Polka Dot Door and Prospect Avenue (Part 1).
Posted: May 25, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
In my tireless quest to have my life mimic the lyrics from the Polka Dot Door theme song as closely as possible ("With songs and stories and so much more..."), I've added a story to the "Extras" section of this website. The story is called Prospect Avenue. I wrote it last fall and have been going through it over the past couple of days in an attempt to tidy it up a bit. I'm just going to post the first section of the story. If you're interested in reading more, come back in a couple of days. I'll be posting a new section every couple of days for the next week or so. Then I'll post it all together in one document.
But if you only do one thing today, please watch these videos. I get little shivers of joy watching each one. And is it just me or were theme songs for Canadian children's shows really damned good back in the '80s?
Polka Dot Door:
Fred Penner's Place:
Under the Umbrella Tree:
Mr. Dressup
Well, that's all.
- Paul
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Return of the ... well, me.
Posted: May 2, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
Hello, hello. How's it going? How am I, you ask? My, how kind of you to inquire. You know, they always said you were the jerk in the family, and although I used to find you rude and conceited I must say that since that run in with the law you've been much more personable. One might even call you friendly, but I should probably exercise discretion and hold off on going too far with the flattery for fear of puffing you back up to the windbag, blowhard, horn-tooter that you were before that time in the tank. Remember that thing with your neighbour, the squirrel, and that bottle of mustard? Man, you sure were an ass back then. But, I'm getting off topic. Here we are talking about you again when you were so decent as to ask me how I'm doing.
I'm well, thanks. I got back about a week ago from Ecuador and had an excellent time. It was hot, and although I thought I might crumple up like a pathetic, wilting Canadian daisy laid out to dry on a hot slab of cement, in actuality I didn't find the heat all that bad. Oh sure I was sweating most of the time like I had just pulled a flatbed of zebras across two deserts (TWO!) but, you know, after a while you kind of get used to it. Bethany is much better at describing the lust for showering that develops in Guayaquil, so if you'd like a more nuanced and better-written description of the quest for cold water please visit: groundhogwash.blogspot.com.
To get back to your question, we did lots of fun things and I was introduced to many a nice person, most of whom I did not understand due to my poor, poor, poor Spanish. But most were smiling, and even if they were calling me a stupid gringo bastard, which they would have been completely justified in doing, at least they looked friendly while doing it.
So, what did we do, you ask? Well, lots of stuff and lots of nothing, all of which was exceedingly enjoyable and irrefutable proof that even the most mundane activities can be enjoyable when in the right company and environment. I've considered going into great detail about what we did but, truth be told, I don't really feel like it. It's not that I don't like you. Quite the opposite, in fact. Yes, there was that whole thing with the goose feathers and the stain remover, but you apologized and in the end I'm sure we can both agree that those months in the monastery did you a lot of good. So although I'm still a little sore about the whole thing, to prove that there are no hard feelings I thought I'd just go ahead and show you a bunch of pictures that you can feel free to interpret as you wish:
Pretty nice, huh? We stayed across this crazy highway from a place called Bastion, Block 6. Though all of the places we went were nice, I really liked Bastion a lot. It was a very cool community of people, though my not speaking the language was particularly a drag there as Bethany has lots of friends who live there that I would have liked very much to talk with.
I got back to Halifax last Thursday and have since then been trying to get enough songs together so that I can go out busking soon. I've also been looking for other work. What a drag that whole quest is. Man, there aren't too many things I dislike more. Who'd have thought you could get a degree in history and not be able to find work? Oh yeah, everyone thought that. Damn you all for you insight!
So, between reading job posting upon job posting, none of which I'm qualified for or interested in, I've been learning some new songs and in doing so have been forced to acknowledge that I am really very shitty at memorizing lyrics. So, if you see me out busking on the streets of Halifax please don't laugh and point when you hear me mumbling my way through a train wreck cover of some song.
In other news, I forgot for a time that I had originally intended to put some of my poetry and short stories on this site. Now that I have remembered this original intention, I have begun thumbing through some old writing of mine and will post it in the Extras section of this site once I clean some of it up. Maybe you, my imaginary internet listeners / readers can read some of these things and tell me if you think they're any good. The reason I make this request is that I'm thinking about doing a masters degree in creative writing and should probably let some people read some of my stuff, since I'll have to do it all the time in that program.
Making up songs, recording them in my bedroom and then showing them to an imaginary internet audience has hardly turned out to be the wild, money-making endeavour I had anticipated it would be (insert sarcasm here), and it doesn't even come close to paying for my drug habits and various other assorted addictions. Luckily, I got accepted by the University of British Columbia in December to study in an MFA program in creative writing. At first I thought, "Shit, more school?" But then after a while I got to thinking and found myself saying, "Shoot, more school." More time passed and I said "Ohhh man, more school?" Until finally more recently I've found myself standing outside naked most evenings yelling, "Shit, more school!" So, interpret that however you see fit.
Some people have encouraged me to think of it as an accomplishment of some sort, being accepted into this program that is, but then I remember the haste with which I threw together a portfolio and in making this recollection also recollect that I included a tidy sum of bribe money with my application. I figured that the post office would notice that I had included two bars of gold in my envelope and would take them out, but based on the fact that I was accepted into the program I can only assume that the folks at Canada Post were drinking on the job again. Completely understandable, Canada Post, completely understandable and various members of my family thank you for facilitating the opening of this new academic door. Excuse me as I throw up on the threshold.
So, to summarize, if you're inclined to read short stories and poetry, please read mine. Maybe you could tell me what you think, too.
Well, this post is all over the place and is getting long. Maybe those creative writing folks can teach me about concision and good endings. Right now all I've got is: See you later.
- Paul
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Quittin' the City
Posted: April 9, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
Hitting the road, then the air, then the road again. Going to South America for a couple of weeks. Adventures are fun. See you all soon.
- Paul
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Sea Lion Woman
Posted: April 7, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
Saw Feist perform "Sealion" on the Juno Awards last night. It was a good performance and the couple of reviews that I've read today have been good, too. I wouldn't say I'm the biggest Feist devotee - I've got a couple of her albums and enjoy them both - but what spurred me to read some reviews today of her performance from last night was my desire to see if anyone would correctly credit where this song came from.
No luck.
Everyone seems to credit it to Nina Simone but, in actuality, it's an old song first recorded around World War Two. The first place I heard the song - which was originally nothing more than a little forty-five second rhyme with a melody - was on this great old record called A Treasury of Library of Congress Field Recordings. Maybe Nina Simone picked up the copyright because the song was in the public domain at the time, I don't know. Regardless, I thought it might be interesting to note where the song actually came from, if only to urge folks to go and check out the excellent album on which I originally heard it. I'm no musicologist or expert in traditional folk music of the United States, but this stuff is just damned good and deserves the credit it's due.
If you can get your hands on the album, some songs that I thought were really good were, "Another Man Done Gone" by Vera Hall, "Blood-Strained Brothers" by Jimmie Strothers, "Worried Life Blues" by David Honeyboy Edwards, and "One Morning in May" by Texas Gladden which, correct me if I'm wrong, I believe was on Feist's Let it Die album. That's two albums in a row with a track off of A Treasury of Library of Congress Field Recordings. She's got great taste! Maybe we could put in a request for Woody Guthrie's "Gypsy Davy" on her next album.
In other news, I'm heading to South America on Thursday morning. I'll be gone for a couple of weeks, so the tracking and writing process will be stopping for a bit. When I get back I've got three or four more tunes ready to be recorded and twice that many which need some finishing touches before they'll be ready to record, too. Exciting times. See you all soon!
- Paul
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Monkey, Bette Midler, and an RSS Feed
Posted: April 5, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
Today I looked into this thing called RSS so that I could use said thing on my website. I started searching around for some kind of other thing to help me make this first thing so that I wouldn't have to learn a bunch of computer things that I didn't really feel like learning. The thing about learning about things and the various computer things associated with them is that although the former thing might be interesting and beneficial and seemingly simple, in actual fact it is often the end product of a group of things that are a confusing mess of numbers and doo-dads and widgets and things and whatnot and things. A real mess of shit and things.
So, a bell rang and a sheep bleated and the skies parted and then I found this thing that I figured would allow me to install an RSS feed on my website. The groundskeeper ate some jelly.
And then there was a knock on the door. I went to answer it and it was a monkey holding a poster of Bette Midler.
"What's your name?" asked the monkey.
"Paul," I said. "What's with the poster?"
"Install RSS into your Whatchamagog Folder and parse the doobop."
"What?" I asked.
"Parse it. Then twice past the hiccup put the Bette Midler poster into the XFG directory."
"So, the Bette Midler poster has to do with RSS?"
"Who's RSS?" asked the Bettle Midler poster.
"You can talk?" asked the monkey.
Then from behind me a little - b l I n g p - sound came from my computer. I left the monkey and the Bette Midler poster at the door and went to look. Somehow there appeared on my website a little RSS icon. Weird. All right.
When I went back to the door the monkey was gone and Bette Midler was there holding a poster of a monkey.
"What happened?" I asked her.
"Not what, but whom," she replied. "And, really, not even whom, but where."
Another sound from the computer.
"Hang on, Bette."
"To the poster?" she asked.
"No. Well, yeah, sure. But just wait a second," I said over my shoulder as I walked to the computer.
Bette dropped the poster to the ground.
In the distance a scarecrow cried for her unborn lover. Another victim of the wheat board.
Legs scream at bikes and bikes scream at trucks.
The motorists curse their lousy luck.
XX--**#%M!
You have successfully installed an RSS feed on your website.
---
What you have just read is my attempt to convey in writing the confusing mind fuck that was my experience trying to get an RSS feed working on my website. Please subscribe by clicking the little orange RSS button above so that all of this madness was not in vain.
- Paul
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They're Gonna Get You
Posted: March 29, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
Another song posted. Please download and share, horde, incinerate, calibrate, un-calibrate, recalibrate, celebrate, hate. Repeat.
Me and Bobbie quit the city by the light of the night.
I said, "Bob, what the hell we done?"
She said, "Made our deal, now the devil's at the wheel,
So we'd damned sure better run."
Hiding in a ditch on a dark, dirt road
Watched Bob burn a mission down.
She said, "God damn 'em all for making me crawl
And for messin' my mind around.
And watch out, child, they're gonna get you in the morning.
Watch out, child, they're gonna get you in the morn'.
They're gonna get you in the morning."
From the mountain and the valley heard the ringing of bells
Trying to rouse the people wise.
Me and Bobbie stole a motorcycle, rode for Caledonia
'Neath the heat of a slow sunrise.
The hangman, he hit the highway for the wolf in the roost
And he ran us good and hard.
Bob said, "How, my friend, can a woman get ahead
When they keep her chained in the yard?"
Watch out, child, they're gonna get you in the morning.
Watch out, child, they're gonna get you in the morning.
Watch out, child, they're gonna get you in the morn'.
They're gonna get you in the morning.
When they caught us in an alley, I said "Let's quit."
Bob was damned sure we should not.
She unloaded wild, took a hit and just smiled.
I got a belly full of buckshot.
Watch out, child, they're gonna get you in the morning.
Watch out, child, they're gonna get you in the morning.
Watch out, child, they're gonna get you in the morning.
Watch out, child, they're gonna get you in the morn'.
They're gonna get you in the morning.
They're gonna get you in the morning.
---
- Paul
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Mama, Don't Let the World Go Out on Me
Posted: March 22, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
I say, who goes there? Oh, it's another song!
Disclaimer: It's late and I've been trying to mix this song for hours upon hours. It has become annoying and I really have no desire to listen to this song ever again (or, until tomorrow). I suspect that I will end up remixing this song in the near future, but I figured that I might as well just upload this version anyway. Who really listens to these things anyway, right? And I can always upload a new version. The same isn't really true for MySpace, but then their music player there makes everything sound terrible anyway, so who cares!
Wow, I should really go to bed now.
Mama, don't let the world go out on me.
Mama, don't let the world go out on me.
It's been whipped and been razed,
Left deep in the haze.
But, Mama, don't let the world go out on me.
Mister, don't leave my generation splintered by hate.
Mister, don't leave my generation splintered by hate.
Don't leaving us stranded 'long side of rivers too wide.
And, Mama, don't let the world go out on me.
Oh, it's a heavy hand that spreads the shine.
Tells me it's someone else who fell behind.
And there's a filling up gutter in my mind
Seeking to bury the who and why
But I'm not fooled.
Mercy, friend, have mercy on what you don't know.
Mercy, friend, have mercy on what you don't know.
Don't let the hand you extend serve the greed of wealthy men.
And, Mama, don't let the world go out on me.
Oh, it's a heavy hand that strokes and coos.
Says: "It's you, it's you, it's you that's pulling through."
But I see a man out weeping in the rain.
I see a woman sleeping out in the lane
And I'm not fooled.
Mama, don't let the world go out on me.
Mama, don't let the world go out on me.
It's been shamed and spun 'round,
Been beat, but it ain't down.
Now watch, Mama, as the world turns bright by me.
---
- Paul
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Ghost of New Orleans
Posted: March 17, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
Well, here is another new song. I started writing this one a long time ago and then came back to it a couple of months ago. I thought it was time I posted a song that was a bit quicker in tempo so that those of you who visit my website and listen to my songs - this is a joke, of course, I don't think anyone actually comes here - won't get the idea that all of my songs are slow to mid-tempo acoustic guitar songs with voice and harmonica that clock in at around the four minute mark.
So, to dispel those notions, I encourage you to take a listen to this new song of mine which is a slow to mid-tempo acoustic guitar song with voice and harmonica. It clocks in around, uh, the, uh, four minute mark.... Oh man, how embarrassing. I guess I should have planned out this news post a little better, huh? Well, in my defence there are a few extra instruments on this recording. There really are.
Thanks to the lovely folks in the Villekulla House Choir [three of my roommates] for helping out with backing vocals on this song.
Hey sister, come sister, run ring the bell, sister.
Looks like the sea's on the rise.
See how the twist 'round the eye makes the wind blow?
And run, when you're ready, to my place near the levee
And we'll call up the folks in D.C.,
And we'll see how the fruit on the tree grows top down.
The hours go by,
The water climbs high
And I have become
The Ghost of New Orleans.
Flood takes the highway, they're shaking the alms tray
On a stage up in N.Y.C.
Sister falls down on her knees,
Sends her soul off to howl on the breeze,
Sees deliverance, it comes in degrees,
Then with full lungs.
The hours go by,
Mercy turns a blind eye,
And I have become
The Ghost of New Orleans.
The fools on the hill got bills to pay:
Rich friends to keep and white war games to play.
Got the wise world asking how quick they'd have looked away
If sister had lay down on Broadway.
Now you see Mr. Richman, see Mr. Whiteman,
Circling the wreckage below,
Eager to slash, burn, and sow in the right seed.
There're wolves in the school desk, greed in the righteous,
While sister's ghost whispers aloft
Saying, "See how the bodies turn soft in the sunshine."
The hours go by,
The truth shakes the world wise,
And I have become
The Ghost of New Orleans.
---
More songs to come.
- Paul
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Recording with the Villekulla House Choir
Posted: March 13, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
Recording rolls along slowly. Up until 5 am last night laying down guitar and tambourine tracks on a new tune. What's that? Will there be a kazoo solo? Of course.
Tracked some backing vocals a couple of nights back with three members of the Villekulla House Choir (Bethany, Eva, and Clayton). Here are a couple of pictures:
- Paul
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Pictures and the Model T
Posted: March 7, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
The narcissism inherent to having a website dedicated to yourself is still a little awkward for me. I'm still trying to get my narcissist legs. But I'm told that if you're going to make a musician's website about yourself that people want to see pictures. So, I post pictures:
In other, more interesting news (to me, at least), I read this great and funny passage last night in Cannery Row:
"Someone should write an erudite essay on the moral, physical, and esthetic effect of the Model T Ford on the American nation. Two generations of Americans knew more about the Ford coil than the clitoris, about the planetary system of gears than the solar system of stars. With the Model T, part of the concept of private property disappeared. Pliers ceased to be privately owned and a tire pump belonged to the last man who had picked it up. Most of the babies of the period were conceived in Model T Fords and not a few of them were born in them. The theory of the Anglo Saxon home became so warped that it never quite recovered." - J. S., Cannery Row
Finally, I should have another song up in the next couple of days. There are a bunch that are almost done and just need to be mixed.
- Paul
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Rough Mix Contest Part 3: The Ballad of Maggie Mackay
Posted: March 1, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
So, I finished a first mix of another tune tonight. The song is called "The Ballad of Maggie Mackay." Is it technically a ballad? I don't know. Do you know what the definition of a ballad is? I don't.
But none of that is really important. What is important, however, is that I believe I am winning the ongoing Rough Mix Contest in which I've been participating. This is how the contest works: I mix one of my songs and then compare it to mixes done by other fictional participants in the contest. Here is a brief list of reasons detailing why I think I will continue to win said contest:
1. I exist and, as such, am actually mixing songs.
2. I made up the contest and am its sole judge, so even if one of these fictional participants happens somehow to throw together a mix of one of my songs, obviously I would be more than willing to show my own personal bias when judging and would select my mix as the winner.
3. I bribed the judge [myself] with booze and illicit substances [a copy of Dusty in Memphis].
So, as you can see, I am winning and will continue to win the ongoing Paul Artson Rough Mix Contest. If you would like to enter the contest, don't bother. The game is fixed and you won't win. But, in the spirit of [phony] democratic involvement, you're more than welcome to send me an e-mail asking if you can enter. However, I should inform you that I will reply with an e-mail that says:
"Sorry, you cannot enter the contest because I am the only non-fictional contestant. If you would like to enter a fictional representation of yourself, I may consider your entry."
Unfortunately, the last part of the e-mail you receive will be a lie. I won't consider your entry, even if your entry is a fictional representation of you.
Now that all of that is out of the way, here are the lyrics to the newest song that I've posted and for which I've just now been awarded first prize in the third round of the Paul Artson Rough Mix Contest. First prize is permission to go to sleep. Second prize was death by hanging. Glad I won.
Oh I've heard said that when the judgement came down
The courtroom was quiet, save one.
While the cops led away poor Maggie Mackay,
Her mother wept to the rain and the sun.
Said, "If the stars in the sky get to shining,
Let 'em shine, let 'em shine, let 'em shine.
And if you find that they've gone come tomorrow, it's all right."
Maggie grew up where the water ran brown,
Where the pulp engine smoke hid the sky.
She thumbed John by the road, had her suitcase in tow,
For her mother left a note in the night.
"Come in, come in. Turn your face from the wind,"
John said when they hit New York town.
"If you've running on your mind, you'll get there by and by.
But if it's love, then it's love that you've found.
If the stars in the sky get to shining,
Let 'em shine, let 'em shine, let 'em shine.
And if you find that they've gone come tomorrow, it's all right."
John was sweet and resigned, he slept around on the sly
While, Maggie, her suitcase caught dust.
John had a wife and a kid, kept it all well hid.
Let Maggie give up the road for bust.
Maggie was twelve days late and she was three years in
When they found John face down in her lap
With his throat wrapped in chain, one ticket for a train
Tucked up 'neath the brim of his hat.
And if the stars in the sky get to shining,
Let 'em shine, let 'em shine, let 'em shine.
But if you find that they've gone come tomorrow, say good bye.
---
- Paul
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The River and the Sea
Posted: February 24, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
Hello website visitors, if you exist.
Here is another song for you. It's called "The River and the Sea." Please download it and share it with your friends, relatives, enemies (especially if they dislike harmonica), your dentist (a fitting soundtrack for a root canal?), etc. The lyrics are posted below should you want to decipher my mumbling ramblings.
I was standing at the rusty gate when you flagged that driver down.
Oh, I'd seen you come and go so many times.
You'd spit out your vagrant's wine, 'til the city sheds its shine,
Then out on the road again you'd set out wandering.
Oh the moon, the moon is me,
The river and the sea:
All three tied fast to forever rise and fall.
But like a rolling winter wind
You stop and you begin,
You twist around and never know just where
You're supposed to be.
My heart's a turnstile swinging wild, I chain it closed each time you leave,
And I pretend to damn each thought that touched your name.
But when I look for you on the lane, I'm of melancholy mind.
I chase a sweet rewind as long as no one's watching.
I've wrapped my common hand in whiskey thorns a thousand times,
And I've held it out for you to come and take.
But all you ever trade is shame, and in your lust for leaving way
You've given me nothing of yourself I couldn't see through.
My letter said, "I'm tired of drifting. Can't we make a line for shore?
We could wage a little war there for a while.
Feel the blood let in the shade, resign ourselves to masquerade.
If that's what it takes you know again I'd lose myself for you."
I was standing at the rusty gate when your bus rolled off the road
And the rose I'd brought was soggy from the rain.
Oh, your mouth, your surest truth, it sold you out the way it moved.
I knew that some sad day had gone and made the worst of you.
---
- Paul
--------------------
Paul - 1, Dementia - 0.
Posted: February 18, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
There have been rumours [spread by me] going around the asylum [my bedroom] that perhaps this whole album recording thing is a farce. It has been argued by many [primarily by me, occasionally by my talking Yukon Cornelius doll] that perhaps I have only been imagining that I've been recording late at night and on into the morning on and off for the past few months. Naturally, rumours such as these are quite distressing, especially if one [me] were to take a moment and acknowledge that it is completely ludicrous that I might believe such rumours while knowing full well that I've made them up.
As you can imagine then it has been quite a relief to discover this evening that, yes, I have in fact recorded a large number of songs and that one of them is actually mixed [poorly mixed] and ready to be posted on the internet for all of my website visitors [me, primarily] to listen to. Maybe I'll even post it on MySpace so that I can feel woefully inadequate when after several months it has only been listened to 34 times.
Nevertheless, here is a song I wrote and, despite rumours to the contrary, recorded in my bedroom studio / sleep factory / favourite luncheon spot [try the salmon]. The song is called "Mary Anne" and the lyrics are posted below.
Anyway, here it is. If you like it, please download it and send a copy to your friends.
Well I came to you young with my hat in my hand,
With porch dust thick on my knee.
And you were cross to me then while the fog horn moaned:
You said I was too young, too alone to see
That it's not you, sweet Mary Anne. No,
It's not you, sweet Mary Anne.
But then your father's boat turned and three bodies got lost -
Left you drifting in the black brine swell.
And when the bank foreclosed, well I knew it by then.
And there are things that a good mouth should tell.
But not mine, sweet Mary Anne. No,
Not mine, sweet Mary Anne.
Our children got born, got up and got out,
Still, Mary, we never said much.
I've watched the train make tracks through the hips of the hills
And I've dreamed long of my true love's touch.
It's not you, sweet Mary Anne. No,
It's not you, sweet Mary Anne.
When there are ghosts in the mast, when the sky's got lungs.
When the sea swallow sings out of tune.
On the stormiest night when the tin roof talks,
And young lovers throw dice for the moon.
You know it then, too, like you did from the start,
'Cause it's always hung plain within reach.
It's not me, sweet Mary Anne. No,
It's not me, sweet Mary Anne.
It's not you, sweet Mary Anne. No,
It's not you, sweet Mary Anne.
---
This is just a rough mix.
[This is a disclaimer that I put up so as to remove myself slightly from the mix should someone criticize it. In actuality, and please don't tell anyone this if you overhear them criticizing the mix, I spent a fair amount of time trying to mix this.]
Naturally, this version if of reduced quality so as to allow for faster downloading.
Well, I guess that's all I have to say.
- Paul
--------------------
My Interview with Songwriter-Singer Magazine.
Posted: February 8, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
I did a phone interview today in my mind with a fake magazine that I made up called Songwriter-Singer Magazine. In all, I think it went pretty well. Fortunately for you, the tape was rolling and it was all recorded. Here's a transcript:
Songwriter-Singer Magazine: OK, let's start with the basics. Who are you?
Paul Artson: Paul Artson.
SSM: And what do you do?
P: Part-time singer, bellhop, and full-time unionized dolphin.
SSM: Dolphin?
P: Mm hmm.
SSM: Unionized dolphin?
P: Yes.
SSM: As in Flip...
P: Flipper, yes. Cult of celebrity, man. There are other dolphins. Flipper was an asshole in real life. Bet you didn't know that. Bet you thought he was all sweet and chatty and just loved jumping through hoops and stuff? No. He was a meth addict and the only reason he jumped through those hoops on that damned show was because he was high and they told him that if he jumped through he'd be going back to the garden. They'd coo at him: "Come on, Flip. You've got to get youuurseeeelf back to the gaaaarden." The producers even had "Woodstock" playing in his little dolphin headphones. What a dick.
*An awkward pause took place in my head here. The interviewer looked away and then pretended to search for something in her purse.*
SSM: OK. So, ocean-dwelling and stuff? What's that like?
P: Flipper was a dick.
SSM: So, ocean-dwelling, hey? Neat. What's that like?
*At this point, in my mind I lit a corn cob pipe while cursing Flipper under my breath.*
P: Ocean-dwelling is all right. It's not what it used to be, I guess. But we're making gains.
SSM: Gains?
P: Unions. We're all unionized now. Have been since '93. Crabs got it first, then us. Sea turtles are still in negotiations.
SSM: How did that all come about?
P: Word got around in the usual way, I guess.
SSM: Morse code?
P: Don't be ridiculous. Telepathy.
SSM: No kidding?
P: No kidding. We were upset because of the dolphin content in canned tuna, and the world wanted more dolphins jumping beside and in front of ships and boats. Photo op stuff, you know. Good for tourism.
SSM: Wait, the world?
P: Yeah.
SSM: The dolphins' union made a contract with the world?
P: Yep. Some of our reps sat down with some world reps and together they hammered out the deal.
SSM: Fascinating. Who were the world reps?
P: Joan Baez, the ghost of Gandhi, Tori Spelling, and Rupert Murdoch.
SSM: Wow. Gandhi's ghost, hey? What was he like?
P: Yeah, we were thrilled. Incredible guy.
SSM: What the hell was Tori Spelling doing there?
P: Ah, no idea. I think that was Rupert Murdoch's call. He's the guy that's running everything, you know? The whole world. All those conspiracy theorists who talk about the little clique that runs the world, well, they're right. And Murdoch runs them. Anyway, they all hammered out a deal. We agreed to jump alongside boats on the ocean and in turn the world agreed to use dolphin-friendly tuna fishing nets. When you see that little dolphin sticker on your can of tuna and think to yourself, "Nice, no dolphin," well, you can thank us for that. Unions are the ticket, my friend.
SSM: Fascinating.
P: It's a give and take thing. None of us really like making asses of ourselves jumping around alongside boats for your enjoyment. We feel ridiculous. Most times we play cards to see who has to do it. I just bought a trick deck though, so hopefully that works out.
SSM: You've got dolphin playing cards?
P: Thank you for taking the time to talk with us today, Paul.
SSM: My name's Helen. Wait, we're done?
---
And then the interview was over. It was nice.
In other news, I've been up until 5 am for the past four or five nights laying down guitar and harmonica tracks. I've got about 13 songs worth of guitar in the bag and four or five songs worth of harmonica all wrapped up, too. Now it's time to record some other overdubs and then move on to vocals. It's all getting very exciting, though the lack of sleep has made me hallucinate a little. For instance, just now I imagined that I wrote a news entry about being a dolphin and then posted it on my website. Wild! Sleep deprivation, it's a crazy thing.
- Paul
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Back in the basement saddle
Posted: February 4, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
After writing a bunch of new songs, I've started tracking again. It's back to 12:00 am - 5:00 am sessions, very little sleep, and lots of frustration with clicking and popping from my piece of crap Firepod. On the bright side, it's nice to be nocturnal again.
- Paul
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Write, Write, Write...
Posted: January 17, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
Scene: A dusty corral.
The sun is in the attic of the sky. Two skinny cowboys scrape across the crusty noontime dirt toward one another. Both are wearing plaid. Both are named Paul Artson. One cowboy looks sleepy; he has a little notebook in his back pocket and a guitar slung over his shoulder. The other is kicking a microphone stand across the dirt. He scratches at his whiskers with one hand and holds a cup of lukewarm tea in the other.
Somewhere in the distance someone starts ringing a lunch bell and then stops. The two Pauls are sweating as the continue to walk slowly toward one another. They stop and square off.
"Purrdy darned hot, bandit," one Paul says to the other.
"Too hot for two plaid-wearing bandits," the second Paul replies.
An armadillo moseys across the dirt, falls down, and softly sings a dying armadillo song:
Oh, Mama,
Lay down softly your downy pillow
For this dying armadillo.
The Paul with the guitar starts to cry.
"Draw, you cryin' vermin!" yells the Paul with the tea, his mouth getting a little tears-are-coming quivery.
"Aw, I aim to. I aim to," replies the other, wiping away a salty tear. "Lay down softly your downy pillow ..."
"Hey! Now you cut that singing out, bandit! I said draw!"
"I aim to, I aim to. It's just such a purrdy song. All sleepy and sad."
"It is mighty mournful," says the tea-carrying Paul, as he blots the water that's welled up in his left eye. He nudges at the microphone stand with his foot. "Tune's a might woeful, too, you might say." He exhales deeply and takes a gulp of tea.
"It's a casket full of woeful," says the Paul with the guitar. He slides his notebook from his pocket. "Might try to work that little armadillo melody there into a song. All right with you if we put this here drawing business off for a piece?"
"I s'pose. Ain't got me no gun anyway," says the Paul with the tea.
The tea-carrying Paul picks up his microphone stand and shuffles off beneath the hot sun while the other Paul sits down and writes in his little notebook. "Oh, Mama, lay down softly your downy pillow ..."
The End.
Translation: I haven't recorded much lately. I've been too busy writing new songs and can't seem to shake the bug.
Reading: The Picture of Dorian Gray
Listening to: Anthology of American Folk Music, Disc 2
- Paul
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Couple of New Lomographs
Posted: January 8, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
A couple of new pictures, which I have been told to mention are lomographs, not photographs. Lomographs! Thanks to Bethany for taking them. They really are lovely, despite the content. Here:
Reading: Collected Short Stories of Mark Twain
Listening to: Never Going Back Again, Fleetwood Mac (On Repeat...)
- Paul
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The Great Gear Purge Continues
Posted: January 5, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
Another piece of recording equipment was sold to a new owner this evening. That makes three guitars, two microphones, a four-track recorder, pre amp, sound card, compressor, and a few other odds and ends that I've sold off since June. How did I accumulate all of this stuff? It feels good to shed the excess, though it's sad to see some of this stuff go. I actually thought that I'd feel worse seeing a few of these things leave, but it hasn't bothered me at all, which is good. In the end, it's just stuff and it's difficult to travel (or pay the bills) with a heavy load of unnecessary items. Gear Lust, you are a worthy adversary, but you won't win.
I've been working on a couple of new songs over the past few days, a process that has thrown a wrench into my plan to start recording again. As if that weren't enough, I've been re-evaluating a couple of the songs that I've already tracked and have decided to refine them a little and then record them again. Maybe it's fortunate that I've had some things sitting around to sell, because this whole process certainly isn't a quick one and rent doesn't pay itself.
Reading: Slaughterhouse Five
Listening to: Legend, Townes Van Zandt
- Paul
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New Year
Posted: January 2, 2008 (From Halifax, NS)
A new year and new drive to finish these songs. A long break filled with airports, snow storms, food storms, moderate relaxation, and the lovely wedding of two lovely friends. The nest needs to be cleaned today, then recording will recommence.
- Paul
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Photogeneralization
Posted: December 19, 2007 (From Whitby, ON)
I've posted some photos in the photos section. As it turns out, I don't have all that many photos of myself, which I'm sure is fortunate for all involved. Nevertheless, I've put together a few categories of shots that will hopefully suffice for the time being. Most are current, though one is from a long, long time ago. As you'll see, I was much cooler back in the day.
Here are a few of the photos. Please visit the Photos section for more.
Once I get back to Halifax, maybe I'll take a crack at getting someone to take some publicity shots. They always seem so forced though, don't you think? I mean, who really spends time standing with their guitar in the middle of a field or on top of a pile of rubble? Not me. Well, not anymore, that is. I'll see if I can find some old publicity shots from an old band that I was in so that you can see us posturing out in corn fields and on top of the remnants of a cement silo. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
- Paul
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Waiting to Fly
Posted: December 12, 2007 (From Halifax Airport)
I'm heading off to Ontario today to visit my folks for a couple of weeks. One week with Dad, one with Mom. It will be good to take a step back and then get back into recording with fresh ears.
I'm in the airport right now. It's always interesting to watch people in an airport. A little eavesdropping is always enjoyable, too.
Some headway has been made on the album: 16 songs worth of guitars have been completed, five songs worth of vocal takes are done. Two songs worth of harmonica have been tracked, but I've really got to brush up (I'll post a video shortly so that you can see just how poorly I played the harmonica last session). In all though recording is going well, but I must say that the midnight to 6 a.m. sessions are taking their toll. I'm in a sleep-deprived, recording-euphoria haze.
Ah, we have begun boarding. Talk to you soon.
- Paul
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YouTube Videos
Posted: December 10, 2007 (From Halifax)
Last night I decided that in order to take a break from tracking it might be fun to record some video of a few live cover songs. Bethany grabbed her computer, I grabbed my guitar, we set up a microphone and went to town.
I wasn't sure which songs to record, so I flipped through my book or lyrics and picked out a few tunes. The results are posted below. Hope you like them.
- Paul
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New Website
Posted: December 8, 2007 (From Halifax)
Well, friends, I made a website. It will be filled with goodies slowly but surely. Please take a look around and e-mail me with comments and suggestions.
