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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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Wednesday, July 28   >>


It looks like I'm allergic to the often mentioned day-old blueberry muffins.

< / internet venting >


What my music peer said in last Friday's post is true: Everything I have ever learned in music will come down to my project's EP. It's a sad, unjust, and unfair way of determining who I am as a musician, but that's reality, folks. I play almost too many genres (all at sub-mediocre levels, which is good for parties, but not great for long-term artistic goals) and once this first EP is done tracking (it's a bitch and I'm sure you're aware of how much I hate studio work -- especially expensive work at that) I'll have to ask myself:

What's next?

This project is the culmination of everything music has meant to me -- recent, obvious influences to past, concrete inspirations to rarely-tapped into devices, etc. -- but if there's a second release, what's that made up of?

Is it made up of everything learned in the past 5 months? 9? 12 months?

I think this explains why sophomore releases often suck ass. Attach that to unrealistic deadlines labels give their artists in order to keep the flame going, and it just kind of becomes a blurry mess in vision.

The Tony often has his Ringo moments: "Well, just write two releases before you make any kind of debut."

Somewhere in his head, the "duh" shines a light.


By The Tony's logic, Willie Nelson should have had 900 records made before playing his first show.

The Tony, you're a good man.


The Tony isn't involved in any music efforts we have anymore. After our project last year imploded almost immediately (our 3rd collectively), we decided to not work together in music any more, not even in a recording aspect (his studio was a favored rehearsal space and recording hub.)

We're just friends now, and that's better than griping over music.

I feel like this is the end of some shitty Brat Pack movie where there are captions underneath still frames of our pictures.

The Tony went on to coach soccer in the Inland Empire. He still records musicians in his studio, which intends to expand to east Los Angeles by the end of 2010.

Hugo is still sleeping.