Studio Session w/Staylefish

June 5th, 2009.

Some music makes you want to dance. Some music makes you want to run. The music being made right before my eyes, right now as I type makes me want to chill the FUCK out. Yes, the rock-reggae fusion of Staylefish is wrapping up the final mix for their third EP, Color By Numbers, in the shadiest part of a nowhere industrial area, away from the bright lights and screaming fans that are sure to follow in the coming months. Just the UNmixed tracks sound retardedly amazing. I can't wait for the world to join in on this awesomeness. They will soon.

Their new direction pops. The sound is clean, punctual, vibrant, catchy as hell and dripping with good vibes. I wish I had a car and it was back in the mid-nineties when cruising was still an acceptable past time. Oh well, an iPod will do just as well.

It's an incredible process to watch the layers of vocals, guitars, drums, keys and bass, mixed, faded, added & subtracted; in this music factory, sound is pulled apart and reassembled in seconds. The level of manipulation that current 21st century digital technology offers is so overwhelming to a non-musician, I understand that the limitless tech options are only made valuable by the level of artistic ability each man possesses before me. It doesn't hurt that producer John Nazario has gold and platinum albums hanging on his studio walls with the likes of Nelly Furtado and FA, BO, LO, US. Simply put, this shit is serious.

I'm sitting on a most comfortable black leather couch, being served double espressos, joking and laughing with the band, while they grapple with technological issues Bob Marley never had to think about. As the film guy who toils into the night, alone, it is very refreshing to watch the continuous collaborative effort put forth by the entire band. They work cohesively, intuitively and respectfully. There is also a lot of farting, which I am more than happy to contribute; this is as far as my musical abilities will take me today.

They play with their iPhones and guitars alike, listening to their tracks over and over, refining their sound down to a fine art. These guys are musicians and I can't wipe the big stupid grin off my face; it is such an honor to watch them create what will invariably launch them into the next stage of their career. This album, in all probability should put them into the commercial mainstream with MuchMusic, a new tour, album release parties and hopefully, a big label rep. Here's me crossing my fingers.

To give you an idea of the daily goings on, I've just watched them text a percussionist in London, Ontario, to record a conga drum track, then wait an hour, then download a 70MB file through a totally not stolen internet connection, and seamlessly blend it into their rough track. John the producer swears it was worth every last-minute-penny they spent on this last minute addition. They bribed the guy with 100 bucks for about 15 minutes of work. I'm just amazed that some guy banging away on conga drums, two hours away, can just send that through interspace and bam, presto - they've got the exact flourish of color the track required. This is the impulsive, last minute tinkering that Staylefish is engaged in. Half the shit they talk about, I can't hear the difference anyway. But I understand.

My good friend Dan Tran is a Vietnamese rock star with a heart of solid gold. He gives the best hugs. He plays face melting solos on his hollow-body Fender telecaster; the envy of all who see it. He let me play it today and it was every bit as gratifying as I had imagined. Thanks buddy. I don't think I've ever met someone so warm and inviting to all that he meets. Most definitely, a rarity.

Brent Chenier, the band's newest acquisition, rocks out by sloppin da basss mon, his body moves to the beat, subconsciously integrating his natural rhythm into everything he does. Even drinking a Corona-espresso. He's been with the band for three months now, but it's as if he's been with them from the beginning. They're really just a big, happy, family.

Chad Kivisto, the lead singer and rhythm guitarist passes me a stereo headset to listen to the current track they're playing with, The Good Times, and it is indeed, a good time. Soaring lead solos, cool laid back vocals, reggae influenced freestyle jams and a catchy beat that works perfectly for sitting on a beach, smoking a spliff. I can't wait for this album to drop. SOON.

Richard Howard, the other lead vocalist and token black-guy-that-gives-them-street-cred is back in London sleeping on a couch somewhere. I will see him the next day at their show, and we will indeed have a four hour van ride to the American border, drinking, laughing, filming, and other things I can't talk about here. He's a good shit.

Jon Bacon, the bands drummer, is somewhere causing trouble. That's all I'll say. :)

Tonight we drive to London in the band's van in preparation for their show tomorrow night. I'm "going on the road" to shoot their performance as part of our plans for their promotional material, and possibly, what could become part of an indie music video. We'll see. Hanging out with rock stars isn't like the movies; it's actually kind of better because these guys are caring and fun to be around. That's all I feel like mentioning right now, because I have some living to do. I feel like I'm Patrick Fugit in Almost Famous. All I needs now is my Penny Lane.

Off I go...

Thanks for reading. D.

I'm a PC. (Perverted Corporation)

Have you seen this girl on TV?

Save the degenerate members of NAMBLA, most people would agree that you don't have sex with children. Besides the fact that you should hopefully be attracted to someone your own age, the fundamental premise that underlies this socially agreed upon covenant is that a child, being a CHILD, does not yet possess full autonomy. They can't make complex decisions, nor should they be expected to.

Richard Dawkins uses the same argument to show how no child can truly be called Catholic, Christian, Muslim, Jewish, or whatever, in his pro-atheist book, The God Delusion. He made his argument on the grounds that while children can be raised in ANY particular religious home, they are not actually part of that particular religion until much later in their life; when they CHOOSE it for themselves. Made sense to me.

I think we can all agree there is something sinister about using the impressionable nature of a child to sway him or her in a certain direction before they have a chance to choose their own path. Who would do such a thing?

I give you the "I'm A PC" ad campaign. In its most recent lame attempt to look cool, all I can figure is that upon realizing no sane, autonomous adult would choose a PC for themselves, Microsoft has followed in the tried and tested footsteps of the Preachers and Rapists before them, and begun targeting unsuspecting children in a bid to boost profits. Oh for shame.

Alright PC, if that's how you want to play it. Tsk tsk.

Mac:1

PC: nada

Penis vs. Vagina

Why do they call it "bumping uglies"? What's so ugly about the way we bump? Is it what they do? How they look? Feel? Taste? Smell? I'm guessing it's an indefinable combination of our five senses that make penises and vaginas a bit of a neglected critical topic. I guess my point here is, if our uglies are in fact "ugly", what then is beautiful?

I can't get past this. In the end, our culture seems to say it's all about the baby-maker! Does it work? Did you get results? Okay, good life. A+. See you in the next one. But that feels so goddamn empty; I don't want to accept that. Why are we so stupid when it comes to sex, genitals, babies and the life force that supports them to exist in the first place?

I think we're past the dark days when things like masturbation was the Devil's doing, and people made love to each other through a hole in the sheet. Today, that kind of shit is just plain kinky. But considering that's where we come from, I'm just assuming everyone loves his or her junk these days. How could it be any better though? We often reference the qualitative judgment that size matters, in reference to breasts, bums, penises and sometimes even labia. Haha this is hilarious. Where am I going with this? I don't know. But this is the prettiest shit we got, in my perversely humble opinion. And we downplay it all, cover it up, eek away from discussing it and instead turn our gaze towards fashion, television, image and reputation. The things that make us are hidden and ignored; the things that distract us are copied and revered. What gives?

I remember wondering as a kid why the penis was the only appendage on the body that didn't have bone or muscle. Haha. Imagine penis exercises? Guys packed in the gym who already take bodybuilding too far would walk around with these massive bulges everywhere. It would be hilarious. It's almost like Nature thought better of that feature, and was like, "Oh no guys, Jesus, how did I almost miss that one, no, I don't think you'll be able to handle that responsibility quite yet... I'm downgrading you from a muscle penis to a spongy one instead - oh don't worry, when you need it most, it will get hard like a muscle all the same". Splendid. But we can't control its size and biologically speaking, it's the most important part of our external appearance. This was a primary lesson in accepting that which I cannot control... ahem, not that there's been any complaints. (See, I still care what other people think! Blast.)

I must say, I will take a French Martini Glass over an American Hooter any day. The point being, balance is pretty and attractive, purposefulness is what we should be all about because THAT is what's truly beautiful. But we're most definitely not. I can't help but notice the people who seem more concerned with producing a full Facebook album the next day, rather than enjoying themselves on any given inebriated social outing - I think they call them parties. I don't care really, it just seems like a waste of time. But how did we get so distracted with image?

Bodybuilders and beauty pageant contestants are cultural hyper-manifestations of the masculine and feminine form. They are unchecked, exaggerated physical versions of our ideological human spectrum. In this corner, we have Testosterone, weighing in with a lot of muscle and rage and manliness. And in this corner, we have Estrogen weighing in with feelings and emotions and girlishness. Haha this is my retarded worldview. Most people land somewhere in between. But you have to wonder? Why? Why do these people exist? What do they gain? What do they contribute?

I find it very comforting to remind myself that all humans possess certain levels of BOTH testosterone and estrogen - just in different amounts. My favourite people seem to be the ones with a near even mix. It's like they are hormonally centered. There doesn't seem to be an inner urge to convey an outward sense of any one particular gender - they're just themselves. The rest just come off as maddened and delusional. But I should really validate that horribly superficial judgment with a deeper explanation. Here goes.

You can group the entire package of madness together under one heading: EXCESS. High heels, makeup, toupee, fat, tans, pushup bras, jewelry, large muscles: they're all just a form of material excess. Adorning the basic human form with organic and inorganic enhancements, to look extra-ordinary. It's all a ruse. We huff up our chests, pout out our lips, squint our eyes real tight and look like something less-than-human. I'm not saying they don't work though. High heels, for whatever reason, make a killer set of legs look even better. But then I think, if you blur your eyes a little, the high heel makes the woman's foot look pointier - like she's walking on stilts. Why is that attractive? It makes her feet look smaller, like that of a child? YOUTH! It defines a social custom of trying very hard to capture, preserve and exploit the concept of youth. A tan only looks great because the implication that you've been out working in the sun for many hours denotes stamina, strength, virility, whatever. It all comes back to the same core idea, that ornamentation of the body is just a way to increase the odds of attracting a mate. No shit Sherlock. But what is the intrinsic value in faking something if it's not sustainable?

Let's flip it around. Have you ever met someone who was really physically attractive, almost to the point where you devalued yourself in his or her presence? You said something to yourself like, "He or she is way out of my league". Seriously? Why do we do this? Lets take this a step further. Have you ever spent time with a really attractive person, and in that process discovered they were totally lame? Something about their flatness of personality, or their raging immaturity, or annoying idiosyncrasies you just can't overlook after awhile. Physical beauty is more like a resume than a job. You use it to sell yourself, but only for first impressions when no other way is possible. Do you keep handing in your resume to your boss every time there's a new project? No. You used it once to get the interview, now your work speaks for itself. So who cares if you're good looking or ugly? Unfortunately, I do.

Because this is how we're programmed by the tone of our culture. All we do is run around looking at everyone else, hoping they are noticing us. Talk about futility. No wonder the divorce rate is so high. No wonder so many people are unhappy. We're running around hooking up with all this glitz and pizzazz blocking our view of what's really going on. We just want to validate ourselves with reproduction and complete the full act of being. To reproduce is to take matters into your own hands, literally, and fuck them. It asserts a level of control. It makes us feel powerful to reproduce. It satisfies urges, it connects us socially, it teaches us valuable lessons. Everything about reproduction is designed to make us grow. Or wait; maybe it's the other way around? Maybe everything about our nature is designed around one principle: to reproduce. It's all about prolonging the species. Gay monks, take a back seat. This world is for reproducers only. But that can't be right. Can it?

So it seems to be more or less a case of “fakes it till you makes it". In other words, projecting the illusion of possessing a hyper-gender helps you get laid. So you can repeat yourself. So you won't feel that death is a total loss. But not everyone is physically attractive and not everyone can reproduce - or wants to. I feel like somewhere along this line of thinking is where idiotic battles of the sexes stem from. One side asserts itself over the other; to somehow prove they are the superior side in their unchecked fake-out. Each gender forgets the importance of the other side. Men and women are in it together. The only useful way I see of separating anyone is by designating the smart from the stupid. Then you're making progress. And maybe, just maybe, if we had a collective esteem boost, it would be called "bumping pretties".

So in a world pervaded by the growing belief that immediate gratification is the only measure of success, I try to remind myself that the best and most worthwhile relationships come from years of being yourself. That takes, to some degree, a solid level of intelligence. I'm going to go ahead and put myself closer to the smart side of this list because I'm not rushing into anything too quickly. But obviously I don't have it completely down either. Blinded by my youth, I just can't let it go. Yet.

Most people, even the best I've encountered, still to some degree miss this point. Because on the ground level, there's an esteem boost when we see a more polished reflection in the mirror. A feeling of self-worth, importance, VALUE. It's easy to believe we are more valuable on the inside, when we can reference that reassurance with a quick flash in the mirror from the outside. The thing is, we're all alone inside our heads. And unless you're schizophrenic, there is no other voice in your head to tell you you're valuable. You just have to ask unsettling questions and be patient for the answers. In essence, our incomprehensible self-worth is only valuable when we see it from inside, on our own.

In conclusion, there are a lot of stupid women in the world. But there are just as many stupid men. Thankfully, there are a lot of smart women in the world. And not surprisingly, there are just as many smart men. So reframe the debate from “Penis vs. Vagina” to “Stupid vs. Smart” and the world will make a little more sense. For me it does anyway. I'm just looking forward to the day when I don't feel the need to separate anybody from anyone else. Maybe then I can bump pretties and stop looking in the mirror so much. We shall see what we shall see.

Thanks for reading. D.