The Next Song Is Called

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that phrase at a show. Lead singer’s everywhere employing it, in hopes that the audience will connect with the song more if they know the title.  

And if they know the title, they’ll google it when they get home and buy it 1000 times on iTunes.

However, most of the time the title never gets heard by the audience.  You see, there’s a mental list in everyone’s minds of things they’re used to hearing from stage.  Things like

“We’re the ____ and we’re from ____" 

"Thanks to the other bands on the bill”

“Be sure to tip the bar tenders”

And you can always clearly hear “this next song is called”, but understand that the title of your song is totally out of the norm, and people can’t fill in the gaps with context clues.

Most likely to begin with, partly because of the mediocre sound system provided by the venue, the listeners actually only heard “is ext sun is call”, but our brains fill in the rest.  

So when the name of the tune is “Rain For Puppy Dog Lovers”, everyone turns to their friend and asks what the singer just said.  All they heard was noise.  They’ve never heard those words strung together at a show before.

So if you’re saying a song title from stage, or anything else outside of what people are used to hearing at a show, speak clearly, speak a hair slower than usual.  Tell the drummer to pipe down as he’s playing that beat behind the talking.  Drop the mic a little lower so people can see your lips move too.

You’ll give yourself a better chance at connection.  

Recording Is Easy

Recording is easy now.  Not just easy to make a mediocre sounding recording, but easy to make a professional sounding one.

Most of you have no clue if the instruments played on your favorite albums were played by humans or were created by 1’s and 0’s.  And that’s fine, probably the way it should be.

But the real takeaway from all this technology is for the artists and songwriters: 

You have every sound imaginable at your fingertips.  The “its hard to get a good sound” is no longer a crutch.  Your real problem is you need better songs.

But writing another song isn’t as fun as adding that 5th synth part on the chorus that’s REALLY going to make your current song hit.  Writing is more risky than dialing up your favorite Moog patch.  Writing might not make you feel good.  Moog always does.

Just write a song we need to hear again.

Staying In

The roads iced over in Nashville last night and today.  Really pretty impressive.  This city inexcusably shuts down if there is an inkling of snow in the forecast, but this time it’s the real deal.

And I’m terrified of ice.  The only real car accident I’ve been was because of ice.

Several years back I was visiting my parents up in Minnesota and decided to borrow the family mini-van to go visit a friend.  After hanging for a while, I started the hour long drive home in the late afternoon.

County highway.  My lane is going my way, the other lane, the other way.  I’m cruising at 55mph, not speeding because I tend to be a rule follower, and the roads seem pretty clear.

And I was right, they were clear, I felt safe that I could see the black top all the way.

Ice is clear and invisible when you’re cruising in a mini van.

The tail of the van started swaying and in a couple seconds the van was doing a triple axle straight into the opposite side ditch.

Terrifying.  Random memories from my life started hitting me while in limbo.

The mini van and I landed in the ditch with the passenger side of the vehicle on the ground.  Before unlocking my seatbelt I felt my neck, back, legs, head, stomach, arms to make sure they were intact.  All good.

I pushed open the drivers side door, which was now the ceiling of the compartment in which I was standing, and climbed out the top.  

Some folks had stopped and pretty soon a police man came and we got it all figured out.  He was so thorough that he even wrote me a reckless driving ticket because I had landed in the opposite side ditch, therefore crossing the double yellow line on the highway.  Justice.

So I’m staying in today.  Send food.

Are You Ready? Who Cares.

The Idea of being “ready” is a barrier to your success. You don’t need to be ready, you need to be willing to dive in.

Soon after I graduated college I got a call from a drummer friend of mine to come play, i.e. audition, for a country artist. I said sure. Mainly because I had no idea what was going on.

He sent me the songs to learn, and I did my due diligence memorizing the songs as best as possible. I thought it would look weak if I walked in with notes or cheat sheets for the songs.

So I show up to the professional rehearsal space (my first time) with my amateur Peavey bass amp, a blue 1989 Fender Precision Plus and I’m not sure if I even owned a tuner pedal at that point.

When I walked in, the other musicians were swapping stories of their latest trips around the globe having toured with various country music stars. I had played an out of town gig once too…in Memphis, with a friend…for the bar tenders.

I was definitely intimidated by all these guys and thought about sneaking out during the down section of a chorus or something. But the exit door was in view of everyone, soooo.

Two weeks later I was on a plane with all of those people, traveling outside of the USA to play my instrument.

Stop waiting to be ready. Just get going.

Suits

I really love ESPN and watching sports in general. I remember in high school watching SportsCenter multiple times in a row, knowing all the top plays and all the amazing little SportsCenter jokes.

But lately I can’t help thinking something. If sports announcers and analysts didn’t wear suits, would we value their analysis the same?

What if they wore jeans and t-shirts like me and my friends do when we talk about sports?

The suits give a strange sense of sophistication to otherwise pretty meaningless banter. It definitely makes me feel better about watching hours of well dressed professionals talk about sports, rather than hearing dudes in over sized t-shirts (ain’t none of those guys shopping at American Apparel) spout their speculation about the upcoming game.

Gross. I can do that at any sports bar in town.

That’s what it is isn’t it. The suits provide value and make us feel good. Makes us feel expensive. Makes us feel less depressed about wasting time watching cable.

And after watching all this, we feel that somehow our knowledge is boosted and our opinion matters or is relevant to the outcome in some way.

I’m not against suits. I have some.

But you could ask someone about their thoughts on the latest in hotel carpet design, and if they were wearing their Sunday three piece suit with a gigantic tie-knot, and an ear piece in with someone else telling them exactly what to say…I’d probably be into it.

I love sports. Next time, imagine the analysts in track suits and see how you feel.

I did. It’s different.

A Little More Olympics

I want to go back to the Olympics for a minute. They suck me in. Sports I’ve never heard of, countries that might as well be made up as it pertains to my geographical knowledge.

A big reason of why the Olympics are what they is that athletes can’t switch teams. I know I know, it happens sometimes, but you get it.

A participant is tied to the country they’re from. They can’t accept more money from another country to come ice skate for their team. They can’t switch teams cause they enjoy another countries weather more.

You can’t change where you’re from. One of the few decisions we have zero control over in life.

But this limit set on the Olympics holds the charm of the whole thing. Loyalty. And your home country knowing that you are theirs forever. You’re not leaving after this season.

Knowing that my American athletes aren’t leaving makes me feel more connected to them…and therefore I cry more during the behind the scenes footage with the dramatic music. And then I feel more connected and then I cry more and then…

I’m telling you, the moment the Olympics would ever turn into a free-agent athlete situation, is the moment it will crumble.

Believe it or not as humans, we love boundaries, we love limits.