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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, November 10   >>


Unlike most of you assholes, I still like buying CDs. Granted, it's a very rare occasion since I'm downloading everyone else's stuff, but for artists that mean a lot to me, I go buy their albums at the store.

On November 17th, there will be nothing more gay than a guy taking time out of his day to drive to the nearest electronics store and picking up only one item when this is the only item:

Dear John Mayer,

What the fuck, man? As if it isn't douchey enough you've tapped every A-list piece of ass and become bros with Rob Dyrdek, you've made the cover of your latest release look like the cover to a fat hipster's romance novel. You're a complete dickbag, and for this, I'M GOING TO PRE-ORDER THIS ON AMAZON.


Please don't suck ass on the 2010 tour.



For the past, I'd guess, 16 months I'd been on a soul/R&B/urban-groove-oriented fix. Joss Stone to Marc Broussard to Howlin' Wolf to Michael Jackson to Angie Stone to Maxwell to D'Angelo to, well, you fucking name it, I've heard it, and loved every second of it. It's pretty much turned me black. All I ever do is think about playing like black people. It's become such a vital part to my musical spirit that I ABSOLUTELY do NOT remember how I used to play music before that fix even started.

That diet of music trained me to play from within as opposed to cerebrally, and it made me fall in love with music all over again in a desperately passionate and different way.

Ever since my last pop group didn't turn out like it was supposed to, or rather, since it imploded tragically, I had to separate myself from the consistent diet of that sound. It was still part of the playlist, but I felt it was time to grow and move on.

So now I'm cracking open a PBR (barf) and saying, "Hi, Southern Americana roots music, nice to meet you!"

And I've since befriended all that music that made the south well, the south. I started easy with some more contemporary Wilco that channels the signature harmonized lead guitar parts and thick, fuzzy drum kits that make up the sound of Americana music. But now, I'm going all encyclopedia on it by going to the source.

Gotta say that The Allman Brothers have absolutely blown me away as of late. Aside from this video performance of a great song from a great band, you can totally imagine being there. Whoever was in the crowd during this performance must have had a bitchin' day: Open, clean air, no cops, all the bud and buzz in the world and not a care in the fucking world because The Motherfucking Allman Brothers are hypnotizing you with a new rock that dared to sound like it smelled.

The Allman Brothers's "Jessica" --

And, again, I say, "How could I have missed this!?"

I love when I get to say that.