Prone to change my mind, I have once more as it pertains to these persistent, nagging b-sides. As I've made the decision to abandon (for now) QUEEN OF THE MEADOW and THAT OTHER TUNE (it doesn't have a name). The reasons for this are complex and having zero to do with liking the songs. In fact, they portend to interesting destinations, new and old, as both had a timeless quality that sounded 'Pumpkin' and futuristic. What turned me was feeling that the songs couldn't be presen
Yes, how does it feel? In working on music, I often try to reach for past, sensory indicators as a way to guide me. Say, for example, when Jeff yesterday was playing a delayed guitar line over the QUEEN OF THE MEADOW chorus. Feeling-wise, this reminded me of what I liked about Tears For Fears; and in noting that, it helps me trace back how we might better mine that same impression into more clarity. And so far, that seems to be what we're after: the epic space we heard on cer
There you see once wee me in front of Zuzu’s on the last days of an unfulfilled summer, in an SP t-shirt no less, on what you might allege was a one week vacation between end of album/RAVINIALand and this new deal: DAY FOR NIGHT. But first, we must do a few b-sides, or bonus tracks, or whatever they’re referred to as these days (‘so and so’ exclusives?)… The notion being that while Jeff and I dig back into the material under a different process, why not make the b-sides a sor
From Melissa comes this document of youth, a yearbook from what appears to be from my 7th grade class at Marquardt Middle School in Glendale Heights, Illinois. As seen from said images, I was also an athlete in those years before playing guitar; which I’d note began just a few years after.
Occasional, nay consistent, braggart that I am, I’m sometimes prone to overpromising what lay in Santa’s Magic Bag; as I did when I said all songs were written. This *was true, in the sense that at the moment we started the process of ‘MTAE’ (MONUMENTS TO AN ELEGY, forthwith) I had a good old pile of USDA-approved riffs, choruses, and blind alley sad-songs. Enter Herr Howard, and you know the rest: lots of teeth ringing about modern music et al, and the snooze inducing proces