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I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

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Tuesday, July 14   >>

IT IS OFFICIAL

We have a singer.

*pinch*

Yep, we have a singer.

All those MySpace/Craigslist/internet singer searches boiled down to this one talent. This person showed up (quite fashionably, and unfashionably on time), followed direction, and immediately said yes to a beer upon just meeting us moments before (a big plus).

And that's that. It's like graduation all over again, where now the only red tape is our own ambition, and not another stupid GE class or a flakey auditioner who didn't have the balls to show up.

FUCK.
...NOW WHAT?

This is the thing about my new band. Not even on my easter egg will the group be revealed. I hope that, in some shape or form, we connect with you. Whether you hate us, love us, or don't give two shits about us, I just want you to react. That's our role. And my goal is to get you to personally listen. Songwriting is so vain!

A part of me thinks everyone's going to hate it, and that this 17 month journey (really 19-22 months, but who's counting?) is going to be one big fucking egg splattered all over my face.

Such is the life of a struggling artist. "Everything I do is shit! Wah-wah-wah." SUCK IT UP, HUGO. PLAY WITH SOME GARGANTUAN BALLS AND GET THAT FENDER RHODES ON NASTY, NASTY, NASTY OVERDRIVE. UNGH. 2 AND 4, MOTHERFUCKERS.

2
AND
FO'!

You gotcho boogie
This world is your fashion showwwwWWWwwww

It isn't fruity if it's yours, no matter how fruity that lyric is.

(Psst... it also isn't pandering if you sincerely care about tapping into the psyche of a 14-year-old just for the sheer challenge of it -- what'll you be doing tonight?)