Drew-Who.com

Tigger and Pooh and Kay Hanley, too!

2009-10-05T15:13:00.014-04:00

The Rockinest Chick in the 100-Acre Wood!

I met Kay Hanley in the early 1990's when her new local band, Letters to Cleo, was playing often at The Tam in Brookline. I was a regular there; drinking, playing and doing sound for other bands. Kay was very young (and cute) and the band was really green. The first version of Letters was, well, not good. I remember the first couple times I saw them I thought there was talent there and Kay was charismatic but the band was just not happening. Then they changed personelle around and like, overnight, they got good. The next time I saw them they were really hot. New drummer and bass-player as I recall. Good songs, too. It all gelled and pretty soon people were coming to see them and there was a buzz and then buzz became a following and I wanted to produce them. But so did Q-Division's Mike Deneen. I remember the first time he showed up at The Tam to see them. I was there and was fuming that he was sniffing around the kids. Apparently what happened next is the band had a meeting to decide who they were going to work with; me or Mike. I got a couple votes (and from what I've been told Kay was one of them) but Deneen won. They made their CD, first released locally on CherryDisc, then licensed to a major and they got the song on Melrose Place and boom, L to C and Kay Hanley exploded, big time. Kay moved to LA years ago, and does a lot of work for Disney. (I have actually wondered at times if she actually/secretly IS the voice of Miley Cyrus). She has made a nice career for herself along with her husband/producer Michael Eisenstein. I've been at both Patriots games and Red Sox games where she sang the National Anthem. I like how Kay still boosts the Boston Sports scene. She has kids of her own now, but keeps the career chuggun' along. Shes' a regular Tweeter, Face-booker and blogger.

But my favorite thing Kay Hanley has done lately is this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Se6mqCKaWGg

My Friends Tigger and Pooh is our son Drew's favorite show!

Kay, please make the autograph out to Little Drew Townson....

Dead Air

2009-08-12T11:03:00.040-04:00

Rock is Dead, Long Live Rock!

The Rock of Boston Signs Off.

I have a heavy heart this morning. WBCN, 104.1 is gone. Of course, the "Rock of Boston" that we loved so well has been gone for awhile, thanks to the global re-programming of once-independent media. A lot of people don't know this, but 'BCN is the direct reason I moved to Boston from Dallas in 1985. I followed a girl here who had been hired, by Oedipus, to be a 'BCN rock-jock. You may remember her; Lisa "Trax Spins Great Wax" Traxler.

Through 'BCN I met rock stars and never missed a big event. I was backstage, I was in the air-studio, I was even on the 'BCN party boat when they had the annual fireworks. I met all the jocks and the non-air people. I played the Rumble. I did sound for bands at The Rumble. I drank cold Stoli shots with Mark Parenteau, talked sports with Bill Abbate, and sat at a studio console with Carter Allen. I gave Tami Heide a ride home once when she was a little too tipsy after a big Boston rock-scene party at The Hard Rock. I was at a small, by-invitation solo performance by Elton John. Through 'BCN I did a mixing session for Roger Waters (and he bought me beer -- on a Sunday). Eddie Van Halen left a half-a-dozen crushed cans of Schlitz Malt Liquor in the back of my car. It was high times in the Hub for young Drew.

(Lest I forget: I engineered 50 live broadcasts on WBCN from 1988 to 1990).

But my experience is a small speck on the big 'BCN picture. 'BCN was a lot more than a radio station. It was a part of the culture of Boston when Boston was a big important rock-music mecca. It was the capitol of rock. If not for 'BCN we might never have heard of Bonnie Raitt, Bruce Springsteen, or U2. WBCN was one of the greatest and most important rock radio stations in the world, and should go down in history as the phenomenon that it was.

It was free-form. It was a rebel. It was a generation. It was independent. It was a force of nature. A booming voice. In the world of Rock, 'BCN was a giant. 'BCN rocked like a fuckin' hurricane. 'BCN kicked ass and took names. It sounds corny, but 'BCN really was the soundtack or our life and times back then.

No matter how big 'BCN's britches were, the station never stopped supporting the Boston local music scene. Hearing my record on 'BCN was one of the highlights of my young life. Oedipus and Carter Allen understood that you had to continue mining for new fresh talent, cool new sounds. When they found something good, they promoted it. They knew the next Bono could emerge from a basement in Allston.

It's a sad testament to the times that the 'BCN era has passed -- pushed out by increasing homoginization of, well, everything. Traditional radio as we know it is dying faster than Axl Rose's brain cells. Thank you CBS for killing one of the last great icons of Boston Rock's Glory Days.

As they used to say at the station in the '80's, "B-C'N Ya!"

Rock on old friend, rock on!

Rock-Jock Generation:'BCN Airstaff in The Golden Era, circa '87

¿Quién Eres?

2009-07-31T10:18:00.054-04:00

Personal Effects Gettin' Trippy on the Scorgie's Stage, 1983

Seems like when I DO have the rare opportunity to Blog on "Drew-Who: Boston Rock Stories" the topic has often been something that didn't happen in Boston. This posting, like a few others, pre-dates me living here in The Hub. It's funny how your recollections reach farther and farther back as you get older.

In the ealy '80s, I was immersed in the Rochester, NY New Music scene. "Rochester, NY," you may ask, "What ever happened there?" Well, for a few brightly burning years Rochester had an underground music scene as important and vibrant as any in the US, or even Europe for that matter. It was a perfect place for a 20-year-old college kid like me.

The bands that blazed were New Math, The Chesterfield Kings, Personal Effects, The PressTones, Absolute Grey, The Cliches, and many others.

Ground Zero for this scene was a old night-club called Scorgie's. Scorgie's was the CBGB or The Rat of Rochester. Like Boston's Rat, it was a bar upstairs, and the stage was down in the low-ceiling cellar. In fact, NY and Boston acts like Willie Alexander, Johnny Thunders and even The Ramones played Scorgie's. The Cramps, Rockats, Go Go's, Bangles and many others played at Scorgie's, too. The bar became a major stop on the "underground railroad" on which punk and new wave bands toured. It had a fantastic stage with great lights and a sound-system that blew away the ones at CB's and The Rat. Another plus was that the drinking age was 18 back then, which really helped the scene thrive.

One of the bands that resided at Scorgie's (and I say "resided" because they played there at least monthly for years) was Personal Effects. The singer for Personal Effects was a muse and multi-instrumentalist by the name of Peggi Fornier. She and her husband Paul Dodd wrote and directed PE's journey in to an arty, trippy kind of boho-rock where space-delayed saxophone and tremulous keyboards floated from a smoky stage. The show itself was filled with lights and projected images. It was like an Andy Warhol art-loft show, 1980's version. Funny thing was, about 4 years before Personal Effects emerged, Peggi Fornier had been my high-school Spanish teacher. Yes! And she was not a fan of me - and deservedly so. But that's another story. So naturally, I wanted to see what her band was all about. I became a huge fan, ultimately attending the release party for their debut EP, just prior to departing Rochester for good in 1983.

So here we are today (25 years on) living in the era of blogs and web-sites, where 40 and 50-somethings are rebuilding the past on-line, admittedly with a rose-tint to the view; a soft focus dailed-in by nostalgia. In 1994, Scorgie's went the way of CBGB's and The Rat, but it lives on today in cyberspace. There are dozens af blogs and sites related to the club and the early '80s Rochester Scene. (Let's face it, with Rochester weather being what it is, people have a lot of inside time to blog about the past). Last November, a genuine Scorgie's Reunion took place in Rochester, and even Kevin Patrick, for decades now a major-label A&R guru*, returned to reprise his role as lead singer of New Math. CORRECTION (per Peggi Fournier): Another singer stood-in for Kevin, channeling him astonishingly well.

Here's a Scorgie's Hub Site from where you can navigate to many other Rochester 80's sites, including current sites by the bands themselves. Scorgie's Blog

Personal Effects Video, "Low Riders" filmed at Scorgie's 1983

New Math Back Then

New Math Now (at Scorgie's Reunion, 2008)

* A funny side-bar: When I was working on Heretix' Island Records sessions in '88 and '89, Keven Patrick was the A&R guy. He was on the phone with the studio every day checking on progress and making sure we were sending daily DAT roughs of our work.

My Friend Boo

2009-04-25T21:26:00.008-04:00

Fargo Townson, 1996 to 2009, R.I.P.

Bernadette and I are heartbroken tonight. Fargo Townson (I called him Boo), our best friend for 13 years, went to sleep today. He was looking at me with his soulful eyes as he closed them for the last time. He had the heart of a puppy right up to the end. He was my first dog, and I will never forget him. He taught me the meaning of unconditional love. With Boo I learned about life's simplest and most precious pleasures -- playing ball with my dog. Playing fetch. Walking with him, running with him, chasing and being chased by him. Getting my face licked to smithereens by him. Making a grown man in to a little boy. I learned there is nothing like the companionship of a dog. These are the memories that you remember when it's your turn to "go to sleep". He was a comedian and a clown, and with a heart so sweet. He was a champ, whose only goal in life was to be with us and please us. Everyone who ever met Fargo fell in love with him, and he loved them, too. He was a truly special dog. I remember in his younger days, he was so handsome that everywhere we went, people - total strangers - would shout, "Beautiful Dog!" or, "He's a champ!" When we were out walking kids would always come over to meet and greet him. That's why we called him "The Mayor of The Neighborhood." Through thick and thin, he was my buddy; the best buddy a guy could ever have. Farewell Boo, my good boy, my good good boy. I WILL MISS YOU FOREVER.

Me an' Baby Boo, February 1997

Twang 'em High! Ready to Ride!!!

2009-02-12T09:45:00.008-05:00

Here we come, hombres. We're a-fixin to ride in to town and a-shoot things up real good! Better have plenty of whiskey and coffins at the ready!

Yes, it's true. After over two years hiatus from fronting a band, Drew will premier his new outfit, Twang 'em High! this Fiday night, Feb. 13 at Sally O'Brien's in Somerville. It's the monthly Honky Tonk night, hosted by The Dave Sammarco band -- Drew will also be playing guitar with Sammarco, so it's a full night of twangin' and bangin' for Drewcifer.

See ya when the gunsmoke clears! Yeeeeehaaww!

Remembering Ian

2009-02-05T14:04:00.024-05:00

Back in the Daze: Ian and me, circa 1988. Note the little jug of Tullamore Dew next to Ian.

Ian Clarkson, 1960 - 2009

It’s true that when a friend or loved one passes on, memories long locked-away come flowing like tears into the mind’s eye. Even though I have not seen Ian in many years, my friendship with him in high-school, college and well beyond will always provide me with delightful recollections and stories (some more tart than others!). When I heard the sad news last night, the first memory that popped in to my mind was from October of 2000, the last time I saw Ian in-person. My beloved Dad had passed away and we were having the funeral, a full military honors ceremony, at Mount Hope cemetery. Unexpectedly and to my pleasant surprise, Ian showed up to express his condolences to me and my sister Dana. He’d seen the obit in the paper, and was the only one of my classmates to attend. That told me a lot about his character. Then again, I always knew Ian was a good soul. He looked great, too, wearing a nice jacket and tie and had a very healthy appearance. After the funeral we all retired to a nearby pub where Ian and I talked and drank and reminisced like the old mates we were. He really seemed to have his life on-track.

Ian and I met senior-year at Allendale, and immediately liked each other. We both wore turtlenecks, which was the way around having to wear a tie every day. Very subversive! It was the following year, however, as roommates and frat brothers at Wittenberg University that we became best buddies. Our friendship continued well after college. I hung out at his house on Rossiter and got to know his family. I remember Ian taking me in to his darkroom there, where he taught me how to develop photos. I learned that Ian was brilliantly intelligent. I don’t know what his IQ was, but it was higher than mine – and mine’s not low. He was ingenious and inventive and innovative. Like MacGyver from TV, he could make a cannon out of a tennis ball tube in about 30 seconds! Now that I think back on it, Ian rarely ceased to amaze me. I admired him.

For hours we could talk science, politics, and music. We mused about those heavy subjects idealistic college kids like to contemplate, like the universe, the meaning of life, and “all that rot” as Ian might say. Thanks to his parents, educators who came from Britain and Ireland, Ian was as articulate as any person I’ve ever known, always using proper King’s English. Indeed, he almost had an British accent. He was elegantly soft spoken. I don’t believe I ever heard him raise his voice. He was soulful. He was subtle. He was humble. He was self-deprecating. And unlike me, Ian rarely seemed bothered by anything. He was always cool and smooth.

Above all, Ian Clarkson was a charming man. He charmed me and everyone else his life touched. You wanted Ian to like you. You wanted to be his friend. He could be very magnetic. He could talk to anyone about anything. Ian always put you at ease. That’s what charming people do. One part of his charm was he always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which in-fact, he had. But that was endearing. And not for nothing, Ian knew how to charm the ladies back in our school days. He was a big-time chick-magnet, although he’d never admit it.

I’ll close this memoire with my fondest memory of Ian; another one that had not entered my mind in over 25 years. It’s actually more of an image, a dreamy image, than a memory. In the spring of our freshman year at Wittenberg, as the days started to lengthen and warm, Ian and I would raise the window of our first-floor dorm room, which opened out on to a large courtyard that was adjacent to The Common. We’d put a speaker in the window, drop the needle on our favorite record -- in my memory it’s The Outlaws’ “Green Grass and High Tides” -- turn up the volume, and go out in the courtyard. Once there, we’d toss the Frisbee. Ian was not just good at spinning the ‘Bee, as we called it; he was amazing. We’d have a relaxing game of Frisbee in the warm day, allowing our school stresses to melt away. Mostly we didn’t even converse. We’d get in to a whole Frisbee Zen state. So this is the soft-focus image I’ll hold in my memory forever: A 19 year old, skinny and tousle-haired Ian, wearing jeans and a loose shirt, standing there in the golden late-afternoon sun, firing a disk my way. When my time comes, I know that’s how I’ll see him. He’ll be waiting for me there in the courtyard with a cold beer, a Frisbee, and a smile. And in that smoky voice of his he’ll say, “Hello brother. Fancy a little ‘Bee?”

For Ian, 2009

Ian Clarkson Obituary, Rochester Democrat and Chronicle

Reddy Teddy, Willie Loco and Robin Lane to Bust Charts Again!

2009-01-27T13:47:00.026-05:00

See This Show!

Having not moved here to Boston until late 1985, I missed a lot of the earlier, groundbreaking Boston Rock history. I never made the scene at The Tea Party, never saw Aerosmith play at a high-school, or U2 as the opening band at an unsold-out Paradise. I only saw later versions of The Neighborhoods, Lyres and Nervous Eaters. Nonetheless, I am still facinated by the history of Boston rock, and have over the years become acquainted with some of those who made it. I have shared a stage, a dressing room, a smoke, a drink or a laugh with the likes of Willie Alexander, Asa Brebner, Billy Loosigian, Robin Lane, Peter Wolf, Dave Minehan, Darren Hill, Carter Allen, Reeves Gabrells, Duke Levine, and many more. I've talked guitars with Joe Perry, hung out with touring rock-stars beneath the stage at The Orpheum, and logged countless nights at The Rat (upstairs, downstairs, balcony, stage, soundboard, and most memorably the grimy, stinky "band room" behind the stage). I've met Bernie Taupin and Elton John at an invitation-only event on Landsdowne street, and even mixed sound for Paul Simon at a private fundraiser in The South End. I have engineered sessions for Aimee Mann, and once mixed front-of-house on a New Year's Eve at "The Gahden". So, yeah, I got in and swam around in Boston's famous dirty water for a while.

I now happen to be a sometimes guitarist in the Dave Sammarco Band, where Scott Baerenwald, one of those Boston Rock History figures, is a sometimes bassist. Scott was a member of the short-lived but brightly-burning '70's power-pop group Reddy Teddy, after which he was an original Chartbuster with Robin Lane -- which brings me (finally) to the point of this Blog. Well, there are two points, actually. First, there's a big reunion show coming up this Saturday night at The Middle East, featuring Reddy Teddy, who are celebrating the release of a new CD, Willie Alexander, Robin Lane with The Chartbusters and more. Guess wht I won'r be there? Riigghhtt! Because I have a gig with Dave Sammarco at The Pleasant Cafe in Maynard. And speaking of Boston Rock history, Maynard was once home to a famous recording studio called Northern Studios, where Reddy Teddy recorded, among many other notables. So, get out to this once-a-generation show and see how Boston Rock was made, by the people who made it!

Second, I had almost forgotten about a song I recorded back in about '92; one of my originals, called "Haunted Train". Robin Lane had seen my band The Derangers play the song at The Cavern Club (in the cellar of the original Boston Hard Rock Cafe on Clarendon Street-- now long gone) and she liked the song so much she asked to sing on it. Naturally I was honored and more than willing to say yes. So we did it, and it has really never seen the light of day. Listening to it now, I think it's a pretty good song, and I'm going to bring it back in to the repetoire of my new band, "Twang 'em High!". If you'd like to hear "Haunted Train, just click on the link to our MySpace page below. You'll fiind the song there, in all its Robin Lane-afied glory. Be patient, her voice does not appear until a couple of minutes in to the song, harmonizing with me on the chorus.

Twang 'em High on MySpace

Some other cool links:

Boston Phoenix interview with Robin Lane and The Chartbusters

Reddy Teddy Website and History

Boston Groupie News on Reddy Teddy

November 22

2008-11-13T15:26:00.013-05:00

My parents moved my sister and me to Dallas from Upstate NY in October of '63. We were there only a month when Kennedy was shot. My Dad, who worked in a downtown building, actually watched from street level as the President's motorcade passed. By the time he returned to his office on the third floor, it had happened. My earliest memory of childhood was seeing my mom sobbing in front of the TV set. I asked, "Mommy, why are you crying?" I was three. The first person whose name I knew, other than mommy, daddy, grammy and Capt Kangaroo, was President Kennedy. As we got older, Dad would take us to Dealey Plaza. By the age of six I could point to the window on the Depository Building from where the shots were fired. In 1967 I remember sitting on one of the plaza's stone colonnade arches --Dad lifted us up there -- and watching a TV crew film a documentary of the event. They were interviewing eye-witnesses. The old Texan man being interviewed said, "I heard pop, pop, pop." Whenever we went by the Plaza up on the Stemmons Freeway, we'd look at the big yellow Hertz Rent-a-Car sign with the digital clock on it, which of course stood atop the Depository. It drew your attention to the site like a, well, like a big yellow billboard! (They finally removed it, but not until decades later).

I still have the complete Dallas Morning News paper from Saturday the 23rd. Never a November 22nd ever goes by without me reflecting on the events of that, sad sad day.

In some ways I wonder how much effect that event had on my life. It was sort of the launch-pad of my awareness. I think to be certain, the Kennedy Assasination has cast a very long shadow over my life, and I’m sure there are many others who feel the same.

Last year, on November 22, 2007, Thanksgiving Day, Bernadette's beloved mother lost her battle with cancer. My poor wife has barely had time to grieve. Neither of us can believe it has been a year already.

November 22nd. A day of mourning for The Townsons.

A "Flowery" Slideshow...

2008-10-22T07:03:00.019-04:00

Hothouse Flowers were both Hot, AND in The House at Newbury in '89

Look what I just found on the world-wide interweb! I was Googling to see what became of Newbury Sound, the studio I worked out of from '86 to roughly '96, and I found the studio's new web-site, Newbury Media.com. On the site there's a slide-show of the time the Irish band Hothouse Flowers came in to the studio to do a live WBCN Lunchtime Concert, hosted by Carter Alan. This was 1989 and Hothouse Flowers was touring off their huge LP, "People" and its hits from that year. The buzz at the time was that HF were going to be the next U2. As you can see from the pics, there was a small studio audience in there. Keep watching the slides roll and in the very last two, you'll see the band and Carter Alan hanging in the control-room with the guy who was at the console, mixing the show. Yep, that's me with the bad tie-die shirt. My hair looks cool though. There were a few mullets on display that day and I'm glad to say I was not a mulleteer. (Never had one, ever). In the last shot that's me in the middle, surrounded by the band, and with Carter just above me. You can see that at tis point in my life and career, I thought I had arrived. This is where I belonged; sitting at a big recording console with a famous major-label band. I was on the launchpad at age 28. Little did I know then that my rocket-fuel was watered down...

HOTHOUSE SLIDESHOW

Thirteen, Boston Compilation, 1995

2008-09-27T21:10:00.028-04:00

The Wicked Smile of Mister Jinx Welcomes The Listener to "Thirteen". I drew The Devil on a napkin originally. I wanted the CD jacket to look like the label on a bottle of hot sauce.

I just signed on to a gig playing lead guitar for The Dave Sammarco Band, a hard-working country rock outfit. I'm not the main guy, by any means. Nope. Dave has a "roster" of players at every position, and I'm the second or third string Telecaster Twanger. His main guy is the incredible Jimmy Scoppa, Boston's Master of the Telecaster, and I'm not worthy of shining his shoes as a country guitar player. The "DSB" plays all the time, all over New England. Between now and the end of the year, I'm playing four gigs, including The Church of Boston on November 29th. The Kilmarnock Street club and restaurant in The Fenway was once The Linwood Grill, a place I knew well. Played there, hung out there, and many a night got shitfaced there. In the mid '90's The Linwood was a happening joint, which brings me to this new blog.... I remember it like it was yesterday...(Sounds of harps and screen gets all swirly)...

It's 1995, and we're having the two night record release party for "Thirteen: Boston Compilation". I had produced the alternative rock tome at Newbury Sound, bringing in one group after the next in sort of a cattle-call style. We left all the mics up and the drum-kit and the bands would come in and I’d press the big red button. The band line-up included Digger, Ten Star General, Serum, Delta Clutch, Cobalt 60, The Derangers and others. We had high hopes for the CD, released by Rick Schettino's Young American Records. Rick was the publisher and founder of New England Performer, now known as Northeast Performer, or maybe it's simply Performer now. At the time, I thought the CD sounded ahead of its time, and I was right. Even now, when I listen to the album, and I have been listening to it lately for the first time in years, it still sounds pretty fresh, if not a bit "grungy". It got good reviews, but the bands were a little new and outside the main core of the Boston alternative scene. The only group still in existence is Delta Clutch, now called The Blizzard of '78. Cobalt 60, who changed their name to C60 in the late '90s continued on Jeff Marshall's Monolyth Records through the mid 2Ks, touring and recording. I was once a Monolyth recording artist myself, back in '86 through '88, but that's a different story.

So we had the CD release party at The Linwood, a two-night Friday and Saturday affair. The Linwood was just getting started as a rock venue. It had been a blues and pizza joint earlier, known more for drawing a baseball crowd due to its proximity to Fenway Park, but now, it was a full-blown black leather-jacket Boston rock club. The Linwood was capturing the spill-off from The Rat, and by '95, the writing was on the greasy, graffitti'd wall of the old Rathskeller. Barry Hite, Landsdowne Street stage-manager and sound guru, had created a new rock outpost on the Fens side of the Ball Park, in the old Linwood Irish pub. He and a few fellow Kenmore ex-patriots (Bob Daley, I think?) were behind making the Linwood the hot new venue.

The first night of the release, the place was packed. It was insane. The crowd was a who's-who of '95 and a big "where-are-they-now?" of 2008. There was Ken Kanavos from Newbury Sound, Deb Catalano, Schettino, of course, Kevin of The Linwood, Jeff Marshall, Radio people like Bill Abbate and Laurie Gale and Janet Egan (Juanita) were there, along with all the band members and their people. I was high on adrenaline (and some other stuff) and to this day I still remember it as being one of the best times, one of the absolute best nights I've ever had in this Boston Music Scene. It was magical and full of energy. The room was electric, with high-voltage performances by the bands, who rocked with total abandon. Even my own surf instrumental trio the Derangers put on a blazing set. It was all black leather, hair and attitudes, and you couldn't fall down in there.
The second night was very mellow by comparison; modestly attended but a good night just the same. It was as if everybody got their groove on the night before and were all nursing giant rock and roll hangovers 24 hours later.
Some bands I know what happened to, others I don’t. Almost all that were part of “13” I’m long out of touch with. I know Delta Clutch is still slugging away as The Blizzard of ’78, and I still talk to Chris Cugini, a producer now in his own right, regularly. Tristram Lozaw, famous Boston Rock Journalist and then member of Serum is still writing about the music. Siobhan McAuley, also ex Serum, is creating beautiful atmospheric music under the name Embrionic with her long-time partner and fellow musician James Bryan McCaffrey. “Jay” as I call him, was in the band Resinsect on “13”. I have been in touch with him over the years, though not lately. Barry Edwards of Ten Star General just moved back to the Buffalo area after decades of being a great guitarist in the Boston Scene, most recently with Cash Monies & The Jetsetter, as well as The Dave Sammarco Band. The only guys I’ve been in-touch with consistently over the years are the Brothers Frazier, Daryl and Mark, both long out of Boston, who were my buddies and bandmates in Digger. But where’s Bow Thayer (of Still Home)? What happened to the guys from Underball or Jehova Starbelly or Scratch? I think Doug MacDonald of Tidal Wave might still be drinking and strumming somewhere. Cobalt 60, or “C60” seems to be done, as far as I can Google.

Hawking "Thirteen" at SXSW Music Convention in Austin, St. Patrick's Day 1995

“Thirteen” was not an enormously successful CD. It was overshadowed by a lot of what was happening in Boston around that time. A year later, I myself produced and released the “Tube” Surf compilation on the CherryDisc label, which made a much bigger splash. But as I listen to “13” I hear good stuff. My recording and production quality was excellent, if I say so myself (and if I don’t, who will?). I hear a lot of analog depth and musicality in the tracks. The CD sounds amazingly fresh today in 2008. Not bad for a CD called “Thirteen” that actually IS 13 years old now. I guess I was right back in ’95 when I proclaimed that “Thirteen: Boston Compilation” was ahead of its time.

Introducing ANALOG PLANET

2008-06-09T14:51:00.007-04:00

Hello folks! Well I have some big news! I have started my own company - a web-boutique called Drew Townson's Analog Planet. Yazoo! The Planet sells high-end analog recording gear, including lots of tube stuff. I call it "The Audio Hardware Store...in space!" Great idea, starting a high-end business in this economy, right?

What am I thinking?

Well, I'm thinking I want to start a a genuine high-end thing, based on my own deication to quality, as well as creating a legacy for my family and son. Plus, I was getting sick of the guys I was working for driving in to work at 11 am in their Beemers and Benzes and coming up to me with, "Sold anything today Drew?" "What have you done for me lately Drew?"

What I had done for them is a lot. Made happy customers. Brought in a lot of money...which was not trickling enough back down to me. So I said, "screw it!" and started my own business.

The site's young and buggy and still in development, but hey, go check out Analog Planet!

Blowing Joey's Ears...

2008-04-19T14:21:00.026-04:00

OneTwoThreeFaw! Joey and Johnny Beating On The Brat, 1979

Of course, over the years I've had my less-than-stellar moments in the studio (and elsewhere). One of the first, and worst, was before I even moved to Boston.

It was the time I fried Joey Ramone's ears.

It must have been late '84 or early '85 when the Ramones came to Dallas to play at The Twilight Room, which was a decent size club with a nice stage. I'd say there were 800, maybe 1000 people there.

My band-mate and production partner at the time, Lisa, was an old pal of Joey's, having been in cutting-edge college and commercial radio for some years.

So we had access to Joey.

My sister and I had a nice studio called "Castle Audio" in nearby Carrolton. Lisa and I were working on a studio project under the name White Noise. We had tracked this sort of ska-punk version of Led Zepplin's "D'yer Mak'er", which would have been perfect for Joey to sing on. Astonishingly, when asked if he'd add a couple layers of vocal tracks, he agreed.

So after the show at the Twilight, Joey Ramone showed up at my studio. It was about 2:am, and in comes this bigger than life geek, wearing the pink granny-glasses, leather jacket and Chuck Taylor sneaks. He was this too-tall, bent over sloth of a guy; a slow-moving gentle giant. With the play-doh face and thick lips, re really did look like a cartoon of himself. And what a sweet sweet man. In his syrupy, nasally Queens drawl, he agreed to everything we were telling him was about to happen. He was so eager to please, even though he had the sniffles.

I had everything all cued up and ready, including a nice Neumann recording mic, on a stand and live. Headphones were hangin' there, too.

First, we played him the track a few times over the JBL studio monitors (a move that would later prove our undoing). After he got the hang of the part, we thought it was time to roll tape. That's when Joey made one small request.

He wanted a Shure SM57 on a straight mic-stand, so he could stand in his exact stage-pose. Y'know the one: feet wide-apart, head forward, soulders back with one hand at the mic and one way down the stand, and the mic jammed right up there, lost in the mop of black hair. The stage-mic didn't need to be plugged in, mind you. I already had a $2000 recording mic on a boom, all ready to rock. So the $100 Shure would be simply a dummy. It would be Joey's "Linus Blanket".

This was not a problem. I quickly obliged. But in doing so, I forgot to do somehing else.

I forgot to extinguish the studio speakers. Something I had never ever forgotten to do.

So Joey put the headphones on, leaned in, and in the control-room I hit the big red button on the tape recorder.

What happened next was the loudest, most shrill, most siren-like feedback the world has ever known. Ice picks. Flying knives. To poor Joey, with his headphones on, it must have felt like power-drills boring through his ear-drums, straight to the pain-receptors of his brain.

He instinctively threw the headphones to the floor and covered his ears. It took me a few seconds to figure out where the Gawd-Awful din was coming from, but I did, and in about 5 seconds, it was over.

Joey had been deafened.

I felt like shit warmed over. Full shame and embarrasment.

He stood there, rubbing the feeling back in to his ears, which were ringing like a firehouse bell, I'm sure. And to his credit, he offered to go ahead with the session. "I'm awright," he said, "I can do it."

But after that, the magic was gone; the moment was lost. We let Joey go back to his hotel to bed. I'm sure his ears were still buzzing as he tried to sleep.

Sweet wonderful Joey.

And I blew out his ears....

Nowhere Man: How Christopher Moore went from Bean-town to No-Scene-Town

2008-03-31T15:29:00.003-04:00

While I was working at that Hellhole whose name shall not be uttered (go back 1-year on this blog), I became acquainted with one Mr. Chris Moore, a part-time helper there who was, well there's no better word for it, Chris was cool. We're talkin' wrap-around shades, the latest in hair-spikage, mod clothes, and a rave-club pallor. Young Chris had an air about him, that is for sure. Didn't take long for me to find out that the kid was funny, too, in a dry, ascerbic way. Smart kid, Chris Moore.

Because he was sort of the lone hipster among a bunch of long-toothed rockers, he caught more than his share of ribbing from the gang. But he laughed right along with everybody and returned the abuse in-kind. All the while, Chris was learning audio engineering and live sound. Turns out he was a singer and was beginning the process of getting a demo together. Chris was even planning a trip to Cali to track and mix with a very well-known veteran producer/mixologist. Yep, that Chris was on his way up in life. He had big plans. Big dreams. He was on the launchpad. He was ready to ignite. He was on the Road....

...to Nowhere.

Or, more accurately, he was on the Rotary to Nowhere. For those of you who don't live in Massachusetts, a Rotary is a traffic circle. They're all over the place up here, and they're scary as-hell. Where three or four or more roads converge/intersect, instead of a traffic light, there's a rotary. You enter the one-way mixmaster, circling until the road you want comes up and then you exit. And it's not just one lane, either. There can be two, sometimes three cars side-by-side. So all these vehicles are getting on and off and going 'round and 'round. What sometimes happens is, you might be in the outside lane, and the car on the INSIDE lane (to your left) decides to exit (to your right). This was the unlucky position Chris found himself in last summer. He was on the notorious Fresh Pond Rotary in Cambridge, one of the busiest and craziest in the area.

CCRRASSSHHH!

In an instant, Chris's life changed, and not in a good way. He didn't have health insurance and ended up with a bad doctor. The story goes down hill from there. But I'll let Chris tell it himself. Instead of Hollywood, he's out in the middle of Cow-cake Ohio, surrounded by a sea of mud, trying desperately to get back to civilization through his laptop. So, check out his site, TheQuarterProject, watch his video, and maybe flip a couple Washingtons his way...

Feelin' it With Joe Ely

2008-03-11T10:40:00.014-04:00

Ely Tellin' Texas Tales as Tall as a Ten-Gallon Hat

One of the best gigs I ever had with the Derangers was in 1997 at Mama Kin on Landsdowne, when we opened for the great Texas Balladeer, Joe Ely. Joe Ely Homepage

We got to hang with him back stage and got his autograph. He signed my (vinyl 12") copy of Lord of The Highway, writing, "Beware of El Tarantula!" Bern and I had recounted to him the story of how we had just moved to a new apartment, and how I had gotten produce boxes from a local grocery store, and how when I opened the banana box, now containing CDs, there was a giant hairy tarantula in there. Ely was like, "Didja keep 'im? What didja name 'im?"

Times They Were a-Twangin' with The Derangers and My 1961 Stratocaster!

The best part was, we were to play first of three bands, but the middle band didn't show up, so we got bumped up to right before Ely. By the time we went on, like ten-ish, the place had filled up with Ely fans, who really dug what we were doing. We were at the top of our game by that point, so that was a really good night for us.

And Ely and his band were amazing, of course.

Track 16 Strikes Again!

2008-02-15T14:29:00.014-05:00

Chris "Cujo" Cugini goes airborne during Anastasia Screamed's show at the 1989 WBCN Rumble.

Ok, Moontime session again. We were taking a break from sessioning and this little party started in the lounge next to the control room -- band, girlfriends, drinks. It was early eve. There was even a TV on; this little old set with the manual click click click channel dial. The party sounds were interesting to me, so I threw a blank up, put 16 in record and pulled a mic out in to the lounge.

The mic was close to the TV and I was picking up "Star Trek The Next Generation". There's that ascending horn motif that plays when the show like, comes back from a commercial or goes to a commercial: "Daa da da da Daa, da da da Daaa..." Right? Know what I mean? So that lick plays and somebody turned the channel which gave a burst of white noise, "KSSHHHH". So theres the horn riff and then, "Kssshhhh".

So, again, later we track songs and at mix time I push 16 up to see what's going to happen. The verse riff goes back and forth between D and C and then hits the chorus on an E? I think? Maybe G? So the verse is winding up and going in to the chorus, and from track 16 comes this horn riff in perfect key and timing, leading the song to the chous and on the "4" beat right before the downbeat of the chorus there's the blast of white noise which ends precisely at the "one" beat of the big chorus.

Everybody in the room hit the floor.

We rewound like ten times to hear it over and over. We HAD to keep it! Added some verb to give it stereo space and did a little EQ. Then, I had to painstakingly fly it in to the second chorus. This was an all analog project, no samplers or DAW. This meant I had to record the part off track 16 on to a 2-track and then back on to 16 at the right time. It took quite a while, and was much harder than the one that happened totally by chance. And the nature of the song, being a hard, noisy rocker, you absolutely don't recognise that little blurb as being "Star Trek" at all.

The song is called "Dead in The Grass".

The Track 16 Happy Accident happens at 1:12, and then again at 2:30 (on purpose via fly-in).

Here it is on Amazon: Moontme on MP3 at Amazon (The part we're talkin' about is not contained in the 30-second clip, unfortunately). Warning, track titles are mixed up. The crazy afore-blogged "Blues" with the thunder is mis-labelled "Dead Ants", and if you grab any track at all, get "15 Seconds or 5 Days", which is mis-titled "Fall to Ceiling" "One Deep Breath" is breathtaking, with backing vocals by Tany Donnely (see * below). What the hell, get the whole album!

You can hear full length streamers of a few AS songs, including "Dead in The Grass" on their MySpace page, too: Anastasia MySpace

*Tanya Donnely is also on that LP on a couple of tracks, right when she was leaving Throwing Muses and starting Belly. She liked the Nashville Studio so much, she did the debut Belly album there a few months later. She and I worked together well...she was good at taking direction from a producer and very professional in the studio. She said ideally she'd like to do the Belly LP there in Nashville with ME producing. That would have launched my career. Alas, her label had other ideas. Oh well. can't win 'em all.

But it was a trippy record. So is Anastasia's first LP, "Laughing Down The Limehouse". We did that one here in Boston. All kinds of effed-up cool wierd shit happened during those sessions, too, like the time the speaker turned itself off (a story for another time). Anastsia was never huge in the US and they were way ahead of their time, being pre Nirvana "Never Mind", but they had a loyal following in the UK, Germany, etc. If you want to hear some mind-bending cocophonous ear-candy, get either of their LPs or both. Heck, their London-based label gave us $15K per record budget, which was tiny at the time. Sure wish somebody'd give me $15 grand to do a record NOW! Recording not as big-bottomed as today's stuff, but it sounded right in the early '90s'.

The Mysterious Track 16...

2008-02-14T19:03:00.005-05:00

While doing Anastasia Scream's "Moontime" LP at Nashville's at Sound Emporium Studios, we encountered some bizarre happenings. I'm not jivin' you. Some really crazy wierd shit happened. In one anomalous event, we recorded a loud thunderstorm that was happening outside the studio. This was a real boomer. I quickly threw on a blank 2" 24-track reel, popped track 16 in to record, and put a mic in front of an open doorway. This was a $3,000 Neumann U47fet that happened to be handy, and the studio assistant was none too happy later when she saw it placed inches from the torrent outside.

We recorded about six minutes of big rain and thunder. It's not like we had any plans for "the storm track", but thought it might be cool to have. (And besides, we were like, wicked baked, y'know?)

Eventually, we needed that reel to record songs, so we put track 16 in safe and recorded around it. Pretty much forgot about it.

Days later, when we were mixing this finished song called "Blues", I remembered track 16. About two minutes in to the song I eased fader 16 up. At one point right before the song, which is raging full-on, breaks down in to a quiet part, Chick Graning sings, "there's a hole in my head where the rain gets in," and, BOOOOOOMMM! A huge rolling thunderclap follows his phrase right on beat, and rolls and rumbles for about 20 seconds right through the breakdown! (The low-frequency of it vibrated the whole control-room)

Yes, for real.

Of course anybody listening would assume we very carefully placed a thunder sound-effect right there in the song. But no! It was there before the song was even tracked.

The breakdown is followed by this manic sax solo, so we left the magical track 16 in behind there...with the rain and thunder and sax wailing, it sounds like total madness!

Johnny and Me

2008-02-05T19:17:00.000-05:00

For some reason this morning I woke up remembering Johnny Cunningham, the renowned Scottish Fiddler and producer who passed away a few years back. It was as if I heard the distant voice of his fiddle, calling me from my bed on this gray and rainy winter’s dawn (of course, if Johnny was awake at dawn, it meant he had not been to bed yet). I was lucky to have the great pleasure of knowing Johnny. Not that I was by any means a big player in his life, because he had a very big life that touched countless people. He was like giant ship; like The Queen Mary passing through the harbor. I was fortunate to have been invited onboard for the music and booze-cruise, between roughly '88 and '94. I can say without hesitation that Johnny was the most gregarious, funniest, most musical soul I have ever had the pleasure to get schnockered with. In a word, he was jolly. I was deeply saddened to hear of his passing in December of ’03, but for whatever reason, I have not really reflected on what Johnny Cunningham meant to me until now. Call this the memoir long overdue.

I met Johnny in 1988 while engineering a studio project for The Raindogs. They were an all-star band made up of Rhode Island singer/writer Mark Cutler, Bassist Darren Hill and drummer Jimmy Reilly, both formerly of Red Rockers (remember that one ‘80s hit, “China”?), and Johnny on fiddle. They were a really great band, too, infusing American blue-collar rock with Celtic overtones. It was like Tom Petty meets Bruce Springsteen meets Bob Geldof meets Elvis Costello and they all get drunk with The Pogues. We were tracking a label demo at Newbury Sound, paid by and for Sire/Warner Brothers and produced by Andy Paley. Ultimately, they did NOT sign with Warners, mostly due to Paley’s Specter-like overproduction being a mis-match for the more organic Raindogs, so the tapes I tracked have never seen the light of day. Their LP “Lost Souls” was released a year later on Atlantic, and is a wonderful album.

Dog Days: Raindogs '88, with Johnny as Top Dog in this promo pic.

Suffice it to say we recorded hard and played hard. After Paley’s departure from the studio every night around 1 am, the real party began, revolving around a glass-top table in the studio lounge. Hey, it was the ‘80s! I joined right in and partied with these guys ‘till dawn every night. As the beers flowed and in a haze of cigarette smoke I became drawn to the two Celts of the bunch: Jovial Johnny and his hilarious Scottish stories, and Jimmy, whose tinny Belfast brogue became less decipherable with each passing beer. I learned that before he was in Red Rockers, he was the drummer in Stiff Little Fingers, the seminal Irish Punk band. In fact, Jimmy’s brother had been murdered in an Irish political thing. If I recall correctly it was IRA who killed him, and they had a big benefit concert on his behalf at a football stadium in Ireland. This was ’79 or ’80. Stiff Little Fingers had headlined, and included on the bill was a rising young Dublin group called U2, playing their very first stadium show ever. Jimmy was a funny bastard, in a harder-edged sort of way. You got the feeling he could guzzle kerosene if someone dared him too. You also knew that crossing Jimmy would lead to lost teeth. He was a tough Irish street kid, y’know? One funny note: His Ulster accent prevented him from pronouncing my name properly. They can’t say the “oooh” sound. So, “Drew” always came out of Jimmy as “Dree”. “Dree, kedja add a bitta lew end t’me keck-dram?”

Johnny, contrarily, was round. He was warm and welcoming. He told jokes and stories so funny you’d wet yourself laughing. Being of Scots heritage myself, I was really drawn to his Scottishness. And by that I don’t mean just his accent, which was wonderful and lyrical; it was his wit, his charm, his way that got me. He had the soul of a Scotsman. It was the way he could drink anybody under the table and still play like a champ. It was the twinkle in his eye. It was his bawdy tales. It was his mischievousness. Mostly though, it was the way he could make you feel like a welcome special friend, even though he was immensely popular. Johnny was the life of the party. Everybody loved Johnny and wanted to be Johnny’s friend. I wanted to be Johnny friend.

At one point, Johnny's brother Phil appeared all the way from, I think he had been in Ireland, and the brothers played an impromtu trad performance after hours, Phil on the studio grand piano and Johnny on his fiddle. Amazing!

Shortly thereafter, I got him to co-produce and play fiddle a song of mine called, “I Can’t Get Over You”. I say I “got” him to, but the truth is he was happy to do it, and charged me nothing. We spent a day in the studio together and he really helped me bring the song together. Not only did he play a couple of brilliant fiddle tracks, pretty much in one take (which I learned was typical), he helped me mix the song and provided some nice insight. I learned how to record fiddle with Johnny. But it wasn’t a great song and I never really did anything with it. All I have now is a cassette copy. (My guitar-playing, which I had recorded before Johnny’s involvement, was rushed and sort of ham-fisted).

Later, as luck would have it, we ended up being neighbors. When I moved to Oak Square in Brighton in 1990, Johnny lived in Newton Corner, about a mile up the hill from me. Brighton had lots of Irish Pubs, but the one we ended up at the most frequently was The Green Briar. They had a popular Irish Seisiun there every week, so he sometimes sat in. Other times, I’d find myself sitting on a bar-stool next to Johnny, just drinking and laughing and smoking and soaking up his vibe. Once, I even got invited to a Scottish breakfast at his place in Newton. Jimmy was there and I don’t remember who else. We had Scotch eggs and ale. Nice. I saw him perform solo a couple of times. He’d sit up there with his fiddle, a whisky and a smoke, and play a reel and then tell a story; play an air and then tell a joke. Ever the bard, that was Johnny.

I worked with Johnny again in the studio when I was co-producing the band “Vision Thing”. He came in as a guest player to lay fiddle down on one of their tracks. The studio, Squid Hell, was in a big old house. It had multiple spaces to play, all of which were wired for microphones. He walked/played from room to room to find the best acoustics, and in classic Cunningham style, he chose the bathroom. He played the track (in one take) literally sitting on the throne. At the conclusion of his take, and as the last notes of the song died away, we heard over the control-room speakers: flusshhhh...
I still chuckle over that one. That was Johnny.

I don’t remember when the last time I saw Johnny was, but I think it was in Portsmouth New Hampshire, where I bumped in to him at The Press Room. That was probably ’94, give or take a year. After that he was based out of New York, his career went up to the next level, and deservingly so.

Perhaps it’s the gloom of this dreary day that brought Johnny to mind. He was the kind of guy who, from the corner of the pub and with revelers gathered ‘round, radiated humor and warmth and music, late in to a long winter’s night. He was the hearth. I reckon that is a trait born and bred in The Highlands (and fed by the water of life). One day I'll be drinking with him again and jamming with Johnny at seisiun, in that little pub, far away and over the hills.

For now, I will raise a not-so wee drammie to my lips and toast my one-time friend, Johnny Cunningham, the most soulful Scotsman I ever knew. beannachd leat caraid

Here are some Johnny web sites and his NY Times Obit:

http://www.johnnycunningham.com/

Johnny on MySpace

http://www.kennedy-center.org/programs/millennium/artist_detail.cfm?artist_id=CUNINGJOHN

NY Obituary

Charro Charro! Tacos, Cervesa y Mariachi!

2008-01-10T19:06:00.000-05:00

Photo: Mariachi Mexamerica, playing weekly at Tacos El Charro

I discovered Jamaica Plain’s Tacos El Charro way before most non-Latinos. Before it had a “Best of Boston” award and long line of tastemongers waiting forever for a table, I frequented the authentic Taqueria there on Center Street. In about 1990 I started doing sessions nearby at my buddy Dicky Spears’ funky home studio, affectionately known as Squid Hell, located off Green Street. Now that I think of it, I was ahead of the crowd on a couple of levels. First, nobody yet knew about Squid Hell, but by ’94 or so, some of Boston’s most well-known engineers, producers and artists were tracking there. Second, few blue-eyed diners had yet crossed the threshold of Tacos El Charro, partially because it was (and still is) in a Latino neighborhood. In fact, that area of JP was still about eight or more years away from experiencing a huge gentrification and renaissance. (Dicky did very well for himself, buying that house back in about ’88. I can imagine what it must be worth now!).

So, we were always looking for food while sessioning, often opting for Doyle’s Irish Pub, the 100-year old Boston landmark on Washington Street. One lunchy mid-day, Dicky told me about the recently-opened Tacos El Charro. He said it made no sense to call in the order on the phone because they didn’t speak English. This was a good sign. So we just went down there. It was a shabby but clean little Cantina, with the classic piñatas and big fancy sombreros hanging from the ceiling. The smell of oil, cilantro and tortillas filled the restaurant. I noticed a small stage and some folkloric Mexican guitars hanging on the wall, too.

The food was great, cooked by mom in the kitchen and served by girls I surmised were her daughters. We’re talkin’ real Mexican tacos: Chopped seasoned steak with onions and cilantro folded in to a softened corn tortilla with beans on the side. That’s right, soft corn, not flour. There were none of the usual American trappings like cheese or olives or lettuce, making this unquestionably the most authentic Mexican food I’d had since moving from Texas five years before.

While eating, I noticed Mariachi memorabelia everywhere. There were photos of full bands as well as individual (very macho) Mariachis, like Hollywood head-shots. I learned that the owner was Pepe Guitierrez of Guadalajara, and he was, yes, Boston’s original Mariachi. While his wife ran the kitchen, Pepe headed up Mariachi Guadalajara, the only band of Mariachis in town. Turns out the group had been in existence locally since, my memory’s vague here, 1978? 1980? He and his wife DID in fact, speak broken English. The instruments hanging on the walls were the real deal, owned by the group, who played there every Saturday night. The restaurant didn’t have a full liquor license, but they did have beer! Holy shit! What a find! What a freaking FIND!

To make a long story even longer, I became a regular there. I got to know Pepe and the band and the girls who worked there. Dicky and I and bands we were working with at Squid Hell got introduced to Tacos El Charro and the Saturday night Mariachi fiesta. On nights when I had a gig with my band nearby, like at The Midway or The Milky Way, we’d go there to eat before the set. Though the place had yet to be “discovered”, I guess you could say WE were discovering it, bringing people there who likely never would have ventured in. And what fun we had!

One memorable night, we experienced Tacos El Charro in its full glory. (Actually it would be more memorable if I hadn’t drowned so many brain-cells in Tecate and Tequila). It was at least ten years ago now. Now that I think of it, it may have been on the eve of us moving to Albuquerque, which would make it late summer of ’97. Bernadette and I and a few friends, including our friend Bert Katzianer, were there having dinner (Bert was in a band I was producing called Rebel Yell). We had a big table with a party of at least six people. It must have been a Saturday because the Mariachis were doin’ their thing. The cervesa was a-flowin’ and the trumpets were a-blowin’ and before we knew it, they had closed the restaurant with us inside. I distinctly remember one of the waitresses locking the door and putting the closed sign up. I’d guess it was about 11:30 when she did that. Now it was the band, the staff, and US! This is when the REAL party began. Suddenly, I got the distinct feeling beer was not the only beverage being consumed. Everyone was dancing and drinking and whooping and hollering. Apparently we were being considered part of the family, and included in the fiesta.

I think it was Pepe or another guy in the group who first shouted for Beatris. Beatris was our waitress, this cute round Mexican girl with a couple of gold teeth right in the front. Others in the place joined in the call for Beatris to the stage. So, sheepish and blushing, she got up there and Pepe handed her the mic. They struck up a Mariachi Classic, Arboles de la Barranca I think it was, and Beatris proceeded to canta la cancion. She had the voice as strong as Tequila, as smooth as a Mexican brew. Incredible! She set the casa en fuego! To be flies on the wall would have been worth it, but they made us feel like full participants in the carnival. They were bringing us beer and not charging for it. At one point I found myself downstairs (Men's room) and my suspicions were confirmed. I stumbled in to the band room where the Mariachis were enjoying Tequila shots. Far be it for me not to join in! Salud!

After that, it gets pretty fuzzy. Like I said, it would be a night to remember, if only I could remember it!

Tom Halter, the lead trumpet in the group has worked with me in the studio a few times over the years, including recently. He’s an Americano but can play with perfectly imperfect slurry Spanish accent. He’s been in the outfit with Pepe, now called Mariachi Mexamerica since day one. You can hear a sample of his work with me on The Fathoms new LP, “Fathom This!”. Click on this link and play the song, “The Palomino”.

Pepe "El Tapatio" Gutierrez in prime form. Que guapo!

The Weirdest Gig Ever!

2007-09-23T10:36:00.000-04:00

It was Saturday, August 31, 1996, Labor Day weekend. The Clintons were doing dirty things in the White House, and America was enjoying boom-times. My surf-instro band, The Derangers, had just begun a three band, 23 city van tour to support “Tube: Atlantic Surf Essentials”, which had been released in May on Boston’s CherryDisc label. We had already had a couple raging record-release gigs over the summer. One was at The Rat in May, one at the Wellfleet Beachcomber in July –that one was a total rave—and the tour kick-off show downstairs at The Middle East. That was the one where the Diva Belly Dancer of them all, Sahar, performed on stage with us. Unforgettable. Anyway, the three bands, Derangers, Speed Devils and Bald Guys, each with a van, had opened the tour on Friday night in Louisville. It was poorly attended, and pretty weird in its own right. We were up until four in the morning. Then, we had to get up early to set-out on the long drive to NOLA, which as it turned out looked a LOT closer on the map than it was in reality. We left at about seven am. It took us all freakin’ day, drivin’ and drivin’, literally through bayou country. Fourteen hours later, we arrived at the infamous Mermaid Lounge, the diviest, nitty-grittiest, greatest little juke-joint you’d ever want to play. Well, we didn’t actually arrive like you’d imagine. This place was hidden like The Bridge to Terabithia. It was under a highway overpass in this run-down old warehouse district, and you literally had to drive the wrong way on a one-way street to get to it. I’m serious. All roads seemed to lead AWAY from The Mermaid. So after navigating the underworld-like maze of streets, in the dark, in a bad part of town, we found the dumpy old shack. Our contracts with the clubs always had us arriving between like, five pm and seven to load-in, do sound-check, etc. So seeing as it was now nine, and only our van had found the joint, I was in a panic that we were very very late.

I should have known better. This was N’awlin’s honey! We pulled up and I walked up to the shuttered door. No one there yet. Just a few minutes later, the bartender arrives and unlocks the club. He tells me the sound guy will be there between ten and eleven. “What time do we play?” I ask. “First band at midnight,” he replies. Midnight? Wow. OK, well that’s a load off. Plenty of time, but where are the others?

Soon enough the Speed Devils showed up, but with bad news. Bald Guys van had broken down and was stranded in a very very bad part of The Big Easy. I won’t sidetrack the story with all the details, but I went to their aid, and while we waited under another highway overpass for Triple A, a very nice old black man by the name of Charlie (not his real name) stood with us, to help keep the wolves at bay, so to speak. He was a character: Deck of Kools in the shirt pocket, gold tooth, and kept saying stuff like, “These kids nowadays are real scary. They’ll kill you for your sneakers.” Good thing he was there.

So we got the BG van started and back to the club we went. The “stage” wasn’t. We were to play in a corner of the room under a single hanging red light bulb. Yeah. OK. The “sound guy” set up, um, one mic? Maybe two? I don’t remember who played first but we were to go in second, at one am. In the meantime, we were responsible to collect our own door, of which we got 100%. So with a metal cigar-box, Bern set out to do the door, and we’d all take turns. The cover was five bucks. I’m sure we also found another spit of real-estate to set up the merch table, because really, that was the only thing that put gas in the vans and kept us truckin’ from gig to gig.

It was after eleven, and things were quiet. Too quiet. Deathly quiet! There wasn’t a soul in the joint except for the bands the bartender, a waitress, and the so-called “sound guy”, who had finished “setting up” in about eight minutes. He wasn’t very friendly. In fact, they all had this world-weary, we’ve done this way too many times before sort of attitude. You could say they were zombie-like in their enthusiasm.

Speaking of zombies, right at the stroke of midnight, the strangest thing happened: Bern and I were standing outside the shack, smoking and bemoaning the zero attendance, when from every direction; vampire-like silhouettes came converging our way. The streets between the old warehouses were slick with New Orleans mist (indeed the air itself was tropically soupy), and therefore had a silvery sheen. The people walking on them were jet-black shadows, moving slowly towards the club. Totally surreal. I was reminded of the novels of Ann Rice, whose house was in the nearby Garden District.

Within a couple of minutes, as if a switch had been flipped, the place was full. Bizarre. I mean, I knew The Big Easy was a late-night town, but this was ridiculous. I don’t think these ghouls even rose from their beds before 11:45pm. Needless to say, we were relieved and re-energized. We’d make it to the next town (Austin) after-all.

One of the many odd-ball things about The Mermaid was that it had an outdoor part to it, sort of a little beer garden with tables and a string of carnival lights hung across it like a laundry wire. The thing was, you could sit out there WITHOUT paying cover and listen to the music, which was plenty loud out there. This didn’t sit too well with me, but then I learned that in order to come inside and get a beer from the bar (there was no wait-service out there), well, you then DID have to pay cover. So you could be out there for free, but with no alcohol. This made for some very contentious moments during the night. “C’mon dude, just let me in to get a beer. C’mon man! I ain’t payin’ the cover”. I handled these bums with an absolutely zero-tolerance policy. You pay the cover or you don’t get in and go to the bar, period; no exceptions. This pissed a couple kids off. But then we found out that not only was there literally a hole in the wall where you could sneak in, but some people on the inside were letting the outsiders in through a side-door, or at least bringing them drinks. I even went out there at one point, saw that most had beers, and attempted to collect. Fuckers! I still get mad when I think about that. They obviously didn’t have the first clue about the hardships of the touring indie band. This shit ain’t free, slacker!

On the upside, our set itself was maybe my favorite ever. I wish it had been recorded. We played flawlessly, and I got that adrenaline rush that feels like a cool wind blowing through my hair. When I feel that, things are perfect. And to give perspective, I’ve only had the “coolerator wind” feeling maybe four times total over 20 years. The other notable time was when we played the BCN Rock and Roll Rumble (another story for another day). This night in NOLA, we took it up to the next level. Because we were right there on the floor with the audience, and it was packed, we were literally surrounded by people who were right up in our faces. People were shot-gunning weed right in to my snout. Really! Turning the joint around in their mouths and jet-streaming the smoke straight in to my nostrils! Sweet! Only in NOLA! (Well, actually, that happened to us in Santa Fe too, much later in the tour). There was a guy standing in front of me that was so close he kept obliviously stepping on my foot-pedals, randomly changing my guitar-tone. But it was all good. Real good.

Real New Orleans.

And really, really weird…

Drew enjoying water o' the Mermaid, 1996

'Bet you never knew I worked with...

2007-09-09T13:46:00.000-04:00

This may be a good recurring category; a surprising artist that I did a session with that people don't know I worked with. The reason might be that it was a demo, a live date, or that I simply wasn't credited.

So, did you know I recorded Patty Griffin?

Yep! Twice, in fact.

The first time was in about '93 or '94. She had a major record deal with A&M (I think) and had been struggling with the production of the debut LP. A well-known pop, funk and R&B producer was tapped to do the record, and apparently he was going for a fully-blown and polished sound that was not at all what roots-loving Patty wanted. So she called up Newbury Sound to do a live 'n' dirty demo of what the record SHOULD sound like. That was the kind of thing that was up my alley, so naturally I was tapped to engineer.

The band that walked in the door that day were all Boston Hall-of-Famers: Adam Steinberg on guitar, Jim Mouradian on FenderBass, and Billy Conway behind the kit. I mic'd everything up and before long we were rolling tape. Patty was in a glass booth with my favorite old Neumann U87 in front of her, and the band rolled takes totally live. Incredible. One thing I remember fondly was on one of the playbacks in the control room (on the big Urei mains), Conway complimented the drum sound. He said, "Now THAT sounds like my drums! Why don't other engineers get that sound? That's exactly what I'm looking for!" That made me tingle with pride because as a member of Treat Her Right, he had had plenty of session experience with a couple of major producers. The only overdubs we did were some guitar things with Adam. Like he'd play electric on the live take and then overdub an acoustic.

And Patty was amazing. She sang flawlessly and with a lot of soul. It only took a golden touch of reverb at the console and her track was good to go. She reminded me of Aretha, Janice, Bonnie Raitt and Emmylou Harris all rolled in to one.

The only glitch was a political one. The studio had run out of DAT tapes to mix to. It was Sunday and the DAT store was closed. So I offered up a tape that I had with me which had some other crap on it. Her manager, a woman who was extremely in control of everything and not in a happy way, did not like this idea. But since there was little other option, that's what we did. She made me sign something that I would erase my copy and this was not for release and blah blah blah. So the next day I made a copy for Patty and the manager and that was that.

Did I erase the original that I had made?

Well guess what I found the other day? Hehehe...wink wink!

Sounds incredible.

The second time I worked with Patty was when I was producing tracks for Laurie Geltman's "No Power Steerng" CD. The sessions were in '95 or so, at old Euphoria Studios in Revere, which by that time was really showing its age. But we did some great songs in there, and Patty came in to to do backups on the song "Elbow" as I recall. Again, Patty was a one-take wonder.

Hot Rockin' Nights at The Ol' Bucky

2007-09-09T10:54:00.000-04:00

Finally some time to blog. I'll see if I can get two topics up today.

First, I had a dream last night, that I was walking down the rubble-strewn corridor of an old hotel that was vacant and seemingly under renovation. Down the end of the long hall, there was one room still in it's original condition; plush with dark wood, warm lighting and bookcases. There was a dark haired older woman in there who said she had lived there for forty years. That's when I was awakened by the big lightning storm that blew through here last night. Big boomers! One strike was literally within yards of the house.

As I laid there with the storm going, I was haunted by the dream. Then it occurred to me that, long ago and for a brief time, my band House of Joy actually rehearsed at the Buckminster . Yes, Hotel Buckminster, the famous vintage hotel in Kenmore Square with the Pizzeria Uno on the ground level. Who knew that rock bands used to rehearse there? I mean, I had nearly forgotten it.

This must have been '89? '90? I DO think there were people living there on the upper floors. There was literally plaster rubble all over the place. You'd walk in and there was a front desk with a guy at it, take the crappy elevator or stairs up to, I'm pretty sure it was the second floor we played on. There were several bands playing in the old rooms up there. In fact, 'BCN DJ Shred's band was in the room next door to ours. They were kinda cow-punk, as I recall. Anyway, our room was on the Brookline Ave side, just about 10 feet above the street, and our window looked out across the pike at the lights of Fenway. It was summer and hot. Between songs we could often hear the cheering crowd coming from the old ball yard. Because there was a constant flow of people parading up and down the sidewalk below our window, and it was too hot to close the window, now and then a couple people would actually stop and listen to us from out there. We'd wrap up a song, and there'd be impromptu clapping from the street below.

Good times at the old Flop-House Fuckminster.

Obviously the "Bucky" was restored and polished back to glory, and it still stands today, offering elegant and pricey accomodations to visitors to Bean-town. (And I guarantee you there are no bands practicing there anymore, and likely never will be again).

"Hello?....No! For the hundredth time, this is NOT the HOUSE OF CHOY!" Glammy Times on a rooftop, HOJ, circa 1990.

Talkin' to Loretta

2007-08-17T09:39:00.000-04:00

Boston Rock Royalty: Nervous Eaters circa 1980

This is interesting...not really a Boston Rock story so much as a recent discovery. First I should say that Blogging since arriving here in VT has been almost impossible. At the house we're on dial-up....excruciating...and at work, well, I'm working, so...

Anyhoo, I've been discovering Neko Case, and liking a lot of what I hear. As I'm checking out her stuff on I-Tunes, I come across a song called "Loretta". Wouldn't you know, it's a cover of "(Talk to) Loretta" by the great Boston '70s and '80s band, Nervous Eaters. Wow, huh? I always loved that song. I had a chance to see the Eaters in a later '80s incarnation when chief Eater Steve Cataldo had Billy Loosigian on guitar. I recall seeing them in a sweaty and packed-beyond-capacity Rat. Billy has always been my favorite Boston axe-master, and I did have the pleasure of recording him once.

I wonder a couple of things. 1) How did Case even find that song and, 2) how many of her fans know it's not one of her originals?

Here's a Nervous Eaters web-page where you can rock to Loretta, the original version.

Bern's Turn: Long Live Boston Rock!

2007-07-14T13:44:00.000-04:00

The Rat's gone. Bunratty's. The Channel...they're all gone. Mikey Dee is gone. Mickey O. Mark Sandman, Brad Delp, even Mr. Butch. We had so much fun. It was such a lively rockin' fun scene. And it's over. The scene as we remember it ten fifteen years ago is gone and done. All things must pass, I guess. Boston Rock is Dead! Long Live Boston Rock.

Bernadette

July 14, 2007 1:30 PM

The Late Great Mr. Butch!

2007-07-14T07:14:00.000-04:00

Mr. Butch Dies

Wow. I'm bummed. Mr. Butch, a guy we once called "The Mayor of Kenmore Square" died in a scooter crash. When I saw the headline I thought he probably OD'd, or that his long-suffering liver finally gave up the ghost, but no, he drove a scooter in to a pole.

I loved Mr. Butch. Who didn't? For years the he was the homeless equivalent of a troubador, a balladeer, a minstrel, a jester. He was an ambassodor for life on the streets. He was beloved by the Boston rock family. He had a zest for living that few mortgage-carrying, cubicle-trapped, $60K-a-year drones can claim.

I ran in to him (sometimes literally) a lot between, say, '88 and '95. I jammed with him in front of Planet Records. Well, I "air" jammed with him. For a long while, he had a real guitar and little funky battery-powered amp. The red strat-shaped thing hung behind the counter at Planet, and every day he'd go in there and get it. He was a terrible guitar player. He basically just fisted chords, and strummed with abandon. What came out was fully distorted mud. But with his dreads and clothing, he reminded me of a cross between Marley and Hendrix. The homeless version.

I rode the 57 Bus from Oak Square down Washington Street through Allston and Comm Ave in to the bus Station at Kenmore on a fairly regular basis back then. Mr. Butch rode the 57 bus too. It was on many rides with him that I realized his dedication to his daily life. I'd be on there at 9 am heading in to Town, and Butch was on there, eyes red and watery, going to his "job" in Kenmore. (He often crashed with friends somewhere in Allston). When I'd be riding the 57 outbound back to Brighton late in the day, yep, there was Butch, as if going home from work. I dunno, maybe he just rode back and forth a lot.

My favorite Mr. Butch stoty, by far, was the time he got an actual job, very short-lived, at The Burger King on Boylston. I'm guessing...hmmm...'94? He wore the whole get-up in mustard yellow and ketchup red, complete with paper hat jammed on top of his muddy dreads. Usually he mopped the floor and I'm guessing he had to clean the bathrooms too.

So one day, young Bernadette and I decided to go through the Burger King Drive-Thru. I think I was headed in to session at Newbury Sound. Like a lot of drive-throughs, the BK had two windows, the first for paying and the second for getting the goods. And like most, use of the first window had been abandoned. So we order at the intercom, came around and as we passed the first window, there was Mr. Butch, sound asleep. He was slumped against the wall, among the boxes of napkins and cups, his paper hat askew. We deduced that although WE could see him, perhaps he was postioned in the little bay there, now used for storage, such that he was hidden from the BK staff. Or maybe they knew and just didn't care. He was sleeping off too many "strawberry shakes" apparently.

That was Mr. Butch. A real character. One of a kind.

Of course, as Kenmore went upscale and places like The Rat and Planet Records and The Pizza Pad all vanished, "The Mayor" relocated his office to Harvard Street in Allston. Naturally!

Now that I think of it, in all that time, I don't remember him ever asking me for money. Hopefully he thought of me as one of the Boston music crowd, a dirt-poor rocker, a scenester;

a kindred spirit.

Mr. Butch, "Rock in Peace" Bro! (Say hi to Mikey Dee for us!)

Middle East Magic, part 1: Drew Discovers an Oasis in Central Square

2007-07-05T11:36:00.000-04:00

It was early 1986, a damp winter evening in February or March when I literally stumbled upon The Middle East Restaurant. Like every newcomer to Boston, I found getting around town in a car to be sensationally confusing. (Later I learned that it’s totally OK to go the wrong way on a one-way street, as long as you’re driving the vehicle in reverse). So what I did in order to learn my way was to let myself get lost. This night, I was exploring the slick streets of Central Square Cambridge, on and off Mass ave. I had just departed my day job which was on Broadway in nearby Kendall Square (then an underdeveloped and unrefurbished zone). It was around 6pm, already dark, and I was famished. From Broadway I turned right on to Mass Ave, rolled north, and as I waited at the red-light, I spied an inviting sign down a little side-street (Brookline Ave.) to my left. Sticking out perpendicular from the building, to be readable from Mass Ave, was one of those classic old plastic signs that had both a white and a yellow bulb inside so it would blink the two colors alternately. It read: “Middle Easten Food”.

“Mmmm, falafel,” I thought to myself.

I must have been hell-bent on eating, because I don’t remember pahkin’ th’ cah, which is always difficult around there. I walked from Mass Ave down Brookline Ave about 60 feet to the entrance on the left. The façade was painted in a cheesey Arabic Motif, with like, mineret spires. As I enetered, two things blasted me in the face: The smell of falafel in hot oil, and the sound of amplified Arabic music. The place was a typical shoe-box, extremely dark, with dark-painted walls. To my left was a bar; to my right, dining tables with people eating. Straight ahead, like an oasis in the night desert, was the brightly lit stage. What I saw up there flash-printed on the front of my brain like a photo negative.

Belly Dancers!

Arabic musicians playing exotic drums, and…wow…

Belly Dancers!

All in full “I Dream of Genie” silk and bangles.

Sweet!

So, there I sat by-myself, chomping on Leb-bread with hummus and falafel rolled in pita, enjoying the show. I remember how bad the PA was. The sound was shril and distorted. But I didn’t care.

Like I said: Belly Dancers!

Sahar

Little did I know then that ten years later I would be rocking on the big stage of the Middle East “Downstars”, with the most famous of the club’s Belly Dancers, Sahar, shimmying right next to me. As I sat eating my hummus in ’86, there was a bowling-alley below me; one of those odd candle-pin joints you only find in the Boston area. Converting those lanes in to the famous “Downstairs” rock-club was still two or three years off.

I would by no means say that in the coming years I became a regular at The Middle East, but between the “Upstairs”, “The Bakery” (now called “The Corner”), and the “Downstairs”, I sure did a lot of playing, drinking, hanging out, and of course, eating! (When I lived in Brighton, Bern and I dined there about three times a month).

The last time I played there was “Upstairs” on a frigid night; a freaking arctic night, in late ’05. I was lead guitar with Mick Mondo and Streaker (as-always using the stage name Marshall Tullamore and this night wearing my kilt WITH long-johns underneath). It was a fun, well-attended show headlined by Bourbon Princess, with us in the middle, and a new band called Temper opening. I happened to be producing Temper in the studio at the time. Temper’s drummer, Nancy Delaney, was also my drummer in The Tullamores, and Temper’s bass-player, the incomparable Pete Sutton, was also in Streaker with us. To top it off, the Bourbon Princess herself, Monique Ortiz, suffering from a broken hand and whacked-out on painkillers, sat in with us, performing a duet with Mick. So it was a typical incestuous night in the Boston/Cambridge rock scene.

And there I was, on that very same stage that I had discovered simply by chance two decades earlier.

Did I mention there were Belly Dancers?

A Be-Kilted Marshall Tullamore Rocking Upstairs w/ Mondo in '05

PS: I just remembered: The last time I saw Mark Sandman was there. late one night in the front room. I had finished a gig and was eating. He was at the very last table at the back, his back to the wall, as if to survey the whole scene with his heavy-lidded eyes. He nodded to me. He was feeling no pain. No pain at all...

The Last Rockland Roll!

2007-07-02T10:14:00.001-04:00

Had a few close mates over to the ranch for a final farewell yesterday. Little Drew-bear stole the show, of course. It was great to see everybody, have a few cold ones, and grill up some meat. Still hard to believe we're out of here after all these years.

Oh, yeah, Seany Mac showed up, too.

Attendees were: The mighty Mick Mondo, Pete "Sockeye Sam" Sutton, Kevin "Skinny Jim" Mahoney, Nancy "Wee Nancy" Delaney, Al "Allistaire Tullamore" Harper, Jon "JW" Cahill and hs kids, Eileen Kelly, Cynthia, Paulie Stewart, Jen, Brad and Heidi Page, Dickey Spears, Seany Mac, Mike G, Chris Cugini, and of course Drew, Bernadette, and Drew-bear.

We have enough leftovers to last the entire Vermont winter (which starts in about a week, don' it?)

And a special thanks to Jenny for the lovely gifts!

ps: Mike G said some nice things on his MySpace Blog...

Dallas, '85: Hail Mary I'm Movin to Boston!

2007-06-30T20:54:00.000-04:00

The Beloved BU Hoodie!

Before I actually made my move from The Lone Star State to the Lob-Ster State in Sept. of ’85, I paid a brief visit to The Hub. I’m guessing it was February or March. It’s pretty much a blur, but I got a tast of the raging Boston rock scene. I know one place Lisa took me was Jumpin’ Jack Flash in the Fenway, and I’m pretty sure Scruffy The Cat was playing. While I was here I bought a hooded Boston University sweatshirt; white with red letters. (I had been accepted by BU in 1978, but had opted not to go there).

Back in Dallas, sweatshirt weather was almost over, but I wore that sucker like a uniform, pretty much every day. One such day I was walking down Greenville Ave, daydreaming as I usually do, when a voice awoke me from my reverie. An odd shout. “Hey Flutie!” I looked up to see this dude walking my direction, but on the opposite side of Greenville. “Flutie!” Dude shouted again. It took me a minute to get it, but then it hit me. The BU shirt! Dude was referring to Doug Flutie, the Hail Mary Hero of The Orange Bowl. His Miracle in Miami was still fresh in America's mind. Now you and I and everyone knows Flute went to Boston COLLEGE, but it’s doubtful that Dallas Dude knew the difference between BC and BU. My reaction? Pretty lame. I think I said, “Yeah! Boston! WooHoo!” or something to that effect. I focused forward, quickened my pace, and walked on. Wow! I guess you could say it was my first “Flutie-Call!”

For years to come and almost right up to this day, I have heard the familiar chants of “Floo-tie, Floo-tie!” and "Flutie did it! Flutie did it!" For a while it actually became an inside joke among myself and a few close friends. Back in ’85, walking down Greenville Ave, it was all new. I was excited to be moving to Boston!

*An interesting footnote to this blog: Myself and all other life-long Dallas Cowboy fans know that the term “Hail Mary Pass” was coined in 1975 by our all-time great QB, and an amazing scrambler himself, Hall-of-Famer Roger Staubach.

The Final Power-down, June 29, 2007

2007-06-29T20:52:00.000-04:00

Well, for all intents and purposes, it’s over. I’m powering down the Flying Scotsman studio at my house for the last time. Don’t know when I’ll be doing another recording project. My priority is to now focus on baby, family and work. In Vermont. I’ve had this studio here in the house for six years, and some really good projects have come out of it -- mixes for bands like Muck and The Mires, The Fathoms, Grand Evolution, and Temper have been printed to my old reel-to-reel master machine here. I have to say the old Otari and I went out on a high note, having just-this-minute finished nine songs for Mike G. & Associates. Mike is the most rockin’, most soulful Americana artist I’ve had the pleasure of working with in years. He’s the lead guitarist for Grand Evolution, as well as the front man in a Neil Young tribute called Young Rust. That experience has served Mr. G. very well, as he has concocted an original sound that encorporates the best of old-school and modern rock. The guy’s got IT. I mean he really has it; great lyrics, singing and guitar-work. It's real organic with little or no studio trickery involved! Be on the lookout for this CD when it comes out. It was tracked at my old Altitude studio (now called 37’ Productions) by MY great associate, Sean Mclaughlin, and mixed by me here at the house, surrounded by moving boxes. So it’s done, I love it, and I’m proud of it. The last couple of days in the sweltering heat was melting both the equipment AND my brain, and you can hear it in the tracks...they're hot...overdriven. Appropriate that the last album I did was one very much after my own heart. Here’s Mr. G’s page: http://www.myspace.com/mikegsolo The tracks up there now are pre-studio demos of the songs. He’ll be putting up the finished mixes soon, so check in and give a listen.

Here’s Seany Mac’s site: http://www.37ft.com/