throwing toaster ovens and washing machines over the side.
Today, someone comes along with something resembling a hanglider. As he sails away, everyone else starts jumping up and down excitedly. Something worked! The system works! Proof!
Everyone redoubles their efforts and now twice as many toaster ovens and washing machines are plummeting to the bottom.
A man stands at the edge, clutching a device adorned with paddles and flippers. He peers down tentatively.
His neighbor encourages him. "All you have to do is throw it over the edge," he says, dumping a wheelbarrow filled with sacks of pet food into the abyss.
Behind him in the distance, a hot-air balloon is drifting lazily in the sky. A few thousand people dragging snowmobiles and rickshaws are racing after it, desperately trying to grab a trailing rope.
"I don't know," the first man says, eyeing the balloon. "Seems to me most things aren't built to fl--"
His neighbor cuts him off. "Look, didn't you attend the seminar? Did you not just SEE the guy with the hanglider? The system works. All you have to do is keep throwing stuff over the edge."
Several people are now lobbing items at the balloon in an attempt to land something, anything at all in the basket. Others are trying to form a human pyramid in hopes of reaching the balloon as it passes. The balloon's pilot peers down, annoyed.
The neighbor continues. "Also, remember Ned? Ned threw things over the side all the time. Now he's both rich and famous. Well, we think so. We haven't seen him since."
"Right, but wasn't one of those things actually a bird? And didn't Ned also figure out that if you attach wings to a --"
"No. NO. You're not listening. The key is that Ned threw stuff over the side. Keep doing that and the rest will work itself out."
Another man rolls a tricycle off the edge, watches dejectedly as it plummets, then shuffles away.
"I think I'll go work on this some more," the first man says, hefting the paddles-and-flippers contraption. "Actually, maybe I'll throw it in the lake and see if it swims."
"I think you should attend more seminars" the neighbor snorts as they watch another group coax a tawny giraffe to the cliff edge. "You're only hurting yourself by not embracing the New Way Of Doing Things."
There's a collective cheer as one person succeeds in grabbing a balloon rope. He dangles for a few seconds, grasping the rope with one hand while clutching the lead tether of a full-size fiberglass canoe in the other. Then he and the canoe drop into the void.
"We're going to figure this out eventually!" the neighbor yells.
The air is now full of toaster ovens and washing machines and pet food and tricycles.
On a tiny speck of island just beyond the horizon, a man stands alone next to the ruins of his crashed hanglider and thinks: well, that didn't last very long.
Just look at what clocks in between two and a half and three minutes: *Mr. Tambourine Man,* *We Got the Beat,* *Boys Don't Cry,* *Hot Fun in the Summertime,* *Good Times Bad Times,* *I Would Die 4 U,* *Paranoid,* *Blowin' in the Wind,* *Debaser,* *God Only Knows,* and *Fall on Me.* These are not only stone-cold classics but they also encapsulate all that is great about the band without wasting your goddamn time.
The scientists then dug up this song by a group that pretty much defines one-hit wonder: The La's. The song is *There She Goes,*and is so flawless that it instantly made everything else the band did pointless. This ditty is two minutes and 42 seconds, and is all about songwriting economy.
"Many people don't write songs for an audience. They write songs for Gray's Anatomy, for Zach Braff, and for Apple advertisements (Volkswagen if they're not ambitious). If I was in a band I would write a slow song with an 808, reverb, and a female vocalist, and call that song *Zach Braff's Eyes Reflected in My Nano.* I would make sure it got to the right people. By which I mean Zach Braff, or one of the leechlike marketing creatures that feed from the skin of Steve Jobs under his mock turtleneck."
I've also added all the tracks from Save You From Yourself to the Music section. Each song now has a lyrics page, and I've made a few of them free to download. This is all part of a slow-motion site redesign I've trickling out in bits a pieces.
I've become a little bit addicted to John Roderick's columns in the Seattle Weekly, where he writes about life as a mid-level rock star and bandleader of the Long Winters. You don't have to be a musician to enjoy it.