Better man.

I don’t know if a hotel room outside of Toledo, OH, right around the 1 AM hour is the right place or time to get contemplative. Then again, when and where is? I’ve way too much Dexter in my system for a single day and a combination of Japanese AND Chinese taking residence in my gut and a very real need to get up about seven hours from now to do some of that work stuff I came here to do. So, allowing my hands a chance to wander around some before I succumb to some of the sleep probably isn’t right or proper or even all that smart.

And yet, I continue. It is perhaps a little absurd and cliche and altogether expected to hear a man of a certain age and a certain unattached status talk (or, in this case, write) about his singlehood some. I’m not unhappy or even searching all that much of late, whether those close to me choose to believe that reality or not. Still, I had this thought recently, while exploring these two tired reasons for remaining single: fear of commitment and fear of intimacy. They’re the two most common reasons chosen to pin upon some single someone after all, right? One seems to run so swiftly into the other.

My thought was, well, that I most likely have a fear of intimacy, which leads me to be in the state that I am at present. The reason for that? Almost every single intimate act I’ve had or experienced so far in my life has been attached to some level of failure. What a revelation, right? It’s why, for example, good girl friends remain good girl friends. So, while this "fear" (as it's not the best way to describe it properly) may not result in keeping me up at night or cause me to run away screaming, it’s hard to attach myself to something longstanding when I’ve crashed and burned so often before (and I most certainly have). Is it wrong to have this fear? I don’t think so. Is it comforting to have a better understanding of what it is and how it applies to me? Yes and yes. It may even lead me past it at some point.

I sat next to man on an 18-minute flight today who couldn’t seem to stop talking to me. And, while I normally enjoy burying my nose in a magazine and minding my own business, I didn’t have much of a choice this time around. It was a small plane with propellors. I learned plenty about him in a very short amount of time. He and his wife were on their way home from Vegas and would be hosting a karaoke night at a gay bar (“We sure hear our share of songs from musicals there,” he’d said). He wore a hat that looked like it’d protect him in a heavy downpour and had a left hand that was missing all appendages but his thumb. I tried not to look at it. How long had they done this hosting thing together? Nine years.

And, on that note, I succumb. A man’s got to have his sleep.

Sunday night Muppet Madness!

Muppets + Queen = Greatness (to the nth power even!)

Emily Wells and her Symphony.

People all over the place be spitting out their thanks and gratitude and, well, I'm going to clamber into that bandwagon for a hot second. The older I get, the more of a Thanksgiving scrooge I become, but I did want to say I'm thankful people the world over respect something amazing when it lands on their screens and sets down inside their ears. A video I posted about a year ago has gone to be my most looked at piece of musical cinema I've ever captured ... at last count, "Symphony 1 In the Barrel of a Gun" has been watched 107,236 times. For perspective's sake, that's about 25,000 more times than this blog has ever been looked at (and the blog's been around a whole lot longer). There are reasons behind this wee phenomenon, sure, but I gotta say that, at the crux of this, discerning people recognize talent when they see it. Am I thankful for that? You betcha. Head on over to YouTube to see it in all it's respective looping and violining glory (i.e. much bigger'n it is here).

Sudden prayer, disguised as thoughts.

Hey. Whoa. Hey! Uh, how’s it going? I know I’ve been a little quiet on my end of the conversation lately, but what’s with the bump? I was having a pretty good surprise nap. Quick question while you’re waiting to answer that: Must being so close to the Mile High City mean hitting speed bumps in the sky all the time? It may be routine for the pilots around here, but it’s not so good on the ticker. My hands are sweating over here.

And, no, I wasn’t looking out the window to see if we were taking a nosedive or anything. It was more along the lines of wanting to see those pretty speckled city lights down there and, you know, if we’d hit an errant flock of wint’ry seagulls or something. It looks okay, as far as I can tell. What do I know, right? Why is it that the plane feels like it has the shivers, anyway? All of that sputtering and shuddering? I could do without that.

Okay, so if this is it, I sure wish I’d had a better meal than that heavy airport quesadilla as my last one. I didn’t even get a chance to spring for the $1.99 guacamole, you know? Again with the middle-of-the-air bumping. Don’t care for this. Oh, and, if this was the plan all along, it would have been nice if the girl sitting next to me had fallen asleep on my shoulder, instead of slumped the other direction with her wee light still on. I wouldn’t have minded that.

You’re in charge, though. I understand that. If this is it, then, thanks. It’s that time of year, after all. I’ve all the gratitude in the world. It wasn’t such a bad life. I had a great run these past 35.

I’m going to fake like I’m napping some more now. Don’t mind me. I’ll make with the wide eyes again when the next bump hits. I’m all for consistency.

Joshua James, Coal War & Glenn Tipton.

Joshua James is coming to our spot of the map tonight. It’s been a couple months of touring and couch surfing and Japan-visiting for him (he got back in yesterday), so that automatically makes this one of those right nice homecoming concerts. Luckily, it’s at the best sounding venue in the state.

I’ve written about him here before, sure, but I'm gonna go ahead and talk him up again. I’ll be there, enjoying it and smiling plenty. He’s been doing this spot-on rendition of Sun Kil Moon’s “Glenn Tipton” a lot lately (heard him do it again on the radio this morning) and, chances are, we’ll hear it again tonight.

Interesting note: did you know Glenn Tipton is a singer for Judas Priest? I didn’t either, not until the Internet shared that with me. Take that tidbit to the bank. And, after you’re done with that, enjoy an acoustic version of “Coal War” with “Glenn Tipton” attached to the end of it. I filmed this one prior to his tour, but it sure doesn’t get old. Hope you like.

With a voice like that, it's sure hard to believe the guy's 25, eh?

Wolfmother, for your pleasure.

Should you get the hankering to hear how the Wolfmother show went the other night, my ears stopped ringing for me long enough to finally process it. I grabbed the little brother and we enjoyed it plenty. DJ even got his share of beads on account of flashing his chest for the band. Totally serious. Click HERE for a review, some photos, a pretty awesome video and a chance to win ... one MILLION dollars!

Shaving bellies all over again.

Lately, I've been rubbing shoulders with members of my old band. Tonight I'll do more of the same, in preparation for an upcoming performance tied to our harmonica player who happens to think she's getting hitched or something. Though I'm sorta sad there are no Elvis songs for me to sing in those five allotted minutes of spotlight time, I'm pretty sure it'll still be fun once it all comes together next week. It feels good to get together again, even without the once customary pint or three of Ben & Jerry's to go along with it. Our lives have branched out in a good many directions and, well, we don't see one another nearly as much as we used to.

Most in the mostly defunct Shaved Belly Band have gone on to find their mates and they've been pretty good at following up that heroic feat with some procreating. And, like it or not, I think that whole business of starting families sorta kept the band from wanting to stay together anymore. That or everybody simply got tired of trying to memorize their sheet music. Or it was the Elvis songs. Eh, it's gotta be one of those, right?

I've thought about it some and, I must say, I like when people get engaged to be married. That's not to say I understand it, not in the least. If that was the case, perhaps I'd be among those with wives and kiddies. That aside, however, I've decided I can't help but like it when it happens. I enjoy being witness to those first steps towards something more, on whatever level I am able to see it formulating. My congratulations is always heartfelt and my admiration of their courage is completely and totally honest.

I enjoy my being single (and have for quite some time now), but I also enjoy seeing those who are taking that step towards another kind of happiness. It's a win-win situation, it is. There's nothing grand in that statement, either, but there it is. Bravo to those leaping towards love.

The Sandman, the Brakeman and Me.

Perhaps it's because we've got M. Ward, Conor Oberst and Jim James all in the same room singing and playing ... and perhaps it's because I love each of those musicians pretty much equally ... but this version of this song got moved to the Can't Stop Listening and Watching To It pile sometime last week and, well, there it remains, somewhere near the top. As far as I'm able to tell, Jim takes lead vocals on the video where M. Ward is front and center on the album version, but I do believe this one's the best-sounding one. Sidenote: this album sounds better now that it's Fall morphing into Winter.

I can't always focus real well.

I really did have a dream this morning where I was performing a house concert with Michael Jackson. There weren’t a lot of people there and he was kind enough to allow me to go first. I wonder this has something to do with the reason “Heal The World” keeps popping into my brain at the most inopportune times of late.

This dream surpasses the recent nightmare I shant recount in detail (but it involved Robin Williams on a tractor, among other oddities) and the other one, where I pulled two incredibly long, gray hairs from my ear, proceeding to fluff them up, using both as a warm blanket.

Some kind someone has offered to learn a bunch of Elvis’ Christmas tunes so’s I don’t have to sing along with the King if I don’t want to. Maybe I’ll get hold of that red velvet Elvis jumpsuit again and make some magic happen. Then again, maybe it’ll be more like Elvis Holiday Unplugged or something. Oh, the possibilities!

Was supposed to go to Russia this week for work, but now I’ll likely go to Colorado Springs instead. Because the latter is obviously better, right? I just wanted to wear a mink hat is all.

Hawaii happens so very soon. So soon. And there will be lobstering and lots of free lodging and kayaking and camping and helicopter rides and more! It just keeps getting impossibly better.

I think Tony Horton wears some kinda toupee. The fact I don’t know for certain is proof of how good it is.

Last night involved blowing out a tire on the highway, surviving that, swimming in a warm crater in the mountains, piling eight people into a Chrysler and eating tacos and churros for the rest of the night. It was quite possibly the Best Friday Ever.

Why do I go back to the Jiffy Lube? They’re never the best there is and they always seem to get away with charging me much too much.

If I had that pig flu, I think it was a lot nicer to me than some of the other sicknesses I’ve had. Whatever it was, though, is all but gone.

Gentlemen Broncos is crazy as everybody says, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't go see it. Me and that old guy in the back of the Broadway theater laughing himself into an early grave both recommend it heartily.

Drove members of the band Fanfarlo around for a bit this afternoon in a snowstorm, watching them make some acoustic magic over at the station. I don’t think I’ll tire of that kind of assistance anytime soon and I am really, really excited to see that concert in a couple hours. I hope people come to see ‘em. It’s impossible not to like what it is they do.

Oh. It snowed. Father Winter didn’t so much storm on us as he did make us pull our scarves out again. It’s not quite Christmas snow, not yet.

Lookit me!

On my radio show tonight, I threw on a track by Francis & The Lights called "The Modern Promise." I've been friends with it for a number of months now, but still don't tire of the way it moves, nor how that lead singer (could it be Francis?) moves so well along with it. Certain sounds just stay with you (and if you want this song and others go download it for free on his site). I don't know what I'm more impressed with when it comes to these few and this music ... how it sounds to me or that they can move like this and create magic in just a couple minutes' time?



THE TOP - FRANCIS & THE LIGHTS

This town is a graveyard.

And by this "town," of course, I mean this ever stranger land of Blog. Nobody really reads or attempts to process what ends up here. They're here for the photos and the videos. Nobody really has an opinion they want to throw out or a comment they feel worth sharing, and so the never spoken and never written stays on the inside, forever dormant. It used to be different, this place, this space ... but now those crazy tumbleweeds are seen evermore on these dirt roads. Now the most oft-used hotels are getting boarded up, forever vacant. The one horse town this is stands to lose its horse, I reckon. People are moving on and moving out, headed to the big city, searching something more. This ghost town is dying fast, offering up more ghosts than stories, more death than lives and liveliness and livelihood.

I remember when it was different, when having planted a name on this chunk of land seemed to mean something, when friends and otherwise would pop in for a spell and dive into the conversating simply for the sake of doing so. They used to jaw just to see what words would come out, they would. That was a different time, but a warmer one, a memorable one. Yes, in my day, this land meant something more than it does now. I am a grizzled old-timer, yes, and I've as many stories in me as there are hairs on a ragged coon, but I fear they may not get told anymore. I may even die alongside this trend, this shift in the winds and seasons.

I've yet to put my ear against the rail and listen for what's on the way, but this feeling in my bones is true and right. I feel a change brewing in this middle of the night.

I want to go to here.

I can have a whole lot of random crap inside my melon at any given point in time but, lately, this place seems to be hogging up all the real estate there.

One month from today is all I have to wait until I arrive on its shores ... and it seems like a very short time to wait so, well, here's to waiting. Mahalo!

O Fanfarlo!

Fanfarlo is a great little band with a great big sound that hails from jolly old England. From the time they offered up their lone album for a whole buck previous to its release to it actually being very, very good to their going about dropping videos all over the internet, I've been consistently intrigued, amused and satisfied by what they've had to offer. I don't even mind that I don't know much more about their history, either, as they're in the process of writing it ... and they're doing so pretty incredibly fast.

I've a bad habit of going about comparing the music I like to other bands that I like, but I'll stop short of doing that here. Just know that Fanfarlo has done an incredible job combining and borrowing sounds I'm familiar with from other current bands and made a pretty comfortable one of their own. Hope that makes sense. Does it have to be groundbreaking or can it simply be good and solid? I'm of that latter opinion.

Go see them when they come to Salt Lake. They're at the State Room (638 South State) next Saturday, November 14th, and, well, they want to please you. They honestly do. Won't you give 'em your $10? I certainly will.

Monday night live.

If I were king for a day and that day was today, I'd probably have Lisa Hannigan pop by the radio station and give this valley a little performance. I'd maybe manage to slip into the concert she's doing later tonight, that one where she's opening up for David Gray at Kingsbury (managing to slip out before David does a single head wobble bounce). And maybe, since I was king and all, maybe I'd talk her into a date or something. (Hey, I'm not blind over here.) Alas, I don't have that kind of power. I sure wish I did. If you're smarter than myself, you already have a ticket. If you're broke and still smart and don't have one of those normal 9-to-5 jobs like I do, you will go see the free in-store she's doing at Graywhale @ 2 PM. Watch the below video and get a taste of what it is the woman and her band can do. It's just too bad she can't do that whole free performance inside a real live pub, eh?



Watch it.