New Sincerity

So I made a mix on my iTunes for songs that reminded me how wonderful my ladyfriend is. I've been totally inspired by listening to the Sound of Young America podcast. New Sincerity is awesome. It is awesomeness. There's a difference. And there is such thing as inspiration overload, more on that later.

I put the mix on random and I am instantly transported to my friend Terrence's friend's balcony in Seattle back in August 2002. You can see the modern art museum sculpture arm and hammer thingy from the balcony, and also watch as the street basically falls into the Puget Sound. In some other life I am meant to live there, no matter how trite it is. Anne stepped out to take in a run, and I stepped out to breathe in some salty, cool, humidified air, in such stark contrast to the swill we'd been breathing in DC since late June.

She was running up the hill from the sound as I stepped out. She looked up to find me smiling awkwardly, wondering who this beautiful girl was who had travelled with me across the country to see a friend I hadn't seen in years, whom she hadn't met.

The song was "New Slang" by The Shins and unfortunately, it being about the strains of love relationships, is excluded from our wedding first dance song shortlist. This song, in me, has survived the popular overload of "this song will change your life" statement by Natalie Portman in Garden State. It already had changed mine. I got chills when I saw that movie, no not because Natalie was compulsive liar of an epileptic, but because some of the events seemed lifted straight from my life. No, Anne does not have Epilepsy.

New Sincerity: it will change your life.

Turin Brakes Blew Us Off…

The energy is bristling here in MFA world headquarters. As we speak, Philly is doing it's winter thing. And by that, I don't mean snow. I mean cold rain.

Regardless, plans are being laid for quite the rest of the winter. Our home away from home, Staccato, is closing it's doors after launching several bands into relative obscurity, like wind powered vessels passing in the night. And by that, I mean they gave us a place to play when all other clubs wanted us to sonically rhyme with "oogazi." Anyone who tries to tell you there is not a Fugazi shaped cloud over DC is full of it. That being said, that's a hell of a lot better than the other cloud… neoconservatism!

We're looking into shooting a documentary based around our February 3rd show. Old friends are working their way out of the woodwork to join us for what looks to be our most show yet. And that's including the night when Turin Brakes blew us off. James O'brien has treated so many bands so well over the past 4 years, come wish him well. They're not closing until March, but methinks me doth not book too much.

AND, on top of all of this, we can no longer trust our friend Bruce Falconer, as this night, he is celebrating his 30th birthday. Come

Wind for the Sleeping People

Last night the wind hit Philadelphia with a vengeance. Rather than wait up and check the site report (yeah, I'm a dork) I laid my exhausted bones to bed. Flash forward to about 3am and it sounded like the Wizard of Oz outside. We live on the 7th floor, so any wind resistance comes from window paines and dormant window-unit air conditioners. It sounded like the rattling bones of some spent maritime antagonist trying to crawl through the window sealant.

Then the rains came. Walking around this morning was like being in spin cycle… wind coming from every direction to make sure you knew it was there and to push you back to bed. And lord knows you need it, since the same wind kept you up all night like a badly timed cup of coffee.

Started work on a cover of 'Every Day Is Fall' by brothers in arms Alcian Blue. While their version is a blitz of droning rock guitars, mine's going to be a somewhat different affair. Perhaps when I bring the band in on it, we can completely overhaul it. News: a good hook is hard to kill. I covered Eastern Homes' "I Feel Love" and that turned into a DJ Shadow-lite workout. Maybe I should take that to the band too.

Hope you are enjoying the Boardtape!

Boardtape!

Hey guys,
If you haven't already checked it out, Boardtape is online. It's hot. Seriously, I had to check our webhosting to see if it would handle the bandwidth. Yes it does, so I would like to heartily thank Dreamhost for being so badass.

If you are new to us, hey. We are a power pop/unpopular pop band from DC/Philly and we like you. As our drummer says, it's not who you are, but what you like that is important. Oh wait, or was that Rob Gordon? We live for the rock music, and tend to be opinionated on lots of matters pop culture related.

In other, more colloquial news: My Friend Autumn is going in to mix our record in a few weeks! Thanks to Nick Anderson, we are using Silver Sonya.

AND, we are playing Staccato Friday, February 3rd starting at 9pm. Come have some fun in the city.

much love,
mfa

Endorphins

I'm still riding high from our weekend recording sessions. On a couple of different fronts, it settled me down into the realization that music will not leave me. No matter how far I might run in some other career direction, I will always find myself at a guitar or a piano thinking "wow, that could work!"

There is a video of me in the third studio session for this record, watching Nick mix Philip's overdubs, where you can see me completely zoning out, pensive. I had been worried, thinking that somehow growing out of the ideal of a touring musician, that my desire would shift and this was my one shot to deliver an album, if even to my loved ones, that would serve as my statement.

Now I realize, as we wrap up work on this album, I will always be able to find energetic, likeminded people to work with. Even if it doesn't mean we can actually release the albums we record, we can document the moment in time. This past session was basically laying a template. You could feel the seed being planted… "we should do this again…" "next time, we should set up monitors" "I am now thinking of ways to be more mobile" this is the feeling of the beginning, not of the end.

It is my intention to document my life in sound. I'm always recording things like the wind outside our apartment window, as well as the chaos of religious zealots at a gay pride festival. When the record evolves into the finish product, we hope it has small touches of this as it unfolds. Not so much in the extremes that it presents, but in the presentation of a place in time, even if it is not THIS moment.

Always forward, never back? As best as you can, right, so long as you are as affected by nostalgia as I am!

Dig Dug and the Infinite Bosconian

Greetings Earthlings,
We are back from the coast, having completed 99.5% of the new album. Holy crap, it's going to be so good. In between bursts of conversation ranging from record fidelity, to the redemption of those little purple tickets you get from playing skee ball, we've laid down most of the overdubs/fixes.

Having a little business to take care of in Cape May when I arrived, I swung by a motel at the end of the beach. Having missed office hours, I'd have to go back the next morning. Since that end of Beach Drive is so quiet and dark, I chose to walk out on the beach to check out the stars and watch the waves break in the dark. Just as I start thinking about setting the vibe for the session and keeping it positive, a huge shooting star tore the sky open! Obligatory goose bumps (well, that is, on top of the other goose bumps because it was so effin' cold!) and so it went.

Let me tell you about the lay out. After arriving Friday night, we had a long conversation about anyting but setting up. Then, at 2am, we realized it would be a whole lot easier to set up in the foyer, and not have to lug Matt Ess's big bass amp (BFA) up to another level of the house. So, our control room was our live room. Nick holed himself up in a corner on a card table, and we ran lines all across the room.

Vocals were recorded on the front porch. At least, until it got too cold. I don't want to let the cat out of the bag too soon, as we are planning a big diary for the new web page. Oh yeah, there is no new web page yet, so sit tight.

The record has a name, and tentative plans are being made for the album artwork that includes invading Cape May in January or February, this time with all of our friends.

Hats off to Nick Anderson. Oh yeah, and my band. We turned a situation where there was absolutely no pressure to finish, into a situation where we just decided to finish rather than load all that gear up and have to drive Rte. 47 through South Jersey again! Go team!

Note: self-producing records away from studios is very, very rewarding. Get yourself a space and try it out.

Record-a-thon!

Hey guys,
Sorry for the lag. "Real life is so hard" sayeth Dave Grohl. Actually, since last we talked, 2/3 of us went to a late late night Foo Fighters show at the 930 club. 1/3 of us had to be back in Philly in the morning for work. MVP goes to my beautiful fiancee who drove. You can only imagine the confused look on her face upon waking up at 2am at our friends' house, realizing I wanted to get on the road!

The real news is we are convening this weekend for finish our album! It's been in the works for 18 months now, we've thought it, overthought it, underthought it, and now it's just about right. Nick Anderson is still at the helm, only this time we are assembling in sleepy, winterized Cape May, NJ at a beach house to handle the overdubs and a lion share of the lead vocals. I've been downing 'Emergen'C' packets like mad to stay healthy this week! Oh yeah, and listening to a lot of stuff that has inspired me in the writing of the record. Do they make a mellotron cookbook, like they did with the moog? That would rule, or suck, depending on which sound is used. That would be inspirational, oh yeah, and would give us sample to steal. ha. ha.

hats off to Paul Binghay for technical support in the MFA's venture into midi/sample territory!

Who Are The People In Your Neighborhood?

So yesterday I plugged in our wireless. More wireless=more blogging. Before I had to crouch over the computer while it was plugged in with the ethernet cable, now the computer is getting closer and closer to sitting on its resting place atop my recording workstation. So, easier workstation use= more workstation use? Hope so!

Today we happen upon an interesting sight here in Philly. Our neighborhood has taken great strides toward cleaning up itself. This is the infamous block where Mumia Abu-Jamal's life changed forever in 1981 (flashback: Free Mumia swept the hip hop world in 1995, a cab driver accused of murdering a cop, and is an interesting discourse in urban blight: cabbie vs. prostitute/police informant vs. the justice system). I'm not going to even postulate on that. It's severely convoluted, and reeks of corruption in several levels.

So our neighborhood, the gayborhood as it is called, is having what is called "Out Festival." There are games, music, vendors and people everywhere. Below our window I am listening to the megaphone-amplified prostylized hate stylings of a religious group here to protest. If it is God's command to save one another, I can think of fewer more effective methods than screaming how much someone thinks someone will to go to hell. The din of plastic whistles is everywhere, it seems someone has supplied the festival goers with the hate crime equivalent of a rape whistle.

It's sad that "live and let live" does not exist. If gays were not in my neighborhood, I doubt I would be able to live here. Where other parts of the city have fallen into abject decay, our neighborhood keeps a delicate balance. We have boutiques, antique shops, gelato and coffee, independent restaurants, and nightclubs, but we also have a some drugs, some prostitution, some filth. Amid the filth, there is positivity. Amid the positivity, there is negativity. It is confounding to see what some people turn the love of their god into. How much love is in their hate? How much hate is there in their love?

Verbage

The coffee spot was found today. I mean, knowing it was there but not going doesn't count. Somehow it seems I've been reluctant because I knew it would be just like Common Grounds. And in knowing it was like Common Grounds, I didn't want to face the reality that every coffee shop in the world is the same, it's the people that make them different. My reluctance is completely built off of the reality that there would be no Jakuta. There would be no Jim. There would be no open mic nite to get from Laura, which would then pay off the first MFA studio session.

It's hard, you realize you are a creature of habit, and don't truly appreciate that until you have a whole new world of habit to get to know. New places. New people. Same coffee. Perhaps my attempt to once and for all quit the bean is an attempt to delay the obvious. Arlington will not be replaced, nor recreated. That was a time and a place, and now I am in a completely separate time and place. It's this duality that has kept me going for the past 3 years, and now it's spun me a bit too hard and I seek stability. I know, stability is *so* not indie rock. But then again, neither am I!

So now I have the place and I realize I've been so slouching as a writer. I've been concentrating on specific melodies and writing directly for songs… not pushing my linguistic abilities by putting pen to paper and seeing if I can damn well puncture the writing surface.

This reminds me of my first major transition in life, after college, when these ridiculously arty titles started coming to me. "Stranger with a Camera" "Entrance to the Exit" "Sailing Away from 1972." Sit tight, let's see what other Mingus-lite titles I can come up with. Moreover, bring on the floral verse. There is nothing in the world like being verbose…

Reset Button

I know in this time of scarce communication and cards shuffling it is no time to be petty. But, there is a time to be petty.

That time is now.

I have attempted to hit the reset button on my head. My melon was sporting my well worn shag since, ugh, 2003(?) and in an attempt to get away from it, I had my hair cut for the first time in two years by someone other than my regular.

Results? The wonderful haircuttist decided my part started on the other side of my head, thus creating the illusion of a receding hairline when parted correctly.

Next time to the barber, I was accosted by a flow-bee for the first time in my life. (you might remember such a contraption from the Wayne's World movie "it sucks and cuts... well, you can say it really does suck")

Worst. haircut. ever.

This latest time, my first in my new city, I found an old-school barber around the corner in my neighborhood, in the basement of a high rise apartment building. My requirement? Cut as short as you can while keeping it a little long. Here we go. Somehow the top of my head was forgotten on the right side giving me a "combover junior" which is obviously longer than any other piece of hair on my head!

Stopping short of shaving my own head to hit reset (which I have done twice in my life) I am now headed to the bathroom with a pair of scissors to correct the combover on my own.

Now I remember why I went shaggy for as long as I did.
Going to see the Lemonheads tomorrow night at the TLA. My inner 15 year old is beside itself. Please your inner 15 year old now and again. Be the tiger. Grrr, baby.

It Must Be Summer…

What a difference a few days make. Today in the City of Brotherly Love, the wind blows and I actually cool off. Just Saturday, I was driving down to Cape May with all of the windows off my Jeep and I swear, I was the egg cooking on the sidewalk. Not accustomed to shore traffic, I found myself stuck in a bottleneck getting onto the Garden State Parkway from the Atlantic City Expressway. Secretly my hope was that every car on the road was going to the Borgata for the Stevie Wonder show, but no dice. They happened to be going the direction I was, yet my destination was past theirs.

Last week I had a party for myself. I, Matt Cummins of the band My Friend Autumn know one of the Dove girls. Okay, not anymore, but thumbing through a People Magazine bought for my beloved (Jen’s still not over Brad, Angelina really digs Ethiopia and Mohawks, Bennifer’s Garner is showing), I came across the fab or flab article about the Dove girls that had little bios. Julie Arko? Charlotte, North Carolina? Ha! She used to live in my neighborhood. Or I in hers, as I didn’t stick around Charlotte long enough to really claim any portion of it as my own.

I refuse to dish dirt, and besides, she is a spectacular example of reality in this otherwise Kate Moss-free world. Anyone who is not a celebrity that would wear their skivvies in front of a national audience gets an A+ in my book. Celebs get a B, because that’s their job… distract us with their pearly whites and flawless abdominal sections.

The first time I saw a Dove ad was on a bus stop shelter steps from Staccato in DC. Which brings me to the obligatory self-promotion. MFA will be appearing this Saturday Night at Staccato (18th and U) with our friends Private Eleanor and Middle Distance Runner. PE at 9. MFA at 10:30, MDR at midnite.

xoxoxoxoxoxo,
mfa

Things That I Will Keep

Made a big leap in my late-late-late spring cleaning yesterday. Seems somehow in my last year as a vagabond, and the two moves that preceded it, I’ve been moving around boxes full of junk. Such boxes contain things I had predicted to be of sentimental value previously, but have since been relegated to “eBay?” status.

Surviving the cut: two Pearl Jam fan club 7” singles from ’92 and ’93, a Dave Matthews Band commemorative new years’ eve foam Frisbee thing from ‘95. These scream “eBay me later” as I do not recall ever being on the Pearl Jam fan club, but I do recall discovering Soul Coughing at said DMB show.

Not surviving the cut: many analog cassette tapes. We’re talking failed mix tapes for friends/loves/car rides, live shows for bands I used to dig in college, 3/8 of Van Halen’s back catalog (both with and without David Lee Roth) as incentive to buy the records on CD as I have long planned, handfuls of tapes I have no use for: Living Colour, Aerosmith (when they were druggy and hungry still!), Buddy Holly, Simon and Garfunkel, John Sebastian.

Amongst the rubble of plastic and ribbon I have found rehearsal tapes for Zero Beat, my old band, as well as hours of song snippets and demos while divining song after song. This is why you have to hang on to these boxes as long as possible. It is up to you to save your past from your future. There just comes a time when you know it’s cool to let go of that tape you made for that girl and didn’t give it to her. I mean, she is long out of your life for the better and you have far more important things to do: sip your makeshift martini and start digitizing the few live songs from Agents of Good Roots you want to keep… that and the recorded sounds of my brother and his friends skateboarding circa age 13 on the flip side of my dubbed Beach Boys tape.

A Story with a Moral

A wise man once told me a very useful parable “You steal a bike… you get hit by a truck, that’s just the way it works.” Never mind the fact that this guy had just rejoined his group after going to rehab, after a nasty heroin addiction, after pawning a majority of his bands’ equipment to score.

Not that I wish any acute, specific harm be done, as everyone has a mama somewhere; but please know, dear thief, the bike is broken and if you do not get the rear fork repaired immediately a) the sidewall of the back tire WILL blow and b) the repair will likely cost as much as the bike did. I wish the latter for you, not the former, as the former will find you a truck that is surely not as forgiving as I am.

You see, we were in the process of moving and 2/3 of the moving party saw you ride away. They were unable to confirm exactly how far you got before you realized the back tire was aggressively rubbing the frame AND the brake pad (which as you should note, will need replacing very, very soon).

Best of luck, may your curb hopping days be many and filled with safety.

Sevens Are A Good Thing

It's so very odd to be "borrowing" wi-fi in your own apartment, but you know, when your router isn't playing along, what is a brother to do?

Really, these days I have little patience. Just yesterday, 9 floors above the stink, I watched my building sweat. It was disturbing, but in that "wow, I am pretty much thankful for icy recycled air right about now." Philly is the city of air that feels like walking under the exhaust valve of an air conditioner right now.

We're preparing to kick our second story walk up for a larger, 7th floor apartment about 7 blocks east. I cannot wait to have my recording gear permanently set up. Lately in extra-curricular MFA activity, I have been recording music for a yet-to-be-named film short. Through this, I have gotten one new MFA song, and exercising the part of my brain that really loves ear candy. I'll post a few on the site in the coming weeks when the songs get solidified.

Go outside, then come back inside with something frozen and fruity.
pax,
mc/mfa

City of Brotherly Love…

Thanks for coming out last night! Our World Cafe Live debut was a blast, we will be back! What a great venue to really explore our dynamics: the sonic differences between soft songs and rocking songs.

I have to apologize to my band for mumbling!

Anyone who knows me knows I fail to enunciate sometimes, mashing words together to make new words (which I find cool, like SLEVEN in place of Seven Eleven, and THE WA, as sometimes, Wa-Wa is just too hard to say. ha.) but last night it caught up to me. Turin Brakes had just finished their set downstairs, and had expressed interest in playing a song with us (!!!).

A representative from the band walked up to the stage and asked our bassist Matt if we would be down. We said "hell yes" but apparently the message didn't go through. After each song, I said something akin to "is there a Turin Brake in the house" or "hey! we have one more song, and then we are going to be joined by Turin Brakes!" But word has it you couldn't really understand what I was saying.

Instead, under the perceived microscope of a band on Astralwerks, we rocked. We were electric, so to speak. Then, post-set, I tried approaching them to apologize for the miscommunication and give them a concilliatory (ha!) free CD. No dice, they had to rush off.

So… Jim… Ess-Dog… my bad. Next time I will make sure I pin a carnation on each one of the prospective bands trying to jam with us so they know exactly where they stand in our hearts.

MVP of the night goes to Jim Greif, completing the trip in one night. May we all get to the bottom of our hate for Steven Singer once and for all.

Rockets Red Glare

So the man, brushing past me on the sidewalk, turns to the man accompanying him says "if it weren't for the Vietnam war, I'd be an architect" as if that would explain it all. I walked past and wondered what exactly about Vietnam would cause one to lose sight of one's goals. As if to say that an era can take all of your ambition and turn it into hardship.

I thought about that this weekend while I watched fireworks explode in the warm evening sky over DCn from a darkened apartment with a stellar view of the river and the nationalistic landscape. Questions of patriotism versus fervor were brought up, while over-all, we revelled in our ability to question, to ask questions, and over all, be American. It's weird how such a thing can chisel it's way into your psyche. I'm not so much of an "in your face" patriot, but I love my country in only way Ted Leo/Pharmacists' "Shake The Sheets" can sing to.

I'm thankful for the fact I have not yet had to say "if it weren't for (blank), I'd be (blank)" except for that of my own volition. If we fought World War II so that our grandchildren could be poets, I hope that a generation of architects, doctors, educators are not lost on this international battlefield.

On a lighter note: we have a show coming up! July 19th at World Cafe Live, more to follow. Check out the website for updates: http://www.myfriendautumn.com.

Hope you are having a beautiful summer!
xoxoxo
mfa

This is Your Brain…

I was going to write about how I've been looking at my hands lately, but why bore you with cross-hatch musings. Age is a wonderful thing.

Summer is here. I just finished (all but the epilogue) a book on Brian Wilson's recording of Pet Sounds. What gets me is even this book isn't immune from Brian Wilson Worship. I find great irony in that this man once declared he would "write songs one day that people would pray to" and now it seems some pop historians and writers mistakenly pray to him, not the songs. As my dad always said "you know Brian Wilson fried his brain with drugs…"

Genius or not, I declare that one day I will write songs that people will sleep to. You heard it here first.

the Young Vs. the Sensible

Slowly I am beginning to contemplate reinventing myself. I have forever been afraid of the "singer/songwriter" tag. You know, those were the people back in the 70's who wore beards or sundresses (or both!) who sang about their love for the love that you will never find because it is the love that is always unable to be found. I sing and write the songs (some of them at least), but have absolutely no interest in having my quasi-phallic name on the marquee. I am in deep smit with the idea of a band, and a BS name that represents said group of musicians.

So now I meditate on the obvious. People like the words, they want the words way up front. I am cool with this, I wouldn't write if I didn't want people to know what I was talking about. Young Rock in me wants to have the guitars gutteral and the drums bashy so me and the bassist can jump in unison like Van Halen did. Sensible Songster in me wants to have the guitars melodic and the drums tight and jazz-trap stylee so that the bassist can form a solid foundation for my voice to not have to caterwaul over in order to be heard.

So it is here that I am contemplating doing away with electric guitar…publicly announcing it. I do not think rock is dead, rock is very much alive and well.

Speaking of which, how about Live 8? Rock, rock on.

Show On Monday!

Monday, May 23rd • 9pm
Velvet Lounge (9th and U St. NWDC)
w/ The Foundry Field Recordings (Columbia, MO) and the Metrosexuals

+++++++++++++++++++++

I've been steeping myself in a lot of movies lately. And driving more than is healthy through traffic that is anything but. I'm surprised at how our tendency in traffic is to speed up when it lightens up. I mean, we know there is going to be a traffic jam ahead too, but the few seconds we shave off will somehow make our lives better. Of course, this results in more than a few more accidents jamming up the road for those behind us.

One of my favorite times is right at that frustrating moment of slowdown, when you go from 40 mph to about 2 mph, and you can see the other people in their cars on the other side of the interstate going through the same thing. We get so accustomed to just seeing bright flashes of paint zip by us in the other direction that we seldom realize it's all just some sort of deranged space age ballet.

That is to say: I don't like to dance. Okay, I'm not one of those guys who won't dance, I am just not what you would categorize as a good dancer. I don't have moves.

Wait a sec, I think I got lost in my own analogy.

One Is Silver and the Other Gold

Thanks to all who came to our Staccato full band debut. As soon as I can figure out how to get the photos online, I will. Props to our friend Garth Fry for lending his photog skills! Be sure to check out his art show opening this Saturday at the Galaxy Hut.

I am laid up lately with a spring cold/allergies. I love how my voice sounds with this extra layer of soul.

Between the last time I posted and now, I have: traversed multiple time zones; given my sister and brother in law big hugs, met my new neice and hung out with my nephew (look out ladies!) in Germany; driven with a nicely voiced british-accented navigation system my dad and I named "Molly" (or at times, Olga); wandered Amsterdam in search of Anne Frank and Vincent Van Gogh (and not drugs as my brother-in-law's brother was quick to playfully sarcastically nudge nudge wink wink); had said rental car break down, sorta, but then miraculously come back to life in a truck stop somewhere in Belgium at 11pm; took in a nice hike for German Father's Day that ended in 8 men and a dog piling into the back of a beautifully refurbished circa-WWII Mercedes utility truck passing around Bitburger's like they were water while traversing the most pastoral landscape to have ever been seamlessly put back together after a massive global conflict; sung "You Are My Sunshine" to a flight attendant at her goading finding out I play music (note to self: next time someone asks you if you are "hard of hearing" say "yes, I shoot lots of guns"); and, last but not least, given the city of Washington, D.C. one last sloppy french kiss goodbye for the city of Philadelphia.

And so I sit in an apartment at 10:30am on a weekday in my boxers, singing songs in my new sexy sick voice. I've said "see you soon" to one life and "bombs away" (almost) to a new one in this husky, breathy, raspy voice that I hope will stay but I know will not. The promise in leaving so many wonderful and inspiring people behind is the hope of finding more.

All of the sudden I feel like Carrie from Sex and the City. The fact that I know that raises less alarms within myself than I expected.

Mad, weekday love, from 10:30am in boxer briefs,
mc