It’s been a while since I’ve written here . . . obviously.  But it’s time. 

I have been finding myself inspired by music and some amazing things have been flowing into my inbox and my iTunes.  

My iTunes is currently stuffed to the gills at 10549 songs, although decreasing by three as soon as I hit pause and delete Future of the Left, which I found through Idolator and Merry Swankster and Fluxblog.  Not my thing, screamy punk.    I do like that the two of the songs I have are “You Need Satan More Than He Needs You” and “The Hope That House Built,” only because the titles amuse me.  Farewell, Future of the Left.  

I am heading to Florence and the Machine as a palate-cleanser.  The new album Lungs . . . it’s good — but I am not yet in love with it.  I am currently loving the Halo cover from Live Lounge.  My live lounge collection is at 294 songs and it remains my prized collection.

I am dating someone with appallingly bad taste in music.  He’s only slightly older than I am, but the music he grew up with is apparently suckier than the Brit pop, New Wave, Ska, and other things I heard when I was young.  It’s actually shocking, but he makes up for his horrible taste in music by having excellent taste in other areas, though being with him in a car is a struggle.  He’s now proudly up to 1998 in rap, so that’s something, mentioning how much he liked “R Z A.”  I corrected him on pronunciation and complemented him on being down with the Wu and urged him to check out Ghostdog.  I received in response a blank stare.

I mentioned casually, that I’d heard “This is the Way We Ball,” on the radio as I arrived, a song at whose creation I was actually present.  Yeah, he had nothing.

I am culling the collection as I type.  Farewell, Magnolia Electric Co., though you remind me a bit of vintage Neil Young, Farewell, Summer Cats.

Bands that make me happy every time they pop up on iTunes: Phoenix (I am so crazy about them I am considering becoming their fan on FB, which I’ve never done for any band I don’t work with), Melanie Fiona, Noisettes, Kat Edmundson.  I will be writing about them in the future and why I am falling back in love with music.  My taste is currently hitting electronic, danceable hip hop, indie pop, and soulful r&b in equal measure.  I am rediscovering gems in my music collection and downgrading old favorites.

But the bottom line is that I am back to listening, loving, and passionately discussing music.


I started posting here a year ago today. I was inspired to start writing because I was thinking and talking so much about music when we were developing a couple of new music projects (one that I am still working to implement). I was on the road, writing in my little moleskine notebook, and emailing my thoughts about music back to friends and family.

I am feeling terribly wistful, as I often do at this time of year. I prefer to take time to reflect on the year past and plan for the year ahead. So, here is my first ever post. It’s a little ugly and awkward, kinda like the rest of the site.

Music is an intensely personal thing you share with millions . . .

I was bumping around the kitchen this morning, a lazy Sunday, while A was sleeping.

Sunday Bloody Sunday, a live version, perhaps from Under a Blood Red Sky popped up.

I loved U2 with the passion of an adolescent: War, Boy, October, Under a Blood Red Sky. It’s hard to believe they are the same band that still fills stadia worldwide. They felt like truthtellers passionately connecting us to the Troubles. We were a world at war.

(A remembers trying to make sense of “two groups of white people killing each other.” He felt a kinship with the Irish as an oppressed people, until he read about the Draft Riots. Eh, you can’t win them all.)

22 years. That’s how old Under a Blood Red Sky is. I had it on LP. I was 14 and I had my own stereo. It was one of the first detachable speaker boomboxes (similar to the aiwa we have in the bedroom) and I had the pinnacle record player: digital tracking. A button on the outside enabled you to move the needle to skip tracks. It was way cool.

I played this album over and over and over and over.

I would listen to the songs on repeat, teasing meaning from repeated listenings. It was all very intense and it felt like my own secret.

When I stopped listening to lps in favor of the far superior cassette tape technology, I moved from U2, though they were my first unaccompanied concert — Tampa Stadium with Kathleen and tens of thousands of our closest friends. They were the worst seats I’ve ever had for a show.

I haven’t followed them on their journey to being arguably one of the best bands ever. I left them behind for altenative, hip-hop, soul, etc. after craptucular Rattle & Hum. Still, it’s nice to hear some Under a Blood Red Sky and Unforgettable Fire and remember being a teenager.

Tonight, I had a conference call with one of my business partners and his “godson,” who wants to have a music career.

The GS is clueless, and knows he’s clueless. That’s usually half the battle, but the GS kept whining in frustration “I don’t have time to figure this industry out!” The kid is in his mid-20s and should stop being such a baby. All I kept thinking is “Shut up ,you ungrateful twerp! I am not even getting paid for this!”

After 90 minutes, we disconnected and I called my partner to say “wtf.” My partner agreed that the kid does not have what it takes. If he cannot give decisive answers when talking to us, he’ll never be able to make it.

At this point, he’s just chum.

I spent the afternoon with some of my dearest friends (and some close acquaintances)
at our annual holiday luncheon.

Sure, compared to a Christmas party, a holiday luncheon does not sound that impressive, but I just got home at 3:30 pm and I’ve been drinking champagne for 4 hours. (It’s so much better that we do this on a Friday than when we use to have them on Tuesdays.)

My old firm had the best holiday parties. They had two each year: the first for just staff (with drunken skits from newbies), and the second for the executive-types where you could bring a date. Ah, drunken outrageous skits. It’s remarkable any of us were still employed afterwards . . .

Currently listening to:
Superwoman, Alicia Keys
Wave of Mutilation, The Pixies
More, Rhymefest feat Kanye West

D just sent me the link to his amazingly awesome new website. Seriously, it’s very cool and has all these great things from his reel.

That made me check my business site, which I recently updated with a new fax number.

Except it was all wrong. Like completely wrong. I’ve done something silly with uploading to ftp, but the whole thing looks so awful and wrong. It’s an old draft with broken links and I am appalled with my lack of web-fu.

UPDATE: The site works! Oh, miracle of miracles.

Currently playing:
Nothing, but an old Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares is on tv. The BBC version is SO much better than the US version that it’s not even the same show. Sigh. Kinda like my website.

I find some lolcats amusing, so I have checked out the mash-up between lolcats and postsecret known as lolsecretz.

No, they’re not always amusing, but I enjoyed this one:

It is always a bad sign when the first question in a meeting is “okay, tell us all the things you know for sure.”

Two hours later, my head pounding, the words “this is not real” flashing before my eyes, I finally asked the party with whom I was consulting: “when’s the last time you checked your credit report?”

In this netherworld, no matter how legitimate or illegitimate the potential financier, they all look slightly sketchy. Even the private equity guys I know well, who are investing large money in projects, don’t return phone calls, are never in the office, blah, blah, blah.

So, what do we know for sure? Nothing. We never know anything until the wire hits the account. And even then, who knows for sure?

Currently playing:
Heart Full of Pain, The Bishops

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