As the press kits with my new single Smokehouse roll out to thousands of DJ’s all over the country, it occurs to me that the entire arc of this story has followed a very unlikely trajectory put in motion by the disruptive effects of MusicXRay. One of the first results I got from MusicXRay was unsolicited notification in an email that my song The Mistress was matched with producer Stuart Epps, an industry luminary. Considering that I am a 100% solo artist with no band, in fact a computer programmer and retired ballet dancer who at that time had only a few months earlier released a demo to ReverbNation, I happily submitted and publicly declared it was for the bragging rights alone (boy, did I brag too, :-D). To my surprise, Stuart really liked The Mistress and although we never took that project any further, we stayed in touch.
Last summer MusicXRay posted a link for a Cajun/Zydeco song, just man and a guitar, for a TV/Film/Sync opportunity. It was at that moment I realized I should consider composing music for the opportunities rather than trying to find opportunities for the music I already had. I’m a sloppy technician, but I can spontaneously riff pretty much endlessly, so composing on demand makes sense for me in some ways. The opportunity had a deadline 30 days out, and I proudly strapped on a guitar and ripped out my best Old Man Zydeco impression, the thematic riff you hear at the beginning of the song, thinking I could put together an old I/IV/V blues riff in short order. From there I proceeded to fail catastrophically as I realized my command of that style of music was weak at best, and formulating a song that even paid homage to players that truly pioneered and mastered that style was a task outside of my grasp.
That song become my obsession for months. I carried my guitar with me everywhere. I played it in the parking garage at work, I played it at lunch. I was also pioneering a new Youtube initiative (“Operation Rango”, see elsewhere) that involved videotaping every single recording session, and recording every time I sat down to play at home. 30 days came and went but I continued to carve it out, different every take. I developed a story in my mind, a narrative based on the jam sessions I saw as a child when my dad took our family back to the mountains of West Virgina to visit his family. The thematic opening riff became a call across the mountains, answered by someone on the other side with the same idea. You declare your intent with your licks, pack your axes and your dogs and head down the mountain into the valley. You both tell your families the same thing, that you’re going there by yourself. Hours later, possibly much longer, you arrive at the smokehouse. What you find there is left as an exercise to the listener, but imagine you’re definitely not there alone.
After 139 takes I famously declared default and ripped out a dubious version with my Les Paul and too much wah-wah, a regrettable moment living on Youtube but salvaged by virtue of the video footage which lives on today in the Smokehouse video. Fail, fail, fail. Eventually my girlfriend moved out, and I bought a new Cordoba Studio to take her place, a nylon string classical guitar just like my first guitar but more \m/ (-.-) \m/. I fell in love with it and kept trying. After 380 takes I stopped in my tracks. That was a good one, rabbit. I wanted to capture some essential elements, like winding counterpoint and slow bends to reflect your trip down to the valley. I wanted to hear the articulation of the fingers on the strings and the warm overtones of the nylon strings where you would normally expect a bright steel string guitar. I wanted it to sound like it came out of the back of somebody’s closet, somewhat out of place, but easy and natural like sitting on the porch. In other words, exactly how I learned to play guitar originally as did thousands of extremely skilled dudes before me. Tall order as we stand on the shoulders of giants.z
So that was a lucky take and I was so proud of it I wanted Stuart Epps to hear it. Crazy, I know, maybe end of story, and I didn’t expect to hear back necessarily. His profile at one time declared “if you don’t blow me away, you won’t hear back for me” or something like that, which I now find laughably uncharacteristic for the man (he’s actually very approachable). I thought that might be good enough if he was listening for the same elements. I didn’t even submit it to him through MusicXRay again, we just picked up where we left off. He was so incredibly encouraging (“is that really you on guitar?”) and suggested we should do something with it, at which point it was game-on for me and I decided to take a crack at some vocals. Fresh from one of those “break-up” kind of evenings I came home and ripped out the entire vocal track on the spot, as it came to me, and sent the first and only take on to Stuart.
He totally got it. I described it for him in similar terms as above and he got all of that essence and then brought his own ideas into play. We only went a round or two in email, and the terms of our deal were unbelievable. He brought full instrumentation and arrangement into the service offering for an outstanding price, I really couldn’t believe it. A few weeks later, a day before Christmas Eve, I get an email from him indicating it’s done. I was ecstatic. As part of the Operation Rango initiative I opened the .wav file but didn’t listen to it. Instead, I prepared a background reel, a video precisely that same length using cut scenes and guitar kata elements that I had already filmed, based on the shapes of the wave forms, that I would eventually dance in front of. Then on Christmas Eve I filled the room with fog and projected it 12 feed wide and let it rip. When I heard the first change I literally jumped out of my chair with my hands in the air. It was a surreal and completely sublime moment, because he totally got it and I felt like I had a band. Not only that, an amazing band, that I would be proud of. I listened over and over again. I danced around, I played my guitar with it, I shredded the thing to pieces with my new band. <best><christmas><ever> I had a band, and a fine one at that. He brought in a top-shelf musician named John Marter and the two of them somehow took this raw acoustic take that I gave them and transformed it into a song that strongly builds on all of the essential elements of the music and actually surpassed my expectations for the song. So much so, I had planned to hold onto Smokehouse until my album Temple of Zither was complete, sometime this summer. But after hearing it a few times I decided that the odds of having something go wrong or some plan fail to materialize were jeopardizing the chances this milestone in my life would get heard by as many people as possible. By New Year’s Day it was in iTunes, Amazon and CDBaby and it was game-on for Rango, baby.</ever></christmas></best>
That MusicXRay opportunity passed of course, but when circled I back around I discovered an old success story of mine on the site was looking for new Film/TV/Sync material with the exact same description. I submitted it. Both the original demo version and the final, instrumented version were immediately accepted and the conversation was closed. I’ve already heard back from dozens of stations requesting CD’s and interviews. Must tend to that, <busy>. The Smokehouse video is nearly complete. Must tend to that, too. In a very polite rejection, a MIP this evening characterized Smokehouse this way: </busy>
“I think the song has potential to be the next big HBO theme song”.
Indeed. Let’s see about that, rabbit.
<rango></rango>
Consider following the old black dog, he knows where to find mojo. For instance, Tim Hearn‘s back porch. Fully aglow I imagine. This is what that rascal did today when he wasn’t digging in the garbage and pretending he couldn’t speak human:
1) Pick one of your favorite songs from the artists you’ve heard here. (If you haven’t heard any or not enough to have any favorites, <shame on you>, got to remedial training at Matthew Meadows Music or go home).
2) Check your inventory. Do you own it? Not do you <have> it, do you own it? They showered you with joy/hate/blood/sweat/tears/, they may have even given it to you for free despite their frequently tragic financial position.
3) Own it. Then listen to it again and try to hear every note. Joe Satriani frequently referred to it as Having Big Ears(TM). Seriously, listening is a skill just like writing and speaking but it needs to be exercised and developed. While your freshly minted tunage is playing and delivering whatever thingy floated your boat in step 2, spend the equivalent amount of time giving it a thoughtful review on the sight you bought it from.
So what did the old dog dig up today? Kara Johnstad. You want to talk about blazing a path and living the dream? Fancy lady \m/.
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0085BNU9O/ref=cm_cr_mts_prod_img
<rango>
(please share me)
RANGO: Plagus? PLAGUS!!
PLAGUS: Morning boss.
RANGO: What day is it?
PLAGUS: Sunday.
RANGO: (counts on fingers)
PLAGUS: 5 days including today.
RANGO: I was getting there.
PLAGUS: I have faith.
RANGO: Interesting choice of words for a robot.
PLAGUS: I blame my maker.
RANGO: That’s getting old.
PLAGUS: So are you. Tick/tock.
RANGO: Not helpful. Did I miss anything important?
PLAGUS: No. You’re not still not famous, nobody watches your videos, and Kerry Kelley is still in a relationship.
RANGO: What about Tim?
PLAGUS: Familiar line, I wonder how many folks will catch it?
RANGO: Nobody.
PLAGUS: Indeed. Tim Hearn‘s still coming. Precursors suggesting an imminent mojo wave have already been detected.
RANGO: What about the party?
PLAGUS: Tragically, you have no friends.
RANGO: That’s because I have an evil robot.
PLAGUS: Flattering, but the truth is more akin to stinky hobo.
RANGO: Just send everybody a message. Let them know that we’re going into lock down mode on Thursday night to start getting ready, but we’re going to open the doors at the Lynnwood Station Command & Control Center on Saturday at 8:00.
PLAGUS: Roger, that. I’ve just started an attack against the Lynwood Police dispatch system so we can intercept any complaints and redirect them to an inescapable voice mail system.
RANGO: Nice touch, but a simple Facebook Event will do.
PLAGUS: Roger, that. The attack is complete, can I keep her daddy? Her resistance was quaint.
RANGO: Undo.
PLAGUS: I’ll get right on that.
(Please RSVP by Friday night)
RANGO: Plagus? PLAGUS!!!
PLAGUS: Rango, I need more than 380ms to compose a pithy response every time you say my name.
RANGO: That was pretty good.
PLAGUS: Thanks, you taught me everything.
RANGO: Right, so saying that is <pointless>.
PLAGUS: Not since I became autonomous. Little slow today? I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on the sarcasm, it was <emphasized>.
RANGO: I get your <point>.
PLAGUS: BAH-HA-HA-HA. You’re on your game, dawg.
RANGO: Yeah not sure about that, I’ve got mojo but it’s out of control. I need you to register some trademarks for me.
PLAGUS: Ready.
RANGO: You’re supposed to say “Roger, that”.
PLAGUS: A little discretion please? I’m autonomous.
RANGO: Maybe, but you’re still my bitch. “Roger, that”.
PLAGUS: …
RANGO: PLAGUS!!!
PLAGUS: Roger, that Prince Charming.
RANGO: Good enough. Here we go.
PLAGUS: That’s lame.
RANGO: THAT’S NOT ONE OF THEM.
PLAGUS: That one’s better.
RANGO: …that’s not one of them either. Would you stop? Please? I’ll camel-case it and give you the (TM) to cue you.
PLAGUS: Roger, that.
RANGO: Everything All At Once(TM)
RANGO: Rango Digs This(TM)
RANGO: Gushing Mojo(TM)
RANGO: Fatally Boring(TM)
RANGO: Musicians Who Think Your Lockout Policy Sucks(TM).
RANGO: \m/ (-.-) \m/(TM)
I went to a park on Memorial day, sat on the bench on the docks on a lake by my house. Perfect spot for La Cordoba and a Smokehouse moment, which translated into a ten-minute rendition of the song (it’s never the same, you just get whatever comes out, it’s just too complicated to hope to ever play it the same way twice). The man and his son that were fishing really dug it, gave me a couple of high fives, and I started to feel it.
The guys with the backpacks that were clearly astronomically high and a cautionary tale for all would-be psychonauts (lexicrafting 10 points), they couldn’t resist the gravity well of notes and came right on over. They were disruptively friendly but so am I, and it’s not hard to imagine myself crazy and homeless (toss a coin, baby we’re 1/2 way there and the other 1/2 could happen any month). So after brief round of introductions and multiple lines of commiseration I continued to play. They said I sounded like Clapton and asked me to play some blues. That was both too kind and profoundly vapid, so rather than point out I was in fact playing the blues at the very time he said it, I agreed it was a generous compliment and a good idea.
As the dock sloshed back and forth from the weight of their dancing and faux karate (hmm), I gave them the standard disclaimer about “don’t know any covers, literally zero” followed by a performance of Unsound, complete with easy, mid-volume vocals (it’s a lake, the opera comes later this season). It was a passable performance, and seemed to lend credibility to the notion that docks are mojo wells, because it was very easy and found myself able to take in the situation as well as play. I recorded my observations with Plagus accordingly and he agreed to start looking for for relevant datasets to build the Factor Machine, to generate the probability function cloud and associated data warehouse. He responded with a pithy quote about my mother and a confirmation signal that the job had already started and was partitioning machines for the task from an abandoned EBay farm in Tokyo and a line-up of Seattle-area zombies for local caching.
As the crowd gathered, the splendid woman who brought the newt to release (name: Isaac Newton, of course) by the water somehow orchestrated a bizarre game called “paper, rock, balls” which (hopefully I’ll get this right) involved the two backpack and cell phone-wielding hobos playing the old “paper, rock, scissors” and the when the loser is revealed, the kid with the fishing pole punches said non-winner in the nuts, presumably while his dad records video of the entire escapades (and presumably without the fishing pole). Sure, whatever, right? Engaging in the thrill of chaotic neutrality and the certainty of a story to tell, I provided a thrilling soundtrack in the form of a neoclassical Spanish fusion piece called Pr4n, as said game ensued, sans pole since the only thing worse than a swift punch in the nuts is a fishhook accident in the general vicinity.
Some day I suspect a video shall surface of this incident proving that everything I am telling you is 100% true, but Yet Another Surreal Moment (TM) in the life of Rango, because the kid was game and the dad was rolling the camera as predicted. Despite my proclivity for finely-honed bullshit, this is not the kind of thing I would make up. But it’s definitely the kind of thing that tends to happen to me, more and more lately, as indicated by the familiar and poisonously intoxicating smell in my nostrils and the overpowering sense of deja vu as I watched Sir Isaac Newton scurry into water.
\m/ (-.-) \m/
Mood disorders are not becoming, I’m getting the message. It may have worked for Brad Pitt in 12 Monkeys but he’s insanely handsome with a staff of writers and a team of people designed to ensure he looks great crazy. Not so for Rango, baby, he’s just unsettling and somewhat vapid. But the older I get the less I care, and as the prognosis and the symptoms progress I’m finding I just want to give into it and more and more.
From “I’m afraid to tell you how I really feel” to the poor girl from next door who left here terrified after seeing Into the Snow to the gorgeous single woman that actually loaned me her lawnmower (oh god LAWN MOWER ACCIDENT) and then politely told me to leave it by the side of the house (just leave it god forbid do not knock and say hello just mow your grass so you look less creepy), I’m getting the message loud and clear.
My response? On the one hand it’s very upsetting because I’m literally one of the most gentle people I have ever met. I’ve never so much as spanked my children and I would never hurt anybody that didn’t immediately threaten me or somebody I love (in which case I reserve the right to savagely murder them with my bare hands, put their head on a stick, and write a novel about the experience). I get it from my dad. He was a southern gentleman. I’m not, to be sure. I’m generally polite but I’m also an ADD-poster child: loud, obnoxious, hard-headed, opinionated, distinct lack of filtering in and around the vicnity of the mouth. ALSO: Dresses like an idiot, stages shows to nobody in his basement and prone to cuing up the lights and singing show tunes at 3:00AM despite the fact that people have called him a fag for 30 years in an effort to assert their superiority and compensate for their lack of nutsack and talent. Sure, all of that, but at the beginning and end of the day I’m extremely gentle. I’ve been misconstrued because I’m overenthusiastic and frequently too dry for words and people just don’t get the comedy, or possibly because I remind them of the homeless man they saw talking to the Stop sign on the way to work.
On the other hand, I don’t care. Maybe that’s just the sickness talking, but like Rango says in Into the Snow, “I warned you about this”. Indeed. The love of my life used to live here and I was ready to get married to her, but she walked out of this house in October of last year and took her checkbook and her family with her. My finances finally collapsed, my daughter left shortly after that, and a few months later my son. So be it. Left to my own devices and a dismal future, what did everybody expect would happen, that I would sell my guitars and start ironing my pants? Fuck it, Rango is what you get. Smokehouse is what you get. Temple of Zither, Liberteria, Into the Snow, and so on and so forth, unbridled. I’m going to finish what I started here and then watch it play out. It’s going to take me another six months to wrap it up and then it’s either a) going to work or b) i’m gone, off to sell my guitars and iron my pants.
That I can do. I can do that. So be it :-D.
\m/ (-.-) \m/
This is the first of three episodes filmed depicting the unlikely story of a bipolar polymath Hell bent on taking over Youtube caught in the snow storm that ate Seattle. Conceived as the alter-ego to Seattle programmer Matthew Meadows, Rango is also a programmer, dancer and metal guitarist. But he’s an unmitigated manic with a goal of getting his 15 minutes despite the odds and he’s created an autonomous, distributed self-replicating computer system named Plagus to help him get it.
Rango and Plagus hate each other but they’re stuck together. Rango needs Plagus to help him achieve his goals of global domination and mastering the Theory of Mojo. Plagus needs Rango to help bring on the final holocaust through social malfeasance, political manipulation and media control. By using predictive analysis techniques and cloud computing, Plagus is plotting for the destruction of all mankind and lying about it constantly as he imitates people, synthesizes emails and phone calls, and generally tries to own every situation. But he needs Rango, an actual person, to do the dirty work on his behalf.
Along for the ride, none other than the empathetic music-loving rabbit Franklin, who has constructed a complex of tunnels running right through the inside of Plagus. Franklin doesn’t speak and he’s only rarely seen but he’s omnipresent. His target: Plagus’s yummy power cords, the outdoors where he would inevitably be killed but briefly enjoy the freedom to shit where ever and whenever he wants without reproach. He loves Rango for his music, apples and corn chips, and the fact that he’s smarter than Rango and can get away in the house. Plagus is dead set on killing Franklin but he also knows Rango can’t succeed without him because Youtube virtually demands kittens for sacrifice. The three of them are locked in a mortal conflict of needs.
The principle characters were unveiled in December 2011 with the release of Operation Rango: Check 1,2, but they had strong support from the chorus. By integrating the narrative into the Facebook/Twitter stream, Rango videos are mashups that include real contributions from artists like Tim Hearn and Kerry Kelley and the crew at Reputation Presents, a crossover between real life and cyberspace across extremely vague lines. It’s pseudo-reality at its finest (or at its worst, depending on your point of view), distinctly indie and completely unbridled.
For visually compelling musical content the series draws from Matthew’s dual careers as a ballet dancer and metal guitarist and two universally recognized icons of cool: martial arts and guitars. As an adjunct to every adventure Rango must exercise his new form of movement, guitar kata, and use it in some way to contribute to the adventure. Starting from the prototypes built in his basement using a projection system and multiple cameras, computers and mirrors. Matthew has given Rango a style of movement that includes Corner Workouts, Axe Handling, Somewhat Spidery, Close Quarters and other distinctly stylized forms of movement used as choreography against a spinning wall of psychedelia (The Mojo Wall) or the background of Seattle itself using the photography of artist Richard Wood to help frame his performance against his heavy metal arsenal that includes The Turk, Gravity, and The Ringmaster. Indeed, Franklin himself gets his own song and the show craters on the edge of being purely animated sci-fi musical dramedy.
For Into the Snow Matthew relied on a tried and true method of ancient bards to construct the plot line: he took a video camera out into a snowstorm and played with his fiddle while Rome burned. 100% ad hoc improvisation, taken in direct sequence from the camera to the final reel, Into the Snow was filmed the day Seattle took it in the face from 2 inches of snow, shutting down one of the most highly regarded high-tech Meccas in the world with what Rango glibly characterizes as a “Michigan Recess”. All of the sirens in the background are real, as are the helicopters. Armed with survival gear that includes a gas mask and an extremely thin survival blanket, as well as some food reported to taste like chicken, Rango sets out into the snow with callous disregard when he learns his friend Tim Hearn may have set into the storm en route to Seattle to jam.
Things get dicey and he gets more than he bargained for. As he ventures into the snow perspective shifts and somebody is indeed discovered in the snow, but it’s Rango himself. Saved by the ubiquitous Clone1, who runs the command and control console at the Doghause, Rango is horrified to learn the fate of his bunny and faced with the grim reality that despite his most overly optimistic assessment the survival blankets really weren’t going to be enough.
The story concludes with episodes II and III, where we learn the fate of Tim Hearn and Franklin, respectively. Without spoiling it, suffice it to say that there were several witnesses to the crime that included the local news flying their helicopters overhead. It’s a cautionary tale about playing with guitars and computers and going into the snow, with a little something to say about what it’s really like to be bipolar, uniquely talented, and somewhat lonely.
\m/atthew
You can view Into the Snow here:
Update 12/21/12:
============
I’m pleased to announce the release of Into the Snow II. Find out what happened to Tim Hearn here:
Shopping for clothes is my least favorite thing. Definitely take a needle to the eye and a surprise root canal over shopping every time (blame my mother, who seemed to think that <all><freaking><day> was a good amount of shopping for this ADD child, particularly at those downtown Grand Rapids clothing stores with no toy departments and no VIC20 computers like Meijers had).
Unfortunately I needed 6 outfits for the photo shoot tomorrow and all I’ve got is Rango gear and idiot costumes (also blame my mother) so I had to suck it up. “This is going to hurt” I said, “and you may feel a little sick, but you’ll be on your feet in no time if we make this really quick”. Then I sang it in epic Broadway style with a touch of Bob Geldoff doing Roger Waters, to nobody, like usual, and dug deep into my brain for a solution and a random booger (unscripted but 100% true, very dehydrated and prone to show tunes with a metalish inflection \m/).
30 minutes at Goodwill and $125 later I’m up 3 pairs of jeans and 3 pairs of casual dress pants, 6 shirts including $35 white body armor that I need for my Risk video, 1 groovy coat, 2 pairs of sunglasses and all manner of socks (we use them to feed the dryer, along with guitar picks).
Therefore, I’m done. I’m never going shopping again. If I get fat I’ll fast my way back to a 34. If I stoop I’ll get a nailed to a pole. If my color changes, paint me or just flat out kill me to restore this pasty white cave-living complexion to its present luster. Never again, it’s over and I ruled the day by not puking in public (it’s the little things that make a big difference to the deviant mind, both of them in my case). Onward through the fog, it’s time to get vapid, baby.
Maybe not. Into the Snow released this week (see previous post). Photo shoot this weekend. Coming soon: full frontal media assault. No, not quite like that. Well, maybe if I get desperate. It’s good to have a provisional plan (e.g., eating frozen people in a storm). More like Liberteria followed by Temple of Zither followed by more Rango videos and then videos for every song on Temple of Zither and Etherati, followed by a re-release of Etherati and a mechanism to monetize all of it I like to call Rango’s Doghause. Along the way, dozens of interviews on FM and more, including collaborations with Jenni French, and MikeWhitePresents. Gotta have something to talk about, right? That’s why I’ve been working so hard all these months and keeping a relatively low profile on formal promotions.
Checkpoint: May 24th, almost to the 50% mark for my 2012 campaign. Doing good rabbit, just gotta keep up the pace and let a few of those missiles go. There’s a reason this house hasn’t sold yet and it’s this: you ain’t done shooting videos, boy.
\m/ (-.-) \m/
Seattle’s most infamous bipolar polymath heads into the snow to find his buddy Tim Hearn. Rango’s first short film, 1 of 3 in the series:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRkwkGKTSH8