tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-224666283158989612024-03-18T21:16:32.263-07:00Greetings and SalutationsA Musical JournalNathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-48221676149525670442012-04-01T07:12:00.007-07:002012-04-01T07:36:46.326-07:00Sonic Exploration<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6g4GXO69_hzMbEJ5ipD2ZYwOYZaBzaib2OUA-qPUbnl2VjXUxJVRf_nqUJ4mmoIH5pN1LyY9QRB54v2Dt3KgVi1K0aS0Rq3a6YVUsWdBruEgRNG3KE8XauVUD4a1BLxAUZN1QZEWpj8/s1600/Julius_caesar.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 173px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6g4GXO69_hzMbEJ5ipD2ZYwOYZaBzaib2OUA-qPUbnl2VjXUxJVRf_nqUJ4mmoIH5pN1LyY9QRB54v2Dt3KgVi1K0aS0Rq3a6YVUsWdBruEgRNG3KE8XauVUD4a1BLxAUZN1QZEWpj8/s320/Julius_caesar.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726440693183930386" /></a>I had originally written a post a few days ago how unimpressed I was with Pandora and Spotify. In the first batch of songs I had listened to there were some good ones, but nothing I had to stop what I was doing and listen. I'm really on a quest to find more like-minded musicians and to see what else is going on out there that never reaches my ears through Milwaukee radio. Pandora, though, does allow one to be a musical caesar, thumbs down to whatever displeases me. I like that.<div><br /></div><div>When I first opened Spotify, I had a short list of bands that I wanted to check out, Megafaun, Blitzen Trapper, Broken Social Scene, and The Shins. I had heard snippets from each, turns out that's all I really needed. They each have a handfull of sweet songs, but nothing that really impressed me album-wise. However, they did point me in the direction in some "similar artists." It has always baffled me how they select similar artists. Are they hand picked or do they algorithms that see how one person likes one and another, then links them together as similar. It also seems that if one band is affiliated with another, they become similar, despite their music not being similar at all. But there are a few gems, you just have to know how to look. </div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQoRJQAhIBfoguAOciP3bAdx2nvJi_-u_12argtNVIk-XsP1mGoB17ikIhMqFQEtdmjrIYC4B9Nrto0EhTTcp9CNTJg0kQyPt4VAkULflAzNE4gN-w9rcRHCm8Mv3gC_R5E6AZ4Pa5FIs/s200/head.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726440114161582626" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px; " /></span><div>In my case, I tend to look at pictures/album covers. Don't laugh, the system works. I've found at least TWO fantastic bands that way. The Head and the Heart, which I had heard on 88.9 before, </div><div>but recently purchased the whole album, has a dude with a lamb mask sitting next to a chick posing like a Step-Brothers picture. 3 really great tracks alone on the album, and it is definitely a good album as a whole. The chick singer shouldn't really get lead vocal duty on some songs, but she isn't the worst. It can be overlooked because of the quality of the album.</div><div><br /></div><div>The other great find came yesterday while looking through another spotify app I guess. I saw a picture of a dude with a long beard, old timey clothes, and 6 others standing behind. </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2QD42wvJWgChY66r_0b1opEKFtcUNqYd6NfXSOckX1uFy7NlA5KV3GWYbt2ppTTw5wlOTfq1FfTbvG01slGL5Mz74fzfh36iDnA8m_XSmhnNwHo6wvtLFIDonuORtSAuSof4rO-ORHWQ/s320/weird+beard.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726439054957573026" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 221px; " /></span><div>The band was called Bison, so naturally I had to check it out. FANTASTIC folk music that takes it a step further. Some traditional instrumentation, but no bass, upright or otherwise. They have a freaking pump organ (awesome), a violin, cello, banjo/mandolin player, and a couple percussion and vocalists. The songs are structured more like some indie rock band, but still are 100% folk. The melodies are instantly memorable. It is definitely an interesting mix. Bison's website has quotes from critics calling them a mix of folk and classical. I suppose that's the best they could come up with, but it's kind of true. A very interesting and fun listening experience.</div><div><br /></div><div>Still working on my utilization of Spotify. Kind of given up on Pandora for my purposes of finding new music, but it's still good to have on sometimes. But I do believe Spotify has more potential. It feels like the new Lala.com, a website I miss deeply. More to come, I'm sure.</div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-62841245786240993872012-03-06T20:03:00.004-08:002012-03-07T06:43:59.774-08:00Hope for the futureJack White and I have had an interesting relationship over the years. I was a gigantic fan of the White Stripes in high school, saw them live in 2004, then they kind of fell off my radar. The Raconteurs quickly took the spot on my Jack White-o-meter. Both albums are quite fantastic and am perpetually waiting for another. Then there was the White Stripes again...not as influential to me. THEN, there was The Dead Weather. Honestly? Not a fan. Like the concept of Jack White taking a back seat and being a drummer, but it doesn't work in practice. I'll give it a couple of years. His record label, Third Man Records, has gotten a lot of press as well. Still undecided about that. I almost forgot about the atrocity which was the James Bond song for Quantum of Solace with Alicia Keys. What a piece of garbage. But I have always admired White's passion for music, his recording ideals, and his general work ethic. An interesting man, to be sure.<div><br /></div><div>And now this:</div><div><object width="512" height="288"><param name="movie" value="http://www.hulu.com/embed/6UV0flCGDdYZActz8r8_eg"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.hulu.com/embed/6UV0flCGDdYZActz8r8_eg" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="512" height="288" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div><div><br /></div><div>This solidifies the fact that Jack White does what Jack White wants and he is damn good at it. Check out the other song he performed that night too. Different band, different feel. I am extremely excited for White's first solo record<i> Blunderbuss</i>, due out this April. Jack White is still influencing young musicians, giving me hope for the future of music. More to come when the album comes out. It best meet my high expectations or I'll chase that pale man down to Wichita...</div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-51658097153026501112012-02-25T06:23:00.006-08:002012-02-25T06:27:07.029-08:00One Wild and Crazy Banjo Pick'n Guy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZEAJLFWaE5xW3Y4kc7BtkDst-KNPphviKQ7U9-1Ghwn9Z-RX2IX29ikAkr4ZaPJPQrKwAH4NuRygTMaH_mDdRPt_KhZ_zW45YHKpPpmXxTrgMwW5HeL55srgrFEkzbioMhIGGmZkhMhU/s1600/220px-Steve_Martin_2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 129px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZEAJLFWaE5xW3Y4kc7BtkDst-KNPphviKQ7U9-1Ghwn9Z-RX2IX29ikAkr4ZaPJPQrKwAH4NuRygTMaH_mDdRPt_KhZ_zW45YHKpPpmXxTrgMwW5HeL55srgrFEkzbioMhIGGmZkhMhU/s200/220px-Steve_Martin_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713078794163417778" /></a><br />I first realized Steve Martin was an accomplished banjo player and musician (beyond his Dr. Demento tune King Tut) during my brief stint as a worker at Barnes and Noble. <i>The Crow: New Songs for the 5 String Banjo</i> was one of the few CDs that we were forced to listen to that I actually enjoyed. I can't recall if there was any comedy on it, but one thing was clear: Steve Martin is a banjo beast.<div><br /></div><div>Truth be told, in all of my recent folk explorations I forgot about the pick'n ways of Steve</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqTZYBvfmmWfEJxsrGE6L-47JvXzRrSoRwWQAjv5n1SPlug_mHmdcvhtN_EKN_K6WnQsza5WvoW45YLgP_9xHenhrd8s99JmiltibJq-Pc-NJuhw6wGo9d8T9EXjQMuMzwKQB8mHdCBKE/s320/220px-Rare-bird-alert.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713077008322736562" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 220px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">Martin. Then those fine fellows at Rolling Stone decided to post a video/blog of a song called "Me and Paul Revere." Martin is joined by a band called the Steep Canyon Rangers in a loft-like area surrounded by people. Please watch this video.</span></span><div>Since I have bought the single of the aforementioned song, then the album <i>Rare Bird Alert</i> and now <i>The Crow</i> is on my list as well. Some of the songs on <i>Rare Bird Alert</i> are clearly meant to poke fun, but maybe that is part of the appeal. The album takes me all over the place. Makes me laugh, makes me bob my head, makes me sing along.</div><div><br /></div><div>What can I say?</div><div><br /></div><div>There is something so real and pure about folk music and Steve Martin shreds on that fucking banjo. I know this music is probably more bluegrass than folk, but I'm not really sure where those lines are drawn and Wikipedia is surprisingly useless on the subject. In my ignorance I have decided to view folk as the broad category and everything else is just a subset of the genre. I think part of the draw to this music is honestly just the real instruments. This is music that can be played anywhere at any time, all you need are the musicians and their instruments. No electronic tom-foolery needed, no vocoders, no synths, no PHAT BEATZ.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is just music that is in our blood. I tend to think of things in terms of "There is a reason this is still around." That's how I rationalize most of my musical ventures, and this is no exception. I feel transported when I listen to <i>Rare Bird Alert</i> especially, as though I could go outside and see dirt roads. The music is simply real and full of human emotion. When you hear those strings being picked, you can feel and hear the human element.</div><div><br /></div><div>SIDE NOTE: How much would it suck to be the Steep Canyon Rangers actual banjo player?</div><div><br /></div><div>ANSWER: Very much.</div><div><br /></div><div><script src="http://player.ooyala.com/player.js?height=338&deepLinkEmbedCode=B3MTlqMzoA5Rn69VhL8XN36fX9gUj4Ak&embedCode=B3MTlqMzoA5Rn69VhL8XN36fX9gUj4Ak&width=600"></script></div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-27266103673713169042012-02-18T09:50:00.000-08:002012-02-18T11:21:46.084-08:00Shame shame (we know your name)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwGGz_LIyKvf7mRocIhyhIl0K6G5dptZEl5dA7W7j1rV3gIigvi8frRfVXeRfXshNlM24T_Q0fE1-g40_eX2R2tKomBwe8zLfldkZRlbVJ_mv1grBdHvgczCHvv8zwqgzPdMBA1a_FZM/s1600/mumford.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div>Last Sunday I tuned in to the Grammys hoping for a repeat of 2011's award ceremony. To be fair, 2011 set a pretty high bar for me. Aside from Lady Antebellum cleaning up for their Drunken Hick song, it was quality. Not only did Eminem and Dr. Dre perform together, but I learned of a fantastic new artist that frequently makes my blog, Mumford and Sons. That performance changed my life, no exaggeration. It opened my eyes to a world I'd never considered before. </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwGGz_LIyKvf7mRocIhyhIl0K6G5dptZEl5dA7W7j1rV3gIigvi8frRfVXeRfXshNlM24T_Q0fE1-g40_eX2R2tKomBwe8zLfldkZRlbVJ_mv1grBdHvgczCHvv8zwqgzPdMBA1a_FZM/s320/mumford.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710556146979734482" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px; " /></span><div>They are, what we can in the business, a game changer. Folk music was always synonymous with a man I loathed, Bob Dylan. But even he isn't that bad anymore. I'm getting soft in my old age. But Mumford played a fantastic rendition of their song "The Cave." It was awesome, and combined with artists like Fleet Foxes and Bon Iver, inspired me to write the best music of my life. There were some other performances on the program that were alright, but nothing that made me vomit.</div><div><br /></div><div>This year, I was hoping to hear another new artist that would wrinkle my brain. Sadly, the evening started out with Bruce fucking Springsteen. Chris Brown danced around and pretended to sing. Taylor Swift actually sang while holding a banjitar like she was in Green Day. It was</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUtrWqF6YsgEorqfhyIT0egUfvubUI627ClqeriYBtt4eAb2IutxZvXPzsBrsIEw88i62U_o3dTx7Dr4Fl39liPfiR_k3-XM9HDRlAr2GU1iqA4-PbhiNEJSfDIq9NQ6uZpDuT4uAIXc/s320/dave+grohl.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710549209298604130" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 224px; " /></span><div> awful, seeming to mock the genre she was singing. The entire cast of her number, and they were definitely a cast, were dressed like extras in the musical Oklahoma. It made me angry. The new Foo Fighters is extremely boring, which is unfortunate as Dave Grohl has really great views on music...except that he wants to record his next album in space. Don't do drugs, kids. Foo Fighters killed in the Rock categories. That genre is dead. Nothing new under the sun. Bon Iver won some awards, including Best New Artist. Not really sure what defines a new artist, but Bon Iver has been around since 2007/2008. I wonder if the Grammys are perpetually behind the times. Another example is the fact that Adele cleaned house. I am thrilled by this for many reasons, but it all seems so after the fact. Adele has been on top of the charts for YEARS. And she is now planning to take a five year break from music. Great job Grammys. But she is one of the few authentic artists that played the evening and is a beacon of hope for keeping music real.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, Paul McCartney was a nice skidmark on the underpants of the Grammys.</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_XXsDLOJW-2802Thzr8YkdBPWCXToSCM19fej7P4P5t47cBAl_vcQ2B9cjhII7q38llP3WdzML0RHXR4XWh5_mZiKrXv09PxvI8o4htJ7XMpyOCkXSDhXdLk0ZGhTQRMebku4VVmBN4g/s320/niki.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710549622044259346" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span><div>Then there was Nicki Minaj. WORST. PIECE. OF. SHIT. EVER. I don't know what her story is and I don't care, but she is obviously a Cold War-like response to Lady Gaga. What? You're acting crazy and wear weird shit? I'm going to be even more bat-shit crazy! I believe that is exactly what happened in Nicki's head. There is one important difference betwixt them though; Lady Gaga can actually sing. Nicki Minaj blerts shit out. And it is God awful. If you want watch something completely void of musical integrity and horrible choreography, watch her Grammy performance. I'm sure it is very Youtubable.</div><div><br /></div><div>All in all, it was a waste of my Sunday evening, but it did give me something to rant about. Oh, I may have accidentally bought the newest Coldplay album...mixed feelings.</div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-63037053674991113362012-02-05T09:43:00.000-08:002012-02-05T10:08:41.002-08:00So...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXzqZy04clxpKrcYrAmRwIveMjNc_3joh38O-X0alz1RfeGdJogZ6GlmiThGtLdKJmhmuOthiwINRw0ndHyNJAKOx4h-nP7eVRFfI9ZT862CSqS4-SNU8AmHb6KCGD342rv4nUgRhK3s/s1600/otn_logo_black.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXzqZy04clxpKrcYrAmRwIveMjNc_3joh38O-X0alz1RfeGdJogZ6GlmiThGtLdKJmhmuOthiwINRw0ndHyNJAKOx4h-nP7eVRFfI9ZT862CSqS4-SNU8AmHb6KCGD342rv4nUgRhK3s/s320/otn_logo_black.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705714403031181890" /></a>If I had a nickel for every time I've had to restart this blog, I'd have a shit ton of nickels. I couldn't believe it when I saw my last post was back in the beginning of October. But I digress.<div><br /></div><div>Things finally feel like they're settling in. After moving, job changes, our wedding, and the stress of the holidays behind us, I am now getting into a routine. I work a six day week followed by a four day, so I have three day weekends every other. It's a good deal. I'm getting a lot of work done. The number of songs I've written and reworked over the last few months is by far my biggest creative output ever. It feels great, but there is a lot of pressure on me to keep it up. Most of it is internal pressure, admittedly, but nonetheless, I had my first creative burnout last weekend. I just pushed so hard to get 3 new songs done, write out trumpet parts, organize set lists, logistics, preparing for a gig. In addition, I was also rehired by this marketing company in Virginia to write/produce some music. So with what little free time I have, I've had to write for them. I also fucked it up. They needed loops and the bounce did not work correctly, but it should be fine. (That's our logo btw)</div><div><br /></div><div>The band is progressing nicely. We're getting ready for our first gig at the end of the month. We've added a trumpet player as a permanent member of the band. Our sound is moving in the right direction. There are some songs that I'm more fond of than others, but so far I've been able to transform all of the ones that I haven't been a fan of into something workable. I feel like the more songs I write, they will push out the old ones. It could be due to the fact my songwriting abilities have increased exponentially or that I've finally found a style that suites my songwriting techniques. Probably both. But it is flowing out so naturally right now. </div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7K3F3m1qhpXG2btjAgge34MusVZ4-hxs8Gxbw8GrDqvXsGgub92jgx6YAziFoesqVQsJ-DafXq9haYEqgjqfYmZfItNhwjj_jYhb-jTrnfQ_1nvpsfWlzIGtbfj3DtZARoIFBmX2ZjS0/s320/tuba.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705714945651811554" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 201px; height: 251px; " /></span><div>In another side of the music world, I am selling my tuba. I plan on buying a euphonium and3 continuing where I left off 10 years ago with it. Playing euphonium brings me joy I never got out of playing tuba. It's hard to describe why there is such a difference, but the euphonium just feels like a natural extension of myself. It's very exciting. It almost feels like a burden being lifted. Playing the tuba was never my choice and I never had it in me to stop that source of unhappiness until now. Kristen was actually the greatest impetus behind this. She knows better than anyone my disdain for tuba, and when I told her how much fun I had tooting around on the euphonium around Christmas, she planted the idea to switch for good. Kristen understands how much joy playing the instrument can bring. She has a relationship with the clarinet that I can only understand because of the guitar, but knew that could happen with a band instrument. It is time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hope to have more soon. Adios.</div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-25416236445260177432011-10-04T18:57:00.000-07:002011-10-04T19:46:04.845-07:00Who the hell coined the term "Dad Rock" anyway? Probably a Dad.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWFovb33ELlfhYcCspI6Gx69dGRgcaE4nP0xEXNVVjfpk5XG5EbFtLrtXO29RthtYqlkK0wZ9eMdBiiNcB6SMi1oWCrvIQaqfIG4wxzLteVdiHudjUrlsswR3qMTjFIpsXiaMpafDt1Y/s1600/wilco" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWFovb33ELlfhYcCspI6Gx69dGRgcaE4nP0xEXNVVjfpk5XG5EbFtLrtXO29RthtYqlkK0wZ9eMdBiiNcB6SMi1oWCrvIQaqfIG4wxzLteVdiHudjUrlsswR3qMTjFIpsXiaMpafDt1Y/s320/wilco" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659830345375069522" /></a><br />There have been recent allegations that Wilco is "Dad Rock." Well, I must have a kid I don't know about, cause I love me some Wilco. Here's what frontman Jeff Tweedy had to say about it:<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 22px; font-family:georgia;font-size:15px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 22px; font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">"When people say dad rock, they actually just mean rock. There are a lot of things today that don’t have anything to do with rock music, so when people hear something that makes them think, 'This is derived from some sort of continuation of the rock ethos,' it gets labeled dad rock. And, to me, those people are misguided. I don’t find anything undignified about being a dad or being rocking, you know?"</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Yes Jeff, I do know. Here's the thing. Wilco has been around a long time, popular for less long. And what happens when you've been around a while? You get older. So, apparently making quality rock/alternative music in your 40s because your career hasn't fizzled out like every top 40 artist is now a crime punishable by the "dad" music label. Steely Dan has also been somewhat wrongly labeled as dad music, but let's face it, Steely Dan is pretty much the most dad friendly music on the planet. BUT Steely Dan is also an amazing band, influencing more quality music than Nirvana (Nirvana influenced ALOT of bad music). Sorry to burst your bubble "critics," but Dads these days are more inclined to listen to the terrible patriotic</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE4kIiFv6AMX7iwBbgA7Mb6pVns7_7n14aXunIFUgwsCosOEJ07lT6Km4qwevkO4n_GOYc9ggIBFvTPqn3GcXAijq6tHTSfkShI9Aou4RUvfqfu2r5ScVrAfbvZgKZaXu0qlhEpVXEil4/s320/steelydan.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659830681633020642" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div> stylings of Kid Rock. FACT. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not ashamed to admit that Wilco did not appear on my proverbial radar till about 3 years ago with the release of their self-titled album. Certain prejudices kept me from discovering them in college. I was very against anything that appeared to be "weird for the sake of weird." Upon first listen, which was curated by an ex-girlfriend who had a tendency to be into hipster music for the sake of being into hipster music, I just didn't get it.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>But time has eroded those prejudices, and a new and more seasoned ear (yum) has helped me understand the genius of Wilco. It is insanely difficult to put out music that is balanced with pop sensibilities and weird shit. Tweedy and Co. have mastered that skill, leaning different ways with each album. They have done so while retaining and creating fans, not alienating them. </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Ugh, critics suck. Wilco rocks. Steely Dan is unattractive.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(32, 32, 32); line-height: 17px; font-family:georgia;font-size:13px;"><div><br /></div></span></div></div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-29366872651896374482011-09-25T16:46:00.001-07:002011-10-04T19:39:49.992-07:00So Much Good Music, So Little Time<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBX8RCE3OR8E9rad3qW39YjxtL7JU3ZSkRq1FWU8anQxSJPdxQDA2aHioxEVOFjWnanYz2YUJeYrayOtdoYVSbIGcXg9l9JaRTvGv6z0PLYhQOuGQZMJo3DC5_GSKi2OeL7w-fnx0QtFQ/s1600/Josh_Ritter_SRTWA_Cover.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBX8RCE3OR8E9rad3qW39YjxtL7JU3ZSkRq1FWU8anQxSJPdxQDA2aHioxEVOFjWnanYz2YUJeYrayOtdoYVSbIGcXg9l9JaRTvGv6z0PLYhQOuGQZMJo3DC5_GSKi2OeL7w-fnx0QtFQ/s320/Josh_Ritter_SRTWA_Cover.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656455221148834226" /></a><br />Due to my wonderful friends and family, I have had the great fortune of receiving some absolutely fantastic music lately. In fact, I have so much I need to listen to that I'm having a hard time finding time to listen to it all! This is a wonderful problem to have, but it's still a problem. In order to hear the painstaking details that went into these songs it is only appropriate to listen to them on quality speakers or headphones. I love the volume that Apple is able to get out of these tiny little Mac speakers, but they are simply not up to par for a quality listening session. <div><br /></div><div>These listening sessions go way beyond simply listening and following along with lyrics (which I rarely do.) No, I see these sessions as learning opportunities, studying not only the recording techniques and decisions, but also the song structure, instrumentation, and all that other good stuff. Does this suck the fun out of music? Absolutely not. I love learning and it is a challenge and something that I enjoy more with each new artist I stumble upon. I make mental notes in hopes of using what I have learned in my own work. I try to learn what works, and more importantly, what doesn't. Having an arsenal of options in my head pays dividends in the real world. </div><div><br /></div><div>One of the artists I have been crushing on lately is Josh Ritter. Described by iTunes as Country and folk, Rock, Pop, and just Folk, Josh Ritter is an extremely talented singer/songwriter whose lyrics and song writing are worth more than one listen. The first song I heard of his was called "The Curse," off of his newest album <i>So Runs the World Away</i>. Thank God for NPR's World Cafe. That was a great car ride home and I was eager to find more by this guy. (Because I didn't hear who the artist was before the song started, I initially entered the World Cafe playlist from the evening and thought it was Tim Robbins and his band...that was close.) "The Curse" is about a mummy who falls in love with the female archeologist who found him and brought him back to New York. She repeatedly asks, "Are you cursed?" to which he replies "I think that I'm cured." But as the song progresses, she gets older, he becomes famous, she dies, and we are left with the initial question and answer again. It sounds hokey when I spell it out. Any story with a mummy is bound to raise eyebrows, but it is an incredible song that I suggest you check out. Other favorites include Harrisburg, Gallahad, and Girl in the War. Each of these displays clever wordplay that is instantly memorable, some making you smile and the others making you think. </div><div><br /></div><div>This whole "folk revival" has gotten me very excited. There is such a unique focus on writing quality songs and crafting memorable stories that it is impossible to let Bob Dylan ruin the genre for me anymore. In fact, some of Dylan's work is now listenable. This is huge for me. But my new band, the Miss Misery Trio, has gravitated towards the folk stylings without even thinking about it. The combination of personalities and influences is creating my own exciting music. It excites us anyways. And speaking from years of playing in (shitty) bands that range from Irish Folk/Punk to Grunge/Metal, I have never been this excited. Most bands have revolved around songs that I have written, but that doesn't mean they were good. I am now at a point in my life where the "listening sessions" are culminating into sensibilities that translate quickly to my music, making the songs much better. I also have great band members that I can bounce ideas off of, echo my enthusiasm, and can collaborate and trust immediately. Wish I had more time to dedicate to this stuff.</div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-14338767241781328372011-09-17T08:46:00.000-07:002011-10-04T19:41:17.409-07:00Staying Power<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXi1m3Qz4E7yeb73oaGq4Ah6IADLOPu_j_Hp412HVzNQ-Vy_sXrM7ZlPalp3N84FLXioVnNRvfzZBJqt1tGB0h4AnKndVPomiI6pXA4Twi0kG3rpTFpqopsajWItO9CSesDrCThe169HU/s1600/ear_beach_119655.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 241px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXi1m3Qz4E7yeb73oaGq4Ah6IADLOPu_j_Hp412HVzNQ-Vy_sXrM7ZlPalp3N84FLXioVnNRvfzZBJqt1tGB0h4AnKndVPomiI6pXA4Twi0kG3rpTFpqopsajWItO9CSesDrCThe169HU/s320/ear_beach_119655.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653697395520884770" /></a><br />I've discovered a pattern in the music that I have chosen to surround myself with over the last few years. All the music and artists must have staying power. Basically I just ask myself, " will I still want to listen to this in 5 years? 10 years?" This mentality has really helped me discover some great music and look past the average. <div><br /></div><div>As you can probably guess, none of this music is "mainstream." These are artists who are creating works that do not appeal to the mass audience. I believe this is due to that fact that the music is not aimed at anyone. The songwriters and bands are returning to a frame of mind that was prevalent in the great songwriters of the past. They make music for themselves. Is this selfish? Not at all. It is simply an outpouring of human emotion and experience that is created for the benefit of the author. This is not to say that the music is not meant to be shared with the world, but it was not made because people will like it or it will make them rich and famous.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another thing that I have noticed is that types of music that once thrilled me and got me to rock out now bore the shit out of me. Last weekend I went with my buddy Tim to see a band I was really into in college called Pepper. They're a reggae/rock/dub trio who had one hit infused album about ten years ago. I thought that it would still be a good time, perhaps in a nostalgic way. But I was so insanely bored. The song formulas were predictable and average. The hit songs that I once blasted out of my speakers in my dorm room no longer had any effect on me besides, "when will this be over." Also went down to a street fair-type thing in Bay View yesterday. There were some bands, but they all played straight rock. The lead singer of one band yelled to the family-based audience that the next song was called "we want to get you high." Stupid. What really made me sad was that more people would go see a band like that than a local singer/songwriter ( <a href="http://www.haywardwilliams.com/">http://www.haywardwilliams.com/</a> ) I discovered a few weeks ago. But regardless, I know if I was in high school, I would have watched that band and nodded my head the way white guys do to rock. It isn't head banging but it isn't standing still. It's what we do. But it was just so...meh. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is another thing that these new artists that have staying power excel at. The songs are interesting and make you want to keep listening. Even after the twentieth listen, you can still find something new and draws the listener in. I believe this mentality of moving away from cookie cutter rock and moving forward with music is spreading. It is part of the reason artists are making the music they're making. It is part of the reason I make the music I make. We're evolving. This has how it has always been, but nowadays it is so easy to get this music into people's hands and into their ears. We can make our own recordings and post them to the interweb latter that day. Think about 50 years ago. This was impossible. And now the forward thinking musicians are gaining prevalence and a dedicated following.</div><div><br /></div><div>But there will always be part of the music listening society who will hold on to the four-piece rock band playing verse/chorus/verse/chorus/bridge/chorus songs. They also hold on to image of the pop star whose voice will make up for the lack of originality. And that's fine. But the staying power mentality is increasing, spreading to the ears of young listeners. The Darwinian evolution of music will continue and this makes me happy.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-55460042348165298882011-09-04T12:42:00.001-07:002011-10-04T19:42:08.129-07:00Where have all the albums gone?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHkwzwUfi7SDQ17UnyuLuS3DyWCdISmlua-aL1Z2p7qPOmPWE2U5VQ_SXF00kAQJ6u5_Otd5Bqo7ZvGxxaGGdBORld8oias9lmKtU6553cfhndIkKqu9sHih4Dzf5Xep9_E7KD0fFMv9E/s1600/IrrascibleHipster.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 314px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHkwzwUfi7SDQ17UnyuLuS3DyWCdISmlua-aL1Z2p7qPOmPWE2U5VQ_SXF00kAQJ6u5_Otd5Bqo7ZvGxxaGGdBORld8oias9lmKtU6553cfhndIkKqu9sHih4Dzf5Xep9_E7KD0fFMv9E/s320/IrrascibleHipster.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648603383124950386" /></a><br />As I enter my fourth week in the good land, I am still enthralled with the wonder that is Milwaukee radio. Between 88.9 RadioMilwaukee and 102.1, I rarely have to change the station. When I was on my way home from work the other day, there was an in-studio performance by a band called Gabby Young and the Other Animals. At first I thought they were playing some vintage 30s or 40s artist, lost in the crevasses of time. But no, just a performance by four musicians from across the pond, displaying an affinity for gypsy, jazz, rock and pop. They stated how they were playing at Shank Hall the upcoming Friday night. Needless to say, I rounded up my future bandmates and checked out the show. It was fabulous, but they deserved more than the 50 or so bodies in the hall. RadioMilwaukee was also airing an exclusive performance of TV On the Radio the other night. These are just some recent gems from a great station.<div><br /></div><div>However.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mostly out of 102.1, there are a lot of good songs being played by up and coming artists. But you can tell that these are simply just songs. To buy the album would be an overpriced disappointment. It's hard to describe how I can discern the quality artists from the duds, but there is something about these artists that seems so...meh. It's as though they had a good hook or sound, but don't take the necessary steps to make it really interesting, to give it staying power. I think of it this way: rather than setting up a campfire with the proper kindling and log position and sitting around it for a few hours, these guys prefer to just pour some gasoline on the fire and see how big the flames will get before it quickly dies.</div><div><br /></div><div>People have been saying that the album is on it's way out, that a steady stream of singles will be released rather than waiting 2 or 3 years between albums. I can see this happening, but not for any artists that will be around for more than 5 years. Well, if they partner this approach to the complete album, success can be lasting, but single after single will lose it's appeal quickly. There is a reason one hit wonders are ridiculed on VH1. Singles don't matter if the album is crap. Sure, the pop world will make more money this way, and the guys who actually write the songs will make a metric shit-ton of money, but artists who write and perform their own music don't operate that way. The argument is also made that recording on the go is so easy that people will just keep writing and recording while touring the world (and elsewhere.) Can you imagine how draining that would be on a band? Instead of taking the travel time as time for practice, relaxation, or phone interviews, they would also be obligated to write and record a quality product for almost immediate release. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sure there are smarty-pants turds who can make any system of releasing music work to their advantage, and it would be a great system for bands trying to gain a following (it's actually what most do already, i.e. myspace/youtube) but I refuse to believe bands like Wilco, Bon Iver, Muse, or any other bands like that will ditch the album for the profit-hungry system that is the constantly streaming singles.</div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-48144121503455349932011-08-17T17:24:00.000-07:002011-08-17T17:57:22.702-07:00Perhaps an attic I shall seek...
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ODzKLlw3PCSoG14sybxrdkF6EiqF2VvsOTfTuEVKNzKSmLy9IkCROLXXEBecu9nwQAmEZvB9Yn5HVMFGVYOyYHhzrtPt4iuztyZhUwrTtHwPi1eG5PwCT_We4OgaUXqZB8QYpadjda0/s1600/th_tobias-funke-twitter-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 159px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ODzKLlw3PCSoG14sybxrdkF6EiqF2VvsOTfTuEVKNzKSmLy9IkCROLXXEBecu9nwQAmEZvB9Yn5HVMFGVYOyYHhzrtPt4iuztyZhUwrTtHwPi1eG5PwCT_We4OgaUXqZB8QYpadjda0/s320/th_tobias-funke-twitter-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641992596210314770" /></a>
<br />So Kristen and I are moved in to our Oak Creek apartment. Oddly enough, this apartment is starting to feel more like home than our old apartment ever did. I love the way the office/studio is set up. In fact, I have already written and recorded a new Cranston tune called "Gunslinger." As you can probably tell, the music is rather inspired by the old West, featuring for the first time, real harmonica and a maraca. I was going to make a new album based upon that theme, but there are extenuating circumstances that have changed the way I'm thinking about making music. <div>
<br /></div><div>As I posted on the Facebook, I recently lost out on $250 for a song I wrote due to poor timing and other circumstances. I was pissed, but am over it. Basically, I contacted the agency that wanted to pay me for the track and they would like to work with me in the future. They enjoy my work and think it fits great for their type of ads. It's an affirming feeling that I haven't necessarily been waiting for, but kind of have. I have never really expected anything out of Cranston, but now that things are kind of happening, I become more and more excited to potentially cushion my wallet with those earnings. I have also received numerous e-mails from grad students wishing to use my work for their projects. It's just cool to have people I've never met be interested in what I do.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>As a result of the previous paragraph, I will no longer be posting new material on the FMA</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35syp1l1JISJgpXcZFKUc0PWbaZY8Q0dYkTYNwqgDIFhelqPLU_7vxUKwwfI3C6_rFr7NICXhxUqpSeIerGa1-geNuUj74Gefxenj4nOCYvq2fbMB341UO6lD2bVfuLG6SlsyrLIJOrU/s320/cranston+profile+pic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641992787939416162" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 290px; " /></span><div> website or the Bandcamp. Those sites will serve as samples, but are also available for purchase. Since the potential buying of that track, I have looked into the license that my work is protected by on the FMA site. Turns out only I can charge for the music, and that the license just insures that I am the only one who profits. So when I compose nowadays, I believe I'll focus more on the individual tracks and making them a little more polished than before. An album or two may creep in there though.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Interestingly enough, it appears like my degree may actually dictate my future job (for once.) I received an e-mail inviting me to an Apple Hiring event in Madison on my birthday. I only applied for the Creative job, so hopefully that's what I'll be interviewing for and potentially be hired for. I also met with a guy at a local music store today that sells nation-wide. He said that as soon as something opens up (it will either be a sales position on the phones...no outgoing calls, or warehouse) I am first on the list of people to call. It was very encouraging to know that somebody out there wants to hire me. It almost feels like the Oak Creek/Milwaukee area/Universe wants me to return to music...</div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-16349095102640581452011-08-07T18:55:00.000-07:002011-08-07T19:35:32.200-07:00Things happening fast/ rant<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZIP7RrHwhYiRCtRDWGQEk-vHypWmTB4d4kP6unGffAb2USTFlJ2m-1wJzuMIhSCw-g8r1HIgoxwbPNpjASCDo3Y3s_hotMoYROrStJv_JhcvaGz3GRYrzmV4O_hzxirrcDfx3lxyGf1Y/s1600/19StudioRecording_0.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZIP7RrHwhYiRCtRDWGQEk-vHypWmTB4d4kP6unGffAb2USTFlJ2m-1wJzuMIhSCw-g8r1HIgoxwbPNpjASCDo3Y3s_hotMoYROrStJv_JhcvaGz3GRYrzmV4O_hzxirrcDfx3lxyGf1Y/s320/19StudioRecording_0.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638308159524352722" /></a><br />We move in less than a week. I'm completely checked out of Baraboo and am anxious to get back to Milwaukee, but the lack of a job scares the crap out of me. It wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't bleeding money for rent and moving costs. But hopefully one of my best friends will be able to hook me up at his old place of business. Have a few gigs coming up playing some guitar and bass, but I could always use more.<div><br /></div><div>I'm getting really excited for the band that I've been getting ready, Miss Misery Trio. It consists of myself on vocals, guitars, and keys, my friend Tim on bass and vocals, and my old next door neighbor Kevin on keys, guitar, and vocals. Hope to throw some percussion in there, but there are no plans for a drum set at all. The music is a lot less "rock" oriented than past bands. I think that the music is very accessible to a general audience which should score us a considerable amount of gigs.</div><div><br /></div><div>Spent a little money on me today. Bought the new Bon Iver album and two Elliott Smith albums that I lost when my desktop took a shit. After some advisement from my eldest brother about the production techniques that could help out the Miss Misery Trio songs, I'm really going to study up these Elliott Smith recordings. He made gold with less equipment than your average musician. Beyond the amazing song-writing, the production techniques are what make them shine. The double-tracking on his voice and the simple instrumentation are key.</div><div><br /></div><div>These are the things they should be teaching in the Audio Production classes at Whitewater, less emphasis on mixing and panning, which is important, more recording techniques based on what the music requires. They completely miss the point of recording and the creation of the art that it is. That's actually one of the reasons I decided that the business was not for me. I enjoy making music and recording it, but the industry is wrong in their approach to recording. They treat recording like math. It isn't. Math doesn't involve emotions or personal/ gut feelings and instincts. Math is based on numbers and calculations. Recording is about the music, but that somehow gets lost in translation. Something went very very wrong. And it makes me sad.</div><div><br /></div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-44674218325066242002011-07-31T17:02:00.000-07:002011-07-31T17:28:33.639-07:00Randoids<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZnFGoawFtLYy37iOJs4AazhVm2fMGkRN7zRNXVTabcHz9eZ8lOX_OMsu8m55J6H76bTdxp7YP0Fz_IBFytlM5raNQfix2paNkMRVWayh5-H36vglFotRbOmOcEn3cW3ZyIO_7R2ignM/s1600/dean+at+his+best.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 261px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZnFGoawFtLYy37iOJs4AazhVm2fMGkRN7zRNXVTabcHz9eZ8lOX_OMsu8m55J6H76bTdxp7YP0Fz_IBFytlM5raNQfix2paNkMRVWayh5-H36vglFotRbOmOcEn3cW3ZyIO_7R2ignM/s320/dean+at+his+best.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635677810349475058" /></a><br />Why did I check out Dean Cain's IMDB page this morning? I don't know. But it appears that the former Superman from Lois and Clark was destined to play football for the Buffalo Bills but had a career ending knee injury before his career began. He has also been busy over the last few years doing TV movies and movies you've never heard. Go Dean!<div><br /></div><div>Went and got Coldstone ice cream with Kristen and wore my Cheers t-shirt. The Coldstoner sang me the song!!! He earned his tip.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also love the fact that Hunter Pence, formerly of the Astros, was traded midway through their loss to the Brewers the other day. If only he was traded to the Brewers during the game, got suited up and on the field the next inning. Now that would be awesome.</div><div><br /></div><div>That is all for now.</div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-64198333749134355962011-07-24T06:48:00.001-07:002011-07-24T07:01:11.805-07:00Perhaps a bathroom Blog<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIIKi8XMa2vszIujh3Y3pUyU_BNastnn2xt7N82cbKBSlbNBTxP81BOV_avaVRWBiRus_DMU8ffs0-0YfwR2ZxA14U8NbadhwJmOiTd8SxYIv3rE_thFS0SyKa5KTy1LhVciVllHEah7U/s1600/antique_toilet.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIIKi8XMa2vszIujh3Y3pUyU_BNastnn2xt7N82cbKBSlbNBTxP81BOV_avaVRWBiRus_DMU8ffs0-0YfwR2ZxA14U8NbadhwJmOiTd8SxYIv3rE_thFS0SyKa5KTy1LhVciVllHEah7U/s320/antique_toilet.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632918539650416002" /></a><br />It's been quite a while. This summer is flying by and there is no mystery as to why. Since May I have been interning at the Reedsburg Independent, which has no online presence aside from the new facebook, and working at the Wilderness for some monies. As a result, I work 7 days a week, every week. The only vacations have been for my brother's awesome wedding in Oregon, and his triumphant return to the home land for our Wisconsin reception. Other than that, it has been go go go. A lot of days are about 10-14 hour work days, but I still have most of my sanity. Thanks to increased contact with friends and family over the past few months, I'm going to make it.<div><br /></div><div>One of the downsides to this is that I have had no time to BLOG! All of my writing efforts have been dedicated to the paper. This is not good or bad, it is just a fact. But I have made a startling discovery this morning. The bathroom is a perfect place to blog. So, dedicated followers, most of the blogs from here on out are going to be written while I am taking a shit. So it goes.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hate to jump on bandwagons, but I am really getting into the band Bon Iver. I have to admit that it definitely didn't take on the first dozen listens, but the appeal of a bearded Wisconsin musician was too much to deny. The songs are heart-felt and his falsetto really grows on you. I find myself falsetto-ing on the golf cart at work, probably appearing like a crazy, bearded Wisconsinite to the FIBs and Viking fans. They can suck an egg. </div><div><br /></div><div>Still job hunting with zero luck. I've done follow-ups and still nothing. It's hard to find time to search online. I'm starting to lower my job expectations as the move is coming within a few weeks. This hurts my confidence, but I will continue to do as I have since graduation, do what is necessary. This is the way of things. I'm not happy about it, but I am doing all I can. If any of you have contacts in Milwaukee, please let me know.</div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-11266886353870891122011-05-01T06:57:00.000-07:002011-05-01T07:03:32.207-07:00A Promptly/Your Story<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2NooZQDFL0ezBccz_N6EsSq-suQtv9rFMh7QE0TM8n2KYYykrULtH2qJVNmck8W7N9UGnF5sXyp_whR7h93Ot__VUucyLNNm1OwGQ3Xg5RNx5JUQrZMEeaFPINBT4XW9NQ2VuGAK95I4/s1600/1968_MillerLight.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2NooZQDFL0ezBccz_N6EsSq-suQtv9rFMh7QE0TM8n2KYYykrULtH2qJVNmck8W7N9UGnF5sXyp_whR7h93Ot__VUucyLNNm1OwGQ3Xg5RNx5JUQrZMEeaFPINBT4XW9NQ2VuGAK95I4/s320/1968_MillerLight.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601748036871324802" border="0" /></a><br />Basically a promptly, but with the chance of publication in Writer's Digest. I also made some progress on another tune for the untitled duo project. I really can't wait to play live again. These songs are really starting to come easier and take shape. I'll be sure to post them soon.<br /><br /><b>Begin your story using the following line of dialogue: "You won't believe what came in the mail today."<br /></b><br /><br /> <style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal">“You won’t believe what came in the mail today.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Bills?” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“No, but close.” Robert shot me a quizzical look.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“I’m being blackmailed, Robert,” I said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>The question marks radiated out of his eyes, magnified by his enormous glasses.<span style=""> </span>I took out the letter and tossed it across the coffee table. Robert remained focused on me for another second or two, trying to discern whether I was joking or not. He grabbed the letter. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“This makes zero sense,” Robert said after finishing the sparsely worded letter.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“You’re telling me. Why blackmail a poor guy? I have no valuable information to give either. I could talk about the Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust or what year each Beatles album came out…but that’s all stuff you can find on Wikipedia.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I went to the kitchen and made myself a drink: Miller Light in a mug. Robert followed, still grasping the letter and looking over his glasses at it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Well, why would you be blackmailed anyways?” Robert asked. “I mean, have you done anything shady lately? Stolen anything? Peed in public? Picked up any hookers?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Christ, Robert. No. Those are things you would do, you sick fuck.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>He giggled a little and nodded in agreement. I shot daggers at him and Robert put the concerned look with the furrowed brow back on. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Okay, okay. Maybe it’s not something you did directly. Maybe it’s someone screwing you over on purpose. I bet it’s a club owner who hired you to play but gave you fake money. Who have your recent gigs been for?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Churches, Robert. Churches.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Oh…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Yeah, I don’t think all the Christian denominations are teaming up to blackmail a freelance guitarist for a hundred bucks a week. But nice try.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I reached in to the fridge for another beer. Robert took it as soon as I turned from the door. My hand holding nothing, I stood in disappointment. I grabbed another beer. Robert and I had been roommates since college and these actions were not entirely unprecedented. He never grew up… or learned his manners.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Give me back my letter,” I said as I snatched it away. Robert shrugged, chugging his/my beer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Then I saw my crucial mistake. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Robert and I have incredibly similar names. It’s probably a strange form of narcissism, but I think that’s why we’ve stayed roommates. His full name is Robert Paul Van Zandt. Mine is Robert John Van Zant, but I always go by Bob Zant. The letter is addressed to Bob Zandt. I saw Bob and immediately dove in. Robert was chugging his beer again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Hey Robert. This letter is actually for you Mr. Z-A-N-D-T.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“What?” He spit out some beer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Have fun with that one, buddy.” I pushed the letter on his chest as I walked away to enjoy my blackmail free Miller Light.</p>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-24979612064116513562011-04-02T13:19:00.000-07:002011-04-03T05:13:18.698-07:00New Projecto On Tap<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBEDg00eIf_v7gIbgw-qTXbPwt6QbEU0oG_qjxGRc4Vj6xJYvU7zXJLdeLo64_cWzOM5L_D86HQHx4kPyEy6C4tX0_kE2W5SSi3lzlLCDbHGVNQUVD5QT_99o9S12eeVw_6mFzFD49yQ/s1600/raconteurs"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 192px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBEDg00eIf_v7gIbgw-qTXbPwt6QbEU0oG_qjxGRc4Vj6xJYvU7zXJLdeLo64_cWzOM5L_D86HQHx4kPyEy6C4tX0_kE2W5SSi3lzlLCDbHGVNQUVD5QT_99o9S12eeVw_6mFzFD49yQ/s320/raconteurs" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591087782422641474" border="0" /></a><br />Greetings and Salutations all,<br /><br />Most of you know by now, but I have the newspaper internship and will start on May 9th. I'm transferring to another department at the Wilderness to make some monies and because I hate Shipping and Receiving with 80-99% of my being. It is a welcome change, but is very risky. I really have my reservations about leaving a full-time job after it took me a year to find it, but I know I'd forever regret not taking this chance. It's about damn time I get my career going.<br /><br />I had an idea the other day after reading the newest edition of TapeOp magazine. The feature article was an interview with Jack White (who is apparently going by Jack White III now.) I personally believe Jack White (III) has dipped his hand into too many lemonade stands. While he is a fine drummer, his work with The Dead Weather is not as impressive as he thinks it is. At the same time, he has officially called it quits with The White Stripes, but still plays with The Raconteurs. The Raconteurs are amazing and this is where Jack belongs, in a band where he isn't the King bee, just the Jack (pardon the pun.) He shares writing and lead duties with Brendan Benson. The two make quite the team. But anyway, Mr. White (III) also produced the shittiest Bond song ever with Alicia Keys. Just a crock of shit-tardedness. There are countless other ventures as well.<br /><br />BUT REGARDLESS, he talked a lot about his dedication to recording via analog tape, rather than the easy and limitless digital realm. White (III) uses this to his advantage, really making everything on purpose and restricts himself to produce the best possible product.<br /><br />So somehow out of all this, I decided to start a new project. It has no name yet, but I am writing and recording songs with only 1 keyboard part, 1 bass part, and 1 vocal. No guitar, no drums, no MIDI. I'm recording 95% of everything in one take, essentially pretending it's to tape (I got a little too frustrated and caved a few times.) So far I've recorded two songs and I am very pleased with how they've turned out. It's amazing how full I can make it sound, despite my lack of keyboard skillz and usual instrumentation. I'll keep on churning them out and hopefully with put an album on FMA or bandcamp soon.<br /><br />This is also a response to my desire to play live again. I figure that with this limited instrumentation, somewhere down the line it will be easier to find another person to play with me and BAM! Not holding my breath, but it was an ulterior motive that I had to confess.<br /><br />All for now.Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-55257338732005010832011-03-28T17:28:00.000-07:002011-03-28T17:44:57.263-07:00Amid the Lousy Smarch Weather<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj80EcJBGRCb5lYuf_jrVesjxiDgRi3-OkQ38Jz4xVWvE3aWJPsxhCNLrEnkAjVwD1jR-xoNZcoVOwZ9mo8uB9Q_uBcpx-MMHC4lKeBLt9vFXduKe-K-j7epk7vnWio1hWlLFPqBXueFFI/s1600/crossbow"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj80EcJBGRCb5lYuf_jrVesjxiDgRi3-OkQ38Jz4xVWvE3aWJPsxhCNLrEnkAjVwD1jR-xoNZcoVOwZ9mo8uB9Q_uBcpx-MMHC4lKeBLt9vFXduKe-K-j7epk7vnWio1hWlLFPqBXueFFI/s320/crossbow" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589293088358959314" border="0" /></a><br />A lot has been going on that I will touch on in another blog, but for now here is my newest promptly contribution.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><b>Write a story featuring an author, the ocean, and an antique weapon.</b></span><br /><br /><br /> <style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal">“This is poetic, isn’t it?” I thought to myself. The white peaks of the waves crashed with a quiet power. There wasn’t a seagull to be found, the wind and water filled my ears. I had placed myself on one of the outrageously large boulders that lined the shore. It was cold and hard, but somehow comfortable. A spider crawled across my moccasin, clearly in a hurry. I let him live.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>In my satchel, which usually contained my laptop and notepads, was an antique crossbow. I bought it at a Renaissance fair a week before. I guess I was searching for an elegant way to die. Of all the muskets, samurai swords, and Native American daggers, the crossbow seemed to be the best way to go. Everything else was just laughable. The refinement of the crossbow was clear. It had the curves of a woman, the size and sexiness of a James Bond pistol, and the rust of something that had seen some action. I couldn’t think of a better way to die, so I forked over the two hundred dollars to the portly proprietor.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>To hold a lethal weapon in your hand is a powerful feeling. You can either save a life, or destroy one. In my case, I was out to destroy one. It was almost like a game of Clue. I found the weapon. Next was the location. The beach was an obvious choice. There is nothing poetic about shooting a crossbow in a small and confined condo with posters of Batman and David Bowie on the walls. I’m not really sure why the ocean popped into my head so quick, but once it was in there it wouldn’t leave. I could see it all. It would take place at dusk, the setting sun sitting on the horizon. Not a soul in sight. Totally poetic.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I took another long look around. This was perfect. With a deep breath I raised the crossbow to my chest. It was a little more awkward than I anticipated. The length made it impossible to hold it like a gun. I held it with both hands, as though I were choking it. Not what I was expecting, but it somehow looked more tasteful to hold out the crossbow like an offering to God. This was it. I cocked the bow. It creaked like a ship on its final voyage. The click was loud and startling. I held my breath as I pulled the trigger. I exhaled.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>There was no arrow. I just needed to see what it would be like. I’m a writer, about to start my third novel. Since I saw <i style="">Stranger Than Fiction</i> I’ve had an inexplicable need to experience the largest moments of my characters. I also need to know the ending before I begin. It really helps me get in their heads. In this case, it also gets the blood flowing. Who would have thought a crossbow suicide by the ocean would be such a great way to die? I sure didn’t, until I tried it. </p>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-69631872250406539812011-03-12T07:20:00.000-08:002011-03-12T07:24:18.485-08:00WACKY WAVING INFLATABLE FLAILING ARM TUBE MAN<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeH0YZe4eIyAPruSXA9aIbvjcRCN-uNy0NXq4jARiamZ5a6HIjVW3lffS0EwGCL-5yaljcTAjalf63k5ZEjy-WeGZlERNJ3a-rcTNi94QFXvWnZDEAfT3rDPUPjMkKtHq8erJd0P8TTj8/s1600/inflatable"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeH0YZe4eIyAPruSXA9aIbvjcRCN-uNy0NXq4jARiamZ5a6HIjVW3lffS0EwGCL-5yaljcTAjalf63k5ZEjy-WeGZlERNJ3a-rcTNi94QFXvWnZDEAfT3rDPUPjMkKtHq8erJd0P8TTj8/s200/inflatable" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583214388410898306" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> Prompt:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(64, 64, 64); line-height: 17px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><b>For Lent, someone you live with is partaking in the tradition of giving something up for 40 days and 40 nights—and it's one of the most bizarre things you've ever heard of anyone giving up.</b></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> </span>On Fat Tuesday, some friends and I went out for drinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We were all raised Catholic and discussed what we weren’t giving up for Lent. Collectively, we agreed to go out of our way to eat meat on Fridays. My roommate, Tommy, was eerily quiet.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Tommy, what’s going on? You’re quiet as balls,” I asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>He sipped his Guinness and wiped the distinctive cream foam from his moustache. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Well Joe…”He took another sip. “The Lord has put it upon me to take a journey this Lenten season.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>We put down our beers and looked at each other. Tommy never said anything positive about religion in the 15 years we’d known each other, let alone giving in to the practices of the church.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“For the next forty days and nights,” he continued, “I will sacrifice one of the essential elements of my life for the betterment of my eternal soul.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“And what element is that, Tommy?” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Walking.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>We burst out laughing and continued with our celebration, figuring Tommy got us good. He returned to his beer and didn’t speak for the rest of the night.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>The next day, I woke up to the previous evening being a happy blur. The details of what happened weren’t as important as the good time I must have had. My headache was evidence of that. I opened my door to discover Tommy on the floor…reading a Bible.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Good morning, Joseph.” He turned to greet me, ashes on his forehead. The discussion about Lent started to return to me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Hey…Tommy. I’m going to McDonalds for some grease. You want to join me?” He carefully closed the Bible as though it were the Dead Sea Scrolls. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Yes, Joseph. I believe I will. But I will have to catch up to you, I have some praying to do.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I nodded and headed out the door. Tommy was freaking me out. I kept piecing together the elements from the night before. I knew Tommy mentioned giving up something for Lent, but my memory skipped straight to laughing at whatever it was. Then I heard some very loud stomping coming from behind me, fast. I turned. Tommy was running towards me with a goofy smile on his face. His arms were flailing and his legs bounced around. He was like those Wacky Inflatable Arm Flailing Tube Men that are displayed in front of car dealerships. Tommy quickly caught up to me and began running circles around me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Tommy, what the hell are you doing?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“I gave up walking for Lent, Joseph!” He was breathing heavily, but was still smiling. I just shook my head and continued.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Tommy stuck with it. He ran everywhere. We would be on one end of the bar and he would dash over to the bathrooms. I learned quickly to bring him his drinks. He ended up losing twenty pounds. After Easter, he went back to normal, not mentioning Lent ever again. I’m still not sure what it was really all about.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-17816045888325141932011-03-05T06:40:00.001-08:002011-03-05T07:02:39.520-08:00About Damn Time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAZrI4IVAjQcKkGq1s5qGdzYVwJtoV7nKyGjYJqW-8ehPSW3rHjocfKKyuPX4LjRj8oC6SmjWL6W5Vab7iZg3dMeStROvpgcF88stKVrL2VarTOOL-lspGXnL-t5dUJUJ2lR_We8bsmOs/s1600/Hamilton-burr-duel.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 138px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAZrI4IVAjQcKkGq1s5qGdzYVwJtoV7nKyGjYJqW-8ehPSW3rHjocfKKyuPX4LjRj8oC6SmjWL6W5Vab7iZg3dMeStROvpgcF88stKVrL2VarTOOL-lspGXnL-t5dUJUJ2lR_We8bsmOs/s200/Hamilton-burr-duel.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580611298424307042" /></a>Finally Promptly has given me a good prompt. Many of the recent ones have revolved around the premise of one liners: what would late literary greats tweet today? These are problematic for me seeing as I am not particularly well-read when it comes to classic authors. I suppose I could have done something biblical, but it's a little late for that. Anyways, I finally got a prompt I can use. Most of it is a true story, however it happened at a Christmas instead of my birthday. <div><br /></div><div>In regards to other creative output, I've been composing a little different stuff lately. I'm trying to get a new album out there, but also keeping material in mind for my next project with DeNu. I'm kind of waiting on him right now, but that's fine. It gives me some time to feel out this "new direction," which isn't really new at all, just embellishing on some older techniques. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've also been realizing where a lot of my influences are lately. Music that I haven't really forgotten about, but am starting to hear my own music in theirs. My dad seems to hear a heavy influence from Chip Davis (the Mannheim Steamroller guy) in some recent works. I'm not sure I hear it, but he always hears things much differently than I. Oh, that reminds me. Two weeks ago a complete stranger e-mailed me asking to use one of my songs for a short film he was creating. I gave him permission and he seemed very grateful. The video better not suck. But the point is that it was very cool to have someone from Canada be interesting in my music. Just a cool feeling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyways, here's the prompt:<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(64, 64, 64); line-height: 17px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><b> It was a birthday present he’d never speak of again. </b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">No More Alexander Hamiltons</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">-Nathan Honoré- </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>There are many ways to fake knowing someone when it comes to birthday presents. The digital age is making it even easier with online gift cards through Amazon and iTunes. Gift certificates were becoming more and more prevalent as I became a reclusive teenager. We didn’t see my extended family much so it was a given that we didn’t know a lot about each other. Gift certificates were aplenty. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:11.6pt"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>However, my Grandpa decided to buy me something on my seventeenth birthday, straying from the usual cash that looked like it had been through every war of the twentieth century. Alexander Hamilton was very worn by the time he got to my wallet. Grandpa’s gift was one of the last of the party. Everyone was in a good mood and laughing. Now, gag gifts were not uncommon on that side of the family. My uncle would present my dad with a twenty-four pack of toilet paper before giving him the newest version of Uncle Jon’s Bathroom Reader. Another common gift was movie passes, prefaced by a singular piece of candy in a gigantic box. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:11.6pt"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Grandpa handed me his gift. More than the usual card, I braced myself for a gag. Anticipatory giggling filled the room. I ripped open the small rectangular present. An instructional fishing DVD greeted my eyes. I immediately burst out laughing. My brothers and parents all joined in. What an amazing gag! We were almost to tears by the time I looked over to Grandpa. He sat very still in his chair, hands folded, straight faced. He didn’t get it. This was no gag gift. I tried to back pedal and look at it seriously saying things like, “Yeah, this will be useful.” But it was too late. Grandpa was pissed and hurt. And soon after the party, so was I.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:11.6pt"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Fishing had once been a big part of my limited relationship with Grandpa…when I was ten. I hadn’t touched a fishing pole in at least 5 years, much less watched instructional fishing videos. Since I entered high school, I was all about music. It was my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Every day I’d go home and play guitar, bass, drums, and tuba (I know, tuba.) I even played at church to gain more experience. Fishing was dead to me, a relic of my childhood. Then I realized something: my Grandpa had no idea who I was. I became angry and spiteful. At least my other relatives went to the trouble to ask what stores I wanted gift certificates for. Grandpa was still convinced I was a prepubescent turd who loved fishing. A little late, old man.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:11.6pt"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Anyways, I was eventually forced to call my Grandpa and apologize for laughing but pointed out why. He didn’t take it so well. I think this was when he started being a crotchety old man, a good indicator of what was to come. We don’t talk much anymore, but that present will never be mentioned again.</p> <!--EndFragment--> </div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-63035386276095420222011-02-27T19:31:00.000-08:002011-02-27T19:58:13.971-08:00Flex those Muscles, Brain!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkSvp5GNVVWmJhl32dVKEP_lBpMdg8kt5o20QrizaI9NunCVbu1n3wdskjBVs_Mug_BBGOgPm1K52D1Hjk8ZLSSQ73wCDblJBiU2R1rNZS6vCWCd_WDzCZPktzIdZF1yrqXoLY0hrghY8/s1600/KRANG_medium.gif"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkSvp5GNVVWmJhl32dVKEP_lBpMdg8kt5o20QrizaI9NunCVbu1n3wdskjBVs_Mug_BBGOgPm1K52D1Hjk8ZLSSQ73wCDblJBiU2R1rNZS6vCWCd_WDzCZPktzIdZF1yrqXoLY0hrghY8/s320/KRANG_medium.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578584627780165250" /></a><br />Wow-what an incredibly productive weekend. It felt amazing to give my brain muscles a chance to flex. Yesterday, I composed two songettes for the project with Mr. DeNu and continued to read an entire novel. Today I fixed one of the songettes (will explain briefly) and did another one for a new genre/theme. <div><br /></div><div>We've been focusing on a "church" theme for our project which, if I haven't explained before, is basically partnering music with photography. The music represents the image and vice versa. They are incomplete without the other. So I've been banging out these miniature songs (songettes) for a few weeks and thought I had run out of ideas. There was almost two weeks where I had absolutely nothing. But this weekend completely tossed that out the window and I was back in business. In fact, the ones I made this weekend make all but one of the others look like complete shit. I think I've found the three that I would like for our trilogy and have seen one of the partnered images and it's going to be very cool.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not sure how to present it yet-possibly putting them all together into one iMovie? It's hard to find a way to represent both as equals. Any thoughts?</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyways, I recorded one of the songettes with this moog-like synthesizer but the tuning started going funky about mid way through. I believe it was slowly detuning the entire time and by the time I recorded the melody it sounded like a pig eating a pigeon. So I went back and recorded the entire songette with different and more instruments. Turned out much better.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I read a Nick Hornby book yesterday and one last weekend. He is amazing at keeping my attention, which isn't always easy in literature. There's a reason I started and finished a book yesterday. His plot lines don't go where you think but are still very realistic. I'm learning a lot about dialogue in his books. The language is nice and casual and so is the dialogue. It's interesting how he keeps it moving though. I find that mine gets stale if it's too casual.</div><div><br /></div><div>The only downside to this weekend is no actual writing. But reading is like homework. I'm learning a lot from these books lately and the articles I've been checking out in Writer's Digest are also helpful. Work has been very draining, along with the extra stress that this Budget Repair Bill is putting on me and Kristen, it's no wonder I haven't had the energy to do anything during the week. </div><div><br /></div><div>All in all, a good weekend. Now time to go back to the job where my creativity is stifled.</div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-16266499868698579352011-02-12T07:07:00.000-08:002011-02-12T07:17:33.749-08:00No Funyuns Tonight!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHG0GKKe8iusC8qh_2xi3Mj0A_C1NTqFiu_spPEaVDKd-WtXwXbFFHvL5GJ53Nn5ktMyVWPjF0h2jZ42e5-niqp9juBjzeJkxkoeWrYxx_wadLTePjM5pfiE1hUfInbRAUi5qHo2SJwmg/s1600/s_Funyuns01.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 218px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHG0GKKe8iusC8qh_2xi3Mj0A_C1NTqFiu_spPEaVDKd-WtXwXbFFHvL5GJ53Nn5ktMyVWPjF0h2jZ42e5-niqp9juBjzeJkxkoeWrYxx_wadLTePjM5pfiE1hUfInbRAUi5qHo2SJwmg/s320/s_Funyuns01.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572822467160517442" /></a><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(64, 64, 64); line-height: 17px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><b>The call came in at the newspaper reporter's desk late on a Sunday. Finally, he wanted to meet.</b></span><br /><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">No Funyuns Tonight</div><div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> The Governor’s new changes had just gone through. He had refused interviews for weeks. But now, late on Sunday night, he called the Reporter’s desk. He was finally ready to meet. The Reporter arranged a meeting at his own home in an hour. The Reporter was as angry as anyone else. The Governor’s ideas seemed to come straight from the Totalitarian and Fascist handbook. The National Guard was brought in. It was as though he started reading the history books but didn’t finish them. The Reporter’s wife was one of the workers who took the brunt of the hit. She had followed every inch of the campaign, sent letters and e-mails, and made others aware. But in the end she lost half of her budget, among other things. The Reporter tried to prepare, but his anger shrouded his usual impartial attitude towards stories. His words were failing him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>When the Governor arrived at the Reporter’s house, he wore an expensive suit and a beaming smile. The Reporter had two chairs set-up in the living room with a coffee table between them. The lights were low, creating a dark shadow upon the Governor’s face. The Governor was in high spirits.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“I’ll have a Johnny Walker, if you have it,” he said. “Do you have any Funyuns? I love Funyuns.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Sorry, no Funyuns. And I only have Dewar’s.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>The Governor sighed, “I guess that will do. Give me an extra olive or two.” He took a seat in the bigger chair and waited for his drink. The Reporter came in with the drink and his recording device.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Ooh. No recordings please,” the Governor said, losing his smile. The Reporter nodded. He opened his mouth to start his first question, but the Governor raised his hand to stop him. He was chewing one of the olives in the fashion of a cow.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“No, no, no. You see, you’re going to print what I tell you.” He swallowed the olive. “I know who your wife is. I know that you, along with the rest of this state, are not happy with me. But that’s not what matters. “</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Oh?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“What matters is that you’re going to start changing their minds.” He paused for a sip of his scotch. “The National Guard can only be on alert for so long, you know.” The smile returned.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Before he could respond, the Reporter’s wife emerged from the back room. They both turned. She walked slowly towards the Governor. He stood up, dug his fingers in his drink and popped another olive in his mouth, smiling. She stood for a moment, then slapped him. The Governor fell backwards, over the chair. He started choking on the olive. With one hand, he grasped his own neck. With the other, he reached out to them. The Reporter ran to him and attempted the Heimlich, but he had stopped breathing. The Reporter’s wife calmly called 911, and grabbed the Governor’s drink. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Good scotch,” she said as they waited.</p> <!--EndFragment--> </div></div></div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-34682878126471372832011-02-09T15:47:00.000-08:002011-02-09T16:01:18.970-08:00Give Me Some Ouija, Soul Brotha<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVriK5XLEdj0Y19D_n86Uo6qbvAkq8v4GdiFDNR0Sok2LORsUhnVmqY4zKvDvOaBSz2YSRcCXoXMNAVpewbOF-IpEopfY0vozlVDwdPeDvrlIx-vukPxTN5IQzaE8GTxZ_Q-RHv8ApxNY/s1600/ouija.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 255px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVriK5XLEdj0Y19D_n86Uo6qbvAkq8v4GdiFDNR0Sok2LORsUhnVmqY4zKvDvOaBSz2YSRcCXoXMNAVpewbOF-IpEopfY0vozlVDwdPeDvrlIx-vukPxTN5IQzaE8GTxZ_Q-RHv8ApxNY/s320/ouija.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571844085839752210" /></a>Hey Hey. Started and finished the other Nick Hornby novel last weekend. <i>High Fidelity</i> was freaking awesome. I haven't been that drawn in by an author since I went through the entire Jonathan Ames catalog this summer. These are the books I wish I would have known about in high school. My life would be profoundly different, I'm sure. For those of you who didn't know me in high school, I was a bit of a jackass when it came to English. All the books I was forced to read for the first two years completely turned me off to reading or writing for that matter. The material was stuffy, outdated, and terribly taught. After two years I stopped reading the material all together, relying on classmates, skimming, and cliffnotes. Needless to say it worked. In retrospect, this was a terrible decision as I missed reading countless classics that I'm going back to read now, however my appreciation is much greater now that before. It was a lesson I had to learn. I had to find the good books on my own. This is great because I obviously love reading and writing now, but terrible because I pseudo-wasted my time in college. However, my musical education is not useless, but provides me zero income. And I wouldn't trade my radio experiences for the world. Anyways, Hornby is pretty awesome and I can't wait to get my hands on more of his books.<div><br /></div><div>Here is my newest crack at a promptly. I had the first sentence easily and struggled with the rest. Not really that happy with it, but I'm glad I finished it and such.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(64, 64, 64); line-height: 17px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:Verdana;font-size:14px;"><b>Write a story featuring a Ouija board, a search engine, and a self-help book.</b></span></div><div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Joey had been on an overnight drunk for the last seven years. Accompanied by a soundtrack of David Bowie and the Pixies, he drank his way to the bottom. Rehab did not come easy, but when Joey emerged, he found something else to focus on: Ouija. A self-help book he got in rehab recommended filling the void his drinking once occupied. Ouija seemed reasonable enough.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Every time Joey felt unsure about anything, he would go home to his shared apartment. He locked himself in his room, lit some candles and brought out the Ouija board. Most of the time it would tell him soothing phrases like “job well done”, “keep it up”, or “stay strong.” Joey loved guiding the heart shaped triangle and receiving the encouragement he needed. The spirits loved him, he decided. So he would spend most mornings, post-work afternoons, and evenings with the Ouija board.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>One afternoon Joey walked home and Google-ed himself. A co-worker recommended it. She said it was great fun. Joey loved great fun. He searched through three pages of results and nothing came up that was about him, Joseph Patrick Henderson. All that came up were Facebook and twitter accounts of other Joseph Patrick Hendersons. Joey started to sweat and his mouth was dry. “Do I not exist?” he thought. He quickly zoomed through another twenty pages of search results and received nothing. He ran to his room and looked under his bed. The Ouija board was not there. Joey panicked. He needed its guidance.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>When his roommate, Shawn, came home that night, he found the apartment in complete shambles. Furniture was turned over, lamps destroyed, and a hole in the TV. Shawn rushed to Joey’s room and found him hiding in his closet, clutching two empty six packs of Labatt Blue, the plastic still holding them together. Joey was soaked in the beer. Wide-eyed and shaking, Joey looked up at Shawn. He saw his precious Ouija board under Shawn’s arm. He lunged out of the closet at the board, knocking Shawn over. Shawn dropped it and ran out of the apartment, screaming obscenities. Joey opened the board and searched for guidance. His fingers guided and guided, but no words were forming. He continued.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>When Shawn returned, he was accompanied by three large men in white clothes and a stretcher. Joey was still sitting on the floor with the Ouija board. Joey looked up and said, “It won’t speak to me…will you speak to me?” The men in white said nothing as two of them grabbed him underneath his armpits, picked him up and placed him on the stretcher. They pulled the straps tight across his chest. He didn’t put up a fight. Joseph Patrick Henderson merely sang a song he had heard from a Dr. Demento collection years before: “They’re coming to take me away, ha ha, they’re coming to take me away, ho ho he he ha ha, to the happy farm, where life is beautiful all the time.”</p> <!--EndFragment--> </div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-63769557321711098712011-02-05T07:20:00.000-08:002011-02-05T07:45:05.233-08:00Stella gets her groove back...AGAIN<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjPOzb_qfopHIbQefxKOV4tMqzbtZwHb2Rfhy0paWrkr_ll1SL57An5OTOTi_ks70Nrb10Zn9gpdouVdps7aJjtSbvPidY8MtCLy2xBVm99vBCeBIPljwHJk9gbh2MhZjmhMCuZOb75c/s1600/NickHornby.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjPOzb_qfopHIbQefxKOV4tMqzbtZwHb2Rfhy0paWrkr_ll1SL57An5OTOTi_ks70Nrb10Zn9gpdouVdps7aJjtSbvPidY8MtCLy2xBVm99vBCeBIPljwHJk9gbh2MhZjmhMCuZOb75c/s200/NickHornby.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570229187296827538" /></a>My creative side has been quite unleashed lately. It's nice to get back into a routine that allows for that. Not only have I been writing consistently, I've been reading A LOT. I always read during my lunch at work and really how it's going. I read a short story from Ernest Hemingway, then continue on <i>The Know-It-All</i>, a book about a guy reading the entire encyclopedia Britannica. And at home I just finished a book by Nick Hornby (creepily pictured right) called <i>Songbook</i>. I thoroughly enjoyed his style and his take on pop music. I have another book of his that I'll probably start today, but it was a very quick read. <div><br /></div><div>In regards to my Cranston-ing, I've decided to hold off on another album and to focus on the cross country collaboration. We've kind of chosen a theme that I've been composing to, a sort of church theme. More spiritual I suppose, but also inspired by the architecture and beauty of old cathedrals and such. I've come up with 5 or 6 songettes and am really getting into it. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, it is really nice to find a balance between reading, writing, and composing. I've labored under the assumption that I had to choose between my writing and music for the last two years or so, but words from a few people have really helped me realize how stupid that is. It's like Bruce Wayne and Batman. I can't choose to be either of them. They are one and the same. </div><div><br /></div><div>So here is yesterday's promptly. I tried to put a much bigger idea into 500 words and will probably expand on this one, but try and fill in the gaps. That may help.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(64, 64, 64); line-height: 17px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><b>She'd passed him the note years ago, when he was studying abroad. He'd never had it translated. Until now. </b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> Raymond had loved and lost several times since his return home. He tried to forget her. But with each new lover came great disappointment. They were not what he desired. Occasionally he would find one or two aspects that sent him to a state of pure bliss. Of course those things would soon be drowned out by their true personalities. They weren’t bad. They just weren’t her.</div><div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Etheline. She was what he dreamed of. She was what he left behind. Ray was enchanted by her eyes, crippled by her voice, delighted by her skin, incapacitated by her lips. They had four weeks together. She was a native of Florence, Italy. Etheline had traveled the world, but was in love with her home. She made a living giving tours to people studying abroad and selling flowers on the street. Ethaline loved both of those things and knew that she could never leave.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Raymond had been in one of her tour groups and immediately fell for her. He asked many questions on the tour, most of which a five-year-old knew. But it was a chance to talk to her. He found her selling her flowers outside a bakery the next day. Raymond asked her to create a bouquet fit for a queen. He bought it and handed it to her with a juvenile smile on his face. Her eyes widened and said, “But I am no queen.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>They saw each other every day, taking walks and doing all the things a couple that has been together for twenty years do. To Ray it was perfection. Her hand would crawl inside of his in a way that tickled but was incredibly intimate. There was nothing he didn’t love.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>On his last day in Florence, Raymond proposed to Ethaline. He asked her to come back to America with him. They would live a charmed life, he claimed. Ethaline looked at him and stroked his face with the back of her hand. A tear escaped from her eye. She turned for a moment, scribbling something on a scrap of paper. She placed the paper in his hand, kissed him softly, and turned. She knew he would be disappointed and heartbroken, but it was all a dream to him. She knew they would not be able to continue living their life in America. She would be grounded there. This was where she belonged. He did not.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Raymond went to the airport full of rage. The note was in Italian. She knew he couldn’t read it. He had planned it all out. He had planned that moment the day they met. This was not how it was supposed to be. He returned to America.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Years later, after Raymond’s failed attempts at finding a suitable replacement, he had the note translated. It was one sentence, clear and concise: “I was born to fly.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>He crushed the old paper in his hand. Raymond went out into the night, searching for another Ethaline, one that wouldn’t need to fly.</p> <!--EndFragment--> </div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-49497526428369267932011-01-31T18:03:00.000-08:002011-01-31T18:12:03.858-08:00Promptly/Your Story<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc4mxMm-R4JdXoBbYbZ7AcpgWzf8WNRoIVzMrv1HMB1wki-5YRHZkmWgg_3npKN_WOML3UmQXAJ5d4W1APYfFrYj39JPYMnVqpq35dwJJZKLnz1H9JVpCLTVJxf13U8ePYSWsenaSOLdU/s1600/LINCOLN.png"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 255px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc4mxMm-R4JdXoBbYbZ7AcpgWzf8WNRoIVzMrv1HMB1wki-5YRHZkmWgg_3npKN_WOML3UmQXAJ5d4W1APYfFrYj39JPYMnVqpq35dwJJZKLnz1H9JVpCLTVJxf13U8ePYSWsenaSOLdU/s320/LINCOLN.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568538106380622386" /></a><br />Here's the newest promptly/Your Story. Which means that it could be published in Writer's Digest!!! The prompt is the first sentence of the piece. Enjoy!!!<div><br /></div><div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Circus Peanuts and Abraham Lincoln</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">-Nathan Honoré-</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>It was on a bright, starry night that the traveling circus rolled into town. I looked out my bedroom window. The snow had stopped, but left a thick blanket on the ground. Arthur Avenue was completely deserted. The wheels of the circus trucks left perfect imprints in the snow as they passed. The last car disappeared into the night. My room had glow-in-the-dark moons and stars on the ceiling that always helped me fall asleep. The circus passing by left me on edge and the universe above me gave me no comfort. I got out of bed and put on my favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle slippers. Leonardo and Donatello looked up at me curiously. I paced around my room, looking for something to do. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>My dad had just bought me my first guitar. It was an authentic Fender Stratocaster. It was perfect except for the color. I wanted either black or blue, but instead was given the standard candy-apple red. Regardless, I had mastered two chords, and by mastered I mean vaguely knew how to make those chords. C and G7 were the only ones in my Mel Bay chord book that my chubby little fingers could form. I loved how they sounded. They were so normal and definitive. Each strum had a purpose with those chords. I would find Beatles songs that used those chords and strum along whenever they popped up, noodling around for the rest of the song. I named my guitar Abraham Lincoln. I loved his beard. Also, he was honest, and that was something I wanted to be.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>The red Abraham Lincoln sat on his stand in the corner of my room. My slippers and I eyed him up with every pace, trying to figure out what to do. The circus had literally just drove by my own house. I couldn’t just go back to sleep. The Turtles and I resolved we would write a song for the circus and present it to them. I picked up Abraham Lincoln, carefully placed my fingers on the enormous fret board, and strummed the infamous C chord. I slowly alternated between the C and G7, letting these words flow out of my mouth in a simple four-note melody:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Circus, circus,<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>You went past my window.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Circus, circus,<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I am excited for the show.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Circus, circus, <o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>You are very neat.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Circus, circus, <o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I wrote this for when we meet.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span></i>I put down Abraham Lincoln and scribbled the words on my Batman notepad. It was genius! They would be so thrilled when I played them my song. They would ask me my name and the name of my guitar and we would eat circus peanuts together. I packed up Abraham Lincoln in his gig bag, took off my slippers, put on my Batman boots, and put my jacket half on. I opened the door to find my dad standing in the hallway. He looked down at me in his blue and white striped pajamas. I almost didn’t recognize him without his glasses, but his moustache was the same. It had to be him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Going somewhere Mr. Music?” he said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Wanting to be like Lincoln, I spoke the truth. I told him about the circus driving by, me pacing around my room, picking up Abraham Lincoln, and writing my amazing song. Dad put his hand on his chin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>After a moment or two, he squatted down and gently took Abraham Lincoln from me. He started taking him out of his bag. My heart sank with each tug of the zipper.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Take off your coat and boots and put your slippers back on. Then meet me in my office.” I was seldom allowed to enter Dad’s office. He would tell me there were too many breakable things in there. I put Leonardo and Donatello back on. I looked down at them and shrugged. When I pushed the office door open, Dad was sitting with headphones on and Abraham Lincoln in his hands. He motioned me in.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“What chords were you playing?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I told him. He quickly played them back and forth with ease and fluidity.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Now, we’re going to record your song and send it to the circus. Is that okay with you?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I nodded vigorously. Dad handed me some headphones and we recorded my song. We finished it quickly. Dad said he would try his hardest to get it to them. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“I know they will get it,” I replied. “We have Abraham Lincoln on our side!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-35777476877879921022011-01-26T16:38:00.001-08:002011-01-26T16:51:15.063-08:00Projects Aplenty<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizYZ9-kCgN3VIt4uv7Ennk_wdmX7LHvSHd4QhkhfBMKGce2abF_cqX-CblY9IomhtGz4gh4PQsR4ojhAPUMC9-hngxD_sWwuDoUk2w4kyZxFd5TMXnPi_-C_sunTqQi80tYP0P4sSIcw/s1600/marlowe460.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizYZ9-kCgN3VIt4uv7Ennk_wdmX7LHvSHd4QhkhfBMKGce2abF_cqX-CblY9IomhtGz4gh4PQsR4ojhAPUMC9-hngxD_sWwuDoUk2w4kyZxFd5TMXnPi_-C_sunTqQi80tYP0P4sSIcw/s320/marlowe460.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566661841956318194" /></a><br />Greetings and Salutations friends. Much to report. First of all, I have been on a composing rampage. This last weekend I completed my new work, Marlowe. It's definitely inspired by Raymond Chandler's famous private eye, Philip Marlowe. This one is five tracks instead of the usual three, and I'm very excited about it. You can check it out here http://cranston.bandcamp.com/ <div><div>or</div><div>here http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Cranston/</div><div><br /></div><div>I also wrote two other short songs, which I have dubbed "Songettes" for a project with a friend I've never met. He has some amazing photography that has inspired me to compose mini soundtracks/themes for the respective pictures. Unfortunately both of those songettes/picture combos are unavailable for distribution for various reasons. However, we will remedy that problem by starting completely fresh and making something of our own. I am very excited for this collaboration. He has been very professional and seems to be as excited as I am. It'll be a nice change of pace. So look forward to that.</div><div><br /></div><div>My extra duties and odd hours at the Wilderness are now at an end. My normal work week has resumed, allowing time for my precious Promptly and other non-musical writing. I really want to make time for both, and hopefully my regular schedule helps that. Here is today's promptly. It's a little sappy, but I can't change the prompts. Enjoy!</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(64, 64, 64); line-height: 17px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><b>It was a strange engagement. But she had reasons of her own for wanting to go through with it. And so did he. </b></span></div><div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Two Words</p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">-Nathan Honoré-</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Gina loved James. Bill loved Tiffany. James loved Gina. Tiffany loved James. However, Gina is marrying Bill to spite James because James didn’t propose in the seven years they were together. James is marrying Tiffany to spite Gina for trying to spite him by getting engaged to Bill. Bill agreed to marry Gina because Tiffany was infatuated with James. It was awkward. For years, these four had been a very tight group of friends. They would do everything together. Things got ugly when Gina dumped James for not proposing to her. The proposals that followed occurred almost instantaneously. The spiteful plans were hatched, but this did not stop the group from hanging with each other: business as usual. The couples would stare longingly at the other’s fiancé. As one announced a wedding date, the other followed. Soon, the dates were upon them. James was to marry Tiffany a week before Gina and Bill.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Where is Bill at?” James asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“He’s running late, as usual,” replied Gina. She was sitting at the group’s favorite bar in the usual dimly lit booth. Her vodka cranberry needed some tending to. James went to the bar, got Gina another and himself a Seven and Seven. He slid carefully into the opposite side of the booth. He pushed Gina’s drink towards her, then dove head first into his own.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Yeah, Tiff’s running late, too,” he said between gulps. He was ready for another. Gina’s eyes glanced at James as she nodded. Her gaze quickly returned to her drink. It had been six months and forty-six days since their last kiss. They played with the stirrers in their respective drinks, careful not to make any unnecessary coughs or groans.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>After a couple of silent minutes, Gina said, “ You’re really going through with all this then?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Going through with what?” James replied. Gina let her mouth open a little and slid her hand two inches past her drink. James stopped playing with the stirrer and started his hand towards hers. It was about half way across the table, directly under the low hanging light above them, and Bill came through the door. With a goofy smile on his face and smudgy glasses, he waved and walked towards them. As he got close, James quickly pushed his hand further across the table passing Gina’s outstretched fingers. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Just grabbing her drink. Do you want a Schlitz, Bill?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“ I do,” Bill replied, sliding next to Gina.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>James turned and quietly said, “ Tomorrow, those will be the hardest two words that I’ll ever say…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22466628315898961.post-82536169216605674062011-01-19T19:28:00.000-08:002011-01-19T20:23:20.882-08:00Dark Knight Rises to meet a challenge<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG2qJLSAk9Eod_u6EcDZouxxAYGgCLxNvOCVlqi1yVC8bwtCw2QjQZJXjpmfgESlfaVZD9HsFUHIi3JM08ONCpBYFCdWU_trAkYBKELkfjyhyL75neLpUnhfUckFS0kG7nW69_R7SDGs8/s1600/Bane_pic.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG2qJLSAk9Eod_u6EcDZouxxAYGgCLxNvOCVlqi1yVC8bwtCw2QjQZJXjpmfgESlfaVZD9HsFUHIi3JM08ONCpBYFCdWU_trAkYBKELkfjyhyL75neLpUnhfUckFS0kG7nW69_R7SDGs8/s320/Bane_pic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564115193947921874" /></a><br />My very good friend and Pantsless compatriot, Zach of all trades Churan has hit me with some very important knowledge:some very key casting for the next Batman movie. I kind of went overboard on my facebook response and have decided to just post it as a blog. The info= Anne Hathaway as Selina Kyle and Tom Hardy as Bane.<div><br /></div><div>First of all, I have heard rumors that this will be the last of Christopher Nolan's Batman movies. Because of this, I definitely did not see Catwoman and Bane as the villains. Both have huge backgrounds and are complex characters. To fit all of that into one movie seems like a bit much, but they are definitely a great pair.</div><div><br /></div><div>In regards to Anne Hathaway...I honestly believe that Christopher Nolan will do to her what he did to Heath Ledger. He will make us see her in a way we've never conceived before. My instincts say no, but they also said no to Heath Ledger as the Joker. As soon as I saw that first teaser for Dark Knight with Ledger's Joker laugh, I knew I was dead wrong. I believe my instincts will be wrong again. I eagerly await the transformation.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I hear Tom Hardy I am both excited and confused. I have a sizable man crush on Hardy after his performance as Eames in Inception. His character was perfect and kind of stole the film a little bit. Clearly, he is an awesome actor and this gives me great hope for the way they will portray Bane. In the catastrophe of a film, Batman and Robin, Bane is dumbass packmule/goon for Poison Ivy. WRONG. Bane is kind of a genius. He is also Latino with a thick accent...hopefully Hardy can do an accent that isn't his charming English self. So, when Nolan casts Hardy as Bane, it must mean that he will lean towards the intelligent and lethal Bane, not the dumb piece of shit that George Clooney faced. Now, Bane is a huge, huge guy. Hardy is not. I pray that they won't "Juggernaut" Bane like they did to Vinnie Jones in X-3. CG is also not the way to go. Not sure how to pull off such a superhuman character whose dimensions do not match the average human, but I am confident Nolan will find a way or reinvent the character so it works.</div><div><br /></div><div>I just can't wait another YEAR for this movie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:100%;color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:11px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"><span jsid="text"><br /></span></span></div></div>Nathan Honoréhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575865335567636257noreply@blogger.com1