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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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Thursday, October 28   >>


It's nearly November already. Fuck, man. FUCK.


Tonight is Corinne Bailey Rae at the Avalon, and in a couple nights, Janelle Monae at the Palladium.

Too much beautiful blackness for me to handle. Add Ledisi next week and, frankly, I'm checked out of my own skin color. For this, I am proud.

Prince better release more details on his upcoming series of shows. If it is an exclusive NYC residency, I will be heartbroken.


I spent a great deal of my high school years at the Avalon, when it was then known as The Palace. That venue was the bastion of new indie music. Now it's mostly a shitty place to listen to C-grade dance music with a bunch of gropey 30something Asians at a high cover charge. Worst off, people have started calling it "The Avi," which is both really fucking obnoxious and annoying. People who go to "The Avi" are assholes.

Anyway, I can't believe that was some 10 years ago. I know the Avalon like the back of my hand, like, literally, the entire blueprint after many times of my 14-year-old self having sneaked in and/or getting caught backstage just to pick brains and hang with the likes of RX Bandits, Weird Al, Ben Folds, Duncan Sheik, William Shatner, My Morning Jacket, and a bunch of others that escape me.

I was a troublemaker. But it was sooo worth it.


It occurred to me some months ago after having left rock journalism that maybe it all wasn't a waste. Talking with musicians from all tiers about their craft, how they got there, and what they want to do with it was priceless; not many people get the opportunity to attain a level of intimacy with these musicians as I have.

Maybe it was subconscious. Maybe I knew that I would always go back to making music as I am now, as opposed to covering it. Maybe I was just racking up tips, advice, and stories because I couldn't find them anywhere else and, consequentially, getting paid for it via mediocre coverage.

Maybe I hacked journalism to become a better musician.


There are some juicy stories I have with rock journalism, and I don't know where to output them. I feel like I failed journalistic authenticity by not exactly giving 110% of the truth, solely to appease my superiors and the subjects being covered, who warranted a dumbshit like me access like no other. I noticed every lip curl, every vacant stare from an ego-shattering question, every questionable mannerism. And I couldn't report it because it just didn't seem relevant to my own biases of having wanted to simply talk about the music in the man, and not the man behind the music. I was wrong, and I fully admit it. But I certainly shed light on a lot of new music to thousands of hungry listeners, and I suppose that's testament to something good.

Still, though, I'd rather play music better than I write news.