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

Sheet Rock Man

So, in explaining transposing songs from electro-techno-pop a la the Postal Service to acoustic guitar a la sensitive boy rock I came up with this:

"The bass and the drums are more the steel and structure of the building, but you don't have to transcribe them. You can get away with the extraneous material to give an impression of what the complete song would sound like… more like the musical sheet rock. Yes. Guitar is just a big pile of sheet rock."

Bittersweet Me

It was tough getting into it last night, I have to apologize. The first half of the set I was uptight trying not to let the sentiment sink in and therefore the set did not gel until later. No wit. No banter. It was hard to think about the events that lie ahead. I am leaving the city I have called home for the last 4 years this week… onward and upward!

In with the positive… my head is still abound with the schizo-kinetic energy today. I cannot form a complete thought or convey a complete idea. Ask anyone who has talked to me. One cup of coffee and I'm a self-contained comedy duo, but only both comedians keep on cutting each other off, so you only get half of what each is trying to say!

I was very touched to see so many old friends last night. Thanks for making my week. Sorry if it was a bit loud, we're working on the sound. Expect some quieter material from MFA in the future. There is talk of banjos and pianos, keyboards and fully audible lyrics. In the meantime, if you want to know what we're saying, drop a line to me for some lyrics.

Oh, This Is The Start of Something Good… Don't You Agree?

Dress rehearsal #1 is done. MFA is ready to go.

Let me tell you about our rehearsal space. It's part of what is now a landscaping storage garage, and seems to have a hollow floor. So last night I was surveying the scene and realized it might have as many as two more levels. What is down there? How old is the space? It's built into the side of a hill, and has a long sloping roof, with three windows diagonally placed following the fall line of the roof.

We have to unlock two doors to get to our space. Are there more keys leading to more lurid things than 15 year old Playboys that we want no part of? This shed/garage thing belongs to another band that was gracious enough to split it with us for the month of April, while MFA gets it's rock jones out. As we locked up last night, I felt this great sense of relief having cleared my amps out… the boogey man is real. Somewhere in those two lower lairs he is there– swallowing up guitar picks and residue.

Did I mention the EP's are ready? The first copy is being/was sold today, sans stencil on the front. I guess it kind of differentiates itself from the rest that way. We are pleased, and very excited, to be entering this recording into the canon of recorded western music. Or was that cannon?

See you tomorrow night!!

My Blood is 75% Coffee

When it rains it pours, or some other worn out cliche.

All I know is that my car got macked up and I ruined 50 CD's for the initial EP run in one shock-induced, spray painted evening. I got up yesterday morning and realized what I had done, threw out every single one of them, and meandered in traffic 'til I got to work and chugged a cup of the brown diesel.

Now the stuff is running my show. I'm not sleeping because there is so much to do (stencils, spray paint, rubber cement, fumes, late night phone calls, plans for germany, philly and show)… when in doubt, turn to the bean. Fact: I quit about once every other month, suffering through headaches, and then turn to it in my darkest moments. Don't judge!

The good news is: our show is going to rock. You will be pleased with the rock and will buy up all of our CD's. They're hot (when done right).

MY FRIEND AUTUMN!
STACCATO!
SATURDAY!
with Death By Sexy!
with Hello Tokyo!

OUR CD's ARE READY!

YOU LOVE OUR EP!

caffeinatedly yours,
mc

Buy Back

Anyone seen the film "Chilicothe"? It's very odd, but no other film has encapsulated my life in such a dead on way. Funny thing is, I didn't like the film very much. It involves the telling of the 20-something guy, from dreaming big dreams to being lonely out of love to finding someone and coupling off. I watched it with my 3 dearest former housemates. One of which, now 2 years later, is married, the other lives in Brooklyn to rock a monkey off of his back, and me, I'm preparing to leave my city's safe economy for the city of brotherly love.

Anyways, there was a conversation in this film about not selling CD's you'll regret selling as you know you will buy them back. This conversation revolves around "Joshua Tree" by U2, but I want to talk about the only CD I have ever bought back. "Return of the Rentals" by the Rentals.

This is the sound of summer. Forever and ever. Wait, I don't think I sold this one. I am pretty sure someone made off with it. So I bought it back. I haven't even bought back "Parklife" so you know this is for real real, not play play. I wasn't one for their second record, but "Return of the Rentals" captures a certain exhuberance that rarely gets captured on tape. This is the sound of the Moog returning to popular conscience. This is the sound of an artist discovering himself amidst his day job (I mean, who QUITS Weezer?!).

Always buy back the records you love. Better yet. Don't sell them. Always lose them. Losing records is a better testament to your affection of a record.

ON DECK!

Ladies and gents,
MFA is now officially your friendly neighborhood scab band! Really, if there is ever an indie rock strike, look for us to fill any and all vacancies and rise to prominence.

This time around, Eastern Homes has asked us to step in for the Apparitions at Velvet Lounge tomorrow night, whose lead singer may or may not be sick. Regardless, our fires are stoked and we are too. Bring it! This will be one of our last small rock shows, so come get nostalgic over the band that never was, or was, but will be and then some.

MFA
w/ Eastern Homes
Velvet Lounge 9th and U St. NWDC
Thursday, April 7th • 9pm

Study Up For Thursday Night's Show!

and awaaaay we go!

Spent a few hours assembling the website last night. Amazing how much detail you have to give the most mundane aspects of a webpage. As you can see, it's severely high-tech… I call it "Flash Pre-Beta," you can find pads of these in your company's supply closet!

Ran across a band called Lali Puna yesterday. Check them out… for fans of the Postal Service record, or even anything with MIDI beats, you'll dig them. I bought this record as a soundtrack to future jet lag, much the same as I did with Wilco's Summerteeth back in 1999.

come see us on my space if you have a minute.

Publish or Perish

Man o man,
For the second time, our website has gotten a potential traffic maker and has yet to be posted. I designed the logo for this years' Six Points Music Festival, and the site designer linked my name with the MFA page. The new site is ready to go, I just haven't had time to put it on-line. If you have found your way here from there, please stay tuned!

In other news, Arlington's Cowboy Cafe is closing after 15 years. Coincidentally, it would be a slammin place to put a music venue, if anyone can afford a lease and own and operate a club. Old Arlington is slowly succumbing to the glitz of whatever happened to Clarendon. I can only imagine rising rent played a hand in the Cowboys' demise. If otherwise, let me know, and I'll drop the rhetoric.

pax,
mc

St. Ides

I was going to say beware the Ides of March and all that, but the day came and went with little more than a phone call to a friend and an appointment to get my hair cut. Then I'd say beware letting your friends cut your hair around the Ides of March, but it's not like that. She's got cred.

Went to see none other than Laura Burhenn at Iota last night. Her set was rather truncated, but satisfying. Playing with only her drummer, I really didn't miss the bass or the guitar. Of course, I was humming bass lines in my head the whole time. Throat bass is so Butch Willis, I know.

Today I dub St. Ides Day. You are half way to St. Patricks Day, and half way away from the Ides of March. This day only comes once a year, don't waste it!

Not For Lack of Currency

Matt here. I walk into record stores with fear lots of the time. In full knowledge that my wallet could quickly empty, I keep finding things that I have been looking for for years. Luck? Fate's way of telling me consumerism is so NOW? Often under the pretense that I will someday take up a DJ residence at some obscuro electro-indie-alt-country-punk-house-hip hop club, records now line my floor. Actually, floors in two states.

Mark and I holed up this weekend to finish the last addition to Opening Flower and Happy Bird. We beat ourselves up for not being the geniuses we know we are, and ended up taking the long way around to a good track. Texting Jim for his input as to Quiet or Rock ("QUIET," he said), "I Was Electric" boasts a loop that Mark didn't know if it would work, and as much mellotron as your ears can handle.

Sometimes I think I shouldn't have been born IN the 70's, but born to play the freaky keyboards that were invented DURING the 70's. Of course, that would probably make me Genesis' biggest fan. Okay, I love the 00's. Back to reality.

Sleep Deprived… again

Sorry for having to cancel at the last minute, after picking the show up at the last minute. We promise not to do that often, or at all if possible. I didn't mean to alarm anyone with the mention of "emergency," thanks for your emails of concern. We're coping with an illness in the extended family and had to make a choice.

That being said, the weekend was pensive but rewarding. Being holed up in a cabin in the Poconos with no TV, Inspector Gadget 2 on DVD, and a fickle propane fireplace, what else do you resort to? That's right, a game– good old fashioned Charades! I got Warren Buffett and had to pass. How do you motion "super-rich tycoon?"

SHOW CANCELLED

Hey guys,
My Friend Autumn will NOT be appearing tonight at Staccato. There has been an emergency that Matt has to attend to.

Please go show some love to Audrey Ryan Band and Casey Abrams regardless.

Last Minute Show!

Dearest Radioland…
MFA will be playing Staccato Friday night in a last minute development. We will be sharing the bill with Casey Abrams and the Audrey Ryan Band, both from Boston.

"Everybody’s waitin’/Gettin’ crazy/Anticipating love and music/Play, play, yeah…"
copies of Opening Flower and Happy Bird will be available as a party favor! And if you have an extra appendix, please see us after the show. MFA crew represent.

Live at Budokan

Listening to one of the records that first made me want to rock: Live at Budokan by Cheap Trick. I forgive you for "The Flame," though I was too young to realize just how bad it was. But man, as soon as I had Live at Budokan to compare that to, or rather, the fury of thousands of screaming Japanese girls, my life changed and faux-hairband ballads were cast to the depths of nostalgia forever. We're all alright!

Went to the hollows of foliated kudzu that is North Carolina this weekend to see my mom and dad. After church Sunday morning, who should walk by but a lost interest from college. She and I worked everything out, but nevertheless, the abyss of post-collegiate relocation swallowed up what could have been left of a friendship. The thing is, I didn't recognize her immediately, and therefore, didn't have a chance to say hi in the midst of the throng exiting mass. She walked past, and into some Cusackian morning swimmingly alive in my head. Was she married? Did she have kids? She looked happy. Then again, she always looked happy.

In honor of this event, I, Matt of MFA, present:

My All Time Top 5 records when I was approx. 9:
Beach Boys "Concert"
Bob Seger "Like A Rock"
The Highwaymen "The Highwaymen"
Duran Duran "Seven and the Ragged Tiger"
Dire Straits "Brothers in Arms"

Lovely.

Please point your browsers to justification for the existence of the internet.

We here at MFA would like to thank the internet. We love you.

New Agey Nonsense

There are few things I enjoy more than the feeling of interconnectedness amongst people. You know, finishing sentences, long cerebral discussions (sadly, as I grow older, these get fewer and fewer), and little existential proof that we are not just amoeba floating through some kind of time tracked void of lightness.

I was thinking earlier of being down in Richmond a few years ago. Patrick used to live just outside the reaches of urbania, in a place called Powhatan. My brother and I would go down periodically to visit and to escape our awkward adult lives in DC. We were driving back from a climbing gym where Pat worked, Dan climbed, and I contemplated getting exercise, on a very sunny late autumn afternoon. The trees were mostly stripped bare of any last jagged sandpaper leaves, yet strangely the fading sun was quite warm, zipping about in my old VW through once lush Virginia backwater.

Listening to a mixtape a friend had made the previous year, we came about "New Paths To Helicon Pt. 2" by Mogwai pulling out of a gas station and turned it way up. Just as the droney mellow part gave way to the ethereal noisebath that is the second part, we passed into a portion of road lined with trees. The strobing effect of the sun through the trees coupled with the ambient wail that is New Paths to Helicon nearly tore my scalp off with goosebumps, adrenaline and near epileptic sunlight.

I said something like "holy crap!" to Dan, he responded with an exasperated "I know…"

It was a moment that justified my love of music, needing no explanation other than cutting down to the tendrils to a place where there is nothing left but sound and light.


Reading: "Steven King: On Writing"