-The reason I oppose all legislative forms of censorship is that the current legal system concerning our civil and unalienable rights does not possess ethical proof towards their capability in creating such a law. The US Government is an ideal form when there are those of ethical virtue to administer its tenets. However, this is not the current State of our Union. We have become, essentially, divorced from Our Freedoms and it is time to take them to court for everything they owe us. This being our very Bill of Rights; upon which this great Nation is founded. Without them, we are but slaves to lesser men than ourselves. If you vote this year, do so in good conscience. 100,000 write-in candidates, chosen in good faith, speak louder than shouting in the streets. We cannot fight candidate party advertising with "protest" advertising. Nobody reads the signs anymore. We must exercise our First Ammendment Right on Nov. 6th by writing in our own ethical choice in the people we would know to have our interests best represented. If it's your pastor, great! If it's the old guy a few doors down that always has good advice, great! It could also be someone you recall from school that knew how to play fair.
It is entirely your choice.
It's been said many times that a write-in vote is a wasted vote. This may have been the case in times when there were ethical people and an acceptible choice with whom to fill an elective office. It is evident by the actions of our Legislative Branch that this has not been the case in quite some time. However, it has also been neglected such that we are capable of recognising the virtue of ethics in the actions of others; though we may choose not follow such attributes in our own. This does not affect our ability to vote in good conscience.
Though the chosen party candidates may still win the office, it is important that we set forth the greatest message in our ability within the laws of our Nation by simply voting, in good conscience, our choices for all available elective positions on Nov. 6, 2012.
I have yet to regret a decision I made in good conscience.
Strange word, isn't it? Anyway, Purpose is a funny thing in its own right. Like, familiar sayings as, "...to what purpose?" come to mind, as one might in conclusion to right about now.
But I digress to this:
What is the purpose in music? Why do we DO what we are born to be doing? It has to have some function, right? I mean, there Is the completion of goals. Mastering a diminished minor barre chord or nailing that mixolydian run in the solo part. There is the purpose of physical achievement. But, this only serves part of the greater whole of True purpose. Certainly, the mastery of expression must deliver the purpose of one's intent in performance. Yet, this flows rythmless without time keeping.
Of Beethoven's greatest gifts to music, it was the metronome. Look it up. This is only a part of why he earned the right to be known as Maestro.
Even with all these fundamental elements to our expression of self in contingent harmony, there becomes a greater cause at hand revealed beyond the meager scope of what is only the expression of self.
The true purpose in music for me is to share these things to the greater benefit of others. Music is not just a dumping ground for my emotions. (granted, it helps my mental state of being most of the time.) No, it came from the other way for me.
Before I hit the record button tonight, I had to first realize the purpose in it. Yeah... deadlines and show dates and educational stuff like that, but, this part is usually cake!
So, what's the hang up?
Writers block isn't about not having ideas. Sometimes we get a little case of musical hypochondria, but we all know that's bullshit too. No, we are just creatively pulled elsewhere, or hiding in the bomb shelter again. Or, hell... maybe you just ran out of the drugs that worked. Nor, am I the one to judge. No, it is the lack of Purpose.
There are a few songs that are framed on here that are the next in their journey to final completion. In their purpose, they serve to aid in illustrating certain points in the development of songwriting. They don't become those slick "sell ya for a buck" downloads in this process. This is the organic grown, green state of Washington. This is part of the Purpose for me.
But, tonight. I needed to reach a specific audience. This song serves its purpose to this audience. I have found Purpose.
[track 1] [REC][PLAY]
...shut thefuckup, Roxanne. The red light is ON.
It's funny. In the past month, I have been getting postcards from friends and relatives. It gave me an idea. I've been working on this sketch for a video shoot. It totally sucks. So I'm shitcanning it and asking you for a little help.
See, I have seen a lot of places in our country by car. Everywhere I've stopped, I've found a postcard rack within 50 yards of the gas pumps. After so many stops along the way, I've met people who have surprised me in their kindness as were we long time friends. So, why not include you all in my first video?
All I ask is that you mail a postcard that you would want mailed to yourself if you ever were drawn from your home. In this way, it is both an intimate and still, an ambiguous act of self-expression. This is what I always hope to share with you from the stage with my music.
The best part of the postcard is this: if they don't make one that suits you, any photograph will serve its purpose.
Please, just don't embarass the postal carrier too badly... ;)
I thank you in advance and look forward to your postcards.
p.s. I'm shooting for the video to be completed by the equinox, but, it's an open deadline. ;)
Every once in a while, I begin searching for clear space on some recording media cuz I ran out on the current one. Occasionally, a few really old recordings pop up where they had been forgotten. Just ideas, arrangements and other assorted foolhardy attempts, I guess. Some made the cut and some, well... they haven't found their soul yet. Like unbaptized infants in limbo. They exsist and are content to just be in their still born form.
I never give up hope that they may come alive again. Perhaps they will. They could be just the simple brushstrokes on a pallette that serve only to proof the subsequent work. No sound captured is wasted when put into objective light.
I may think that these lost tapes deserve restful anonymity. Still, they have purpose that is relavent and besides, I thought you might like to know where I've come from.
The only thing for certain is, I should really consider a better filing system. Surprisingly, I have never lost one. Machines and worldly possessions on the other hand...
"Ok, look. It's really no big deal, but we're talking ethics here!" - More on this later. I should explain first.
So, I'm sitting around, learning about beehives because I know a guy that keeps them. Anyway, it was on a commercial break and this Christmas ad for Jack Daniels came on. There are friends right now who have already had a thought about this and they would be incorrect. I didn't drink that shit unless politely. As I was not a polite drinker, this seldom happened...
No, I actually enjoy the piece. Good warmth and Christmas Cheer and all that stuff people are too ired to feel this season, of any. There's horses and red ribbons and that. Wood tones and casks.
. My great grandpa lost his eye to a bursting cask. He used to have a glass eye; which he would drop with impunity into his buddies beer. He was social. I come from a family that is social to the greatest extent. Mirth is usually present.
As for me? I could hardly stand that shit. I quit again before Maker's Mark got insano distribution, but, no. mine was single or red label. I shoulda quit when I realized the guy with the cane was mocking me at that dump on the corner of 2nd ave. Best burger in town, if you have an iron stomach.
So, I never even considered that first thought, my dear friends. It takes a decision to do anything and I have certainly made mine. No, I took issue with the guy tapping the cask to check the ageing. It was absolutely correct procedure, don't get me wrong here. Gotta flush the bung to keep it pure, as they say... Or, is it wipe your ass and cover it. I hear enough of these things that I could make a killing in bumper stickers...if people still actually paid attention to the road.
No, my issue was of the waste issue of that valuable liquid issuing forth from its womb. Where is the paper cup to catch that bit of excess that has as every right to being enjoyed as to the volume contained within?
See? This is an ethical outrage to someone with the reaction I have to a simple, volatile carbon compound.
I'm pretty sure that's just continuing proof as to why I am always the way I am.
So, throughout the Christmas season, (I don't put it in your front yard... keep that shit in yours and I'll keep mine here in the back pages too.) the only thing that really matters to me is the spirit of this while thing. We need it more than ever. At least we all have each other. I bid you,
Peace on Earth and Goodwill To: ALL!
My princess, my enemy I don't understand why you can't be free from the burden of the sadness that's dragging you down
now I've broken your sense of trust in the curse of this wanton lust in a lapse of my desire to make you feel no pain.
can you forgive me, my darling one for being a man?
know the stone you carry in your heart can weigh so heavy that it tears you apart and the resentments that you cling to only wear you thin
and for every sleepless night from the continuing internal fight your giving power to the force you let govern you
don't let it govern you
can you forgive yourself for something something you didn't do
My darling princess Anomie how I wish that I could set you free to pick the lock on the prison door surrounding your heart
I know within you have the tools to slay the demon and bury the fool and let the sun's warmth touch your soul set you free to fly
can you forgive me my darling princess Anomie can you forgive me for wanting to return all you give to me?
I love postcards. Like damn near all of you, the postal correspondence I receive typically involves either financial obligation or irrelevant hawking. I am not of these planes of existence. The national post has essentially become the communications equivalent of the dentist; emotionally trying if you let the situation get under your skin, but a necessary function nonetheless. Postcards are that 5x7 ray of light amid the meaningless blur of commercial sales flyers that form the backbone of the beast that has killed our creative flow as a society.
These postcards are a public expression of affection towards each other. They are sent because we feel the desire to be inclusive of the memorable experiences in our journeys. The messages written are an open conversation in a public venue, yet carry the emotional charge of the intimate sentiment between friends, family and lovers alike. The message as written is spontaneous, unrevised, unapologetic and from the heart. Blemishes or corrections are seen and barely ripple the steady flow of the feeling expressed. Postcards are the embodiment of the sender; the blemishes, the beauty and the spirit contained in one single chip of bonded paper stock.
So too are these sketches you are listening to. Every smudge, scratch and on-the-fly correction is left in state as the proofmarks of genuine expression. The recording of each part is a single, unrefined take from start to finish. No parts of these little documents are cut, dubbed over or pasted in to create the illusion of perfection. I'm not saying I'm against this refinement of expression; in fact this is the ultimate goal of the project; to realize a pure emotional experience in an aspect of the universal truth, such that the listener will identify in a parallel experience analogous to their own.
check your postcards. No harm will ever come of sending them to those you love.