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Tuesday 23rd October 2012

by admin

Today, our band releases a record.

I work a full-time job in an office where I spend a large portion of my time typing things into a computer screen and occasionally talking to voices on the phone. I am, like many of us, even in these anxious economic times, a lucky person – I have enough money to eat well, to spend on hobbies like music, and, if the thought occurs to me, do the very odd donation to something I care about. I’m not rich, but there always seems to be enough money in the bank.
Despite having the good fortune to be middle class enough to make music (in a time when people say there’s no future in either being middle class or making music), I sometimes wake up, drudging off to work, and hear things in my head I wish I had time to make exist. I’m not oppressed by having to work for a living. It’s just that the fact of the daily seated-in-front-of-a-computer existence is not good for feeling like you are a properly functioning bi-pedal organism.

Part of why I started playing music was because, as a kid, I liked jumping around. I think I always had a sense that the world would want me to take a seat. Playing music, then, was a good way to keep moving.

There are a lot of people fretting about how much less fun it is these days. Fuck, I fret about it. Whether it be the death of the spirit of indie/punk/underground, or the demise of whatever broken model existed for compensating for music makers, or the just fucking bored feeling that is increasingly creeping into the experience of being “into” music, there are a lot of unhappy campers out there.

In some ways, I’m one of those campers.

I do not like that a good portion of being in a band involves some aspect of small-business entrepreneurship and/or project management, usually involving a computer, a phone, or some other combination of button-pushing and human ingratiating. I don’t like trying to figure out things to post about on various social media platforms, where I don’t have anything much to say other than “hi look at me!” Something bugs me when I hear some supposedly underground act selling a song to a car commercial. (I don’t hate them, I hate that they are made to feel they have to do it). I dislike the muddy, unclear harshness of the way everything sounds on devices that are built to play music as an afterthought. I don’t like some of the songs I’ve written, and I don’t like that my voice can’t sing 8 octaves without you really hearing it. I don’t like it when sound guys insist on treating you, even as a grown man, like a child when you ask them to turn down the Metallica edge they’ve added to their kick drum. I don’t like lugging gear to a show, waiting for 4 hours hoping people will show up, only to have those who do come mildly “woo” after you’ve tried your damndest to tear through a song. I especially hate that I’ve done the same mild “woo” for things that have blown my mind, for fear of distinguishing me amidst a sea of crossed-arms and conversations amplified by a cupped had around the mouth. I don’t like that I normally don’t dance. I don’t like that rock and roll doesn’t seem all that dangerous.

And yet… Here we are, having done this all over again. There are good reasons for it.
I like the shiver in the back of the neck when you discover or re-discover something that moves you. I like the feeling of digging in during a song, accompanied by the realization that in so doing, you are actually making instinctual choices that have a real-world affect. I like unspoken camaraderie involved in playing instruments in the company of other people. I love the people that I’ve met playing music. They are almost universally hilarious and thoughtful. Those who stick with it, “successful” or not, are getting better.

I’m not a spiritual person, but I’m comfortable saying that playing music can have that feeling to it. Anyone who has had the good fortune to make something creative knows a bit of what I’m talking about – even if you feel that maybe you’re not as good as you want to be.

And on that, note, here is our new record (Note, you can get CDs now at Static Clang. Vinyl is almost done) It was made with the best of intentions — with equal parts optimism and cynicism, hard work and laziness, pride and self-doubt.

If you happen to like it, we hope you’ll find some way of supporting it directly, either by buying a vinyl copy (the vinyl, when ready, really sounds the best), a CD, or an electronic version. If we’re in your town and you are free, we think you’ll like the live show.

We’re not making t-shirts or stickers, nor are we auctioning off a box that we’ve farted in. We made the record, and we hope that says enough.