Nostalgia

Quick question:

If sometimes you write a song and realize it is "pretty okay" but you know from experience that a lot of people will absolutely love it except the people like you who will agree it is "pretty okay" so you don't record or release it, you just shelve it, then the years go by and you get older and one day you pick that song off the shelf and start strumming the chords and you realize that nostalgia has added several-years-worth of value to it and it transports you back to who you were when you wrote it and a lump forms in your throat and you can barely sing it and your immediate thought is, "Damn, this is good." Is it?

Journal Update: Recording

Sorry for the lack of updates. I've had work to do while I've had work to do, so that's made me too busy to sit around and be all reflective and type things. It's odd how your perspective of time changes as you get older. I can blink now and a month is gone.


I'm editing vocals. My vocals. It's tedious to say the least, because there is no greater critic of my voice than me. This will be the sixth record I've produced, not counting those garbage Orizon demos from 2003, but it will also be the biggest record I've produced. TCC has an incredible production standard to live up to, and I'm doing my level best to meet it. We started recording this record in January, and it is now April... this is the longest I've ever had to sit on a collection of songs in the recording process. I like this part of it. I have time to dream about what the songs are missing and to try to make them whole.


I'm heading off to Orlando this Saturday to mix the record with an old friend (producer of Albatross, The Silver Cord, and Vagabonds). With the success of our Kickstarter campaign there is even more pressure to make this album good. Having Elvis involved in the project takes a huge weight of my shoulders, as I trust him to always sort out my madness in the most insightful and inspiring ways. 


If you've supported our Kickstarter, you're part of the reason why we can afford a great person like Elvis to mix it. Your dollars are actually going to make our record sound better... it's sort of poetic, and it feels only right. The quality of our art is tied to the quality of our supporters, who happen to be the best quality supporters in the world. So, for the opportunity to make our songs better, I'd like to say THANK YOU.


Can't wait to finish and release these songs!


With love and gratitude,


Matt

iPhone Notes

Last night I rolled over in bed and typed this into my phone. It's not a song, and I'm not astute enough to qualify it as poetry... I guess it could be called creative journalling. I think I might start posting some of these "stream of thought" type notes:


I thought I knew I what to do, but I don't. Fleeting moments of peace are now endangered in the thick cloud that sits like a sponge on my head, heavy and wet, soaking up focus and clarity. I thought I knew what to do, but I don't. I crane my consciousness to see what lies beyond, but it's muffled and dark. I can only see my feet, two ragged stubs jutting out below my kneecaps. I'm out of options. I put one in front of the other and pray there is no cliff. 

Unpublished

I want you to know that I haven't been entirely neglecting this blog. I've been writing some, but nothing I currently care to "publish." I put that "publish" word in quotes, because being a blog poster is perhaps the farthest thing in the writing realm from being a published author. They do make you feel special though, what with the "Publish Post" button and all... I guess lately I've been struggling to click that button. It could be because I don't want to preach and I don't want to gripe, and try as I might it seems I have a propensity for both. Also, many of these blog ideas I'm writing are incomplete, and it would be a shame to "publish" an incomplete thought. Regardless, they still seem worthwhile to jot down in the off chance it triggers something meaningful. I've realized that the expulsion of words is therapeutic for me (I'm not unique in this, you should try it). Speaking and writing have always been the way that I've managed to refine the random abstractions, however simple or convoluted, that tend to bang around in my head until I give in. Even when nobody is reading along, this type of expression gives me a feeling of release. Perhaps everything I write on here isn't meant to be broadcast. What a novel idea! ...I guess I'm okay with that. 

Journal Update: Time Flies

I can't believe I've been writing on this web page for over two years. Time is a strange thing, it moves even when we don't, yet somehow we think we own it. We think we can carpe diem our way to the grave, seizing every moment and milking it of it's potential value. The older you get, the faster it goes. I didn't believe it either, kids, but it's true. Time flies.


The rate at which we grow slows, but time keeps flying by. There can be less difference between someone who is 30 and someone who is 50, than between someone who is 15 and someone who is 20. I think the late twenties are about figuring out what happens when all that expedited growth stops. I now have time to sit back and think, "What have I become?" "What did I allow to shape me?" The good news is I was shaped, molded, and I came out an adult with a half-decent head on his shoulders. The bad news is that my putty is much more dry than it used to be, so in order to change the shapes I dislike I'll have to work harder. I'll have to deliberately make better choices, consistently.


Health class in high school was what we called an "Easy A." We were taught a bunch of things we already knew about sex and disease and pregnancy, but I think administratively they were responsible to cover those bases, to bring everyone "up to speed" as it were. Mrs. Sahagian was our health teacher, and a fun one at that. She was bubbly, and would ease our adolescent awkwardness by saying "PENIS" really loud with a smile. "PENIS PENIS PENIS!" She'd say, "Now you try it... it's not a bad word so just say it and get it over with." I did a lot of eye-rolling in that class. I was so advanced, I thought, and all this stuff was too cheesy for me. Misses, which is what we called her, had hung a lot of inspirational quotes around her classroom, many of them about doing the "right thing." I remember a giant saying that wrapped around three walls of the classroom. I remember thinking how stupid it was. It read "THE CHOICES YOU MAKE TODAY EFFECT THE PERSON YOU ARE GOING TO BE TOMORROW."


Hindsight is 20/20. That quote could not be MORE true. It didn't ring true back then because I could change on a dime, I felt different from one day to the next, constantly experiencing and growing and changing. But my choices, especially in my late teens, have dictated the last decade of my life. My choice to move to Seattle, to join a band, to marry my wife, are a few major choices that define my surroundings as I sit and type this ten years later. They define who I spend my time with, what I do for a living, and what I'm qualified to do in the future. They define where I live, how much I make and who I know. These are the big choices, but there are millions of tiny choices that can have great bearing on your life. Those little choices can become big in the long run.  They define how I resolve conflict, how I love and serve, and to what capacity. They can decide for you whether or not you're going to be honest, or whether or not you're going to be addicted, or whether or not you're going to be GOOD. Tiny little choices that seem harmless in your present day can completely alter your days to come.


Back to this blog. After a few years, I realize the choice to start writing it has changed me. I guess I feel more comfortable writing, but I feel like I can form my thoughts better as well. I edit and proofread less than I used to, but I think that's because in the beginning I was naively fearful that someone would discover how fallible and normal I was. Along the way I think realized, among many other things about myself, that I am pretty normal so gave up trying to sound ridiculously smart. I'll admit though, the pull is there to reach for the thesaurus and find the most ostentatious locution to delineate my postulation (e.g. this sentence). I never went to real college, so the thesaurus has lent me a much broader vocabulary than my A.P. English teacher did.


Looking back at the last two years I also realize that I am the same in ways that I'd like to be different. I still have similar fears when it comes to failure. I have the same anxieties when it comes to my art and how it is viewed, who likes it and what it's monetary value is. I struggle with those things the same way I did two years ago, and maybe even more-so now. Maybe it is a constant battle, something that I'll fight for a lifetime, but I never want to settle. I never want to look back and say, "I was better then." I want to be the best now that I've ever been, as sappy and as sensational as that sounds. If time flies I need to grab ahold of it. If the choices I make today define who I am tomorrow then I need to make wise choices. Simple right? It never is.


I'm glad for you who read this. You have helped me in ways you'll never know. The recognition that your eyes are following these words across the screen has caused me to be honest, it's caused me to think deeply about my life, and I hope these lines have caused the same for you. Thank you.

The Record

I've been agitated lately. Ornery. I can work myself into a frenzy doing absolutely nothing. I feel a weight on my mind, and with it comes these pangs of doubt and worry and regret. These days I can find a way to stress and wonder and plan and curse my plans through any distraction I impose upon myself. This is all of course because it is time again to write.


It is time to write a record.


Record. Thats a funny word to still use as a noun, especially since we've never done a vinyl pressing. Alas, the word "Record" is still the current industry standard for the daunting and tumultuous journey I am about to embark on. Do I sound like I'm complaining? Sorry. Like I said I've been agitated lately.


My Dad is a bit of a genius nut. He has cycles, ups and downs, much more dramatic than most people. You could probably call him slightly manic, although he'd probably deny it as he most likely remains unmedicated. Sometimes I think I may have chipped a bit off of that old crazy block. Although in most ways I'm not like my Dad at all (he hasn't an artistic blood cell in his body), I think sometimes I can act like him emotionally. Which is scary. I'd like to think of myself as emotionally adapted, an advanced communicator, a relational problem solver... but really, deep down I'm just a nut. I smiled just now when I typed that. Honesty feels good.


Maybe it has to do with stress. I feel this thing that I have to conquer is in front of me, and I feel very alone on the battlefield. It's easy to blame my band mates for lack of interest, drive, growth... talent. And maybe they can shoulder some of the blame, but the sad thing is I can't sling any of that mud without getting a significant amount of it all over myself. I'm not as driven as I could be, as talented as I should be. I feel this thing that I have to conquer is in front of me and I am not good enough to conquer it. This is new for me. Talk to me five years ago and I would have said to you in confidence, "I would love to do so many things, but I feel really limited because of the band and our current style of music." Talk to me now, I have a HUNDRED places I could steer this ship and I feel like my arms are cut off. I CANT STEER. What happened to my vision? What happened to my confidence? I suddenly have all the freedom in the world to seize what ever lies ahead and I have this terrible feeling that I'm really not good enough to see it come to fruition. Is that truth? Well, from a spiritual standpoint I am enough because He who is in me is enough. Perhaps I'm not relying on that. However, what if it is true? What if I'm a connector, someone who brings all the geniuses together in one room and milks their minds of the good ideas - and then with that milk I make a milkshake that blows minds? Maybe my mind doesn't have the best milk. This could also be true.


It's funny, one moment you're on the road in a band thinking, "Man, what we could do if these guys let me," and then you're at home going, "WHAT AM I GONNA DO WITHOUT THESE GUYS?!"


And no, our band isn't breaking up. Not just yet. See the "Seven-Year-Itch" post for the prequel to this one. Long story short things aren't like they used to be, and we can no longer afford to have five full time members in our band. Which leaves me, the one full time member, to try to find time to write with the part-timers.


So back to my crazy Dad and how I think I have genetically inherited a similar cycle. If I am not surrounded by inspired, passionate people, this is the only way I create: Self destruction, creative inspiration, complacency, self destruction, creative inspiration, complacency... you get the picture. 


To simplify: Destruction-Creation-Boredom rinse, repeat.


It is so stereotypical it makes me sick. Artists and their mini-meltdowns, their flare for the dramatic. Yuck. Not me right? I'm different right? Maybe not...


Let me tell you though, I've got big plans for this next record. I have demos and I have plans. These plans will be hard to achieve. I'm just so terrified of putting out something that I'm not 100% proud of, I want to do it right. I want the right people involved, the right vibe, for the right reasons. This is a lot of think and to pray about. We could use your prayers too, if you're the praying type of person. I need wisdom for how to move forward, faith that no matter the outcome it will be Good (with a capital G), and inspiration for the times when the thought of this work sucks all the creativity out me.


For those of you long-standing blog followers, I probably sound like a broken record. There's that word again. For those of you who are newer, you can read similar sentiments in post from a few years ago called "Tapering."

Tour Log #2: Adrenaline Junkie

We spent the last two nights at our friends Jason and Krystal's house in Turlock, CA (ie Basshead Studios). We love staying there because we always seem to have good old-fashioned-wholesome fun, the kind we had when we were kids. Yesterday we woke up, drank coffee and went to a church. The people there were nice and the sermon was applicable. The pastor is a commercial pilot, clean cut and charismatic, and I appreciated how blunt he was about living differently, humbly, set apart as a servant instead of selfishly. 


When we got back we organized a basketball tournament. As you can guess musicians aren't usually the greatest ballers, but we all share around the same level of ball handling/shooting skills so it's still a lot of fun. Afterwards we played catch, sprinting across the acre of short grass behind the studio after a frisbee, climbing the fence when it went into the orchard next door. This is what happens when you bring 11 grown men together and give them space to run, stuff to throw and time to do it. We revert to our boyhood as it becomes game upon game. Exhausted and sweaty, we showered up we went to Chipotle for lunch. 


After lunch Jason picked up Skip and I and took us to an air strip in Modesto. We watched with anticipation as he wheeled his Cessna prop plane out of the hanger. This is probably my favorite thing about staying with Jason. There is nothing to compare to flying a small plane. It's so many good things wrapped in one; It's flying (ie bird travel), traveling, sight seeing and roller coasteering all in one. I've been dreaming about it since the last time Jason took me up. It was Skips first time in a small plane, so Jason suggested he ride up front. Once we reached ample speed on the runway Jason coached Skip to pull back slightly on the steering column, and just like that we were airborne. My favorite thing about flying is going weightless. It's when we fly in an arc, gaining velocity while gaining altitude, and then pushing the steering column in, dipping the nose of the plane down suddenly and allowing our bodies to float up in the seats. Anything loose in the plane will float, including your stomach inside of you. It's a controlled roller coaster, you can do it as much and as dramatic as you want, and you know when it's coming. I love that feeling. As I drop the nose of the plane down it feels like our fate is in my hands, I see the ground below and I shake from excitement. We all laugh uncontrollably, partially because we're terrified and partially because for that instant our bodies become airborne and we are free from gravity. We actually fly. 


We text the boys back at Jason's house to prepare them for a fly by. They gather on the tennis court out back, looking like ants below us. Of course we don't just fly over and wave, remember we're men who are busy acting like children. We bomb them. We've got a lunch box full of water balloons and three rolls of toilet paper. The unravelled toilet paper looks hilarious flying through the air from hundreds of feet up. We can see them running after it. We fly by again, unloading water balloons from above. One of Skips balloons hits near the pool, one of mine hits the tennis court. We shriek with excitement. 


On our way back we stop at an air strip where people live. Their giant houses have giant hangers where they can fly in, taxiing off the landing strip and straight up their driveways. It is kind of mind boggling; these real life jet setters living the lifestyle of migrant birds. On our way back to the other airport we fly low above the ground, banking left and right following a creek that cuts between rolling, green turf. The sun is setting and we watch the orange, yellow, and pink as we fly into it. It's surreal; the green blow us, the colors in front of us. It all seems fake. Just before we land we watch the sun sink behind the hills.


On our way home we pick up supplies for a barbeque. At home we cook up a feast, and then it's out to the back yard for a whiffle ball tournament. It's us versus Write This Down (brand new Tooth and Nail band). Yelling and clapping we play under the lights, whipping the ball at bass runners to throw them out, regurgitating all of the baseball slang we haven't used in years. We win and the celebration ensues. I take my shirt of, running around the bases and yelling, I look over and Robbie has his pants down trying to run in a celebratory fashion. Skip follows suit. It's hilarious. Then suddenly I'm tired, and sore, and I think this was probably one of the best day-offs I've ever had.


Some of the other guys still have energy for tennis, so they play and I crash out.


We are all extremely sore, but we plan on bringing the adrenaline to Anaheim at the Chain Reaction tomorrow. Hope to see some of you there.


Matt

Tapering #2

A Journal Update:

I'm in limbo again (see blog post "Tapering" if you love redundancy). We leave for tour in four days and it's becoming exhausting to even think of doing anything that might cut into my sittin'-around-time. I spend most of my days in a vegetative state on the couch, the symptoms much the same as explained during my last "Tapering" session. It's the calm before the storm. Any pending projects seem daunting and unnecessary. I am not prepared in any way to leave for tour because let's face it, that's days away and I live one day at a time. Either way I've done it a million times (packing) and I've got it down to an art. I could live out of my backpack for weeks. Even though I'm unprepared to leave, I'm not productively staying either. I'm stuck between where I was and where I will be. "Here, where the future meets the past," to quote lyrics from a song written by a much more naive version of me (did I just quote myself?). Of course, the connotations now are much less positive. When you live for the moment and the moment is overwhelmingly boring, life can tend to suck a little. The good part of my day starts when Kristie gets off work. She's pretty fun. I know, I know, life isn't always fun, but I've been conditioned to believe that every good day should be filled with laughter, creative expression and intoxicating conversation. Every bad day lacks at least one of these.

At least I've been reading some. I spent the last few weeks wishing I was a fiction author. I even wrote two lines of a story before I deleted without saving, glancing over my shoulder to make sure nobody had spotted my feeble attempt at doing something else with my life. This music business is all consuming. How do those renaissance people do it? Those cursed prolific creators who seem to have the time to be productive in multiple fields at once?

The road I look forward to. I thrive there. It's not for everyone; its difficult, taxing, and often redundant, but I seem to get better at it the older I get. We've been around this country a hundred times and still I look forward to exploring more, to meeting more people, to playing music for a living. How spoiled am I! We are truly living the dream (See "Living The Dream" for more redundancy).

I need to work out. Although it's not very creative, its a way to express angst and tension through perspiration. But then I'd have to shower... and well, that just seems like a hassle right now. However, I will commit to a walk with a book in my hand and music in my ears. That sounds delightfully inspiring. 

See you on the road!

Matt

Lately

I apologize for the recent lull in activity on this blog. Life is funny that way; one moment you have all the time in the world to think and be creative, and the next you're distracted by mundane tasks that are tedious and time-consuming. Not that I have been doing anything spectacular lately, but in efforts to expand my life I fear I've spread myself a touch too thin.

The thing about being in a band our size is that it can at points consume my life. We have to make business decisions about publishing, touring, booking, management, merchandise, record label and our future. And then on the creative side there is practice, writing, jamming, vision, demoing and recording. On top of all of this we have to make efforts to maintain our social networking websites like Myspace, Facebook, YouTube, etc. One minute I'll be completely relaxed, and the next I'll be wrapped up in the mechanics of it all, promoting our merchandise store and working on other projects (which if you haven't heard, you can get 22% off of our online store through tomorrow by typing TCC22, www.theclassiccrime.bigcartel.com).

Lately our band has been floating. We think we're floating downstream, to somewhere, but it's definitely not a rise to the top of any chart. People aren't excited, people aren't blowing smoke... I actually appreciate it, for once we get an honest taste of reality. We've got all this down time, time to think and grow and refocus. Time to wonder.

I've started to think about what I want to be when I grow up. This band thing may or may not really work out. Believe it or not, but we haven't really 'made it' in any sense of the word. I wonder if we stay too long from the public eye will people still want to buy our next record? Will anyone care? Are we just like all those bands who flash and fizzle and have no legs to stand on?
I'd like to think our fans are life-long, but who knows, there are bands I loved when I was twenty that I never listen to now. People grow out of certain styles of music. I get this way between records... I get to thinking that our best music is behind us and that it's probably all down hill from here. But then we make a record we all deem better than our last... it always happens that way.

I'm taking on a few production projects, helping write songs for some friends and some side projects. I love it, but I've never been a guy that could do a ton of things at once and do them all well... or at least I'm hard enough on myself to expect excellence, which is impossible to accomplish if I am spread too thin. It'd be easier if one aspect of my life just took off and took my attention with it. Right now everything is just kind of scattered, hovering in limbo, not currently heading anywhere too quickly. I suppose I just have to keep stirring.

So those are my excuses for not updating this blog more frequently. I am glad that I have this blog to journal in. Thanks for reading.