Songwriters: Honeypie

So where did you guys start as musicians?

Ryan Radcliff: I feel like I’m different because I didn’t come at things from a writing point of view. I started as a musician just ‘cause I wanted to play guitar like Stevie Ray Vaughan and Jimi Hendrix. Writing wasn’t something I even thought about. I started playing in 1999, and even until about 2003, and I would have friends ask me to play one of my songs, but I just wouldn’t have any. And it got to a point where some friends would make fun of me for that, like, “You don’t you write any songs, what’s up?” Then in 2004, I had a girlfriend I broke up with, and started a project with Pavla (Dlab), who sings with Jameson. We started a band, and we were presented with having to write songs. It was the first time that I thought, this is gonna be mine and hers, and we have to write. So I drew from that experience, and I started using my first influences like the Police and Fiona Apple. During that time, those were the first songs I wrote. My first period of time writing was with Pavla. We would always write together as a team. Then Steve (Carson) kind of met up with us after the band had been going. We had written songs, but he took me to another level of arranging, and showed how important it is to take a second look at a song. When you write it, you have to step away, then take a look at it again. After that, it was realizing the place I need to be in to write, like emotionally and in my mind, and where my head needs to be at, because I think it’s a very different place from where my head needs to be at to play guitar. So realizing that those are two different places is important too.

Trisha Smith: It’s similar for me, because I’ve always loved to sing since I can remember, but I never wrote songs. I’ve written here and there, but nothing I actually gave to any band. This is the third project I’ve been in, and in every one, I hadn’t had the desire to write for the band. I just love to sing and I love the songs that someone else was writing. My first band was a rock/funk/reggae band called Wildcard Friday, and the drummer wrote all the songs. In Venus Infers, Davis (Fetter) wrote all the songs. And it’s funny ‘cause people would be like, “You don’t write the songs and you’re a singer?” But it didn’t bother me because I just really wanted to sing, and I loved the songs I had and got to make little changes. Now it’s a lot different because I have learned to enjoy writing and I love to feel accomplished from it. Ryan and I will work together, and it’s a different feeling to be able to create something and then to share it. When I’m singing it, to have that passion—I feel and really mean this song. It’s finally like, this is my project. I’ve been learning a lot about writing and become a lot more confident to present a lyric or melody to Ryan.

So a lot of artists write a song, package it all up, spit it out, and then once it’s out there, it belongs to the audience. Do you feel the same way? Is that how you transition from writing a song to playing a song on guitar?

Radcliff: I feel like I’m in a completely different frame of mind. Guys like Billy (Kernkamp) and Steve, I think they got into being a music maker for a completely different reason than I did. I think they got into it to be songwriters, and that’s not why I got into it. I got into it, first and foremost, just to play guitar. And I have this theory that everybody takes melody, harmony, rhythm, and lyrics, at different levels. For me, lyrics have never been something I’ve been into, and that’s just how I am and how I’m made. But something I’ve always been into is harmony, melody, and rhythm, but lyrics—not at all. A good song, to me, doesn’t have to have good lyrics. It could have terrible lyrics. I think that lines up with coming at music from a technical guitar player point of view. I’m not really listening to lyrics, because I’m not a singer either. I’m in this mindset of writing, I feel like you have to bring your ego way down, and you have to be able to take everything in and be influenced and be open to hearing things. But then when you’re on stage, you’re confidence has to be at a certain point to be able to play live. And realizing how different that is. I would get into an environment where I had to play, and I wouldn’t be able to because I’d been writing all the time. So you almost feel like you have to be this schizophrenic, and you have to go back and forth, and it’s tough. I can’t write everyday. I’ve been playing a lot and I haven’t been writing. And if I’m gonna be writing, then playing for me if gonna be tough, ‘cause I have to cram into that other mode.

So how do you feel about the importance of a harmony between band members when writing and playing?

Radcliff: A big thing I’ve realized is that every musician, in their own different way, uses something different as an outlet. I’ve been thinking lately that I’ve never really been a lyrics person, but I’m always thinking about stuff, just like everyone is. Everybody’s brain is always going, and you’re always reacting to things. I’ve asked myself, why am I not a prolific lyricist like Billy, who is constantly writing words down. I think for me, I gravitate more to my outlet being playing, rather than writing a lyric. For Billy, his outlet is in writing a song or in writing a lyric, and mine isn’t naturally like that. I have to make it like that. That goes with getting in that zone. I have to turn my outlet from playing, and turn it into writing.

Smith: I’m really big on lyrics too. He’ll write something and he might not think it’s that great, but I’ll let him know when I love something and I think it’s amazing.

Radcliff: That’s why Honeypie stays so small. It comes down to the basis of it--who inspires you to want to work? Otherwise, what’s the point of having these bands that don’t get along? It’s not even worth it.

Smith: I’d rather have a band of just us two, where we just get along and inspire each other and it’s great. It’s better than having someone in the band who is dragging their feet and not that into it.

I think a lot of people get held back because they think musicians either have it, or they don’t, but a lot of it is a learned thing, right?

Radcliff: I think that’s an important thing. No matter what you’re comfort zone is, you can go out of that comfort zone, and if you practice anything, you’ll get better at it. If you practice lyrics, you’ll get better at them. It took me years to finally write songs, because I thought that if I couldn’t write a song right away, that I couldn’t write. But no one ever told me thats it’s just like guitar. You just have to do it. Tell yourself to write 20 songs this month. Force it out, because you have to. The only way to learn is to gain the experience.

Do you find yourself stuck in a moment of emotion when you are attempting to write, or is it a broader? Do you like to stick with storylines, or just a good melody?

Smith: I think for me it’s a little broader arena. I try to think of things that really affect me, or what I’m passionate about, whether it’s a story, or just my view on something. I like storylines and melodies both, and I like to experiment. I would love to write a song that maybe has no lyrics, just sounds.

Radcliff: I think the best places to write are in the car and in the shower. It’s places where a part of your brain is being occupied, and it’s such a crucial part. If you just sit in your chair and you try to write, then there’s too much of your soul being focused. If you’re driving or in the shower, then a part of you is occupied, and you don’t realize it because it’s something that you’ve done so many times. Melodies and lyrics are the easiest in the shower. I could never sit down at my desk and write lyrics out, like if you can imagine any great songwriter. The funny thing is that they are such great practiced songwriters, and I bet they can just go to that part of their brain without going into the shower. That’s what they do

How much do you think is technique with those professionals?

Radcliff: I think they are inspired and they have experience on their side. It’s those two things. If you write constantly, you’re bound to put out good stuff. If you listen to enough good music, you’ll regurgitate something good. A great thing is to just constantly listen to music. I’m very systematic, and so the big thing with playing guitar is studying your scales and you study the mechanics. When it comes time to play, that stuff is in your head and it comes out, but you’re not regurgitating. With songwriting, you have to just listen to music.

When you’re getting ready to write, how do you prepare yourself?

Radcliff: When I’m writing, I’ve got my cluster of music that I listen to that inspires me, like Elliott Smith, Ryan Adams, and Wilco, and I’ll only listen to that stuff. I won’t listen to the latest Indie band, and I won’t listen to something that won’t inspire the direction that I want to write. You keep a certain mindset. I don’t write all the time, so I do it in chunks. It would be great to do it all the time because I love writing. When I write something new, it feels like this cursed puzzle. When you write something and you know you’ve got something good, and you’re like, ‘I have to finish this and do it justice.’ Otherwise, if I play it for Trish for the first time, then she’s not gonna like it, and it’s gonna get wasted. So it becomes like this curse where this great thing you’ve made and you’re proud of, you not have to finish. You have to come up with other great parts that go with it. The high point for me is in the creation of it, and the puzzle is being complete. Everyone is a little different.

Smith: I like to write in parts too. I’ll write a verse, then another, but it kind of depends on what comes out at the time. I usually don’t start at the beginning and then write through the whole song and then end it—which would be a cool thing to do. I think I’m better at writing everything separately in parts, and kind of rearranging lyrics. A lot of times, I’ll write things, and then it will make better sense to put them in a different order. I don’t know why, but sometimes I write backwards. We’ll move lines as a second look.

So how do you know when you cut it and what the length is? Is it determined by storyline, the feeling of the melody, the guitar parts? Is there something about it that makes it a longer song, or short and sweet?

Radcliff: There’s no right answer. It’s what you were feeling with the song. You don’t have to follow all the rules, you can do whatever you want, ‘cause who else are you doing it for? There’s always gonna be someone that likes anything.

Photos courtesy of Jenavieve Belair

Micah Brown. Kiev. The New Limb. House of Blues, Anaheim. April 1, 2011

Micah Brown

Kiev

The New Limb

Songwriters: Billy Kernkamp

How do you stand on the technical approach vs. playing-by-ear approach in your songwriting?

First and foremost, as far as songwriting is concerned, I just think of it like telling a story. I’m storyteller, that’s what I do. So as I approach things, I feel that it has all been done before. It really has, every style, everything that you wanna say, it’s all been done. But with that being said, I think what you have to do as a writer, musician, artist, or performer is to realize that it’s the vessel: it’s you. It’s you as the individual. That is what you’re getting out in these little pieces of art that you do. It’s like informing your instincts or emotions, and what you take in --what you read, movie, life. Also how you train your eye to see things. So I think that’s where it starts with song writing, and any art. Training your eye, finding the echo, and finding yourself.

It definitely is a process.

Yeah it is. And technically, I’m a knucklehead. I don’t know a whole lot about much, but I know how to string some chords together and what key I need to play in. What I try to be conscious of, as far as when I’m approaching a song, is the style of the song. I don’t want to do any re-treading. I don’t want to repeat myself.

You don’t want to have the same ten songs in a row, because the audience will ultimately be bored and not get the message, right?

When I’m writing, I don’t really think about my audience. Since I’m a storyteller, I can talk and bullshit for hours and hours. What I love about writing songs is, that when I get into that zone, I can kind of relax and focus on one thing and get this nice little crystallized idea, and if I can get that across, awesome. Once it’s out of my mind and off of my chest, then it belongs to the audience. Then I feel it doesn’t belong to me anymore. So that’s what I love about the songwriting part, cause that’s where I think it is intimate.

Are you writing everyday usually?

I’m always thinking about lyrics, ideas, chord changes, melodies. I feel that inspiration is always there, and it’s a constant filtering through emotions, but it’s the ones that stick. Cause sometimes you’re writing, and even at this time, as long as I’ve been doing it, I still think my good ones are like high school poetry I’m embarrassed about. You’re always taking in life and filling the vessel, having conversations, and you’re always in tune with that. I don’t think that artists feel more than other people. That’s bullshit.

So people that aren’t musicians get their incite from how artists view the world? Even if people can’t play, they can still appreciate music, right?

That goes with what I believe. A lot of artists I respect, they really put themselves on a different level, and that’s bullshit. I think once you do that, that creates this elitist idea, and that separates you from this consciousness and collectiveness that we’re all a part of. And I think you’re missing the point if you’re on stage and you’re singing down to the audience. You want to be able to connect with people. I don’t think that, as an artist I feel more or hurt more. But I do feel that we deal in emotions and we are more aware of how we are feeling, and where we are mentally. To say that people don’t feel as much, then we wouldn’t be selling music and art. Emotions are innate, and we all deal with the same basic fundamental things in life--we were born, we die. We fall in love, we lose love. Religion, and everything in life. We all feel those things. As an artist, it’s your job to filter out and find those moments in your life, and hopefully you learn something about yourself. And in your writing, hopefully your listener can connect and find some sort of relationship with that song.

So everything has already been said in song, but the beauty of it is that we’re in a different time. There are a lot of elements that have been around forever, but then it’s also clashing with this new day and age. So how do you keep things new as an artist?

I think that’s the challenge, but everything comes from the vessel. Everything that you put out, comes from you. So you are this big processor, and you’re taking in all this stuff, and that’s what makes everything distinct and different; it’s you and what you bring to it. Time, sure, I think there’s a lot to be said about that. They always say, is it the time or the musician that makes him great? I think about that a lot. As an artist, what has always been relevant has been being in tune to society, fads, technology, and all that stuff, and then speaking against that. You have to be on the contrary to whatever that mainstay is. So if people are sensitive to that, and then comes the technology and corporate boom, suddenly people naturally head towards the folk vibe. I think as an artist, when you are dead, that’s when someone can define you. I think if somebody can put their finger on you and you’ve become this mold and this one-dimensional thing, then you’ve lost. I don’t want to be defined. I don’t mind if someone wants to put me in a genre, but as far as myself, I don’t want to. Once you’re there, you’re not going to get out of that. Keep yourself sensitive to what’s going on around and don’t buy the hype. Just always be in tune to yourself and know the direction that you’re trying to take your craft, and hopefully something special will come from it. I’m partial to Roots music. I love the prosaic nature of Blues and Folk music, and the idea of finding the beauty in this mundane life we all share. That’s where I come from when I’m writing.

So what are you working on currently? Do you want to break it down a little bit?

When I build a song, it’s usually an idea that I start with. I’ll hear someone say something interesting and pick up on it. For a new song, “Cryin’ to be Spent,” I was recently at Target and a five dollar bill flew out of my wallet, and the cashier was like, “That five bucks is crying to be spent!” And I thought that was such a cool phrase. Before that, I had already had an idea, because I like to juxtapose two ideas against each other and I love to use dichotomy. So I started with a preacher and a gambler--simple archetypes that are always against each other. Then I started to think, how do I bring this all together? So I’ve got, “cryin’ to be spent,” and I like the idea of this preacher and the gambler, and I feel like I am a little of both. And then I just began to write. These two ideas came together and it worked. When you do get that spark, ‘cause you are always taking in things, then you attack with urgency. That’s how I feel. Just let it happen, and then you write and write until it’s out and it’s right, and then let it go. You get these moments where you know there’s a story to be told here, and then you attack. I always know what I want to do with a verse, and I’m always thinking lyrically, and hope that the melody comes. But I don’t want to give anything away with the first verse. I know what it means to me, but I don’t want to spill my whole wad, ‘cause it’s more about setting the tone and feel of where the song is going, and I keep it a little bit more ambiguous. Second verse is for informing, and then the chorus galvanizes the messages of the verses. It’s like any foreshadowing, just adding those layers to show where it’s going. I don’t want to be too straight forward, because it’s about creating the right kind of imagery and setting the right kind of tone. I’m informing my listener of what’s going on, but you want to allow them to gain their own perspective. I think that’s what brings a listener back to a piece. Leaving the holes in the seams-- that’s where the listener finds himself.

Songwriters: Stanley Lucas Revolution

What do you want to hear in a song?

Sean Robertson (aka Stanley Lucas Revolution): I just go for visceral responses. The melody, and if its got a good hook. If the voice changes register, it stands apart from the rest of the song. And a catchy melody that sticks with you.

So I guess the intent of music is to make it catchy, right?

Robertson: I hate seeing music when there’s nothing to really viscerally grasp onto, like there’s no hook.

But a kind of simple song can be made something more with lyrics, right?

Robertson: I think so, typically more so on record, than live. Cause you can’t hear the lyrics so much anyway when it’s live. It can happen, but…

So I heard that at 3-4am, there is a chemical released in your body that is supposed to create inspiration, is that true?

Robertson: My most prolific time always as an artist, for however long I’ve been doing it, has been in the daylight hours. It’s like a weird paradoxical thing I guess. Usually mid-morning, 11am until about 4pm. Smack in the middle of the day has been my most productive time. I think it’s just linked itself that way because that’s the time when I could physically make music. Mom would be gone at work, and for years when I lived with her, is when I pretty much developed all the Stanley stuff. When I had the coffee shop job, I would either be off a couple days a week when she was at work, or I would get home by noon everyday. So my most productive time just kind of developed into being, when I actually had time to rock out in the house without annoying anybody. I like to play loud, and I gotta do five things at once, and I don’t really write music by sitting on one instrument and working on a song. I need to do this whole thing that I do. It’s been so long that I’ve been doing this live looping bit and stepping on a button. Josh Cairns asked me if I wanted to play bass in a band that he’s starting, but I told him that I don’t know if I could even play an instrument for more than just 10 seconds in a row. I don’t know if I could play a bass for six minutes solid, all those different parts. I’m so out of the loop for that certain kind of music (laughs).

So how well do you know your scales?

Robertson: I know scales in a couple different keys, and that’s about it. I tend to lean a lot on F Minor, and then I do C Major, C Minor, F# Major. I don’t really play in a whole lot of keys. I play guitar in A Major a lot, but I don’t really know the scale. I don’t know a whole lot about music other than rhythm and melody. I don’t really know theory at all. Most everybody I know knows a lot more about music than I do.

You just recognized patterns, playing them enough?

Robertson: Yeah. There’s two different ways of approaching music I think. There’s approaching from the experiential way, versus through the calculated, learned way; which people who experienced it, learned and wrote down, so you can learn it from this side of the peak of the pyramid, or the other side. I’ve always attacked it from the experiential, that’s the most enjoyable thing about making art for me, is going through the process.

What about a hybrid?

Robertson: I always wonder sometimes if I’m too old, well not too old in the sense of age, but like an old dog stuck with my old tricks. Have I been set in my ways for so long that I don’t know if I can physically learn anymore? Plus, I don’t want to know too much, cause I think it kills art the more you know about it. I like to be a reactionary artist. Make songs in one note.

I think a lot of people rely on their calculations, but then there’s the FEEL. That’s what the whole music thing is about. If people rely on calculations, they lose that, right?

Robertson: Yeah, to a certain degree, definitely. I don’t think it’s completely exclusive, but there are a lot things. I was watching Justin Morales play something on the bass the other night at Westside Bar, and he was doing some shit I don’t really comprehend. From a musician’s standpoint, to just get floored, and be like, ‘I don’t really know what’s going on right now.’

Play something.

Robertson: (Plays “This World” acoustic, on piano). I haven’t really done that before. I never liked it, cause it’s boring if I ever do anything with it.

I don’t think it’s boring at all.

Robertson: It’s really easy, it’s a simple song, cause like I was saying, I don’t know too much.

I’m watching your hands from the outside, and trying to pay attention, but you know where everything is already.

Robertson: Well do you know the notes? When you first look? Like what is that? (Points to a few keys).

G…D…E…F…

Robertson: So you know them. That’s quick enough to know the chords. Then you’ve got an octave (plays a bassline. Repeats “This World,” while showing the chord progression).

Oh, I played something you haven’t heard, over the weekend. Both Saturday and Sunday night. Sunday I was at the Lab. And Saturday night, my stuff was falling apart. All my equipment is in the shop right now. My amp stopped working right as I was trying to set up on stage.

Which is always the perfect time.

Robertson: And I can’t use anyone’s amp, cause it’s gotta be able to handle what I’m doing to it. Which is putting so many instruments through it at the same time. That kind of fucks up amps, which is why mine breaks every couple of years. So I don’t want to do that to anybody else’s amp. No one’s really supposed to do that. ‘Can I borrow your amp? Sorry it’s blown up now.’

What kind of amp do you use?

Robertson: It’s a keyboard amp. I’ve tried a couple amps, but this particular one I have seems to work good enough.

Good enough?

Robertson: It’s hard to say, I bought one that I thought would be better once, and it sounded so bad. I don’t know why. It was a bass amp. And it’s not a money thing. Like this one, the one I have, it was from an old customer from the coffee shop, and he gave it to me. This older guy, his wife used it for playing piano at the church. And she got a new one. So one day it was, ‘Hey Sean, you want a Fender amp? We don’t need it anymore.’

So what about structure?

Robertson: That consists of little things that make a huge difference. All I really do is layering bits, and playing a pattern. Then repeat 64 times. But by adding little things on top of it, or underneath it, or taking them away, it gives the songs dynamics. Which I think is important. It gives the ear places to rest, places to get excited, rather than something that’s just constant.

And cluttered?

More consistent I’d say. A lot of times, music happens in between the notes. And if you’re just constantly playing notes, a lot of times, there’s no room for the ear to naturally go off and wander for a second. I think that’s most important sometimes, when you make the listener naturally just disappear, and start humming the melodies in their head. Whether they want to or not, they just disappear into music. I think a lot of it is what happens in between the notes, which if there’s a lot of space, you can say so much.

Sometimes the music says it better.

I wish I could pull things out of my loops once I overdub them in a certain way. It’s always going up, up, and up. As far as adding instruments, and then the next part is even bigger, and the next part there’s another instrument. I can’t ever drop it down, or break it down. I can a little bit, but it’s very difficult. I can’t do it with my looper.

You have to have the full band?

Robertson: Yeah, or I have to turn off the looper, or just play one instrument. The hardest part is ending it, isn’t it? I struggle with that sometimes, but a lot of times, especially because of the looping, I can only do one or two things. A lot of times, I tend to fade it out. Spin my fader.

When you do the big crescendo, huh?

Robertson: When it’s doing a big bang, I can’t have it ring. I can either turn the whole thing off, and just play one instrument, but that’s kind of boring, and I can’t do that on every song. Usually I just end up fading it.

So it always fading as a loop?

Robertson: Yes, it either fades with the loop, or I’ll have to end with one instrument, like a keyboard note. Can’t really have everything ringing out through the end.

Songwriters: The Growlers

When did Hot Tropics come out?

Brooks Neilsen: Middle of October (2010) sometime. Yeah it was cool, it was the last one we had made here (at the studio). It was kind of older material, but we had to put it out before it got too old.

When you write lyrics, what are you drawing from? For that album in particular? For those songs originally, and then to fit into the album?

Neilsen: I don’t know. A lot of the songs are written in a really short amount of time, like some of them, an hour, some of them a few hours. We were doing the Couples, so there wasn’t a whole lot of time to think about it. I usually don’t spend a lot of time about it. I just kind of like jot it down. A lot of it ends up being like rap, and rhyming. And then it’s, ‘Oh, it kinda seems like that,’ and, ‘They’re gonna think that…oh cool.’ I don’t really get that deep. If I catch myself getting really into it, I’m like, ‘quit being so artsy.’ But I don’t know, at that time, I was working, and driving around in my work truck all day. I was listening to this guy Dennis Prager a lot and his Happiness Hour and hearing a lot of Judeo-Christian values stuff. Thinking about stuff like that; good and bad, right and wrong.

So what did you think about all that? Obviously you were intrigued by it.

Neilsen: Yeah I like it, I mean, gotta keep on making more music so I don’t have to beat the shit out of myself everyday. Just like, shit it out and make more.

Artists around here get 4-5 songs on their EP, and then live off of those songs for the next year. Eventually it becomes, “What’s new?”

Neilsen: It’s weird. Luckily we made it a point to make a shitload. Cause we’re doing basically the same fuckin’ thing right now, it’s just a lot more songs.

Do you think that’s part of the success?

Neilsen: Yeah, to give us more to choose from. And to keep us motivated and happy. Playing the same shit is a real wear and tear, especially when you’re tired. When it’s everyday it’s tough. But the whole thing is pretty mapped out for you. When we were doing it on our own, it’s not mapped out, we can do whatever the hell we want. But now, we’ve started adjusting to being on a label, there’s timetables for everything; when records should be released. And you gotta know a lot earlier, cause you gotta get it done two months, three months before that deadline, and have the art done. And at the same time, the tour is starting to become something, and you’re like, ‘ugh.’ But luckily you’re still making something that you like, so that’s cool, but it’s kind of weird getting into the swing of deadlines. I failed miserably in school. To go back into that mode of, ‘Oh shit, gotta get this done or dad’s gonna be pissed.’ It’s kind of crazy. And that’s when the decision to take a break comes in. If we were on it, the 7” we are releasing would be a full-length album. But it’s not, so we’re not going to have a full-length. And then we can put it out at the end of Summer, but that’s not exactly the time to put out a record. We’ll put it out next February, so there’s gonna be a huge gap here without music. So then you start thinking, ‘aw, well fuck man.’ Luckily we’re going across the country to all these places where nobody knows us, they’re tiny, and everything is brand new to them. The people around here are probably like, ‘same fuckin’ Growlers show.’ So that’s why we don’t really play here too.

You guys don’t play here that much, and I don’t think people are bummed on it. From an outsider’s perspective, you could probably turn around and play another one.

Neilsen: Yeah, I like playing at home a lot more. But when we were playing a lot, it felt like we were dragging people out every time, and it was kind of more of a scene, and less of a ‘come see the Growlers’ thing.

So where do you like to play when you’re home?

Neilsen: Alex’s Bar in Long Beach is cool. Yeah I don’t know a favorite place, we need to find some. The best place is at a big warehouse basically. And a house party is cool, but you can only fit so many, and it’s easily broken up. A warehouse, they tend to go all night, and little kids get to get drunk and have sex in the corner, and pee everywhere. They’re more fun, compared to the venues.

So are you guys writing at all right now?

Neilsen: Yeah, Matt’s got a shitload of songs, Kyle’s got a bunch of songs, Scott’s got some basslines, I have some. So we just need to kinda start combining, just do a little bit you know.

Do you write yours as vocals?

Neilsen: Yeah, separate. And then on their stuff I just create a melody to it over the top. The 7” is gonna be in April, and the full length won’t be until the end of Summer. We wanna get a massive amount of songs to narrow it down and do a small amount. Maybe like 50 songs, and then do ten songs or whatever.

Do you have a certain vibe you’re going for, or do you just kind of create as much as you can?

Neilsen: Yeah, we tend to do that. That idea is just weird to me, too contrived. Like putting yourself in a box. It’s like how do you map that out, ‘Let’s get more Motown or something?’ I don’t know what the hell to even say. I mean the guys have said stuff like, ‘Hey maybe let’s not be so death’ (laughs). But we write songs all in Minor, it’s kind of what the vibe is.

http://thegrowlers.com/

Micah Brown Releases Video: "Finally Free"

OCMA Best Blues Award Recipient MICAH BROWN releases his newest video today! "Finally Free" was directed by Eli Green, and produced locally at 17th St. Records in Costa Mesa. Brown appears to take the upper-hand on this unfaithful lover in this one....take a look!

http://www.reverbnation.com/micahbrownmusic

Catch Micah Brown at House of Blues Anaheim this Friday, April 1st, with The New Limb, Kiev, Ethan Hulse, Chasing Kings, and DJ Velvet Touch.

http://www.houseofblues.com/tickets/eventdetail.php?eventid=67886

Introduction to Songwriters Collection

What does it take to write a song? Why do some people string together chord progressions so effortlessly, while others slave over every piece? Is it important to tell a story, or does the inclusion of lyrics occur only so a melody to hum with exists? Do the technical musicians quell the simpler songwriters, or can a simple three-chord change inspire more overall emotion from the listener? And in the end, is it the audience member that gives the song life?

For some, songwriting is an organic process that grows in the seeds of personal practice, while others find their stride within the jam circle. Records are made in so many ways these days, whether it involves capturing rough cuts on tape recorders, tunes made in warehouses and garages on personal digital devices, or albums produced by a professional studio that house ProTools, plenty of equipment, high-powered computers, and the finest acoustics. As I carefully studied each perspective, I began to realize there was no cut and dry manner of making a song. Most musicians that spoke of his or her inspirations, stuck to specific songwriting practices of their own. Others revealed that they enjoyed reinventing themselves by morphing in phases with the style of their music, just as an individual morphs during his or her lifetime.

In the end, the hunt for the key to songwriting became clear: it is about self-expression, and discovering a Harmonia with yourself and your bandmates. To be culturally aware is to be an artist, and the truly great songwriters speak and play from their heart in reference to the world around them. They create with the intention of portraying the emotions felt by humanity, but that most individuals are unable to express because they are not practiced in the process of artistic interpretation. That being the case, it is never too late to start thinking about the music we choose to listen to, and why it is relevant in our day-to-day life. Then, as an audience member and fan, it is always possible to be part of the journey of songwriting.

Keep and eye out for interviews from:

The Growlers

Billy Kernkamp

Stanley Lucas Revolution

Honeypie

Echo Echo

Tyler Ellis

Omaha

Railroad to Alaska

Snakebit Drifters

Drums and Color

FOUND: Artist Warren Heard at Find Gallery

A few months ago, artist Warren Heard disappeared from the eVocal studio. No phone calls, no sight of him walking the streets of Costa Mesa, no word of his whereabouts. This local artist fell off the map, and it appeared that the entirety of his vast collection might soon fade away as well. Until one day, while driving down Superior Ave., I glanced to the left, and discovered him in the window of the Find Gallery, one of the newest installations to the Costa Mesa art scene. Just inside the wide window pane of the spot sat Heard, paintbrush in hand, with his head lifted toward the simple wooden easel holding his next masterpiece. From then on, each time down Superior, my head would swivel toward the Find Gallery to catch a glimpse of Warren working away. Most times, as expected, he is there, protecting his collection, constantly creating additions, and waiting patiently for his first major exhibition in years.

Born into a tumultuous life in Venice Beach during the 1950s, Heard remembers, “The smog and the heat, the congestion and the crowds. Everybody was on edge, irritable, and not happy.” He inevitably became inspired by the chaotic world around him, artists like Rick Griffin, and the expansion of rock and roll. “I can’t paint in silence,” he explains, “There has to be audible things going through my brain at the same time. If there’s no music, then I’m unplugged, and things won’t flow.” As a young man, Heard took a dishwashing job at a local eatery in Venice, then eventually moved into the kitchen. His experiences as a novice chef helped him recognize that fine dining was the epitome of creative expression, just like the drawings and painting he continued to work on diligently. After a few years of experience, Heard crossed the county line into Orange County to advance his career as an accomplished chef and caterer.

Today, the bulk of Heard’s collection has taken over every inch of every wall inside the Find Gallery. He chooses to develop his imagery steadily, often taking multiple months and years to perfect his artistic expressions. The clashing urban myths Heard experienced in Orange County during his time as a chef are portrayed in his panel painting, Lost In OC, where the sprawl of suburbia and packaged theme park entertainments clash with the surf, entertainment, and culinary culture that Heard was constantly surrounded by. His images can seem a bit vulgar at times, be he explains that, “My work has to grow on you, it’s not something you immediately like. I feel like you’re drawn in, but as soon as you get up close and start to view the imagery, it pushes you away. I wouldn’t know how to put it into words, other than ‘organized chaos.’” Each composition hosts twisted, yet elegant forms that Warren has trapped between the mayhem of his intricate color-layering process and detailed line-work, creating a theme of beauty in disorder.

The personality of each work is brought to life by applying a mixed technique, using oils, pastels, and Pentel markers to precisely render anatomical features, while exploding the traditional picture plane with cubist- inspired breaks of time and color. As for knowing when the intricate details of the final product are finished, Heard claims, “For any figure, there’s probably seven layers, or stages. I let it evolve. Even compositionally, I know there will be this here and that there, but what they will look like when they’re done, I don’t know. I let it flow, I know when it’s not right.” Although Heard’s extensive collection is now protected within the walls of the Find Gallery, many of his pieces have vanished over the last decade. “This only half of it,” he states, “All the rest is gone. Sold, given away, painted over. There are five paintings under some of these pieces. They’re all completely different. They’re there, and they can see you, but you can’t see them.” Despite regretting the loss of a few key pieces, Heard is enthusiastic about retrieving the majority of them. No matter how much of his work disappears, he claims that, “I’ve gotten to a point where, it doesn’t matter, something will always keep coming. I never have a block, and I’m never not inspired. I wish I could paint three at the same time.”

On March 12^th at the Find Gallery, Heard will finally reveal the remarkable power and grace of his work to the public during his first show in years. His intense style celebrates our human condition, our passions and vices, and reconnects humanity with the harsh circumstances of Southern California culture. And while he may never escape the savage reality of Orange County, Warren Heard will continue to patiently sit, accompanied by his accumulation of paint tubes, pens, and jagged wooden palates covered in dark layers of color. Day by day, he will find a way to create some sort of makeshift canvas so he can continue to steadily layer section by section of the next chaotic abstract concoction he chooses to reveal.

http://warrenheard.com/

http://findartmagazine.com/

OCMA's Best Live Band Finals @ The Galaxy Theater

This year, OC Music Awards chose 20 local bands to fight it out for eight weeks at local venues like Detroit Bar, Gypsy Lounge, and Tiki Bar, for a chance to take the stage at the Grove of Anaheim for the OC Music Awards, Saturday, March 5th!
Along with the performance slot came many more prizes, including a set on four stops of the Van's Warped Tour! Top five that made it to the Galaxy Theater were, We Are the Arsenal, Railroad to Alaska, Kiev, The Steelwells, and BLOK, with The Steelwells taking home the win. Find pics from the Finals below!