Tag Archives: sound

January 5, 2011 · 8:41 pm

Playing that same old song

"Absolut coffee" snapshot @ brunch, 05.30.10 @ Uptown Lounge (1576 3rd Ave. b/t 88th and 89th St., NYC). Hipstamatic iPhone print by Mystie Chamberlin (Lens: Kaimal Mark II Film: Blanko),

Over the past four and a half years, I have accepted that my body thrives on stress. It’s as though my body realizes I will have an extended weekend away from traditional responsibility and decides that this an acceptable time to become sick. Since paid time off is scarce, I find this physical decision thoroughly unagreeable. Although my diet consists mainly of stress and caffeine, I’ve managed to find a few ways to regulate (well, regulate the stress anyway…I’ll work on the coffee next year).

Writing in my journal and composing songs are my two favorite ways to relax. I appreciate my writing workshops and my writing peers. I eagerly anticipate our sporadic assemblages, fueled with words and wine, when and where we are all driven by the desire of wondering if we have anything worthwhile or interesting to impart. Once a story or song is transcribed from my mind to the paper or the computer (or communicator, ie. phone), I obsess over the editing process. I cherish when a word I initially chose for simplicity’s sake is replaced by something suitably descriptive. I celebrate each word and it’s sound.

Together with composing song lyrics, I unwind by playing guitar (pun intended). Twisting the chrome tuning keys and pressing down on the bronze strings is more cathartic than punching holes in my head. The misery of sometimes not having the fine motor muscle memory needed in order to craft what I auralize frustratingly, yet determinately, drives me to excel.
I still get goose bumps when I strike a string and from the sound that emanates, even when it is discordant (sometimes, especially when it is discordant). I even enjoy practicing scales; challenging my fingers to move faster or slower is satisfying. Some people might say I’m easily amused. Continue reading →

There is no “I” in “boy” or “band,” but there is in “girl” and “guitar!”

: solo performance 5/11/09 Alphabet City Soup
@ Niagara, NYC (photo by Marissa Bea)

The only cure to stage fright is to get on a stage and keep performing. I got an electric acoustic, the Bubinga Butterfly (Daisy Rock) to cure the feedback problem I had been having from mic’ing the lil’ pink guy. I began performing solo at open mics around the city at Nightingale Lounge, Banjo Jim’s and Common Ground. Niagara started a weekly variety show on Monday nights called Alphabet City Soup, where I played a few times. I even got booked at a few Undone shows at Corio, which were webcast on NYC Live Rock. Although I still felt the butterflies in my stomach, with each performance I gained more confidence. …Which brings us pretty much up to date (although I am sure I will reflect back on some stories/adventures every now and again).

Taking a cue from one of my favorite books of all time, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, I decided to read two books a week: a non-fiction work and a fun one. I did not think I would have the time with my day job and other responsibilities to try to read two a day, however in the two weeks since I have begun this project I have been able to read one a day (but I am still trying to keep it at two a week just to have time to practice and what not).

I do realize that in a recession I should not complain about having a job. That said, although I am happy to be working, I do find myself super frustrated most days. In 31 years of life, I have never been a morning person.

Then last weekend, I was feeling more frustrated than usual. As you’ve probably noticed, I’ve been taking stock on everything since I started this whole music thing. I have two acoustic guitars (I refuse to use that wrist slasher of an electric), I have a small practice amp, a few cords, a few pics, two capos, a stomp box and 11 original songs (they may not be epic masterpieces, but I composed them begin to end, and I think they are swell). I am also fluent in the two aforementioned covers as well as most of Jack’s Mannequin’s Everything in Transit album.

For my two non-fiction books for the past two weeks, I’ve done my research. Jessica Hopper recommends an octave pedal to fill out a guitar sound (I tend to hit a lot of the high strings in my current songs) in her Girls Guide to Rocking (It’s aimed for teens, but I really did get some good ideas out of it…plus she is a Chi-town gal). So I trudged through a steady downpour of rain to Guitar Center (again) to test what the Electro-Harmonix Pog sounded like with my Bubinga. I thought too many octaves sounded like an organ, but I figured I might get some use with the lower octave, especially if I had to play solo.

The next day, half-jokingly, I asked my friends on Facebook if I should get the pedal, a mic for my iPod, or a pick-up and pre-amp for the pink guy? It turned out to be a pretty busy day at the office, so I did not get to check my poll until later that afternoon. I was surprised to find a long thread of responses. To make a long story short, turns out I do not have to buy anything. Vito, Rev Luv’s guitar player, had both a pick-up and an octave pedal just lying around the practice space so he sent them to me. I wish everything in life worked out so easily.

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Filed under Are you ready to rock?

Tagged as A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, acoustic, Alphabet City Soup, band, Banjo Jim's, boy, Bubinga Butterfly, Common Ground, confidence, Corio, Daisy Rock, Electric, Electro-Harmonix Pog, Everything in Transit, frustration, girl, Girls Guide to Rocking, guitar, Guitar Center, Jack's Mannequin, Jessica Hopper, job, Niagara, Nightingale Lounge, NYC, NYC Live Rock, octave, open mic, pedal, pink, recession, Rev Luv, solo, sound, stage fright, strings, Undone, variety

August 7, 2009 · 4:50 pm

This is NOT Spinal Tap

First Official Show poster (original photo by Samantha Levin)

One bartender at Niagara introduced Charlotte and I (The Merch Grrls) to a drummer, Este, and we began practicing once a week at Tu Casa in the East Village. Mostly we met after work for an hour or two and attempted to go over a cover of “Handle with Care” and learn the two new songs I had written, “The Way You Look (audio link)” and “Forgive and Forget.”

For my birthday, Marky had bought me a glittery blue Retro H Daisy Rock, but the pick-up kept falling. Every few songs I could hear the sound change. I would have to stop, pull out a screwdriver and adjust. After that became intolerable he sold it and bought me a three-quarter scale Greco that had these two little screws jutting out of the bridge that would cut up my hand when I played it.

The drums in the studio were a sorry set. The rims were bent beyond belief and the cymbals had large chunks missing. Nevertheless, we were contented to have a back beat. After another handful of practices we booked a show for the Antagonist annual holiday party. Ironically we got the late slot, which meant Schocholautte was opening for us. Although it was not a tragedy of Spinal-Tap proportions, Este was not interested in performing live.

The Merch Grrls played its first official gig at Niagara in December 2008 with a drummer, Joe, and Marky on lead guitar. We had two practices with Joe and none with Mark, but he had been playing long with a recording we had made the night before in preparation. The boys were fantastic and really made us sound like what I thought a band was supposed to sound like. Unfortunately, we girls were just plain off.

My legs were shaking so much I thought I was going to drill a hole right through the floor, and I had the worst case of verbal diarrhea imaginable. Every sound that came out of my mouth quivered off key. Every attempt at humor was an utter disaster. I could not wait to get to the next song only so we could do the song after that and the song after that. I cringed with every missed note.

When we finally played “One More Whiskey and Water,” our usual finale, I was relieved the show was over. Although I thought the performance probably was not as bad from the audience’s point of view as it was in my head, I ran into the kitchen to pack up my gear and wallow in my disappointment. All I wanted to do was be good, but the more I thought about it, the more I did not know what “good” meant.