Hello Friends—

I wanted to fill this blogspot with a request for you to help out our band in a local contest.  Usually, I’m not one to enter these contests…..but the payoff is nice exposure:  a featured article in the Twin Cities’ Vita.mn magazine/website and a performance at the South By Southwest Send Off at the First Avenue Main Room.

To enter your vote for us, go to:  http://startribune.upickem.net/engine/Details.aspx?p=V&c=13775&s=2865417&i=1#SD

Every vote counts in this contest, and the band would love your support!

Nominations will be accepted through February 17.  So do it now!

Thanks,
Jason

Hello Friends—

I wanted to fill this blogspot with a request for you to help out our band in a local contest.  Usually, I’m not one to enter these contests…..but the payoff is nice exposure:  a featured article in the Twin Cities’ Vita.mn magazine/website and a performance at the South By Southwest Send Off at the First Avenue Main Room.

To enter your vote for us, go to:  http://startribune.upickem.net/engine/Details.aspx?p=V&c=13775&s=2865417&i=1#SD

Every vote counts in this contest, and the band would love your support!
Nominations will be accepted through February 17.  So do it now!

Thanks, Jason

After an epic two-day RV ride through one of the nastiest storms I’ve ever experienced, me and half my band are safe and sound right outside Tampa, Florida in a tiny town called Odessa.  The drive was long and brutal (that’s what she said) and if had to create a keyword list to define the activities of the trip, this is how it would read:

Surly Furious
Blizzard
cell-phone Tetris
Joe Camel
pickled hot dogs
Vitamin Water
Cranium
Flaming Lips
pistachios
siamese cats
ice sheets
Arby’s
crazy christian country radio stations
Tom Petty

...the list could go on, but I’ll stop there.  A few things also had to be left out, but you can imagine what they are. 
So I’m in Florida for a couple of days.  Tomorrow, we’re renting a car and driving to see Phish in Miami.  If you haven’t seen them (when they’re on their game), you haven’t seen a live concert.  But until then, we’re enjoying the company of friends and family and hoping you are too.

Peace,
jason

After an epic two-day RV ride through one of the nastiest storms I’ve ever experienced, me and half my band are safe and sound right outside Tampa, Florida in a tiny town called Odessa.  The drive was long and brutal (that’s what she said) and if had to create a keyword list to define the activities of the trip, this is how it would read:

Surly Furious
Blizzard
cell-phone Tetris
Joe Camel
pickled hot dogs
Vitamin Water
Cranium
Flaming Lips
pistachios
siamese cats
ice sheets
Arby’s
crazy christian country radio stations
Tom Petty

...the list could go on, but I’ll stop there.  A few things also had to be left out, but you can imagine what they are. 
So I’m in Florida for a couple of days.  Tomorrow, we’re renting a car and driving to see Phish in Miami.  If you haven’t seen them (when they’re on their game), you haven’t seen a live concert.  But until then, we’re enjoying the company of friends and family and hoping you are too.

Peace,
jason

Bonjour, Bueno, Hello, Hi.  jason shannon reporting to you from the arctic heights of Prospect Park, a frozen freckle of land in between the Frigid Cities.  i’m scribing to you from about 500 yards from the Witch’s Hat Tower, the highest natural plot of land in the Cities, and the rumored place of inspiration for Bob Dylan’s “All Along The Watchtower” (now we all know that isn’t true…...)

It’s been a cold one here.  you remember how crocodile dundee could tell the time of the day by looking at the sun?  minnesota’s got a similar thing going.  you can tell what day of the year it is by how long you have to let your car warm up before getting into it and freezing to near-death.  but it’s weird.  usually minnesota slowly revs its way into winter.  but this year has been pretty mild with a sudden clutch-popping, high-gear shift into Shiverville.  Usually, ‘round this time, like clockwork, you hear natives and immigrants to this land whisper, “why do we live here?”  i ask the same thing myself and then keep moving. 

So i got my space heater pumping, my licorice tea brewing, and i’m plotted down at the computer to write about my take on the year 2009.  the highs, the lows, the whoa’s, the bro’s, and most importantly, the ho’s…..because as an alleged rock star, after all i said and done, the single most important thing to me in this universe, is female adulation, female validation, female copulation, female transmorgrification, etc etc.  now if i only knew what “transmorgrification” meant, i’d be set….... 

Nah, but really…...if i were some local music writer or some hipster blogger, i’d write, in the third-person of course, that “jason shannon has had a breakout year.”  i’d then go on to talk about my rollicking band, my “rootsy” sounds, the impassioned singing, the “slick” album i released, and last but not least, the whereabouts of my former, red-haired violin player (she’s out there doing well, i believe). 

So in musing about this year, I’ll try to answer some of these questions in regards to Then—Now—and Soon to be.  You might find me headed off on a couple of tangents and you might quit reading.  This is gonna be a long one.  So grab your space heater, your licorice tea, throw on some Perry Como or Johnny Mathis, and enter The Bramble Of Ramble.

First off, lemme say, honestly, I hope this has been a good year for you…..the reader….wherever you are out there on whatever path you’re taking, whatever ditch you’re landing, and whatever stitch you’re mending.  If we’ve crossed paths over this year, I hope the exchange has been of worth and honesty.  If I’ve burned the bridge that unites us, forgive me and build another one that we can cross together in peace.  If you don’t want to, don’t.  If I’ve helped etch a new footpath from one place of truth to another, the traffic is two-way.  This year, has, by faaaaaaar, been one of the most interesting of my life.  So I’ll explain a little if you care to hear….

JANUARY:

After three months of preparation and a year-and-a-half of sonic/artistic perspiration, I celebrate the release of my first solo record with my band. It marks the beginning of a whirlwind year…..highs and lows…..the whole 100 yards.  We throw a huge party at the Varsity Theater in Minneapolis, one of the coolest venues in town and a tough place to fill.  It’s a ballsy move on my part because up to that point, I don’t know if more than 75 people have been out to see us at once.  But I send a few emails to the booking guy there and assure him that I can fill the place.  I’m not sure I can, but I assure him because that’s what you do when you’re a dreamer and an honest schemer.  So the months preceding the show were filled with all kinds of ballyhoo….writing personal letters to music writers, sending my disc to the local taste-makers,  adding myspace friends, sending emails, having all day rehearsal sessions with my 7-piece band, emailing photos, writing bios, liason-ing with my website builders….basically anything related to promotion.  I even took out ads in the paper (for two months) and stuffed magazines with fliers for a month straight.  One night, when it was snowing harder than ever, I got into a car accident on the highway and hit a Toyota Camry that two guys were fixing on the side of the road.  I got out of the car and saw two shell-shocked Mexicanos bleeding through their winter jackets.  Needless, to say, my eyes blew up like they do in the comic books and I rattled off a necklace of expletives and prayed to a God whose existence I sort of question daily.  Firetrucks came, ambulances screamed, and I stood on the side of the road, locked out my car, and fearful that I had just killed two makeshift mechanics.  And yet, selfishly or not, one of the first things I could think of besides their health, was “man, i sure hope i get to play the release show…..and geez, i hope people come.” (p.s. nobody died)

And people came.  A lot of people.  Almost 600.  Relatives flew in, neighbors stopped by, strangers peered through the doors, and people intrigued by the two months of marketing of a man on a ladder near Lake Superior bought a ticket to see what the deal was.  And the band, psyched by months of anticipation (you don’t know how many times I heard the question, “Are you almost done with the record?”)  was looking dapper and ready to hit the stage.  And we hit it hard with nothing to lose and, maybe, something to prove.  There were cameras everywhere.  We were nervous backstage.  I even bought a steamer and sat in the back room and steamed my throat and face for an hour or so…..all the while being filmed by a hired crew!  And like that, it was over.  A success.  Money made.  Discs sold.  Reviews in.  We were on the scene.  Hello Minneapolis and Saint Paul. 

Then the next week, we packed up our bags and did the same thing 60 miles away in Saint Cloud, as an opening act, to an audience of 25.  Our hopes and dreams and egos were tempered.  We’re just a band.  “It takes time and hard work”.......the phrase you hear and repeat to yourself over and over and over.

FEBRUARY:

After the whooplah of our opening month wore off, I did what anyone would do when attempting to be realistic about future prospects.  I started trimming the fat.  The band went from a 7-piece to a 5-piece in about three days.  I issued the “future plans” manifesto (based on goals and guts) and asked everyone to think seriously about their availability because we were about to travel and tour and I didn’t want anyone on board that couldn’t be.  So like that, I asked one person to step and then another person voluntarily left and suddenly we were 5. 

And now I’m searching for some help.  The first person to reach out and offer their assistance was a friend of mine who saw the kinda ship being built and thought they could help drive it.  She met with us a couple of times and, like always with anyone in this inspiring position, offer the sky as the only limit.  Everyone was buzzed.  We met with a touring agent and discussed regions and lengths and guarantees and press.  Everything seemed on the upswing. 

Then about a week into the project, reality (and various other things I’ll never understand) struck our wide-eyed assistant and she bowed out.  No explanation.  No nothing.  In fact, we went from being friends to never talking again.  And to this day, I have no idea why.  And really, I don’t care.  Time to move on.

The next sequence of events prove to show the strangeness in which the universe works.  After years of being out of touch, an old high school friend of mine contacts me via Facebook.  She wonders what I’m up to, if I’m still doing music, how the career is going, and if I need any help.  I quickly respond back and say YESSSSS!  She tells me she knows a guy that I could connect with and that he’ll be near the Cities doing some tour managing for Dwight Yoakam.  She then quickly asks me to drive out to a casino grand opening Dwight is headlining to meet this “guy.”  “Bring CD’s!” she says…...so I do.  Keep in mind:  this particular night is one of the coldest I can remember.  And I drive an old truck so the heat is pretty minimum and I’ve got a headlight missing.  This could be dangerous.  And it’s so last minute, I can’t find an accomplice.  All I know is that I don’t really want to go, but something in me is saying, “ah, just drive out there.  it’ll be all good.”

So I drive out.  And it’s colder than all hell.  The only thing that keeps me going is Tom Petty’s “Damn The Torpedoes” and the thought I might be meeting someone that could help me get a larger break beyond the confines of the Cities…...because, after all, my goal is to be a touring artist making a living on the road and I’m gonna do whatever I gotta do (other than playing and working on songs) to make that happen. 

I get there.  My feet are ready to be shipped off to the grocery store for holiday consumption.  My boots are hard like concrete and I’ve got a handful of CD’s.  I go backstage, I shake hands with a bunch of strangers, eat pizza I didn’t order.  I get in line to take a picture with Dwight Yoakam.  He’s not interested in any of this.  In fact, you can see he’s mildly checked out.  I just wanna ask him about Warren Zevon.  I sit through the Dwight show, sandwiched between two people I don’t know and surrounded by a horde of people screaming for “Guitars, Cadillacs, Etc.”  The show’s done and I’m ready to crash.  I hand off my disc, cross my fingers, feel mildly out of place,  thank the people who’ve helped me get there, and look for a room for the night.  It’s booked.  I drove home…..this time kept alive by Bruce Springsteen’s “Nebraska”......in particular the tracks “State Trooper” and “Highway Patrolman”.  My phone’s dead and there’s not a soul in sight.  If my truck dies, I’m a goner.  I remember thinking, “man, this would be a shitty way to go out…..”

A few days later, I get a call from the guy I was supposed to meet.  He wants to “talk”.  He likes what he hears.  He wants to know my plans.  I say, “Plans?  Plans?  I want to go as far as I can go in the business, man!  I wanna tour the world”  And to sum it up, that was that.  We sat down for coffee, talked about music and the music business and made a deal.  And along with the deal, he agreed to make happen all the goals I was visualizing. 

MARCH-JUNE:

And so off we were.  The band was stoked.  Everyone in the group has been really ready to get out and travel and play and see the countryside.  This looked to be our time.  I didn’t think twice about slaving it in Minneapolis for years, trying to build a crowd, playing bar after bar after bar.  I’ve already done that kinda thing since I was in my early 20’s.  I’d rather play bar after bar after across the U.S. until it turns into club after club after into theaters.  That is my goal with this group.  I’m past the point of playing the clueless artist card.  I know what I want and I want to “make it.”  And in this case, “make it,” as of now, simply means making it out of town and making a living that doesn’t involve couch surfing and Chuckwagon dieting.  And connecting with music lovers.

So the goal was to make a list of artist that I could tour with.  I’d pick the biggest names and next-to-biggest names.  After all, the music business is the wild west.  There’s more shit thrown at the wall than a crazy house full of turds.  So I made a list.

And the first one to bite hard was Bob Schneider…...and his tour was all around the country.  just what i’ve been looking for.  so we took it and packed the boat in accordance with the journey.  i’ll leave out all the minor details, but let’s just say it was quite an undertaking to get together and that everyone was really excited (even me, and I don’t excited about too many things….).

The tours, as I’ve written in the past, were some of the best times I’ve ever had.  We were doing exactly what we set out to do AND…..people seemed to be liking it…..which is nice considering every night we went out there, we were strangers to a crowd foaming at the mouth to see someone else.  Chuckwagons, every day at noon, were tolerable.  Even riding on bumpy-ass road at 2 AM in pouring rain was a cause for celebration. 

Of course, there were some weird things.  We couldn’t see our friends.  Internet was wack.  Showers were a rare commodity.  And everyone seemed to have a mysterious case of “RV Throat”.....a sickness that felt like a small rodent had crapped in your larynx and was having rodent babies.  Bunk.  On top of that, sleep was brutal and I’m not sure if everyone knew how to handle partying from city to city.  But all in all, the time on the road was amazing and we met some fans that are still writing to me for us to come back.  And yes, I promise we’ll be out again sooner than later.

JULY—

So we get back home.  unpack.  unwind.  and get going again.  we play the hot main stage at the Taste Of Minnesota…...followed by Low Rider and Bret Michaels.  It’s creepy, sweaty, and a slice of life from an unedited episode of the Twilight Zone.  management is working on getting us back out there.  they’re pushing the record.  the days are piling up.  the band is wondering when we’re getting out there again.  I’m wondering too.  Every tour we’re about to get on falls short of being the right fit.  Meanwhile, we’re hanging out in town and wondering how to proceed.  I’m told to not be entirely concerned with the city because “you’re a national touring band, jason.”  so i settle down and go, “okay.”  we’re a national touring act.  but we’re not touring and i don’t have any more fingernails.

As the last months of summer roll out to sea, we’re on the shore waiting.  eventually, i decide to book some shows around here and begin working the area…..but it’s tough because you can’t play the city too much and getting people out is challenging if you play all the time.  i feel like we’re a really good live band that plays a different show each time, but not even people with amnesia wanna see the same thing over and over again…...unless you’re Phish or something.

I’m still writing music and trying to keep up spirits but it’s a tough time.  i don’t know if anyone outside of our inner circle knows, but we’re in a strange state of limbo as how to proceed.  i’ve learned, first-hand, that when you combine the artistry with the business, it puts a stranglehold on that sense of playfulness and fun associated with music and creativity.  I now understand what musicians mean when they say their time onstage is so valued after all the other stuff is said and done.  I feel like a captain stranded at sea, surrounded by a crew threatened with scurvy and seeing mirages in the shape of venues and soundchecks.  it’s tricky.  i’m tired and frustrated.  for a guy who’s relatively chill, positively funny, and definitely determined, i have simply lost my cool. 

To deal with the feelings of immobility, i decide to start recording a bunch of songs I really like that I want to share with people…..ones that won’t be on a record but deserve to be heard.  so, to keep my band feeling like we’re doing something, I devise the EP Collection and we steadfastly begin tracking these songs.  actually, the guys in my band quickly lend me their talents and we work the parts out and they track them.  what i didn’t realize is how focused and borderline obsessed I would become with getting these songs to match my inner vision.  i know of some artists who find it fulfilling enough to simply write a songs.  they leave the rest of the process up to someone else.  but for me, that’s like visualizing a killer painting and concept and not going out and buying the canvas and laying it down.  i just get really really into it.  almost to the point where it’s ridiculous.  But, in the end, for the most part, i get what i want.  i work on every single thing…..every molecule of sound.  my fingerprint is everywhere but the goal is for it to feel seamless.  so i let the band track everything live and then i piece it together and mix it according to my sonic vision for the song…..which i’m not entirely sure enough at the get-go. 

that’s been a tough task and rather than inspiring my bandmates to come in and record, i think it actually had the opposite effect.  i was spending way too much time on this stuff, not writing, canceling some rehearsals.  it was grim.  on the one hand, i consider it a productive mistake with a bonus learning experience…...i really got to hone my chops in terms of mixing songs and learning about EQ and compression and perspective, etc.  I was reading and watching videos and learning how to make these tunes jump off the speaker and i think i took a pretty big step in that direction.  that way, i’ll at least know how to explain to a professional mixer what I’m after when i’m sitting at the console watching him tweak knobs.

And after all that intense labor…...hours at the computer…...and I mean HOURS…...i released the first EP on iTunes and was about to release the second one and my management asked me to not release it and to wait.  they had plans and thought i was better off not putting it out.  You’d think I’d be totally pissed about the command, but I was actually a little relieved.  I had thoroughly fulfilled my lifetime quota of mouse clicks and eye squints.  In fact, I just went to a masseuse to get my mouse clicking hand healed up.

i guess the main reason i wanted to put out the EP’s was to have something fresh for people to hear.  i don’t enjoy being contacted by people from around the country asking me where to get music from our tour only to be able to tell them a lot of it isn’t officially recorded.  and I’m just not that into my first record enough to quench their thirst that way.  I don’t know why.  Maybe that’s just my nature.  People tell me all the time about how much they like it and that they jam out to it all time in their car.  All I can think about when I hear it is wishing i had more time to craft it into something a little more raw and dirty sounding.  The other thing about the situation is that I have a band now and I want people to hear the sound of a band, in a room, making my songs come to life.  That’s what I want to give to people and that was the idea behind the EP collection.  But for now, I’ve cryogenically frozen the EP Series.  i’m sad to say. RIP EP.  Come back some other day.

The most humorous thing about this whole journey is how wrapped up in it I have become.  It’s almost like I don’t know how to be a person who just sees the little things…..the things I attempt to write about.  It’s like the Lord Of The Rings Trilogy.  I almost feel like I’m one of those people that got a taste of the Ring and now I’m just foaming at the mouth or something.  Like I’m a future junkie!  That’s it.  I’m a future junkie.  There’s no cure.  I’m cracking…....ahhhh…  I guess all those hours reading Krishnamurti and meditating in the Lotus position and listening to Eckhart Tolle didn’t work so well.  I still want something more than is in front of me.  It’s sad and true and I can swallow it for now.  But at least I can feel things and honestly I can say that I’m writing from the heart, shooting from the hip, being true to my instincts.  And really half of my instincts are met.  The other half are the desire to travel and play.  No wonder I’m currently half-a-headcase.  Does anyone know a lobotomist?  I want one for Christmas.

I was watching Along Came Polly in bed last night.  I’ve never seen it.  It was on USA network and i stopped and watched.  Ben Stiller’s in it and his character’s dad doesn’t say a word the entire movie until the very end.  He tells another character in the film, one who’s struggling with their place, “it’s the ride, man.  you’ve got to enjoy the ride!”  and you know the movie itself was sorta ridiculous but that was the only part that i really heard and felt….it was almost as if i was supposed to just hear that. 

i know….it’s a corny resolution….one that has the sound of a hallmark special written all over it….but i’ve decided to enjoy the ride a bit more.  to chill.  to just get back to having fun being in a band and writing the best songs i can for the love and joy of it…..the whole reason i do it in the first place.  I tried on the ring.  It don’t fit so good right now.

so anyway, i’ll end this mammoth blog by saying thank you to anyone who’s helped us along the way this year.  thank you thank you thank you.  it’s been an eye-opener.  i’m thankful for what i’ve got right now…..my health, my friends, my family, and just the fortune of having some guys to hang out with and laugh and play music with…..my band….thanks guys…..it’s a cool thing…..a gift.  so whoever is out there spinning the wheels on the car that makes us all go, thanks for giving me this space in time.  i’ll do my best. 

Now I’m off to a show…......

Happy Holidays!
jason

Hello Blog Readers of The Digital Age—

i’m half-slumped on a green sofa, near my recording studio, on a grey wednesday.  the fireplace is glowing brightly alongside me and my laptop is incinerating all future children of mine.  but hey, that’s cool.  i’ve got more where that came from (?)......

anyway, i’m in the final home stretch of the first installation of a long and arduous (and equally fulfilling) recording project that me and the band have undertaken.  I’ve been wanting to wait to announce it but I’ll spill the beans a little because…..what does it matter anyway….. so here goes:

as some of you may know, i write a lot of songs and the band tries out many of them.  some of slam dunkers and some are damn clunkers.  and some are album material and some are good enough but somehow just don’t quite fit the vibe, format, etc….whatever.  what ends up happening with me is that i have all these songs i really like but don’t have an outlet for their expression except to show them to my band and occasionally play them at a show where there isn’t a crowd asking for a select number of songs.

and if you’ve gone to see us live and bought the album, you’ll notice we play about two or three songs from my first official release.  the rest are all new and/or unrecorded.  what ends up happening is you buy an artifact and go home with a relic.  i’m working to give you the moment.

SO…..i’m getting to my point…..i’ve decided to take some of my favorite unrecorded songs (that don’t fit my vision for the next album) and release five of them, online only at iTunes, every month until our next official full-length release.  in addition, each release will follow an undisclosed theme and may also contain some live releases and rough demos.  sounds like a big task, eh?  well, uh…..yeah….it is.  i’m just learning that. 

but i’m always up for a big challenge and so i’ve been hunkered in the studio, like a soldier in a thick trench, dodging phone calls, sunlight, and playtime….....recording, editing, mixing, mastering, etc.  if i haven’t lost my mind yet, i’m on my way.

i’m pleased to say that i think these releases are gonna have a number of really great songs…...“gems” as some say…...and i can’t wait to get them out into the digital world for people looking for new Jason Shannon songs.

all in all, these releases will lead up to a sort of creative breadcrumb trail that leads to a full-length record…...which i’m guessing will begin production early next year.  damn, i hope it does.  i don’t know how many of these releases i can do without suffering some kinda energy crisis.  it should be noted also, that this method of releasing also comes with the intention of streamlining the recording for the the full-length…...narrowing the stylistic focus (but not limiting it) and creating a cohesive piece of work.  i get so many questions from people asking…..“what kind of music is this?”

and my answer is:  damn lady…..it’s just music!

i guess we all stare at the labels next to the painting as long as we do the painting itself, so i’m grouping things together and getting it off the shelf…....

like some guy, once said, “man doesn’t live on bread alone.”  luckily, near my hideout, there’s a vending machine with animal crackers for my body while my heart and soul work in overdrive.  AND i’m pleased to say that this is the first release where my official band is playing on everything.  so i’m very excited about this.  it’s to not be wigging out in the studio trying to play everything…... and these guys sound gooood.

the first release will happen in late november.  and there are more surprises and news to come.  stay tuned.

peace,
jason

hi. 

it’s been awhile.  i don’t know whether that’s good or bad, but i’ll assume that if you’re reading this, we’re old friends.  if not, let’s pretend.

i’m in minneapolis.  working.  writing.  living.  being.  whatever you wanna call it.  i went and saw “It Might Get Loud” last night, a documentary featuring Jimmy Page, The Edge, and Jack White.  They talk about their beginnings, their vision, their dreams, their guitars, etc.  It was pretty moving.  I’m not really one of those guitar freak musician guys that was foaming at the mouth to see this, but my hunch was that these characters would have more than guitar bravado to shred on film.  And I was right.  I was struck by Jimmy Page’s humble nature and his innocent demeanor and sense of gratitude towards being creative.  It was a marked shift in perception of his character, which usually edges more towards the “occult”—Aleister Crowley, swords and wizards, Stairway, etc…..  He was strumming along with his favorite records and you could feel the joy he had in listening to them.  He even did a perfect strum along to Link Wray’s “Rumble” and then let out a big smile.  Jack White and The Edge were also curious and intriguing figures….the Edge was a little nerdy but his honesty and commitment to exploration were inspiring.  And Jack White…..well, what do you say about Jack White.  He was cool.  He was old school and he definitely kept up his persona….however you wanna interpret that.  I like Jack White and his music a lot but I kinda felt like he was putting me on a little.  But whatever.  All three of the guys were inspiring on different levels and I could relate in a lot of ways to how they felt about music and the creative process.

So yeah.  That’s what I’ve been up to.  Doing a lot of thinking and daydreaming about my next steps, creatively.  Wondering about song-writing.  Daydreaming.  Getting lost in the thought shuffle.  It’s funny….when I was in my early twenties, I worked so hard to be mindful and calm and meditative and learned to cultivate equanimity, etc….you know, my own little personalized recovery program.  And here I am, in my early thirites, and it’s pretty much the same minus a few occupational hazards.  And the fact that I think about my mortality a little bit more.

But all in all, it’s not much different.  I’m still flying to some light of the imagination.  Still reaching for the next something.  Searching.  It used to be that I could define what I was looking for.  Peace.  Tranquility.  Illumination.  Now I don’t even know.  I can’t tell if that’s a step forward or not.  But I know I haven’t lost the desire to get up and be close to music and the creative process.  It seems like that’s what I’m here for regardless of what I do with it in the world of cars and trucks and buses.

So yeah, part 2.  I’m working on getting my innermost feelings and thoughts together for a new collection of songs.  Something concise.  Something up.  Something that says what I don’t think anyone else is saying in a certain way.  Something me.  To you. 

Oh yeah, and I wish I was on the road, touring.  That’ll be happening soon.

I hope you’re doing your thing out there along the long road—

js

I’m rolling shotgun on Highway 90, somewhere in Ohio, listening to “Simon Smith & The Amazing Dancing Bear” by Randy Newman.  The disc keeps skipping but I don’t care.  I rub my eyes and throw on my shades.  The light is too intense.

So we left Chicago this morning at 6 in the AM.  I don’t know if I’ve ever been so tired as I was this morning—so cashed I could barely talk.  I guess it’s for good reason.  We were at a rest stop twenty minutes ago musing about how we couldn’t have any more fun than we did over the past two days, hangin’ and jammin’ down in Wicker Park—window shopping for vintage duds, eating pizza at Peace, smoking in the rain, bloody marys at the Blue Line, chats with new fans, mambo nights with Blueberry Stoli, dancing drunkards on the RV roof, the train cars roaring overhead, sound checks with Crash (our mohawk-ed monitor man with classical training in the bassoon), and jamming with Bob.  It was one of the best times I’ve had in recent memory.  And if we met and you liked the music, well…it was nice meeting you and I’m psyched you liked the band. 

The first night was a pretty pumpin’ set.  I was really nervous before the show.  It’s a good thing, though.  It usually means it’s gonna be a good one.  It also means I’m gonna sweat a lot.  And that I did…..so much so, that when we finished, I was shivering.  You might as well thrown me in a dunking booth.  We opened with “Chained” and kept it rolling from there, closing with “Mister Miracle Mile” and a new tune called “Babylon”.  Somewhere along the way, we decided to create a drinking game out of “Slip Away”—making an unsuspecting audience member don a trailer park mullet and swig beer every time I sing “Slip Away”....the artsies in the crowd probably feel insulted but I don’t care.  We’re there to have fun, right?  Right.  So we got this dude named Jeremy from Milwaukee up onstage and he pounded home a few beers during the course of the tune.  I think my rhythm section caught him barfing in his mouth.  But I know he won’t admit it and it doesn’t matter anyway.  He was a champ and the crowd seemed to be into the act.  In fact, they were really into it both nights so that feels good.

As the balance of the cosmos would have it….that night, when I got back to the RV, I had the minor misfortune of reading an email my manager sent to me that had performance previews from the areas we were playing.  One was a brief album review in the Illinois Entertainer by a writer named Kevin Keegan.  He basically branded me a singer-songwriter struggling to make ends meet, doing everything I can to hold an audience’s attention, learning reggae from a Sublime cover band, singing secondhandedly about my own experience, and “groaning” about how I may be fooling everyone who listens…...basically, the guy, in my opinion, tore the album a new asshole, took lyrics out of context, and labeled me a desperate charlatan in the rock and roll charade brigade. 

Needless to say, I had a weird feeling.  Here I am, traveling with my dedicated band across the nation, trying my hardest to give everything I have at every show, sweating my ass off, tired as hell, shower-less for days and days at a time, rolling in an RV that, at any given moment, could smell like a fart | dirty sock | sweat | beer | pizza | septic gas | etc….and there he is:  at home on a Friday night, wank in hand, getting paid to spin bunk yarn.  Granted, I really don’t expect anyone to sympathize with me and I understand music criticism is part of the game I’m in.  I get it.  But, this one got under my skin….mostly because the dude wrote the songs off without any decent explanation or real sincerity.  I mean….damn…..if you’re gonna hate on something, at least show up to the battlefield with good bullets and a sharp sword.  Then I’ll listen and take the feedback into consideration. 

In a moment of anger, I decided I’d find this guy on the internet and give him a piece of my mind.  If he’s got the balls to be a shitty critic, I’ve got the balls to be an artist concerned with the quality of music criticism.

I tried to find this guy on the Internet.  In fact, I hunted down an innocent Kevin Keegan and gave him some feedback, but it was the wrong guy.  So I ended up posting my thoughts on the “preview” page of the Entertainer’s website.  Basically, I invited him down to the Double Door to see my band live and decide for himself whether or not I was another whiney singer/songwriter.  And I wrote that if he wasn’t convinced by our musical presentation, then he could tell me to my face.  And…of course, I didn’t see him because I’m sure he’s got better things to do than to have a good time.  Either way, people like you, in any field of work, give written expression a bad name.  I realize I may be doing, in a similar way, exactly what I’m railing against.  But consider me a white-blood-cell-reporter fighting the collective muse’s immune system against a silly bug.  Maybe the dude just needs to get laid.

Anyway….sorry to go off.  All in all, Chicago was most definitely one of the best places we’ve been to thus far.  Every moment was great. And to those who made it out to support Bob and got to see us and liked it, thank you!  I even had the pleasure of seeing a thousand-plus bikers on a midnight naked bike ride through the streets.  As I stood and watched, a naked dude rolled past me and yelled, “Jason Shannon!!!!” 

I didn’t recognize him.  Maybe it was Kevin Keegan.  Maybe it was you.  Maybe it’s all my imagination.  Just glad and thankful to be out here.

Hey-O,

jason

Hola Friends,

We’re rolling east on 90 just near Madison, heading to the Double Door in Chicago for a two-night stint with our homey Bob Schneider and his band.  I’m currently eating tortilla chips and typing with one hand so it’s making this entry a little prolonged…..

Things are going well thus far.  We started the tour by busting our ass down to Saint Louis, rocking out in the Duck Room at Blueberry Hill, flirting with girls (post-show) on the side of the street, hopping in the bus, and heading back home.  Saint Louis was a whirlwind but we had fun….played a couple of new songs (which I’ll eventually post in the “Nobody’s Vault But Mine” section of the Music link) and rocked out with Saint Louis music man, Beatle Bob.  He’s a famed aficionado of all thing rock and roll and beyond and he was right up front chanting “electrifying!  outstanding!  oh my goodness!”  I asked him if we could take him home, but I think he’s grounded there.  It was funny and simultaneously eerie to think we were playing on a stage that Chuck Berry plays every other Wednesday.  But I went with it…a link in the chain….

It is official:  I am getting no sleep.  I’ve got to figure this out.  It’s about as pertinent to me as global warming is to a polar bear.  Even right now, I’m kinda having waves of fatigue/anxiety/sleeplessness.  Everyone keeps saying, “Just take some Tylenol PM or Benadryl” and yeah, I could do that.  But I don’t wanna get caught in that particular cycle so I’m hoping to stumble upon a more natural and reasonable solution.  But I definitely can’t sleep and it’s shitty.  And it’s not insomnia.  It’s some kinda control thing because the other night, I had some Tylenol PM in my hand and I didn’t wanna swallow them.  I was looking at them and realizing, “Oh, my problem’s that I don’t wanna go to bed in a moving vehicle….”  Uh oh.  I can trace it back though.  My family’s car collided head-on with a rogue tire on a high bridge when i was little and I remember thinking we were gonna drive off the bridge.  My mom reminds me that my dad handled the incident well but I must be still sorting it out in the “misunderstood” section of my young memory mind.  That’s all I can come up with.  Every time we brake, hit a bump in the road, or swerve, I feel like the county strongman is taking a hammer to the buzzer thingey at the local carnival.  Not good.  Anyway….sorry to waste your time on my fears.

So we rode all through the night and got to Minneapolis at 11 in the morning.  I slept for three hours and then headed to the Cities 97 offices for a chat and performance in Studio C with Jason Nagel (check out a couple of new photos in the Photo section).  That was pretty fun.  All I could do was squint in the bright lights, do my best to be articulate and legible, and not smell up the room with my funky road clothes….and attempt to stay in tune.  You know there’s something going on when you smell yourself and are mildly offended.  But I took a sink shower afterwards and headed to the Varsity Theater for a soundcheck.  LIke the kids say….it’s all good. (thanks to Jason Nagel, by the way, for having us).

The Varsity Theater show was a real blast—a little stressful due to the rigor of the schedule—but a blast nonetheless.  About two hours before every show, no matter how tired or distracted I am, I am fully re-enegized.  I could be in a head-on collision and have whiplash from hell and sure enough, if it’s in the two-hour before-show time frame, I’m okay. 

The show was packed—lots of friends and lots of soon-to-be friends.  I always thoroughly enjoy meeting new people who enjoyed the band’s performance.  That’s a real trip.  It’s one thing when your friends and family dig you no matter what.  It’s another thing when strangers from near and far approach you with energy, enthusiasm, and appreciation.  It really does affect me.  I met some dude named Alex who had just moved to the Twin Cities from Cape Cod and he was stoked to hear us and told me he’d tell his homeys in Boston about our upcoming show at the Paradise.  That was sweet.  And then….you know….we meet lots of women.  You can’t ever meet enough women…..but then again, I’m not like that .....so whatever.

It was a bit weird though….playing a homecoming show sandwiched in the middle of a tour.  I didn’t feel like I was home.  And after all, it wasn’t really my gig.  It was Bob’s and I mildly felt like we were somewhere else in some other time (although I totally love the Varsity).  The crowd in Saint Louis seemed to be really into our set and the space was cozy and then suddenly we’re in Minneapolis and playing to a ton of people and it feels like nobody’s moving around.  They’re watching.  I get it.  It seems sometimes people are into watching us…..I mean, there are a lot of peeps onstage….Tim’s grooving out….Wendy’s dancing all over….I’m sweating my ass off…Nick’s nodding his head up and down…Daryl’s making the “evil drummer” face”.....and my homeboy Eli is wearing size 20 shoes.  Perhaps it’s a lot for the eyes and ears to take in.  But still…..it does feel right when people are moving.  I mean….I feel like aside from the whole artistic endeavor of writing and arranging…..performances for me are about creating an experience and communicating and entertaining and dancing.  I hope I don’t sound like I’m negatively criticizing the crowd…..I’m not.  But when people are watching and motionless, I can sometimes feel like an animal in a zoo.  Woof woof.

Holy shit, this road is bumpy!  I had to stop typing for a second and crack the window to get some air. Whew.  Anyway…..Minneapolis was a lotta fun.  Can’t wait to play there again. 

On our way to Chiiiiiiiicago.  The Double Door.  Two nights.  Hey-O! 

See you soon…..

Take Care,
jason

Buongiorno Friendos:

It would be my privilege and honor to share with you the merits of sleeping in a full-size bed and not traveling a thousand miles a day, but I know you’d rather hear about the banana we put in Bob Schneider’s tour bus or the Great Wall of China-sized line of cocaine we all shared to get through our last show.  Truth is, I’m home and on my way to being rested and prepping for another round of playing in June.  Here is, starting from where I left off at the last update, a blow-by-blow synopsis of our May journey:

Salt Lake City:

Shortly after our second night in Seattle, we rounded the gear up, shoved it down a small elevator, wheeled it through the alleyway, and hit up the mountainous highway towards the Urban Lounge in Salt Lake City.

Salt Lake City, from the get go, was interesting.  I can’t speak for the entirety of the city because, basically, I showed up to the gig and stepped off to play a game of frisbee in the back parking lot of the venue.  We were, however, told to be quiet because the area has noise laws.  In fact, when Will (the production coordinator) arrived, he informed us that we couldn’t soundcheck or make any kind of noise until the show started.  Fair enough but fairly odd.  This was a first in all my days of playing.  But I’m willing to roll with that kinda punch.

After our game, we went and got dinner next door at Al Forno’s.  Our waitress was Flo, a chick from Long Island who came out for a little ski trip and ended up staying.  This was her 20th year.  She mostly said, “Foegeddabouddit.”  That was a highlight.  I ordered some kinda Hawaiian fish.  It was good but I ended up paying for it for the rest of the night.

Anyway, after dinner, we all got our blankets and slept on the lawn by the RV.  I felt kinda weird about it but I was really tired.  I mean….like the kinda tired you probably are when you’re a prisoner of war and they’re keeping you up day and night with the hope of you dishing out some kinda precious piece of intel.  That kind.  I got about an hour in and then we hit the stage.

The Salt Lake crowd was interesting.  Very talkative.  They swallowed up Charlie Mars, the dude who goes on before us.  He usually reels the crowd right in with his mixture of chill songs and Southern-twanged humor.  But not tonight.  Charlie was fishing with the wrong bait.  So that made us a little nervous, espcially considering we’re totally new to everyone in every city AND we hadn’t had any proper soundcheck.  But I had some tricks up my sleeve and I was ready to put them to use.

We stepped up onstage and started in with “Chained”, a slow, bluesly romp about the perils of getting stuck on someone for too long-a time.  This song usually works well as opener (at least I think it does) because the opening words are “I love a woman/but she doesn’t love me/I should have listened/when she tried to tell me”.  Who can’t identify with that?  So I belted it out and pulled them in…...almost.  This crowd was pretty talkative so they were gonna need a little somethin’-somethin’.  And what I’ve learned from watching Bob Schneider and other entertainers is that if you can’t beat em, then you give em hell.  Somehow, it seems to get you a little closer.  So I asked all of them why they’d pay twenty bucks to go somewhere and make a bunch of noise.  And what if Bob isn’t coming out tonight?  What if I’m all you get for the night?  Then I told them we didn’t care about them anyway and they can go on making noise.  And somehow, they started listening.  I guess people perk up when they sense anything with a little fire to it—like a hallway fight in high school or a moto crash on the interstate.  Bad news travels like wildfire.  Either way, we rocked our way through the set and won some fans.  Some guy told me later that night that we killed it and that he loved the way the sweat poured down my face while I played.  I didn’t quite no what to make of that but I’ll take it as a good thing.

That’s not all.  In other news, Bob was, I think, mildly irritated that the crowd was so verbal and he didn’t come out for his usual encore.  So we pack ourselves into the RV and hung out for an hour outside the venue.  In the meantime, we gotta couple of hellos from strangers.  One guy even showed us his genitals.  That was weird.  We got pictures but I can’t show them.  But trust me, he was very proud of them and not afraid to show them off in various bodily positions.  Maybe his girfriend’s name is Salt Lick Sadie.  Either way, that’s Salt Lake City.

Denver:

I never knew how much driving hundreds of miles in an RV between shows would physiologically break me down.  I was feeling the burn in Denver.  War fatigue.  It’s worse than the shopping mall fatigue dudes get when they’re hangin’ with their boo.  And you know….I really could care less about it because the adrenaline that precedes shows provides me with enough energy to get it going on stage.  But it won’t save my vocal cords and the last three shows of this tour were scary.  I’ve never sang a set thinking “this could be it” for my pipes.  It’s like being the starting pitcher in the seventeenth inning.  You’re basically just waiting for the building to collapse.  And it does this weird thing to your presence.  It splits it.  You get stuck inside your mind while simultaneously trying to connect the song’s energy to the crowd.  I’d have to say it’s not my cup of tea.  But I’m willing to adjust.  Or else I’m mildly screwed. 

Denver was excellent.  The band camped out behind a 7-11 that was facing the Ogden Theater.  I don’t know what part of town we were in….it seemed half-nice, half-scary.  But the Ogden was really nice.  When you hear the word “theater”, you imagine seats and velvet and curtains and ushers….but it wasn’t like that.  Maybe 20 years ago it was.  But whoever took this place over had in mind that this was gonna be a rock and roll venue.  So they gutted the place, added rubberized black flooring with tracklights, and engineered different tiers for people to watch.  It was one of my favorite looking venues and I was psyched for the show. 

The place filled up fast.  You never how big the crowd is gonna be for Bob.  He always has a good one, but sometimes it could be 400 and sometimes it could be 1500.  Tonight, though, was packed.  The band was ready to roll.  Everyone was upstairs, crammed in the tiny dressing room.  Someone had purchased some tequila and there was some sipping going on.  Nothing outrageous.  I don’t allow my group to drink heavily or smoke anything before shows.  Not good for business.  But a little taste won’t hurt. 

To sum up the Denver show, I’ll just say this:  the crowd was great, the music was great, the vibe was great, but the band wasn’t hooked up.  Why?  Who knows?  An unmarked grave, that gig was.  The funny thing is….you could have asked someone in the crowd what they thought and they might have told you it was amazing.  But I wasn’t feeling connected and I know the band wasn’t either.  Sometimes this just happens.  You can’t blame it on anything, but you can try—the thin, Denver air, long travel, no sleep, the moon, chicks.  All I know is that my voice was threatening silence and one of my guitar strings got stuck during an important solo right in the middle of the set.  I kept going for the guitar-face-note….you know, the one that sends the crowd into cheering…it’s not intentional….anyway….the string was just stuck!  wtf!  I couldn’t tell that it was though because of the lights.  I just thought I was having a weird solo.  Someone shoulda just pulled my pants down in front of everyone.  That woulda been better.  I later apologized to the crowd for my solo and assured them that I was a badass guitar player.  Whatever.  You win some and you almost win some. 

I must say, though, that I can’t wait to get back to Denver and play.  The music fans there seem really into the playing.  We had some good friends in the crowd and I was happy for the opportunity.

Santa Fe:

The last gig of the tour, Santa Fe was a pleasant surprise.  First off, it was an outdoor gig. 

Secondly, we got free food and unlimited beer. 

Thirdly, we played a pretty good set even though the crowd was seated and about 75 feet away from us which is always cause for a little disconnect.  But the set was tight, I didn’t blow my voice out like I thought I would, and we played like champs.

Fourthly, Bob let us jam with him and his band on a few songs and we had a splendid time doing that.  I got to borrow Billy Cassis’s guitar for a little solo on “Tarantula” and Wendy and Eli tore it up too.  It was a great way to end the tour.  Everyone in Bob’s band was super cool and they’re all really great players too.  And we had a nice time hanging out and getting to know Jay Thomas, the sound man (also a songwriter).  I felt grateful for the opportunity.  I know the band did too.  And we’re doubly psyched to get back out on the road and keep rocking it for whoever passes by. 

So we’re back and resting.  I feel glad to be sitting in one place for more than a day and not in the midst of all the collective clamor of the group.  The constant travel is unusual.  You feel like a nomad on speed.  Sleep and good rest are faded memories.  Adrenaline becomes regular in your bloodflow.  Truckstop food is all you have.  Rest areas are like geysers in the desert.  Girls everywhere.  No wonder musicians burn out and get all jacked up on drugs.  The only thing that seems about right is playing your music that night.  It’s not normal!  But then again, what is?  I don’t care.  I’m having just the time I wanna be having.  And me and the band look forward to June and beyond.  Stay tuned!

Also, look for some streaming live concert stuff up on this site very soon.  We got some good clips from all the shows and I’m looking forward to posting them up on the web for your listening.  AND…check out those YouTube video blogs. 

See you soon & thanks,

jason

Yo Yo Yo!

It’s nine o’clock on a friday morning and the band and me are cruising down Highway 84 on our way to Salt Lake City for a show at the Urban Lounge.  We just finished a two-night stint at the Triple Door and had to immediately leave in order to make this gig on time.  So as a result, we’ve been pulling round the clock driving duties to get us there (sponsored by Red Bull).  The van’s insides are in rough shape—pillows and blankets everywhere, the smell of gourmet salami, beef jerky bits on the linoleum, an empty, pink box of Voodoo Donuts by the doorway.  We’ve been on the road for over two and a half weeks and it shows. 

But things are good.  If you’re keeping up with us here, I apologize for the lack of response on my end.  We’re just so busy traveling and documenting and doing stuff.  Things are going really well.  Let me back up and give you a city-to-city synopsis of the shows:

Los Angeles:

The endless search for the mystical organic taco stand led us into the winding roads and concrete cultural mishmash of the Hollyweird Hills.  Los Angle-eez.  Sunset Boulevard.  The Key Club.  This was our first time in L.A. and we were all very excited to play.  There was a lot of seeming pressure on this gig because a number of people that work on behalf of the band were in the crowd watching—my publicist, photographer, show reviewer, radio peeps, etc.  Needless to say, we were a little nervous.  But nothing we couldn’t handle with a little pre-show high-fives and a couple of tequila swigs in the mobile-home/dressing room. 

My manager lives in the area so we borrowed his house to freshen up and take naps before the night began.  Then we rolled down Sunset to the gig…...

Plainly stated, the show was a lot of fun.  Really…as of now, they are all and I’m really grateful that we’re getting this opportunity.  What I’m learning about this kind of playing (meaning, touring night after night) is how important the crowd is in determining the vibe of the night.  It seems an obvious observation but I can’t emphasize it enough after a dozen gigs in a row in differing towns.  And the difference between Phoenix and L.A. makes the statement as valid as ever.  One night, we’re playing to a tiny, packed room of rabid fans foaming at the mouth who seem to be cheering us on like we’re a gang of underprivileged underdogs from the Underworld.  And the next night, we’re in one of the ritzier clubs in one of the ritzier towns playing to an audience that is intent on clapping like a group of English aristocrats sipping tea, snacking crumpets, and watching polo.  I don’t mean this as an insult.  In fact, we were told by some people that the L.A. music-goers are a tough crowd.  I get it.  We got it.  It’s all good.  Next time, I’m just gonna bring a flame-thrower and torch some of them faux hawks hanging out in the crowd…..

Every night, we go out and play and the audience is basically a firing squad for us considering the fact that I’m relatively unknown right now.  And it’s really not a big deal.  I’m not doing this so people will clap and my self-esteem will be saved.  But I’ve learned on a deeper level now that it does help to have the audience with you in heart and mind and that their energy is equally as important as the energy we are putting out on stage.  I was mentioning to someone the other night that the audience is like a pretty girl you’re kissing.  You sure hope that when you lean to give it to her, she takes it and gives it back.

We’ll be back to L.A.  I can’t wait.

(thanks to NIck’s girlfriend Jamie and her parents for making a nice Migas breakfast and for opening their home up to the band for a day!)

San Diego:

The Belly Up Tavern is a cool place.  It’s a long, semi-circle arched wooden hallway with tons of floor space in front of the stage and nice, two level seating on each side.  I’d love to play there again.  We rolled into San Diego around three and just goofed around until sound check…..took some pictures of animals, made a couple of videos, hung out.  The weather was really nice and I think everyone really liked the vibe of the town.

The show was a helluva time too.  The past couple of days had left us a little short-fused temper-wise.  Call it:  Tour Agitation.  Call it:  Aargh.  Either way, by the time we took the stage, all was good.  We played a pumpin’ set.  Eli dressed up like the bastard son of Charles Manson and the whole band got a laugh out of that one.  I sweated out most of my body’s water.  It was a good time considering we were past the L.A. show and feeling free to mix it up a little bit in terms of the set-list.  Up until that point, we had been playing a pretty strict list of songs in order to tighten up our approach.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention….Wendy got to sit in with Bob’s band on his new tune “Tarantula”.  That was fun to watch.  And she did a really nice job on it although the guys in the band kidded her on bringing the Squirrel Nut Zippers vibe.  Then again, the guys in the band kid Wendy on just about everything….

San Francisco:

This was one of my favorite shows on the tour.  We played at the Independent, a medium-sized, high-ceiling, square room over on Divisadero Street.  A lot of cool bands play there.  Upon first glance, the room seems kinda boring—little seating, no suave bar, not paintings, no fluff or filler.  That impression would all change later in the night when the place was filled to capacity and the crowd was with you to the end.

The day before, the split off for a little.  Daryl and Melanie took the bus to Marin Park.  Wendy went with her family.  Nick stayed behind in L.A. to hang with his girlfriend.  And Eli and Tim and I hung out with my roommates from college.  The night we got in, they had a huge meal ready for us.  It was amazing….especially considering the kind of shit that goes down your throat after awhile.  We had vegetables with rosemary, beef cutlets, bread with special-flavored butter, good beer, and homemade scones for dessert.  Alright, I’m kinda going off a little.  And getting hungry.  Bottom line:  it was a nice night…the kind that reminds you of life without constant travel.  We stayed there that night.  I got to sleep in a bed!  (thanks Kevin & Amanda)

The next morning,  I woke up to go do an internet TV show called Mevio.  Daryl and Tim and I took a cab to downtown San Fran, met the production people, shook some hands, and headed to the basement.  I thought maybe we were being set up and this was the end.  But sure enough, we soon entered a little television performance area.  I had little time to warm up or anything.  Basically, it was say hi and go to it.  My voice was a little tired and I felt mildly self-conscious doing my songs early in the morning with a quiet crowd eyeing every move while a few cameras capture everything.  I wouldn’t say it was unnerving.  But it wasn’t paradise.  Luckily, the folks there (from Iris Distribution and BlinkerActive marketing) were really sweet and even took me out to lunch.  Yippee!

The rest of the day was spent waiting for the show.  That’s kinda how every day is.  You get there and wait.  It’s a good wait, though.  Energy and adrenaline starts to pulse like lightning through my hands as I imagine the night.  Before the show, I hung out in the bus, walked to the coffee shop, and met up with my uncles who had road tripped to the show.

Like I said, this was one of my favorite shows.  The crowd was amazing and the room filled up just right.  Tension in the band was high before we took the stage…..why?.....I’m not sure.  I think the anticipation fosters nerves and the nerves foster a heightened sensitivity to everything.  We were snapping at each other a little and I take this to be a good thing.  We got onstage, poured it out, left everything there, sold a bunch of cd’s, said goodbye to friends, packed it in and headed to Portland.  What a night.

Portland: 

Onward to the Aladdin Theater.  A good gig.  Saw a bunch of good friends.  Eli is living in Portland, so his brother came out and a number of other friends made it out there with him.

The Aladdin was interesting….sort of a turn of the century room with wooden seats and an open floor in front of the stage for the impromptu dancing crew.  The dressing was once an apartment so it had a lot of space and even a big bathroom with a shower.  We had a nice time playing.  I can’t immediately recall if there was anything super noteworthy about the set other than that we had a lot of fun….as usual.  I was a little worried about the condition of my voice.  I was having to consciously compromise my range a little bit on particular songs.  Not much sleep will take its toll on you, that’s for sure.  But…damn….it’s hard to sleep when you’re doing this night after night and then hopping in a bus and heading back on the road.  You start to feel a little weirded out.  The excitement mixed with the fatigue forms a little “crazy cocktail” that leaves you wired and tired all at once.  I can see why some musicians end up using substances to fight the unique trajectory the road lays out for your system.  I won’t be going down that road anytime soon, but I know now why it’s there.

Seattle:

Two nights at the classy dinner club/ rock venue known as The Triple Door…...

This has been easily the most interesting gig we’ve had with Bob.  I feel like, over these two nights, I integrated a lot of what I’ve been thinking about concerning performing:  poise, pacing, eye contact, energy expulsion, attention span, set-list flow, etc.  I’ve been watching Bob’s sets night after night and observing his particular style of connection with his songs and with the crowd.  I watch the way he inhabits his tunes…..either in what appears to be his own inner character or through the adoption of a certain character that may or may not represent how he feels about himself.  I mean….he’s got a lot of different kinds of tunes…..pirate songs, vaudeville murder ballads, southern rock, Tom Waits-ia piano blues, sunny pop rock, earnest love ballads, hip-hop songs about forties and shorties, electro-dance-lounge rockers about country clubs, sing-along reggae style tunes, a-capella closers…...you name it.  He does a really fine job of staying in his tunes and yet connecting with the crowd.  After all, they are his fans and they’re there to see him and his music and he gives them both.  It’s interesting to me how he, at least from my observation, has a sort of detached sensibility to him without being standoff-ish.  It’s like he’s right on the line of being with you and being away, being in on the joke and being a part of it, being the blood of heartbreak or the heartbreak itself.  It’s sort of a dual placement of intent that allows him to connect on a number of levels.  I appreciate watching it and understand that it’s probably easy for him to do but took many years of refinement that came through a lot of performances.  All I can say about it in relation to my own performance style is that it reminds me of my own personal progression into myself and my natural way of being onstage and inhabiting my tunes while at the same time working at connecting on a number of levels.
Right now, the band only has about 45 minutes each night.  So we kinda have to show up and kick ass.  There’s not a ton of time for highs and lows, murder and salvation, etc.  You can give them everything you got but you can’t give them your total creative personality…..at least it seems that way.  For instance, I’ve got a lot of slow songs that we’re not playing because we’re in favor of keeping the energy up for the short set.  So there’s these little deals I have to make with myself about performance and repertoire.  So I feel like, without imposing rules on myself in the moment, I have to deliver the song with maximum attention to lyrics and to the crowd.  I trust the band to be on with the music.  Playing night after night has instilled this and right now, we’ve got it down and it feels good.  But I’m seeing newer avenues for connection that haven’t materialized in my attention thus far.  One is just relaxing more and more and looking out into the crowd and seeing the faces of the people who came to have a good time and just connecting with them on that simple level….sort of a “Hey, I’m with you here” kind of way.  It feels good to be able to do that and not feel like I’m a performer and they are separate.  It helps me relax and not sweat as much and wonder if I’m in tune or not.

The two nights in Seattle seemed to be the nights where a lot of this observing and integrating sort of crystalized for me.  Whether anybody else saw it or felt it or heard it is anybody’s guess.  But I could tell I was there more.  I was a participant and not a dog barking or an ornament on a tree.  I felt it most on the second night.  I was singing “Maybe Mexico” and realized I was hearing the song from outside myself.  I was watching it happen like everyone else.  i almost started laughing.  In fact, I think I smiled big for sure.  I wish it was on tape because I’ve never felt that way before.  It was the feeling of confidence and alright-ness without feeling like I’m in control of anything.  I’m along for the ride, you know.  It feels right.  Seeing Bob and his band stretch out has been helpful in this respect and I’m glad I’m out here working it.

Somewhere along the way, my keyboard player, Tim Carrow, transformed into Captain James T.  Pemberton.  We don’t exactly know how it happened.  But every morning, he’s been waking up from slumber and saying things like:

“Give me mountain property.”

“Smell my couch.”

“Have you seen my beer, bleatch?”

“I have a face full of dirty poontang.”

“Sorry babe.”

......Thanks to everyone who’s come out, helped out, bought a CD or T-shirt, and liked the band.  We appreciate it all a lot.  Thank you and stay tuned for more dates ahead. 

—jason

05.15.09

We’re just heading out of Paris and on our way to the House of Blues in Dallas for our first night with Bob Schneider and his band.  I just wanted to give a special thanks to my friends (Brandyn McNeal in particular for letting us crash at his place, lending his car, and opening his living room to become a rehearsal space for two days…) and family who made it out to our show at Buffalo Joe’s Pub.  It was so nice to see everyone—old friends, aunts, and even my grandmother who had never seen me play.  Also, I wanted to say thanks to Sarah at Buffalo Joe’s and all the crew there for being really sweet and accommodating to us last night.  It was really great. Thank you!

Paris was a trip.  It brings back a lot of fond memories.  Even though I’ve been gone for twenty plus years, it still feels like home to me.  I was glad to be able to give the band a tour down Memory Lane and take them to some of the cool spots.  When we got in the first night my mom and her friends were waiting in the restaurant parking with a big welcome sign.  Actually…..they were kinda pushed for time so they made the sign pretty fast and it read:  MELCOME.  So we’ve been saying “melcome” a lot—“you’re melcome”, “melcome if you got ‘em”, etc.  My mom seemed embarrassed at the typo but man…that gave us a good laugh.  I love you, mom.

One morning we went antique browsing downtown, music instrument shopping, and had some lunch at the Hole In The Wall Cafe.  Everywhere we went people would say, “Are ya’ll the band?”  If I could demonstrate how they actually asked us it would be, “Arre yaa’ll thu baaaynd?”  Soon enough, everyone in the group was talkin’ like the townspeople.

Later on in the day, my dad showed up.  I hadn’t seen him in a long, long time.  So that was cool.  He’s pretty intense.  He talks fast, walks fasts, and knows how to joke around.  We rode around in his tiny truck and went and saw my grandmother.  She’s nuts too.  But good nuts.  Both of em.  They’ve both got a thousand different aphorisms that’ll make you laugh.  Later on, my dad wheeled my grandma into his truck and drove her out to the gig.  She was there the whole time and had a ball.  That was one of the first times she’d been outside in two years!  She kept telling me she’ll “never forget this”.  That was pretty cool.  I can’t lie—it made me cry.

Anyway, we’re almost to Dallas.  The road is bumpy.  We can’t find the frisbee.  The sky is cloudy.  We’re ready to jam.

Thanks Paris,

jason

It usually doesn’t happen this way.  At least I think it doesn’t….

The gift of insight, discovery, wisdom, etc. usually has a backstory:  a pregnant woman riding a bus stumbles upon the sacred moment, a man loses his family and job and finds freedom while biting an apple, a cockroach crawls across the foot of a woman in a boarding house and she bursts with joy and realizes she IS the cockroach.  Or you could read any religious text that centralizes the God experience in human struggle.  Buddha and the Bodhi tree.  Jesus, etc…..

I’m not about to tell my enlightenment story because, well, I’m not enlightened.  To me, it’s a holy hoax.  Flash in the illuminated pan.  I can’t say I haven’t tried, though—walking through graveyards talking to myself, primal screams, journal upon journal of brutal honesty-s, meditation retreats, psychedelic freak-outs, manifesting manifestos, and…oh yes….community service.  Not to mention lots and lots of songs about angels, God’s money, love, and light.  I figured if I name-dropped the immutable and unknowable, maybe the guardians of the gate would bump me up a couple of people in line.  But….no.  I’m still happy and sad with notice as to which is gonna be happening at any moment.  I think it’ll always be this way.  I think.

So nowadays, it seems as if the everyday experiences are what really test my resolve to….I hate to even say it…...ugh…..be….here….now.  Somewhere along the way, I went from pushing the merry-go-round to riding the merry-go-round.  Maybe time does this.  Maybe tears.  I’ll have to ask some really old people.  But they just usually rock in chairs and stare.  That must be what happens.  Breathing is enough for the oldies.

What I’m getting at is (and I don’t even know if I know what I’m getting at here), that when you’re in the ring, maybe it’s not the punches thrown as much as it is how the punches are taken.  What crag do I grab next as I’m scaling the rock wall?

Last Saturday, amidst being overtaken by a nasty flu, I locked myself out of the house I was sitting.  I stepped outside to breathe the morning air, and boom.  Click.  Shit.  I had no extra key.  No shoes.  No socks.  And I was supposed to meet my special lady friend and her grandma for lunch in the next hour.  All I could do at first was quietly laugh.  I mean, I’ve got the shivers, my throat feels like a bathtub drain covered in everyone’s hair, and my ears are clogged like Chicago traffic. 

So I knocked on doors:  Door 1.  Nobody’s home.  Door 2.  Nada.  Door 3.  Nope.  Door 4.  Four’s a charm.  A tall, skinny guy in a multi-colored robe answered the door.  He had thin hair getting ready to gray.  His face was a little hollowed like Life had vacuumed his floor a little longer than others.  His arm had tattoos.  His name was Pete.  I explained to him the story.  I needed to use his phone.  And to use his phone, I needed the internet to retrieve the numbers.  Double bummer.  He opened the door.  There was a knife on the cutting board and I thought he’d have no problem issuing a threat if I decided to get him sick or steal some toilet paper.  There were smokes on the counter.  “Good.  He smokes.  Even though that’s a sign of not being totally chill, at least he’s cool.  Hopefully, his tattoos are a sign of him being an explorer and not a dick with a past.”  All of my phony projections are happening in a matter of seconds.  Pete could be a killer or Pete could just be killer.  Either way, he was killer in my book.  And from the looks of the beige walls, framed Buddha picture, mahogany bookshelf, square chairs, and baby crib, Pete was settling into midlife like a sleigh in fresh snow.  He’s along for the ride.  Just like me.

I tried calling everyone that could help me.  No one’s home.  Everyone’s sleeping except me and Pete and the spring streetsweepers.  Pete turns on the computer and goes to the kitchen to cut carrots and apples.  It looks like we’re gonna have some breakfast.  He asks me if I want coffee.  Duh, Pete.  Yes, I want coffee and I don’t even drink, but you could put some whiskey in that coffee… and robotussin if you got it.  He’s even cutting up pita bread.  Nice.

So Pete and I, while waiting for some calls back, sit down outside to drink coffee and eat carrots, and as my good friend Keenan would say, “talk story”.  Pete and I are now pals trapped on a deserted apartment island in Saint Paul.  His wife and child are gone for the weekend.  Mine have yet to materialize (wife and child, that is).  He’s going to play ultimate frisbee today.  I’m from Texas.  He’s lived in Seattle.  I’ve lived on couches.  He was never too good with singing and playing the guitar.  I’ve had to work at it.  He’s been skydiving about 2000 times.  I’ve never been.  In between all the talk, there are those silences.  It feels like a first date.  I shoulda brought flowers.  It was a good brush with kindness.  I’ll try and pay it forward.

The phone rings.  The key is coming.  I’ll have socks once again.  What drove me here?  Human touch?  Absent mind?  Coffee? 

The mystery inheritance never runs dry….

—jason
04.18.09

p.s.  I’m very excited for our tour.
p.p.s I’m really excited for the tour.

hello. 

it’s 8 am, monday morning, in minneapolis.  i couldn’t sleep in.  woke up at 5:47 only to lay in bed, work out emerging songs/drive-by memories, change blankets and body positions, and wonder when i should actually get up.  6:30.  using my cell phone as a flashlight, i stumble over to my dresser, throw on my jeans, grab my hat, put on my last pair of clean socks (yes, they have holes in them), gargle purple, put on sunglasses.  step outside to meet the morning.  it’s dark out.  i haven’t been up and about this early.  birds sing.  i wish i was one of them.  i’ll keep my sunglasses on.

the band practiced most of the day yesterday.  we do that occasionally….devote a sunday to working out arrangements and nailing down parts and listening to sections over and over again while i tinker with the registers so no one’s crossing each other’s frequency path.  i got my kick drum radar on, my bass playing radar.  i want everything to groove hard.  no front heaviness.  laid back head bop.  the kind where you don’t know you’re moving.  meanwhile, i deliver the words.  it’s reverse bank robbery.  we show up.  create a diversion.  give the teller a tiny note.  and then send in the men in clown masks to put money in the bank (or reveal the riches inherently there).  i guess you could call it a deposit.  but the spot i’m aiming with this group isn’t so easily accessible.  maybe for children.  but not for you (unless you’re lucky).  not even for me.  but it’s there.  it’s heart.  not the one that beats.  it’s the one that beats the one that beats.  the invisible energy.  the kind you can volley to and fro in the course of a performance.  black snake oil.  that’s what i’m after.  the same thing that rears its head as a song.  the naked moment. 

anyway, practice was good.  it’s nice the band gets along.  i enjoy their company.  when they come over, it’s like friends hanging out.  and we’re all different.  everyone’s got their little spot on the shelf and take on the land.  no one’s taking up too much space.  sure, there are things we’d change if we could, but some things aren’t worth gettin’ freaked out about.  i remind everyone on occasion that we’re there to make these songs speak clearly.  that’s it.  i suppose when you keep this in mind, it detaches the aim and centralizes focus.  and my band, thus far, is getting better and better at it.  and for this, i’m grateful.  if you’ve been in a situation where you can’t get a point across because somebody’s got some unspoken issue with god-knows-what, then you’re cognizant of an environment where everyone is working towards the same shining goal.  i’m not saying it’s perfect.  but it’s the mix is good:  the right amount of respect.  the right amount of tension.

i guess i’ve been thinking a lot about this kinda thing because of the impending tour/lifestyle change i’m about to encounter.  i was laying in my bed the other night and it dawned on me that soon enough, my quiet nights will be over.  No more countless hours in whispered space, working out my thoughts into words or imagining the world away.  it’ll be a new kind of night.  and i hope the chemical equation that is this group can endure a prolonged period huddled together in the test tube van while time and the road (bunsen) burns its way through to our humanness.  basically, i like quiet.  i like to be by myself.  and i hope i don’t freak out on anyone!  i guess that’s what diaries and blogs are for….

in the meantime, i’ll be kind.  it pays to be kind in the meantime.

—jason
03.23.09

hola peoples.

i’m hanging out in my studio.  it’s snowing big flakes outside right now.  the kind that stick and melt stick and melt.  like the clouds are pillowfighting and one of em hit a little too hard.  so it’s spraying down.  i heard birds chirping along the sidewalk earlier today.  i couldn’t see them but i imagine if i did, they’d be shivering in their claws.  how do they do it?  everyday, i hop on the internet and see people on facebook talking about how cold they are up here and how they’re gonna jump off a footbridge if it snows again.

I can only imagine the black-capped chickadee status update: chchchchchchchchchchchchch.

day after day.  night after night.  do they huddle like naked eskimos?  do they go into aviary central nervous system suspension?  it’s a stroke of genius they can hang in there.  think about it.  i’d buy a poster a put it on my wall if i could.  The Common Household Sparrow.  a hero of mine.  but no.  those posters don’t sell. 

i’m writing with one thing on my mind:  the law.

last christmas, while driving into uptown, i had the grand misfortune of being in the wrong place at the very wrong time.  i was getting onto the highway, crossing the mississippi….it was snowy as all hell, time was freezing, you know the story.  i couldn’t merge with traffic.  too many cars.  the car in front of me quickly swerved to the left and revealed a stalled car in the exit lane.  i looked to my left to avoid hitting the car, but it was useless.  i woulda crashed into a bunch more cars.  so i did what anyone would do.  i slowed down, slid down, braced myself, listened as all sound came to a halt, took some tiny snapshots with my inner camera for future nightmares, and watched as i slowly smashed the back of a toyota camry.  booooooom.  crunch.  wtf.

i get out of the car.  a dumb thing to do.  but instinct.  you can’t blame me.  i ran up to the car to look into the cab and there was no one in there.  uh oh.  maybe a stalled car.  no.  the hood was up.  no hazard lights.  no flares.  fifteen below and two guys who can’t speak english got the hood up and are trying to fix something inside the motor.  ohhh great.  i walk up to the front…..one dude is plastered on the shoulder, making a snow angel for his gentle asecension into MotherMaryville.  the other dude is tattooed to the hood, covered in blood, shaking, and looking at me like i’m not there.

after screaming a couple of helpless expletives, i again did what anyone would do.  i said:  ARE YOU OKAY?  no response.  these guys are trippin’.  shakin’.  even dying, maybe.  and here we are in the arctic tundra.  i’ve got blood on my hands from something beyond control and they’re playing silent charades.  the word i can think of is:  absurd.

keep in mind, from a selfish point of view, this is right around the time of my release show.  i’ve cut my head cut off working all kinds of hours:  flyer-ing, phone calls, interviews, postering, rehearsing, myspace-ing, facebook-ing…...blah blah blah-ing.  it’s relentless.  and suddenly, i’m a killer.  this s—t can’t be real. 

the ambulances come and haul the guys away.  a bystander who saw the incident said he’d live but he was going into shock and that’s why he couldn’t talk.  i was up to my knees in snow, freaking out.  ambulances, fire trucks, minnesota drivers doing that thing they do…...drive 2 mph whenever something is happening out of the ordinary.  tow trucks, state troopers.  i locked myself out of my car out of nerves.  the state trooper interiviewed me about the scene.  i had no idea what i said.  i was out of my mind, man!  i think she said, “did you hit these gentlemen?”  is said, “well, it was a total accident.  there was nothing i could do.  NOTHING.”  suddenly, i have a petty misdomeanor and have to go to court.

so after making an initial appearance that had to be re-scheduled, i showed up to court a few days ago to face the charges, face the karma, and i guess you could say, face the music.  i wasn’t that nervous.  i had learned that the dudes survived and were okay.  i sent them get well cards from the post office of my mind.  i hope they got them.  now it’s just me at 8 in the morning, downtown minneapolis, surrounded by court pews and people with the ticket blues.  there’s a judge, some prosecutors, law clerks, inmates in orange, and a couple of deputies who obviously enjoy their position of alleged authority.  it’s enough for me to get out my conte crayons and start sketching the scene like they used to do back in the day….....

anway, what i can’t get over is how the law is determined.  it’s not fair.  i watched it not be fair.  i guess i now don’t know what fair is.  maybe fair is just the color of a lover’s skin.  or the the circle you check if your meal is decent.  or another name for a carnival.  whatever i was witnessing was not fair.  and honestly, i don’t have an activist mind, but this sparked something in me that i won’t forget for awhile.  it makes me think of the “lonesome death of hattie carroll” by bob dylan or “attica” by john lennon.  or any song by any folk singer back in the day.  the ones no one writes anymore.  the ones that point the pistol at the process and fire flowers.  i can’t stand it.

i appreciated the fact that anyone was allowed to have counsel.  that seems fair.  however, i saw little deal after deal be made by the prosecutors without having to consult the judges.  i was a part of one of these deals.  after sitting in court for almost three hours, one of the gavel dodgers mumbled my name and took me out of the courtroom and into hall.  we both leaned up against the wall like old friends sharing a story.

he looks at me and says, “so you have four tickets.  no proof of insurance twice.  running a stop sign.  and this petty misdomeanor. looks like some serious fine-age.” 

i said, “i wasn’t issued tickets at the scene for my lack of insurance.  and i had insurance, i just had misplaced the proof.”  i then pulled out the proof and poof:

those tickets were gone (even though i had never been charged until now).

so now, i suddenly only have two tickets.  a stop sign which i’m guilty of and an a accident which i’m as much of a victim of as the guys that were hit.  I mean, do you walk the road or does the road walk you?

my ol’ buddy ol’ pal switch the balance on his hips, puts his pen in his mouth, touches his lips, squints, and says:

“i tell you what….here’s what we’ll do…..we’ll forget about the accident.  because as you say, it’s an accident (nevermind the victim letter).  you pay the stop sign ticket for 100 dollars and you can get out of here.  deal?”

now, seriously, i’ve been waiting three months for this easy deal that was somehow decided in about one minute.  i was confused.  i’ve never done anything to get me into court.  maybe this is just how it works.  so i say:

“so, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you just decide this?  i mean, how can an accident just be forgotten about while another one gets paid?  why can’t you decided to just forget about both of them?  i don’t understand?”

i wasn’t trying to get out of paying them.  i was simply curious.  he’s simply annoyed.  he clears his throat and says in a breathy voice:

“look man, i’ve gotta lotta things to do.  a lotta people to talk to.  that’s the deal.  take it now or sit around here and wait more.”

whoa.  i sat there for a minute.  i guess if i had my appointed counsel, this could be a different story.  but i don’t.  i bite my lip, take the deal, walk back into the courtroom, avoid the judge, and go up to the law clerk and write a check for 100 dollars plus surcharges.  and that’s the law.

The judge never gets to hear my case.  She doesn’t get to morally profile me in less than thirty seconds based on what her eyes see and read.  She doesn’t get to tell me that some bad experiences can be turned into good lessons.  She doesn’t get to make me cry.  She doesn’t have to make me wait.  She gets to have her prosecuting buddies shuttle me through the slipway so i can go out and be a free man. 

i’m not complaining.  i just temporarily don’t understand what fair is anymore.

see you down the road.  hope all is well.  look forward to seeing the countryside.  if it were up to me, i’d make a million dollars traveling and playing and you’d come see for free. 

—jason

hello. 

so i have been writing a lot.  and it feels good.  like a weary world-watcher hiding out in a shotgun shack with cans of yams for friends, i’ve been holed up in the rehearsal studio chipping at stone.  i’m guessing most of you wouldn’t equate creative work with athletics, but they’re not that different to me.  they are both skills that can be refined.  some say you either have it or you don’t and when you do “have it” then everything’s cool and you’re lucky.  in my experience, that’s laughable.  you have to go there repeatedly and be willing to self-correct sans self-criticism.  i don’t know if i possess some supernatural gift.  probably not.  i suppose being alive is the gift itself. 

all i know is that writing songs is the most challenging and rewarding activity for me thus far.  it’s never easy.  well actually, it is easy. but it takes awhile and i’ve forgotten about the countless hours i’ve put into the craft.  writing songs is like having a badass classic car that you wake up every morning psyched to drive.  you almost can’t sleep you’re so excited.  and even when you are sleeping, you’re test driving it through border towns.  the only dilemma is that you can’t find the keys.  where the——are the keys…....man?  you’re looking everywhere.  jacket pockets.  drawers.  floors.  retracing footsteps.  calling friends.  looking in the parking lot.  hounding the hamper.  nothing.

and then you go out to the car to make your formal apology for not being able to co-conspire in some sunday morning badass-ness and you pull the door handle to hop in and confess your sins and you see the keys dangling in the ignition.

so you drive.

if you can hang long enough doing what feels the most right to you, you will “have it”.  i don’t even know why i’m talking like this.  i guess it’s probably because i’ve spent the past nine months working on an aspect of my career that has been largely ignored….the business part.  the record-making part.  the bandleader part—all the things that arise because of something that re-attaches my wings.

most of the time, when i feel the words and sounds coming on, i’ll make a run for the door.  hide the keys.  go the computer or take a walk or eat something—anything i can do to not go there.  honestly, i’m scared.  it’s bizarre.  i guess it’s like someone pushing someone away when they get too close even though they might actually want that connection.  if there was another way to write songs, i’d do it.  well no actually, i wouldn’t.  i’ve heard that stuff before…..

so for me, most of my creative hardship comes getting the suit of armour off.  once that happens, i can write pretty incessantly.  and i don’t even care what comes out.  don’t even care don’t even care don’t even care.  it’s like…..the clouds don’t not rain for fear of a couple of awkward raindrops.  they just rain until they drain.  luckily, it seems like human beings don’t drain.  i mean, they die but they don’t drain.  it’s almost like creativity is like eternity punching in to work. 

anyway, not trying to bring the tony robbins, new-age songwriter vibe.  i was just thinking about it because that’s what i’ve been doing most recently.  i’ve been getting emails, texts, voicemals….....“are you okay?” 

of course i’m okay.  i’m in love.  do not disturb.

have a nice week,

jason
2.23.09

it’s three degrees in minneapolis.  cold like a curse.  i’ve been wearing black chuck taylor’s all winter long and my feet are frozen.  cryogenics style.  if i have to give ‘em to science, doctors will be startled to find the iced toes of a ten-year old on a man’s body. 

today is valentine’s day.  the second biggest gift-giving, card-sending holiday in america, according to local police.  i feel good about it.  i’ve got no special someone in my life to smear chocolate on or eat sushi with, but that’s alright.  i’ve got friends and they’ve got friends and we’ve got hearts and they’re beating and pumping a little thing called love, so i’m satisfied with that thought.  i don’t know what it’s like in other parts of the world, but people ‘round here, treat valentine’s day with a certain apprehension.  maybe it’s just my age.  you’re on the side of found/shared “love” or you’re still in the trenches, digging for heart-shaped paydirt.  i’m in the trenches alright, but i’m not digging.  well, i am digging but i wouldn’t say i’m looking for something i don’t have.  i’ve got good friends, good family, memories i can handle, etc.  i’m thankful.  you dig?

happy valentine’s day.

i just got off the phone with my dad.  i was wondering whether or not to call him “my dad” or “my father”.  given the nature of our relationship, it makes sense that I’d call him “my father”.  it’s got a little more distance to it.  like a one-armed hug.  it wouldn’t be fair to air the particularities of our bond, but i’ll just say i’m glad i was offered him as an agent for material emergence into this corporeal existence.  i can’t say i’d be better off one way or the other having a different scenario.  sometimes, i wake up in the morning and when i’m brushing the sleep out of my eyes, i recognize him in me.  i remember re-visiting my hometown for the first time in fifteen years and some lady at a flower shop saying, “you must be terry shannon’s boy!”  maybe he isn’t as far away as it seems. 

so anyway…..our phone chat wasn’t the stuff dreams are made of.  but then again, i’m not on a movie set.  and i’m not bringing any of this up for your sympathy or to shed light on what goes on in my day to day with the hope you’ll know me better.  it’s what just happened so i’m writing about it.  another thing that just happened is that a pretty girl sat down next to me.  but i can’t see her eyes because she’s got one of them silly trendy, pilot hats on.  snap out if dottie!  you’re hair belongs to the wild. 

i’m off to my studio to do some writing.  that’s what i do pretty much every day.  wake up.  get something to eat.  jog on a treadmill with shoes not fit for running.  hit the steam room for a nice three-minute interlude with a bunch of heavy breathing, hairy, naked dudes.  smoke a cigarette.  eat a chicken sandwich.  do some emails.  and then write write write.  even if there is nothing in me, i do it anyway.  and play the guitar until my ears get tired.  work on my singing.  fiddle with knobs, etc.  or i learn some covers.  i learned leonard cohen’s “tonight will be fine” yesterday.  that’s a good one.  my violin player, wendy, recommended it to me.  i had heard it before.  i wish i woulda wrote it.  there’s some damn good words in there.  every verse has something that’s like a kind slap in the face.  the kind of song that, if Mona Lisa wrote it, she’d be smiling for sure.

in other news, the band has a management team that is working to get us on the road starting in mid-late may.  so i’m excited about that.  some of you (is there anybody out there?) may be wondering why we played such a great, big, fun show at the Varsity Theater on January 9th only to have nothing follow it up.  Well, I can’t answer that.  But we’ll be up and running very soon.  Very soon.  And then people will be asking, “God, do they ever NOT play?”  We’re gonna be doing some serious gigging in the region and around the country.  So look out.  I can’t believe it’s happening but it’s happening.  Funny enough, now that this opportunity is approaching, I’m having a case of cold feet. 

But then again, it’s three degrees in minneapolis.  i think i’ll take the risk.

Take Care,
Jason

Hey There,

jason here.  just stopping in real quick to say hello and welcome you to the site.  i’m kinda busy right now…..packing up some gear to go play a live webcast on minneapoliscast.com.  check it out!  we go on at 8 pm central standard time.  the whole band’ll play for about an hour and have some interview stuff too.  check it.

i’ll be stopping in here every day to every other day rambling about whatever’s on my mind.  feel free to agree and disagree. 

for now, i gotta get going.  all i gotta say is…....

THE RECORD IS DONE!  come to the release show at the Varsity Theater this Friday, January 9, to celebrate the album’s release and the formal introduction to my new band. 

Cheers and Happy New Year!

jason shannon
01.07.09