Late-Night Drinking

I'm writing this a little late, and more than a little foggy in my head. This has not been a good week for sleep. Sorry to my wife for all my restlessness, but those things come in waves. Just the consequence of living for music.

The last two weeks have been non-stop, so I took yesterday evening with the guys and stayed out late-night drinking, having talks that were way to involved, books, writing, race, all those fuzzy speeches, that spill out of late-night podiums from pseudo-philosophers like myself.

It's too much I know. But I can't help it sometimes.

I can say being that guy is all terrible. A lot of good ideas come from venting. Pushing out all the weird ideas I carry and letting them go.

It was when I got home, the house completely quiet and dark except for the light over the sink, that I took a long breath. 

It was good.

I threw off my shoes. Made a snack of cheese, hummus and a slice of bread, not very creative but delicious none the less, and ate standing over the stove top, humming a song, and thinking this was a really good place to be. And I didn't just mean snack-wise.

The tracks with Larry are sounding amazing. We will be finishing the last song on Saturday, before the Mixing phase. 

Idyll Green is putting together a song to give away which will be out soon along with some really cool visual stuff. 

Tuesday night we recorded the first episode of the podcast that I think came out great, and I have a lot more to do. 

So much that it is intimidating. 

And exhausting. 

And fun. 

Through all of the work. This whole experience of collaborating, building, and creating Idyll Green has been one of the most fun projects that I have done in a long time. And that's a lot to be thankful for. 

And last night I found that, in the dark of my house. Alone. Tired. Content.



until next week



-rene



ps. as always like, share, subscribe and if you want to talk you can reach me on this blog, facebook and twitter

Daytrotter

Driving home from Austin, and a killer Daytrotter session. Playing some alternate versions of 4 Idyll Green tunes.

Body Language
Nobody Else
L.S.D
Gentleman (Do It Right)

Just drums, an upright piano, and bass of course. Can't wait to share it with you. Had a Sam Cooke stripped down 60's pop vibe. I loved it.

Definitely a smaller arrangement than what the recorded versions are but the heart was all there.

Gotta get writing the next part of my story somewhere before the next recording session starts...

Also, our good friend Red is flying over from LA to do some writing and vibe building in our studio. Got some ideas ready for her. 

More next week...

Much Love

- rene

PS you can check out all my Daytrotter Hacienda Stuff Here.

Our First Offical Meeting with a Record Label, Whats It Worth

for what its worth
 

My brothers and I had driven up to Austin from San Antonio early in the morning. Feeling high. Feeling invincible. Though the traffic was bad. Though the sky was ready for rain. Though we had a hard time parking. All I was thinking was, 'this is happening... this is really happening.' Our first official meeting with a record label for at a small hotel along the river.

Abe checked his phone for the last text, "He's in the brunch area..."

"brunch area?" it sounded so un-rock-n-roll to me.



The concierge pointed us down a long narrow hallway towards the back of the hotel. And while the lobby was impressively modern with polished marble floors and pillars, gold railings, an automated computer check-in, a contemporary jazz pianist under a chandelier and large art installations, this part of the hotel seemed surprisingly neglected.

Going through the hallway was like walking backward through time, a chronological collection of the hotel's past hung on the faded yellow paper in plain wooden frames moving us further and further back. 

The carpet was stained and worn thin, the pattern of a dull brown with endless blue diamonds. Abe leading the way, no one said a word as we approached the end of the hall towards a dark carved wooden door.

Maybe we were all thinking how strange this was. Maybe we were trying to get our negotiation faces on. We had no idea what to expect. The closest idea I had was a mixture of crime movies and music documentaries. Old guys in big suits and cigars. Guys who swung around in big leather office chairs and laughed while they answered vintage rotary phones, and always pointed a fat, gold ringed finger when they shouted to make their deals.

Through the door came a blast of sunlight and cold air. I felt it push down into my chest, or maybe that was my nerves? We walked into a small room, converted from a patio, the walls were amber tinted glass that sloped up and over our heads.

On a good day it would've been a nice view of downtown, but on a rainy day like this, the windows were steamed and the sunlight barely came in through the foggy blur.

"We're here to meet our uh," I said to the captain trying to think if the reservation was under his personal name, my name, our band name or the name of the label. 

The twenty-something blonde girl with her hair pulled back tight into a ponytail didn't notice my fumbling. She seemed to be expecting three teenagers in western boots and jeans, "Right over here," she interrupted. Saving me from murdering the rest of my sentence as she took us to the corner of the room and a small table set for one.

She swept her arm across the air, towards four chairs crammed in the small area, "Should I send three more plates?"

Without looking up from his plate or the smear of eggs below his nose, he waived her away with a grunt.

Her eyebrows jumped quickly as if taken back by his answer but left politely.

"I'm almost done."

Here he was. The guy with our future in his hands. And the first look at him, the look on his face, put me off. And I wondered if the captain had the right idea.

His eyes were tired. Not the good kind, from lack of sleep or last night's party. Not the tired I felt having built up so much excitement in my 19 year-old brain. His tiredness came from deeper in his soul. The kind that permeates bone and changes the nature of the body. To know genetically the beat, battered, exhausted feeling of struggling with yourself. The dark circles, the peppered uneven beard, short sandy-blonde hair, the yellowed-white Hanes and stained jeans, everything about him was worn. 
 

After a quick introduction, and some complimentary waters, we stated really talking...

"Things are bad. Not just for me. I'm actually one of the better ones. I'm talking across the board. Bad... F***** Bad. Man, if this was a few years ago... if this was the nineties... you know what I mean? We'd be going. There's no doubt you guys have talent." 
 

I didn't know what he meant. The nineties for me were spent watching cartoons, hanging out in the library, little league games, and listening to the radio. I wouldn't know what he was talking about for a long while. At the time I felt like he wasn't coming down on us. And by the serious looks on my brother's faces, they thought so too.

I watched him eat as he talked, his plate, his knife sliding against porcelain, the yolk bleeding out and around crashing into the toast. The fork rising to his lips, and the cracked lips taking in every bite.

  

"Forget albums... Albums are dead. You think anyone makes money on albums anymore? Like I said, if this was the nineties man... Back then albums made f***** money. If you'd get on the radio, get some buzz going, you've practically got your own printer going. I could develop... artists like you, you know... but now, f*** I don't know. But the thing is... and I know I'm back and forth on this... What are you guys gonna do? You gotta have an album... I mean what good is a band without an album right?"

At first I thought this guy was just a downer, or brushing us off, maybe both of those are true but he was still telling the truth, it really felt like he was being honest.

 

But it would take us some to time to learn how things were changing. It took us time to learn what his advice meant. That's the thing about being on our own. We had no management. No directions to follow. We were stumbling our way through this. Teenagers trying to solve a incredibly complex puzzle. Learning as we go.

It takes time.

I always had this feeling that I never had the complete picture.  He wanted to be truthful, but you can't do that and keep a secret right there at the surface. I could feel it coming up, wanting to tell us the bigger picture, but with each bite he pushed it back down.

But I understood that things were changing. Big things. Behind the curtain things. And this big change in the industry wasn't a surprise, the industry had seen it coming for a while. It wasn't a burst, but a serious of small cuts. Slowly bleeding out from the larger body from all sides, without one centralized place to take stock. With out one vision of how to stop it. But there was the question. And the feeling like someone just needed to come up with the answer. What is the value of music? What is it worth? If you could figure it out. If you could answer that, you could stop the bleeding.

 

I stretched out my neck with a snap. I hadn't realized how long I'd sat nodding my head quietly. This meeting was too much to take in. Too much to understand. I had no idea what the industry transition meant for us, because I didn't know where the industry was much less where it was going.

 

"I've never seen a band look so happy," he leaned back in his chair, "you guys are doing things, s*** you shouldn't even be doing. I mean no one writes songs like this anymore. You know? The guys I work with, they're never as happy as you guys."

The waitress came by to get his plate.

 

"I just don't know right now, about a band that's never played a show. Doesn't have anything. It's just not how it's done... I mean, it's been done. But now... every thing's changed. Those big money days are gone. But right, I wasn't in it either... I've gotta worry about my s**** now and tomorrow. What does it mean to even have a band? F*** it's like I said guys: What's it worth?"

So many things I wanted to ask. Or say. But they didn't come to me. I watched my glass of water, the falling condensation run against my finger tip as his words washed into me. 'What's it worth?'

Music is worth everything to me. An album, a song, a melody. They are an expression of my being. My life and place in the world. I'd give it to anyone who'd listen. I'd give it to no one. To the air. To the sky. I'd give it the animals. The trees. And emptiness. And the stars. That's what I wanted. Help getting our music out there. We weren't thinking of trying to make a printing press. We were thinking about music business. If money was my goal, I'd probably have done something else for a career. What is it worth? What is an emotion worth? An idea? A philosophy? A move? A life? A song?

But don't think I am some artist who is against return. I'd love to get paid more for what I do.  I'd love to not have to worry about rent and food and bills. And like I said, I've learned a lot since that meeting. The me of today, would have answers, and a different view. Confidence. That meeting would be so different. But life moves one way. So it's about the next one, not the first one.  I keep trying to make it better. More accessible. More vibrant. Trying to answer the question: What's it worth?

It's up to the business minds to figure out how to monetize it, the label, manager, and most importantly the artist because they are the one who can set everything with direction, it takes a team, but the artist is the captain, the leader, the vision. Any artist concerned with success needs to have a business mind, or know someone else who has one. 

It's up to the artist to create desire.

Desire is worth.

But it's up to a society to set the price. They are the regulators. The hidden force that says. This is how I listen to music. This is how I want to buy it. This is what I will pay for it. This is who I will give my money to.

And so the question is for all of us. Cause I believe that people want to help people. Artists want to give to fans. Fans want to give to artists. And more importantly, fans care more about the quality of the work than any dollar amount. That's why I pour everything into every word I write. My songs, poems, this blog. What I put out matters more, than what comes back. And hopefully what I put out will help what comes back.

He didn't stand when the meeting was over. He shook our hands from his seat, and ordered an afternoon beer, "I've got lots more people to see today gentleman. Later."

It was a quiet walk back to the van. Back through the hotel. The hallway back to the lobby. And the pianist was on break, the morning check ins were done. Everything was quiet but the slushing sounds of cars running through the street.

We left the meeting without a deal, without answers but only a strange optimism to find my solution to that ever present question, "what's it worth?"

"What do you guys think?" Jaime asked.

"I think we should've gotten a plate," after a few hours I hadn't realized how hungry I was, "I mean we drove up here. We should've at least gotten fed."



-rené

Little Girl, A Full Heart

Little girl, your tongue turned black when you spat at the world.
Little girl, you drifted away. Long after the music started to stray away...


There is a slight difference between a song that tells a story and a song that is a story. A musical. The kind in movies and Broadway. Maybe it's the difference between being the character and the narrator. Or perhaps its having several characters in one segment? Where the music is enhancing not only the overall story but also personalities of the characters. Whatever it is. There is a difference.



Little Girl, for all purposes, is a song from a musical that never existed. An attempt to portray characters as themselves. Though not completely. I didn't want it to be too over the top. Less actual Broadway, more the impression of. I don't think it would do to have an actual musical number. There is a fine line. Some great songs have come out of musicals, but few stand on their own as something I would dig on a record. Most need the context of the full story.

You think it's better lonely, isn't that what you told me?
You want to make your money. You better think of me only


The main key keeping this song falling in to full chorus-line being I narrate about the Little Girl character, rather than her singing her own part. Without the visuals the story is more ambiguous. So we had to set mood with music. That is the main reason for the dramatic shifts in style that move through the song.

There is the main section about the girl. Running away from her problems. And a violent antagonist who's holding her back.  Who is the character of the bridge played by Abe. - Who did a great job getting in a villainous character voice. - This is set by the walking bass line, the rolling piano rhythm, and the high-hat hit. Then for the bridge, the music gets a lot more aggressive. Everyone playing on the same pulsing attacking beat. This is the villain theme.

Then there is a dance interlude. Imagined to be her deciding on what to do with her life. I pictured a dancer moving back and forth across the stage. In throws of confusion. Her choice to stay captive to her past. Or venture to the future. It felt like a classic musical storyline.

The bossa-nova break is actually tricky to get. The time switch. The feel change. It all depends on how the drummer can handle it. I loved the octave piano solo Abe does. My bass work was really fun. Scaling up and down. Writing a McCartney-esque  melody. Check out a live version from Hear Ya:

Finally it ends in the solo. Which is the culmination of the parts. The moment she decides. I felt it was important to leave it up in the air. I like the idea of not-knowing what the future is.

Little girl, you're a flat back woman with no where to turn
Little girl, take a chance make a run, you better hide from the gun

I always wanted to give writing this kinda piece a shot. It was an itch I had to scratch. One I'm proud of. A real fine moment on the record too. I think the idea might sound too lame for some. But songwriting has to be fearless. Regardless of what others might say or think, ideas should be explored. With a full heart. Unashamed. It would be impossible to work with fear of rejection. Not that it doesn't cross my mind, I just don't give in. Be bold. Be daring. Most important, Try something new.

her face, like I had never seen before

beamed into the dark. a song, cutting

the corners of our hearts. with a collective gasp

of an audience unaware of her art. of stripping us,

cleaving off and discarding our worst parts,

leaving their seats lighter than at the start.

-rene


image source: http://www.cinemaretro.com/uploads/cyd.jpg

Got To Get Back Home, The Good Path

-got to get back home to you, little darling. Of all I've done it'd be my biggest sin, if I never could make it back home again.- I'm fallen and weak in this hot desert heat. My skin holds my own blood boiling. I'm blistered and red, but a promise I said, keeps pushing me on through my toiling.

Some get into rock for fame. Some for money. Some for attention. Yes it can have all that, though it is so rare, you might have better odds with the lotto. It seems attainable. A personal El Dorado. A hint, a fragment of a clue to a direction. Always a step ahead. Always out of reach. Until it isn't, and that's what makes the dream so enticing.


Hacienda has been my Quest. Travelling. Hunting. Exploring my world, myself, and the people around me. Battling obstacles, pitfalls, clichés and naysayers. Always jumping to the next thing. I don't know if it will ever end. Or what the end would look like. It is just something I do. If you are familiar it is a lot like Pellinore and the Questing Beast. What good would it be to reach the end? What if Pizarro found El Dorado? Would he sit at home with his treasure, and wait? Would he ever be satisfied? The spirit, for more. The drive to discover, and conquer is human. Some stay in, and some go out.- I don't think of Conquistadors as idols, their history is a disturbing one, and the result of Desire taken beyond the bounds of decency and compassion.- I have a searching spirit. I'm looking, and have been looking for a long time.

Got To Get Back Home is the end of a search. The hero(ine) went out. Found adventure. Lost their self. Corrupted by the search. Now desiring only to start over. To get home. This was me projecting myself into a story. I am not the character, but the character is me. I am not ready to stop. I have more to give. More to offer. I have had moments where I have lost my direction. Where I lost my purpose. Where I was in danger of losing myself. I think I have held on fairly well considering these are treacherous waters.

One of the most interesting arrangements we have done is on Got To Get Back Home. Abe was playing accordion. I did two bass lines with harmonizing melodies. The sound is barren and lit like a desert. I love the jarring and the odd. I love the unexpected. I love when songs exist because they should, not because it's what is expected. This song is unexpected. Don't be afraid to not be serious. Don't be afraid to have humor, it is equalizer of our sanity.

When I imagined getting lost, I thought of where I would go. Going back to where course was lost. To where I would've last known myself. I think it's a pretty classic storyline. To leave home. And the sense of yourself behind. Romanticizing the past. The people left behind, when you are away.

I got into music. Into writing because I had something to say. Growing up with a musical background, gave me a platform to say it. My journey is to keep writing until the words leave me. Right now I'm trying to maintain pace with how fast the songs come.

It is easy to get distracted by other objectives. Temptations thrown in front of our eyes. These are only distractions. Keep the words. Keep the music. That is the good path.

some stranded Sunday

the last day of loss

I thought like melted ice

I thought, like beginning

making a still spark

that was our start

the back seat of a civic

watching the world turn

I thought like turning

I thought, of smiling

cause Sunfall is only our back turning

 so much happening here

I won't understand



-rene


*Image source: http://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large/the-conquistador-betty-bohrer.jpg

Prisoner, The Hand Of The Bold

Scars scratch the truth
helping you through everyday
on walls that surround you
can't confine you to any place
Let your mind drift far, far away

There are a lot of traps and mental prisons in writing. Rules and limitations from society, genre, friends, band mates, producers,  and even ourselves. Each one boxes in the writer a little more. The creativity becomes a little more restricted. The possibilities less. The outcome more solid. This can be great. It is necessary to wrangle imagination in, or songs become unmanageable.

Prisoner is about living inside the cell. Understanding the condition. Moving beyond without violent resistance. But with creative resistance.

There are no worse punishments than ones given to ourselves.

No greater depths of hell than in our mind.

And freedom is only granted from within.

Wanting success can be one of the toughest cells in a creative prison. On one hand the writer -usually- wants the audience to like the work. But writing what you think people want often produces the worst ideas. Writing for money does even more damage to the spirit. The other hand, writing for completely for the self, can give some of the most creative ideas a chance to live. It is the hand of the bold and the dangerous. It is the abstract. The mysterious. But that can leave piece indigestible. Flighty and over intellectualized. And worse yet, writing for an audience of One, leaves the writer with an audience of One.

I wish we had more time to work on this song. But that is the consequence of working fast. Our albums were all recorded in under the span of two weeks. This pressure can provide great conditions for spontaneous creativity. The pressure drives the mind. The imagination. Reaching new places. It's tough. It's exciting. It's not for the feint of spirit. But it does have draw backs. Sometimes the songs are just beginning to cook, but we are on to the next piece. I wouldn't say I have regrets or disappointments- I love all our songs and I have pride about the work we have done on each one. I feel lucky to not have a song that I am embarrassed about releasing. But sometimes I wish I could work on it more. I am really happy with the new arrangement we are using for Prisoner live. I wish I could record that. Maybe a live record would be good for us...

Songs suffer from trying to do too much. Trying to cover too much ground. Trying to express every side at once. That's when rules help. But which one's to listen to? Which one's to fight?  It's hard to take outside criticism because it feels like a personal attack. It feels like the idea wasn't given a good shot. You can fight for every inch an idea, but I think songs will suffer more. I've learned the problem is not the prison. Just how we feel inside of it.

Gone are the old friends
whose time they won't spend anyway
here are your new friends
who you can depend, won't go away
Let your mind drift far, far away

The truth is, there is no right answer. Only what things we can live with. There are some limitations we shouldn't tolerate. Some walls must be broken. Some amount of personal identity must be asserted. It is up to the artist to decide what is tolerable. Knowing that: resistance to others only further alienates the project.

There are times I have felt trapped. Stuck. Like everything is moving on a schedule. Like I'm unable to move for myself. It is not a good feeling. It's also not easy to break out of it. The worse part is you want to blame others, but it's only the self. It's only the mind confining itself. This song is to remind myself: let your mind drift far, far away.

falling, together.

never knowing a part from the self,

the water, and the rain

we are bound

racing to end, heavens of earth and black tar

they will take us, but at least we can go together

-rene

image source: http://www.commarts.uws.edu.au/gmjau/v4_2010_1/images/prisoner_lg.gif

Mamas Cooking, See The Flow.

Mama's cooking on the big piano
Been cooking on the big piano
Come back home and that's where I found her
She's knows I should be sleeping but to stop she'd need a better reason
Mama's cooking on the big piano
Ny mama she's a lovely teaser, way she's banging I'd love to please her

Live vs Record. Everything changes. Writing for either takes a different approaches. Mama's Cooking was originally written for Loud Is The Night. There is a version recorded from that session, different from the one on Big Red and Barbacoa.

It was a mistake to leave it off the first record. If I could go back that might be one change I would make. Live, this song was already a staple of our show, often working as the closer on the set. Getting bigger and louder the more we played. Becoming a sweat soaked rampage capable of blowing down the garage rock door. It didn't start that way.

It was written as an acoustic song. I wanted to be sort of a weird White Album earthy drone. When I was first working it out, we weren't playing a lot of shows so I was more focused on sounds. But as time between writing the song and recording increased, and more shows were played, the sound evolved.

Three in the morning and the neighbor's calling
Ain't no peace when we start balling
Dogs all bay and the dead start waking, she's got soul that can't be faking
Three in the morning and the neighbor's calling
Better stop before the cops come over, but me and my baby gonna play it all night

There are some bands with live shows sounding exactly like their records. Some completely different. Sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. Great records can sound like they were recorded live. I've only rarely been a fan of live records though.

I've always liked treating them as different but maybe that's changing. I love the sound of a band planning together, but not listening to uncontrolled jams. As a musician I love to jam, but as a record listener I don't have the patience for it. It's not that I think songs need to be short. I just like the song to be thoughtful in it's progression.

The wildness of experimentation easily wears thin on me. My patience can be extended for a live show. The experience, the energy, the visuals all permit the song to travel, to breath, and to live beyond the length and precision of the record. I can watch that journey. It is a story. To see the faces...Is it fluid? Is it a fight? Are they worried about where to go? Are they happy when they got there? It's all over their bodies.

When you are that involved in music, you can't hide frustration, joy, or terror. It just broadcasts. Seeing that keeps the jam interesting for me. On record everything seems purposeful. It's too easy to say -I meant to do that. Making it less of a trip.

The second version of Mama's Cooking was done all live in one room including vocals. Probably not too different from an early Little Richard, or Elvis track. The first version we did featured Dan on Background vocals singing harmony with me, how cool is that... I love hearing the double kick stomp to kick it off. The bass line is furious. I always play it hard, like I'm attacking the strings. I know I've had strong performance when my right hand bleeds a little bit, usually from the index.

In a live show, I look for moments where we can reach out beyond the song. To interact with the audience. To say- this is happening only tonight. That type of playing and arranging can sound flat on record, without a good audience to interact with. So it becomes about building flow. It's hard to say if what you are recording will work at all. There is not that initial reaction from the audience. Just like the faces of the musicians give away how they feel about a song, so does the face of the crowd.

Keys are flying, and the walls are shaking
ain't gonna stop till the whole place breaking
doors are banging and the phone keeps ringing
Keys are flying and walls are shaking
Me and my baby go for bacon fat, don't you know we're always down for that

 Recently we've been narrowing our sound. For the first time we have a sound that is cohesive. More focused. We are going to keep the sound of playing together in the studio. Drums and bass have to be locked in. No other way about it.

The best way for me to lock in with kick is to track my bass while watching the drummer. I keep my eye on the movements. Watch the energy. See the flow. It's not anticipation, but co-operation.That is enough to give a track life. I don't know if we will record another song all live with vocals. But never say never, right?

Mama's Cooking sounds live, because it is. It also makes it stand alone a bit. It's also the only song written from Loud Is The Night onto a later album. Anyway you cut it, it is one of my proudest songs. It is rock and roll thru and thru.

The old star-eaten sky

sends no safety

means no harm.

Night waits,

wanting to be used.

His eagerness

persists in the air

like breathing late-Saturday

atmosphere. Not to offend

the next, once her edge drops a bit.

-The night'll go where you go.

-rene