A few years ago, I decided I’d record a (pretty cheesy) rock guitar instrumental version of the Philadelphia Eagles fight song, a well-known tune among Philadelphians who sing it after every scoring drive during football games. No doubt it has come to be hated by many an opposing fan (just like how I despise the Atlanta Braves chant), thereby cementing its status among the Philly sports faithful.

I loved the obnoxiousness of it all, and thought it just hadn’t been represented in a modern, hard rock sort of way. I sent the result into my favorite morning radio show (and #1 show in Philadelphia), the Preston and Steve show, and to my delight they began playing it regularly on the air. At one point I even went in the studio and played it live. I have fond memories of that day.

This past week I was listening to that old recording and noting how shitty and lifeless it sounded. So to correspond with a new football season filled with the usual lofty hopes and dreams, I decided to give it a little update. This version sounds much better, thanks to advancements in recording technology and my own far superior engineering abilities. If you’re a Philly sports fan (or just curious to hear it in all its new glory), I invite you to take a listen below.

Here’s to hoping the Eagles can pull something off this year.

No, I did not record a cover of the Rolling Stones song “Under My Thumb.”  Swap in a “the” for the “my” and you have the title of my newest song, “Under the Thumb.”  You’ll notice the two compositions have no resemblance beyond a couple words in the title.

Please take a gander at the Music page to listen to the new tune.  And while you’re listening, you can catch up on some of my monthly blog posts that you haven’t read in a while.  Or re-read all the ones that you loved, which has probably been most of them.

If for some stupid reason the audio on the Music page isn’t working, kindly let me know and then head over to my Facebook or MySpace page, both of which also have the song.

Enjoy.

To follow your dreams, you’ll probably have to make sacrifices. It’s generally inevitable. Ideally, you’ll recognize when you’re making sacrifices, and you’ll choose to make smart ones. I’d imagine, for example, that sacrificing some free time to work overtime hours to pay off a student loan is probably a reasonable decision one might make, whereas sacrificing spending time with your family so that you can become a Wall Street millionaire may prove unfulfilling in the long run.  (Although maybe not.  I’m not a millionaire, so I can only speculate.)

I’ve certainly made some sacrifices in my life. I chose to forego the typical college experience, for example (you’ll have to trust me when I say that attending a small school consisting mostly of male students and entirely of musicians wasn’t the normal college situation). I’ve also been forfeiting financial stability, large chunks of time and freedom that are devoted to being in a band, and potentially the ability to maintain certain relationships due to touring, music commitments, etc.

But if you’re making sacrifices in the name of pursuing the life you love, they shouldn’t really feel like sacrifices. You can recognize the trade-offs being made, but it should also be easily recognized that you’ve made these choices because they result in the least amount of sacrifice in your life in the long run. While a sacrifice can cause a temporary strain on your life, it should be noted that they represent something that, if you had chosen to keep it, would mean the loss of some essential part of your current path.

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When I used to read stories of the glory years of rock ‘n’ roll, I couldn’t help but lament the lack of a “scene” there seems to be these days. When Eric Clapton would come tour America, he’d hang out with Hendrix in New York City, where they’d roam around with their guitars strapped to their backs and pop into smokey clubs just to jam with whoever happened to be around. Back in England, the bars he frequented were populated by the likes of Pete Townshend and Mick Jagger well before any of them were household names. When Motley Crue played at the Whiskey A Go Go in the early ’80s, the Sunset Strip was a community party. The whole LA music scene seemed like a big leather pants-wearing, blow-snorting family.

This isn’t to say I wish that Shaimus shows were knee-deep in cocaine. I don’t. (I don’t want leather pants, either.) But the fact is, I have long felt that there has been a lack of fellowship among bands lately. The days of bands that stuck it out together in their town, offering support and companionship as they all worked toward that common goal of musical euphoria have seemingly begun dying out as technology has slowly moved the majority of band members’ time from the streets and into cyberspace. It’s not that there is no fellowship at all, but there is a lot less of it–we’ve noticed this as we try to build relationships with like-minded, talented bands that will stick this brutal industry out with us.

As I mentioned, part of this lack of conviviality is due to the Internet. Whoring yourself out on the web is a prerequisite for any band’s success these days (ourselves included), and while it can be great to reach so many more fans that you never could before, it can be so easy to get lost in the mix. It’s not hard to drown in a sea of faceless bands with MySpace pages.

But as I sat around complaining about something I couldn’t change, I soon realized something: this vast, uncontrollable deluge of musicians doing whatever they feel like–this complete and utter worldwide anarchy that has been unfolding before our very eyes–is the very essence of rock ‘n’ roll in modern times.

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It’s been said that it takes 10,000 hours of practice and preparation to be an expert at something (notably in the book Outliers by Malcom Gladwell). 10,000 hours to be a genius, to be a success. The Beatles are the common example. They were no overnight success; by the time they started hitting it big, they had played over a thousand shows (mostly in Germany).

Ten thousand hours is a pretty long time. It’s well over a solid year of practice with no sleeping or eating to get in the way. If you practiced something for two hours a day, every day, it would add up to over 13 and a half years. At the time of this writing, I’ve been playing guitar for about 15 years. Sometimes I’ve played for 4 hours in a day. Sometimes I’ve played for no hours in a day.

Am I an expert musician? I wouldn’t personally say so. But I’ve certainly come a long, long way. The thought of going back and doing it all again is almost excruciating. I’m at a point where I really feel good things are happening and I’m actually ready, willing and prepared for them to happen. But that’s a tough place to get to. If you had told me even a couple years ago that I’d have to wait at least another couple years, I’d have gone a little crazy. Sometimes it’s really good to not know things.

But what I wonder about the 10,000 hour rule is if emotional time counts. There have been countless minutes that I did not spend working on music, for example times when I couldn’t do it because I was stuck in a classroom learning about the symbolism of The Great Gatsby. But many of those same minutes were spent in a place completely away from where I physically was. A place where I was composing music in my head, conjuring ideas for promoting the next show, dreaming about the feeling of being in the recording studio with a guitar in my hand, laying down a track that moved me. Those were genuine emotional hours I’ve put into music. If they counted, I’d say I reached the 10,000 mark long ago.

Practice makes perfect, but passion makes it authentic.

A couple weeks ago, I played with Shaimus at the CD release party for our new album, The Sad Thing Is, We Like It Here. The show was great fun—sold out crowd, solid performance, giveaways, videos, and plenty of other good stuff. But above all, it was a celebration marking the culmination of well over a year of hard work.

When all is said and done, this album was about three years in the making. The earliest songs were written and honed during our 2006 summer West Coast tour, including “Turn the Other Way,” “Interview,” and embryonic versions of “Don’t Want the Story” and “While We’re Young.” “Heads or Tails” was written during a time when Phil, Johannes and I were playing acoustic shows in L.A. while Dave and Cam finished up school on the other side of the country. “Tie You Down” was a last second addition that practically didn’t even make it on the album, and recording was pushed back a couple weeks just so we could finish it; good thing, too, as that turned out to be one of the best and most popular songs on the record.

That was around late October/early November of 2007. We tracked all of Cam’s drums in our old Van Nuys rehearsal space that December; imagine his impatience having recorded almost all of his parts over a year before the album would even come out. We followed this with laying down roughly finished versions of five of the strongest tracks which would be used for our demo. Our demo was sorely in need of an update, since the band’s sound had developed so much from our first album that it didn’t accurately represent us anymore. These new songs were far more illustrative of the “Shaimus sound” as it had come to be over the past couple years—a more cohesive, collaborative band effort with more energy and focus than Paper Sun (not to say there isn’t good material on that CD).

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I was talking to a friend recently about artists that you just wish would stop releasing albums, if only to preserve their legacy. The conversation started while listening to “You Better You Bet” on the radio; while it’s by no means the worst song in the world, any time I hear it I just wish the Who had stopped recording new music after Keith Moon died. They already had a massive catalog of classic hits, and fans always want to hear their favorite bands go out on top. A large element of this desire is most certainly selfish—I have no place to decide when a band should or should not stop making music, of course (unless maybe I’m in that band). But it’s not that I want the members of the Who to cease all music making, I just don’t want any more Who albums that don’t feel like Who albums.

But of course artists soldier on, often outstaying their welcome for the simple fact that they can still sell records. Bands like U2 and Aerosmith just keep adding faceless releases that do nothing to their discography other than increase its number, often obscuring the fact that, at some point, they were on top of their game and making top-notch music (for me personally this is illustrated much better with Aerosmith as I’m a sort of middle-of-the-road guy with U2, but you get the point). Or, perhaps more frustratingly, there are bands like Bon Jovi and Def Leppard who have rightfully called it quits only to come back for more when no one really wanted them to in the first place. It’s not that these bands shouldn’t get back together and tour again, but the new albums are almost always a huge let down and lack the energy and electricity of their earlier material.

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Dear Ringo Starr,
Hi. It’s Evan. You don’t know me, but I’m a lifelong Beatles fan. There seem to be a lot of those out there, and apparently you’ve come across quite a few in your day. I’m sure you’ve gotten lots of fan mail saying how much your music has meant to them, how they can’t even convey the importance of Beatles songs in their life. They probably ask for a lot of autographs, too–for a little memento that maybe they’ve somehow managed to express a fraction of their appreciation to you.

But no more, I suppose. After seeing the video you posted on your website last week telling people not to send you any mail (presumably ever again) starting October 20th because you’ll just throw it in the dumpster, I figured it just must have been too much for you.

Maybe it’s only fair. You’ve spent decades having to scribble your name with a Sharpie, maybe you think that you deserve a break. I sign credit card receipts far more than autographs, so there’s no real way for me to empathize with you. But I just thought I’d throw a few off-the-cuff thoughts your way, from the perspective of a fan and wannabe musician, to maybe make your next attempt at something like this go a little more smoothly:

1) You know what’s a lot easier than making half your fans think you’re a jerk by telling them you’ll throw out anything they send without a second thought? Just stopping without telling anyone. If I sent you a Beatles lunchbox to sign and never got it back, I’d say “that’s too bad. I didn’t really expect Ringo Starr to mail something back to me anyway.” Then I’d forget about it forever and still think you were likely a charming guy.

2) Next time you decide to alienate a portion of your fanbase, try not to leave any loopholes open. For example, you only requested that no one send you fan mail or stuff to sign anymore. I couldn’t help but notice you failed to mention anything about hate mail, which ironically you may be receiving a lot more of soon (not from me, of course).

3) Don’t patronize us by continually saying “peace and love” to dull the blow of your message. If that got people out of stuff, it would have been used countless times in history. The folks at Enron could have said, “peace and love everyone, we screwed you out of your life’s savings while we got even richer, but we’re doing it with peace and love,” and all the employees would have said “well, my life may be ruined, but at least the CEO was shooting me some super positive vibes!”

I guess you’re a really important guy. I guess you chose this seemingly arbitrary moment in time for a good reason. And I guess this letter just missed being posted on October 20th, but please don’t try to throw my humble little website away. Not that you’ll be reading this anyway… You have far too many better things to do.

Sincerely,
Evan.
(Still a Beatles fan.)

I never quite understood when people worried about their personal indie cred. For some people, listening to a pop band that sounds polished and radio-ready is equivalent to selling their soul to Lucifer. That sentiment is fine if the band sucks. But what if the song really is catchy and really is fun to listen to? You shouldn’t have to apologize for anything. Sure, maybe you’re a devout follower of Bright Eyes, but so what if you hear a Paramore song on the radio and think “hey, that actually kinda rocks?” You’ve done nothing wrong. If someone else thinks you’re somehow less legit as a human being now, I don’t know why you’d want to hang out with them in the first place. Their approval means nothing.

The opposite situation is just as mystifying. With some people, if you say “hey, you should listen to ‘Red Eyes and Tears’ by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, it’s a bitchin’ song,” they’ll crinkle their nose and say “I’ve never heard them on KROQ, I don’t want to listen to them.” What they don’t seem to realize is that they had never heard of the All-American Rejects a couple years ago, but the band still existed. There’s a LOT of great music that will never be heard on the radio. There are also a LOT of ass-kickin’ tunes that rock the airwaves. And it’s more than OK to listen to them both.

It’s sort of like clothing, and how people dress like hipsters, goths, punks, rockers, or whatever. In order to completely fit in and be accepted into certain walks of life, you have to dress like them. (This doesn’t apply to everyone, of course, but I generalize to make a point.) I can think of nothing more ironic than the cliques that represent rebels or outcasts that won’t embrace you unless you look like they do. No one has dressed a certain way their whole lives. They’re all changing their lifestyles to fit in where they feel like they belong. Personally, I’d rather belong right where I already am.

Or maybe I don’t really belong anywhere. That’s sort of how it’s always been, anyway. I never really fit into a certain group in High School. But I never really cared. I always felt like being in one group would limit my access to the others, that I could never get the full experience of life from a single perspective.

But forget the philosophical. I’m talking about music. Listen to what you like, period. Forget all the pretense and preconceptions and just enjoy music for what it is. Remember why you love it in the first place. Only then can you really appreciate everything it has to offer. I like Crowded House. I like Elliott Smith. I like AC/DC. I like Muddy Waters. I like Elbow. I like Aerosmith. I don’t care who thinks what about the music I listen to. And I don’t care if what I’m wearing doesn’t always make a strong statement.

The vast majority of people I know are very open, but every once in a while I meet someone who fits one of the above descriptions. Sometimes I don’t fit in as well with them because of my attitude. But I’ve found that fitting in less often means standing out more.

There are very few people I know who wouldn’t agree that money is a pain in the ass. Those who disagree probably have a lot of it, although I think wealthy people are probably equally bothered by it. Honestly, I’ve never cared that much about money, otherwise I’d have majored in finance and jumped straight into Wall Street (I don’t even know if that’s a real major). Among the many risks of being a musician is a huge financial one, but I don’t care because all I want to do is make music, and if I’m not doing that I won’t be happy. And that’s the point, isn’t it? Every day my heart aches a little more when I’m not able to devote myself 100% to what I love to do. But no matter how little I care about money, I still need (and want) it, and it sure would be nice to have a lot of it. Because maybe money can’t buy happiness, but there is one thing it can buy: Freedom. Sweet, sugary freedom.

The music-money relationship is a tricky one. For a very large portion of people out there that are earning money from a day job, it’s all about business. To make money from music, you inevitably have to turn it into a business, and turn your band and your CD into the product you’re selling. Someone once told me, “make it fun, don’t make it work.” Well, the point of trying to make music my “work” is because it’s always fun. Otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it. Don’t we all want a fun job? That’s all I’m trying to get for myself. When I make it work, it’s the most fun work I’ve ever done. It makes me want to work.

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