Rachel Margaret

Deep longing has a new voice.

Imagine a gene lab accident. Beakers holding the DNA of Bob Mould, Elisabeth Fraser and David Lynch crash to the floor, their contents mixing and recombining as they drip down the wall toward an electrical outlet. Days after the cleanup, the technicians lean over their benches. In a corner, behind a seam in the flesh-colored linoleum baseboard where the mops couldn't reach, is a still-damp spot...

She calls it Acoustic/Synth Pop. Emo/HyperHookHop, Marge, whatever it's called, Rachel Margaret's music is supercharged with truth and mysterious beauty in ways that only the profoundly gift-twisted can bring.

How does she get such concentrated power into her work? "Sometimes I'm driving down the road and words and music just come into my head. I find the best songs come to me pretty quickly, and in weird places. I want to connect with people, but I'm kind of a geek. Music's like hooking up my heart to a microphone. It's by far the easiest way for me to communicate."

"Rachel has that crucial faculty of self-criticality that amplifies her talent and makes her material shine", says producer Bonnie Hayes. "In my experience, that's what separates the great ones from everybody else."

Rachel is currently breaking on the "new songwriter" circuit with songs from her recent EP "Buena Vista Park", and an untitled work in progress. On the day of this writing, for example, her songs occupy the top seven places out of nearly seven thousand entries in the prestigious "Sirius Fan Choice Award" original music competition sponsored by Sirius Satellite Radio in association with Pop Montreal: http://popmontreal.com/en/popthumbs/

What does she think of this first blush of success? "I enjoy the process of working with innovative types, pushing out music in a very limited context and playing live. My concept of success is all wrapped up in that stuff. So the fact that it's a contest based on people listening to the songs and voting for what they like is really exciting. It means I'm connecting with them through this music, and that feels great." The conversation turns to labels and agents and publicity, and soon Rachel holds up her hands. "The business part of it can make my ears buzz, is that a bad sign?" She waves her arms around her head and laughs, "Swarm of bees! Swarm of bees!"

A product of the University of Texas and the Ecole Normale Superieur de Musique in Paris (the one not in Texas), Rachel works as a tech writer and a dog walker, and is currently in in graduate school in the Bay Area. "More and more, I just want to sing my songs live. Sometimes when the band's locked in, I feel almost like crying, but great at the same time. I haven't had that feeling doing anything else professionally, and I doubt I ever will."

There is a tangible element of sadness and longing to the work that is evocative of love gone wrong. Is it true to life? "Well, basically, I am pretty cynical about love at the moment, but that doesn't mean I'll stay that way. I guess maybe right now it's more fun to write about love with perspective. It's like a tightrope act. It's only interesting if it's way off the ground and there isn't a net."

Music for acrobats.


Check it out at: sonicbids.com/rachelmargaret

Blackstreet - "No Diggity"

SkankySweet

Teddy Riley's the bomb. I first heard of him when he produced "I Get the Job Done" for Big Daddy Kane. I remember he used about 50 cowbells on that track.

Queer High for the Straight Guy

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President McCain.

Has the true ring of crusty dying about it, doesn't it?

When we die, often, our last physical act in this world is to drop a load in our pants... How is there not a name for that?... Deathicating? Departure logs? Ok, I'll stop.

I bring up that nastiness only because I think we might be about to elect another Republican President. If we can do that at this particular juncture in American political history, It'll be tough to see it as anything other than a giant national death dookie.

The California Supreme Court just validated the right of gay couples to marry, which is humane and right and overdue and has provided every gay-hating wing-nut from coast with a reason to get his ignorant ass down the polling place come November.

How are we going to contend with that, folks? We need a plan.

I am completely down with gay people and their right to do anything straight people can do. It is more than a little ironic how overrated most of them will find marriage, but there is absolutely no reason for that to be something they can't learn for themselves.

Well, actually, there might be the one reason.

The fear and hatred of gays in America is some seriously horrible and powerful stuff. There's no two ways about it, it's a practical engine driving a very big number of votes. Staying positive and believing in doing the right thing regardless of the consequences is a great way to live, but I don't want to hear about the high road right now, ok? Ralph Nader was taking the high road, wasn't he? Just trying to "open up the discourse". How'd that work out for us?

We've been through this so many times it almost doesn't bear repeating. Stupidity is additive. Mobilizing dunces, the first prerequisite to victory in American politics, is fairly easy if one has the stomach and the hate story for it. We don't, they do. Ergo, we lose.

Reactionary dimwits have trouble with arguments, no matter how rational, that contradict the platters of platitudes in their hateful little God-sopped noggins. I mean, a mind is a funny thing. You kind of have to have one that works in order for it to change, right? And for that, you have done at least some of the reading.

I'd love to be wrong about this, but from where I'm sitting, it looks like we're screwed. Redneck rage kicks the ass of the best and brightest every day of the week and twice on Sunday.

My people learned our first lesson in that dynamic in 1972 when they dropped us off at 8am to get out the vote for McGovern, and came back at 8:30 to pick us up because Tricky Dick Nixon and his band of thieves had knocked us out 2 seconds into the first round. A landslide for the greedheads at the absolute peak of national disgust with Viet Nam. We learned it again around this same issue four years ago. Of course we had good old Ralph to thank for that too, so...

Who knows? Maybe we've grown since then.

President McCain. Nice enough guy, I guess.

Ants and Aphids

It occurred to me today as I was watching my money spin by at the gas station that perhaps America isn't so lost as it seems. Maybe we are a country functioning at an incredible level of sophistication and success. After all, success is defined by goals, isn't it?

Imagine for a moment that our primary national goal at this point in history is to position population and resources, both global and domestic to be cultivated by our for-profit corporations exactly like ants cultivate aphids, and that, therefore, the only two current barometers of our success as a nation are: 1) The efficiency with which the economic nectar of the citizenry is being harvested by these large entities to benefit their shareholders and executives and finance their political agendas and 2) The sheer number of us aphids they've got wired into the system.

Seems like we're doing pretty well now, right?

Two dollars to get cash out of the bank machine, two dollars a day to watch television, ten dollars a day for health care, seventy-five cents per day for internet access, ten cents per minute to receive a call on your cell phone, these are all cases where the actual cost of the item to the corporation providing it is a minuscule percentage of what they charge the consumer for it because the price reflects what the "market" will bear.

I guess my question is, will the American middle class ever reach a point where Adam Smith's invisible hand, forearm, and elbow are wedged so far up our collective ass that we say, "That's it. Fuck you. I'm going off he grid"?

Does that sound like an aphid to you?

No, it's going to continue as long as we keep giving up the nectar and voting for more of the same. It'll continue as long as the simultaneous reporting of record prices at the pump and record profits for the oil companies fails to wrench the guts of the meek to the extent that they climb back on their bikes, reconsider public transit or start double-teaming their trips to town.

The most poignant part of this giant corporate suck-fest we call America is that it's completely a victim-complicit operation. We all choose to pay four dollars for a gallon of gas and still drive everywhere alone in our cars, and the Standard Oil shareholders say "KA-Ching". Banks show fictitious balances on their ATMs to drum up overdraft fees, we pay them, and BofA shareholders' kids spend another spring break in Cabo. Cell phone companies take "unused" minutes from us every month and keep our money, and we still re-charge our accounts. African American voters consistently no-show election days, and the neocon soldier ants smile their lipless smiles...

Just how stupid are we, people? At what price point do we actually start to organize our transportation a little better than one vehicle mile per passenger mile? Six dollars? Eight? Ten?

When do we stop paying two dollars for bank computers to move fifty electronic bits half a micron at the speed of light?

When do we make it illegal for the multi-nationals to buy votes with our hard earned cash?

Right after Idol, that's when.

Some of us daydream about jacking in to a more humane matrix. For me, it's moving to France, where there's excellent health care provided free by the government and non-profit insurance companies, and five weeks of paid vacation your first year on the job. Sounds kinda civilized, doesn't it? Also, they have an affinity for moderately talented American musicians and filmmakers such as myself. I think I might be able to pursue some serious happiness in that setup.

So what's keeping me? Three things: The sound of forty thousand people murmuring at Pac Bell Park, the trout streams of the Western Sierras, and my ex-wife. We are dear friends, and we talk about this move all the time, but we never seem to get to the point of pulling the trigger. Our daughter is in high school, and the realty considerations and blah, blah blah...

Our current plan is to do a family rock n' roll tour next summer and suss it out. I really hope we do because through all the sarcasm, my heart really is broken for America and what it's become, and I'm having difficulty imagining things changing very much any time soon.

It is an election year, and there might be an new opportunity to shift the paradigm beginning, but as the months tick by in the campaigns, and candidates who started off selling radical change start sounding more and more like Republicans (neither Democrat supports single-payer health care - are you kidding me?), my hope for transformation dims.

That's a little depressing, isn't it? Sorry.

Here's an idea. What if, when corporations reach a certain level - say billions per quarter in profits, what if they had to operate as a non-profit for one quarter every other year? Then banks, utilities and oil companies, for example, would have to let us all look up their skirts every 21 months and see what they'd charge for stuff if they were aphids like us.

Wouldn't it be nice it we were older...

Groove Invaders gig tonight - nap time.

laters,
db

Taylor Brooks

Taylor Brooks is the girl I wrote about playing with last week. Singer/Songwriter from Tennessee. She's just finishing her record. It's a distinct honor to be the first to post one of her new songs.

This is my favorite that's finished so far. It's called Slow Dive.

http://www.box.net/shared/qhkhg5jsw8

db

Owning It

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Poop.

What a fabulous piece of onomatopoeia.

Are farts funny? Can you generalize, and say boys would generally say yes and girls no?

My two best female friends both chortle when cheese is chopped. What does that say about me?

Men and women are so different generally, aren't they?

My friend sent me a soft-core German lesbian farting video today.

Do you think that somewhere there's a planet full of baseball watching, beer drinking women lying around farting in their underwear, and men clicking their tongues and saying ,"I just feel like you're not really listening to me"?

It would explain a lot, wouldn't it?

Take your average date.

At first, the girl is reluctant. She sizes up the guy.

The guy is on a sperm sortie from the drop. All through the evening he is Lance Romance. He opens doors, he listens his ASS off, he gives constant, sincere, perceptive compliments and is completely engaged.

Slowly, the woman responds. "This attention is nice. So is this wine. He's really listening to me." The petals start to open.

Let's say that the date rocks. Many laughs, a lot of kissing, and, finally, a compelling roll in the hay capped by vicious and simultaneous orgasms.

At that very moment, something extraordinary occurs. The trajectories reverse. Within five seconds, the woman is now romantically charged., and the guy is wondering what the Giants did and how much sleep he'll get if she leaves right now.

Is that wrong? Too idiosyncratically autobiographical?

I think not.

I should not be giving romantic advice, but girls, here are two gems:

1. Next time you have a man over, be cordial and friendly and attractive, but very early in the evening, say, "let's just relax", and then, don't talk to him for a while. Watch the sun go down. Listen to some music. Read the paper. Inside of twenty minutes the dude will look up at you, smile, and say, "This is nice, we should do this more often". He won't be able not to. We are basically trout with legs, ladies. Put the right pattern in front of us in the right way, and the reaction is straight from the brain stem.

2. Next time you have sex. Right, I'm talking ten seconds, after, say, "Who pitched today?"

Jesus, I just gave romantic advice. Is that what I had in mind all along with this blog thing, to become the plucky sardonic Man Landers of the late bloomers? Maybe I am gay. That would explain a lot too.

Like my constant and unslaked thirst for cock.

Great, I have a gig in four and a half hours.

This blogging thing's pretty ego maniacal, isn't it?

laters,

db

Warning: Do not insert swab into ear canal.

And then there were three.

Second workweek gig in a row last night. Uncle Jeb's Twangfest at Peri's Silver Dollar in Fairfax. Even though this is basically just a jam night for pros, I really really like gigs back to back. You definitely do not have to go looking for your shit, it's generally right there from note one.

Eric Schramm (SuperDiamond) Tal Morris (CCR, HLN), Freeway Frank Bohan and Lloyd Meadows (Zydeco Flames), Ted O'Connell (Bonnie Hayes Band), The Jebster (Bon Tempe, Call Me Bwana), guitarist/producer Danny Uzilevski, bassist Steve Winters, whom I only recently met and who played his frickin' ASS off, and Jimmy Dillon, who sounded great, but seemingly spent as much time attempting to tune his shiny steel acoustic guitar and plugging his music camp as he did playing. Do you you teach tuning at camp, Jimmy? :)

Sadly, last night may have been Jeb's final Twangfest. There was an ugly outburst of Led Zepplin in the first set that seems to have been last straw on the old camel's back. Seems Jeb hates Zep. Never liked it back in the day even. More of a Sons of Champlin guy. Anyways, we might have been pushing it with "The Ocean", "Communication Breakdown", and "Good Times/ Bad Times" back to back to back. Fun as hell and sounded great, I thought, and the customers seemed to dig it, if jumping up and down and screaming and clapping their hands are any indication of that. Forgot to mention DAVE VINCENT of Black Dog singing his balls off as Robert Plant.

Of course the Led Zep is not Jeb's only issue with what the Twangfest has become. It truly is time for a change, and there are some very cool ideas floating around. We've been playing with Mario Cippolina on bass and Jeb on Guitar on some gigs lately, and as sweet and funky as Jeb is on bass, he is a ridiculous guitar player.

So if the every other Wednesday giant tractor/guitar/pud pull that is the Twangfest is going to continue we're going to have to rebrand. I'm going to miss pounding down the old pockets with Jeb on Wednesdays, not to mention the surprise guitar/drum sections that occur during his nightly "I stepped on my cord and now I can't find it" arrangement improvs, but what're you gonna do? The dogs bark, and the caravan moves on. BTW, that never seems to happen when Jeb plays guitar. I wonder why that is.

The other notable thing about last night (besides the pretty girls, the scintillating conversation and the free drinks I mean - Thank you Fred) was that virtually all of the guitar playing was done though those hot new BassBoy amps, which are hand-made by Ted and his partner at their company, TubeStake. Anyway, they all sounded awesome, and there were several complaints (not all from me) about the volume. That seemed to please Ted. I think there's something wrong with him.

I have editing to do, but it's a nice day. Hmm...

Laters,
db

Back On All Fours

Ok. I'm doing this again. Let's see... what to talk about?

So I made a new film. Got a patent rejected, played a few gigs...

I've been spending way too much time on YouTube, but I keep finding SWEET stuff like the Jacksons 30th reunion gig at Madison Square Garden (part 1 of 5 embedded below right). All 5 parts are ridiculous. Complete and total destruction of the audience. Amazing live mix. Way better than laptop speakers can do justice to, so do phones if you got 'em.

Oh, and by the way, EAR BUDS SUCK MAJOR ASS. Doing the capital letters thing today I guess. Sorry... NOT.

Can't post the new short yet, as it's as yet unspoken for. I'll put it up soon as I can. I guess I haven't mentioned here that I directed "The Law Accordion to Hanson Bridgett". It's at the bottom right of this page. It was made as a promo piece for a large law firm in SF. It's kind of silly.

My new favorite web addresses - StumbleUpon.com (new, almost aways cool shit every time you click), amiestreet.com (join, say what you like, and they send you an email once in a while. so far there's been something beautiful every time. Today's gem was THE WEEPIES. Sounddogs.com for killer, cheap (25 bucks) music for films, and archives.org for public domain stock footage. OH. And this band Nada Surf that I heard on an episode of The Riches. The song I heard is called "The Fox".

THE ONLY TV SHOWS FOR ME:
Californication
Weeds
Rescue Me
The Wire
The Riches

Played a gig tonight with a beautiful singer songwriter from Tennessee first name of Taylor. I don't want to put her full name in a blog without her permission. Web etiquette. Like don't shoot crappy videos of bands without them knowing and post them on YouTube. And if you don't know what's crappy, ASK SOMEBODY! I know that goes against the whole web 2.0 user generated content/viral marketing model but...

I digress. Taylor is cute as a button, a great singer, and writes these gorgeous melodies and harmonies. Danny Uzilevski is producing a record with her. Danny's a freaking monster guitar player and sings like a bird himself. He's Danny Uzi on MySpace. Check his skanky ass out.

Uh... ...yeah.

laters
db

Inaugural Movement

Wow. Hi. Um... Ok, here's the deal.

My name's Dave. I'm a something something filmmaker/musician/inventor living in west Marin County, California. I've decided that what was lacking in my life was an egregious egomanaical excursion to the other side of the digital divide. So, here I am.

Jesus, now I feel stupid.

I guess maybe I should get started by establishing some first principles:

1. Baseball would be really different without amphetamines. Ask Hank Aaron.
2. Everyone is racist. It's how you compensate that counts.
3. White people suck.
4. Colored folks aren't much better. Two words people: Vote.
5. Intelligence is divisive. Smart people can't agree on anything.
6. Stupidity is additive. Stupid people often agree on everything.
7. Corporate America is farming us exactly like ants farm aphids. Try to be a smart aphid.
9. Nobody knows whether God exists or doesn't exist. The mystery of faith is that belief requires doubt. If you don't have doubt, you can't believe. Cool, huh?
10. I don't know if you can choose to believe that God exists, but if you can, I'm doing it. I mean, it's the only practical choice, isn't it? Help me with the math. If God does exist, it pays off big time. I go to heaven and spend all eternity dating Tina Louise. If not, it didn't really matter and I ended up being a nice guy who thought there was a reason to help old ladies across streets instead of stealing their purses. Maybe that's what God is. That idea that there might be a reason.

I gotta say, this blog thing? Kinda creepy. Yeah, little bit.

laters,
d