rabid puppies

Failure, thy name is Sprint!
During last night's American Idol voting melee I did a little science experiment using cell phones from different carriers. T Mobile got through to cast a vote at least 30 times to every one that Sprint got through. Does this mean that Sprint customers enjoy Brandon Rogers that much more than T Mobile? Methinks not.

Thanks to everyone who voted yesterday. It's a painful process and I think a class action suit against American Idol when we all get repetitive motion injuries is a definite possibility. Next week instead of trying to get the vote out, I'm considering training my friends to be ninjas and attack Simon. We'll use rabid puppies as weapons.

I feel like these next thirty six hours I'm watching the world's slowest roulette wheel spin. I'm fighting the urge to bash the other contestants because the votes have been cast and campaigning after the election doesn't make any sense. I will say that if Brandon doesn't make it back next week I'm going to pull an Al Gore and grow a Rip Van Winkle beard, and not shave until I win an Oscar for Best Documentary.

I'm going back into the studio today to see what kind of chaos I can create. Recent additions to the studio arsenal include a glockenspiel (not to be confused with a glock pistol, which is louder, but more deadly), and an old casio synthesizer. When I recorded with Kirk Wheeler this weekend producer, Zac Rae, showed me the Harmony beginner sized acoustic guitar that they used on the track I was playing on. I want one. Are you there Santa Claus?

There have been some moderate shenanigans with my gig in San Antonio. Originally I was playing the Red Room, this has been shifted to the Revolution Room which is 21 and up. I'm playing March 13th at 9 pm. More info at myspace.com/sabysw.

See you soon.

Me and half of Brangelina

Last night I attended an advanced screening of "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford". It's a movie starring Brad Pitt that's slated to come out sometime in the next not too distant future. If you keep your ear to the train tracks you can find free tickets to advanced screenings of movies at different spots in Los Angeles.

Rumour had spread through the theater that they were giving out free popcorn and high fructose corn syrup. Who am I to turn down such an offer? I leapt from my seat and scurried to the front of the concession line. I was told by the braces-wearing girl working the concession stand that the free goodies were only for people who had the "reserved" invitation. I thought that everyone had a reserved invitation and was able to momentarily convince her and her boss that I was worthy of free food. Not to be greedy I ordered only some sody pop, M&Ms, and a large popcorn. Alas, the boss came back after consulting an even higher power (possibly George Bush) and confiscated my free popcorn. Fortunately the M&Ms were already not melting in my jacket pocket and I licked the empty soda cups as to avoid them being snatched from my thirsty hands.

Cut to: movie theater.

I told my tale of semi-woe to the other patrons who were in the very back row who weren't as lucky to bamboozle the free grub as I. After a fortnight the lights dimmed and the movie started sans preview. The four people to my right were confronted by what may or may not have been a secret service agent and politely re-seated. Lo and behold who should take their places and wind up a mere four seats to my left, but Brad Pitt (sorry, no Angelina). It's very strange to be watching a Brad Pitt movie while you're sitting near Brad Pitt. I could feel his handsomeness emanating large. In fact, I think I, by mere osmosis, am more manly and handsome today than I was yesterday.

Anywah, he snuck out about ten minutes before the movie finished and I fought back my urge to yell "hey everybody! It's Brad Pitt!" as he exited the theater.

Thus endeth this story, and sadly I was not able to live out The Simpsons Episode "Beyond Blunderdom" and be hired as a script consultant and turn this epic (and occasionally painfully slow) movie into a musical. I enjoyed the free tickets and the acting was great. Call me sometime, Brad. We'll hang out and play video games or watch more of your movies. By the way, there were at least 14 empty packets of salt left on the floor next to his seat. Stars, they're just like us! They go to a movie and leave empty salt packets on the ground.

I'll take one more opportunity to harangue you into watching Branderican Idol tonight and to vote for Brandon Rogers (incase you missed it, my best homie and former tourmate Brandon Rogers is a contestant on American Idol this season). Check yer local listings and stack the metaphorical ballot box, please. You can vote as many times as you like for the two hours that follow the show.

Till tomorrow, stay salty San Diego.

Pitchy Dawg's Playhouse

I'm working hard to continue my "weekday blog streak", a little antibiotics usually goes a long way toward clearing these up. Who needs (or has) health care anyway?! Therefore: here we are. It's been a good weekend, full of music, mirth, and merriment. The mirth is viral, antibiotics don't help.

I recorded today with my longtime friend known to some as P-Nut, known to others as Aaron, and known to most as the bass player from 311. We played some jazz for an independent film he's scoring. I met a musician named Geoff Gallego or Double G. We switched off on saxophone (no, not the same saxophone, that would be weird) and Fender Rhodes. I found out that Geoff was at the Mile High Jazz Camp that I went to in '91!! Sammy J. Watson from Apex Theory played drums to form the other half of the rhythm section with P to the Nut. We had a great time and captured some great moments. Both teams played hard.

I also recorded for Kirk Wheeler this weekend. I played flute, bass clarinet, and saxophone on Kirk's last record, and I revived my role this weekend. Zac Rae produced, Joel Martin mocked me from the control room, and we had a grand time.

Tomorrow marks the return to insanity. The American Idol dudes, and more importantly Brandon Rogers will perform. We've all had a week to learn the ins and outs of how this voting hell works. Get ready to dial like you're calling your lawyer and you've just been booked for multiple homicides. You have two hours after the show is broadcast in your time zone. Now you know. Please help. I will be indebted* to you. Vote for Brandon! Do it! He's my friend and he's real good.

I'm playing a little game tomorrow. Anyone remember the "today's secret word" gag from Pee Wee's Playhouse? Tomorrow's secret word is "pitchy". Every time a judge says "pitchy" on American Idol I want you to scream really loud. If you prefer you can make it a drinking game, but make sure you have a stomach pump handy.

By the by, did anyone hear Celine Dion on the Oscars? She had some pitchy moments. Did anyone hear Beyonce? She had some pitchy moments? Has anyone ever heard any singer on earth sing in a televised concert? They'll have some pitchy moments. This is how shit goes when you sing live on TV. You're not hearing it with a loud PA, which will cover up a lot of issues, and you know, humans aren't robots! I'd rather hear Seal sing live and wonder about the pitch accuracy than *ahem* any number of pop artists who shall remain nameless lip sync! Next week the secret word will be "dawg" as in "I don't know dawg, it really wasn't that good."

I have to stop writing now so I can have stuff to say to you tomorrow.




*Actual debt is metaphorical and not redeemable for cash, but I sure will appreciate it.

Mugger Rubdown

When I first moved to LA I used to be part of the Tuesday Night Sushi Club. Michael Farfel had a standing reservation at Katsu Ya on Ventura. Last night we turned back the clock and ate all the crispy rice with spicy tuna we could stand. I'm satiated... mostly... can one ever have enough sushi? I'm the Scrooge McDuck of sushi, except that I don't keep my first piece of sushi around for good luck (that would be real gross). We were missed "Oh Michael, where have you been??" They didn't remember me by name, but I'm not hurt. Don't worry Katsu Ya, I'll always have a soft spot in my wallet, stomach, and heart for you.

Needless to say I watched the carnage of the American Idol results show. How brutal is it to ask the newly voted off contestants to sing their own farewell?!?! That's like a mugger asking you for a back rub after he takes your wallet. "Just a little lower... yeah, that's the spot. Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt."

Yesterday I added some polish to "My Addiction" in the studio and got the bulk of "Where or When" done. I'm staying the course and getting back at it as soon as I finish these thoughts.

I finished a gig as Songwriting Coach yesterday. I dissected three mp3s and made (hopefully) constructive comments via email. If you write songs and are interested in my perspective, drop me a line.

Tell next time, tip your waitress and try the kobe beef.

Bringing Something New: The Jackhammer

I've discovered a new name for hell:
"Morning Jackhammer"

Yes, instead of my gently prodding classical ringtone that usually wakes me, I was rattled out of my sleep by a jackhammer today. At first I thought the jackhammering might be hardwired to my eyelids somehow, because I every time I began to drift back to sleep as the noise would cease, the construction renewed like a guilty concrete-shaking conscious.

The only thing more annoying than that is a six game losing streak by me Lakers. I deem thee poor to quite poor.

Just to keep my Idol commentary from becoming idle: I thought Lakisha Jones sounded very good, but she didn't bring anything new to the song, which was the point the judges kept jackhammering away at yesterday. Hmmpf.

I've been spending the past few days recording a song called "My Addiction" that I've played at my last few gigs. Yesterday was background vocal and electric bass day. The new album is inching closer to completion.

Also, I'm going to record the ol' jazz/pop standard "Where or When". I started on this yesterday and will do the bulk of the work on it today.

Time for breakfast.

Sprinting my way to nothingness

Ladies and germs the madness is underway. American Idol's top 12 dudes squared off last night. Simon defaulted to saying that performances were unoriginal or safe, with the exception of the bobblehead who took a butcher knife to the Gavin DeGraw song.

It seems to me that every time there's a movie about the music industry, Ray or Walk the Line for instance, we hear the music industry execs talk about the importance of having your own sound and being an individual. American Idol is apparently also looking for new ground to be broken. My experience with the music industry has been that being "new" is right above the importance of shoe size to most in the music industry. E.G. in "I'm Trying to Break Your Heart" Wilco gets dropped because (and I'm paraphrasing because I don't have a copy of that movie handy) the album doesn't tell you exactly who it's for and how many copies it will sell. When my band Overground was shopped to record labels we were "too jazzy" for the rock labels and "too rock" for the jazz labels. One A&R guy (these are the people that are more or less responsible for signing new talent) lamented being at the place where art and commerce intersect, and I doubt he was alone. Point being: if American Idol is really looking to break new ground, that's great! They have the biggest microphone and the biggest stage in the industry right now. I hope they do something great with it (and I hope his name is Brandon Rogers).

I've heard musicians scoff at A.I. for being a factory of cookie cutter artists and a symbol of all that's wrong with the music business. I have to mostly disagree. Here's the irony of the show. Let's make a brief list of the actual American Idols of rock and pop: Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, Madonna, Prince, Michael Jackson, Elvis, Stevie Wonder, Elliott Smith, Kurt Cobain. Of that list, only Michael Jackson, Stevie Wonder, Prince, and maybe Elvis would make it through to Hollywood week! It would be pretty bland to exist in a world where only the most virtuosic, or completely terrible singers can be heard. But there absolutely should be a part of the world where the most talented, show stopping singers can make it "to the top". If they're encouraged to be unique all the better. My friend Brandon Rogers is classically trained. Maybe he'll bust a mash-up of Puccini and P. Diddy on that ass and then we'll see who's who.

Anywah, I'm happy that they're pushing Brandon and judging him at a higher standard because he's an artist and he has it in his bones to transcend this competition and himself and make great music. We get to watch it on TV. That does not suck.

By the by, the text message voting thing is totally insane. And, now that I googled it, my 500 text messages are invalid?!!?!? You can only text message vote if you have a cingular phone. I have a Treo 650 on the Sprint network. I set up a text message template. I had to press two buttons and I could send approximately 30 text messages a minute. I had family members call in and they got through once or twice after repeated dialings. This sucks. It takes about 100 times as long to vote once on the phone as it does to send the randyforsaken text message. Why can't the Apple iPhone (only for use on the Cingular network) already be available and in my possession so I can ram home 100 text messages a minute?!

On the other hand... Maybe we can do the Presidential election like this. Vote as many times as you want if you have a cingular phone. Aiken/Obama '08!

Couture Gone Wild

Ok folks, get ready! Tonight you will become part of the problem and the solution. I would like, nay I respectfully demand, that you watch American Idol and vote for Brandon Rogers tonight. Now, I'm not saying that you have to vote for him with your ears waxed shut, but if you vote for anyone but him I'm going to kill a kitten and then promise to only perform "it's a small world after all" for the rest of my career. I know that offer may backfire for some of you, and it may pique your interest to hear an artist who in metaphor is truly a one trick pony. Instead I say this: please watch American Idol and vote for Brandon Rogers!

Now that my begging is out of the way allow me to rant:

Last night whilst taking a Monday drive (it was a Holiday, so it felt like a Sunday drive) I noticed a particular company was advertising "Eye Couture". Something deep inside me snapped. I'm taking a stand against over-used terms and/or phrases that are under-cooked in their contextual import.

Item number one: Couture
Couture refers to fashion, and these days it implies a certain amount of fanciness. This word has become ubiquitous (yes, I'm flexing a little) in the past few years. I'm on board with referring to clothing items that cost more than one hundred bucks as couture (except tuxedos, those should be at least $150). Sweat pants? That may be a stretch. Spectacles? I'm drawing the line.

Wikipedia says this:
In France, the term haute couture is protected by law and is defined by the Chambre de commerce et d’industrie de Paris based in Paris, France. Their rules state that only "those companies mentioned on the list drawn up each year by a commission domiciled at the Ministry for Industry are entitled to avail themselves" of the label haute couture. The criteria to which a fashion house must adhere in order to be categorized haute couture were laid down in 1945 and updated in 1992.

Now we're talkin'! We need to have a commission domiciled up in this piece to determine who is stepping over the line. While we're at it we need a genius commission as well. I propose that you have to be dead for 100 years to be considered a genius. I'm using my better judgment and deleting my Anna Nicole zinger.

Even a dude with cauliflower ear is now considered couture:



Item number two: Gravitas
I auditioned for a movie a few months ago. I have little to no acting experience: when I was seven I did a television commercial where I played an abused child. Dakota Fanning-esque as that may sound, it took two or three takes and I got to eat cold Kentucky Fried Chicken, so I was not scarred (or so I keep telling myself when I wake up screaming obscenities in the middle of the night). It was for my mom's work. She's a psychologist, and use to run "The Hudson Center for Brief Therapy" back in the day. My role was this: reach across the table and knock over a glass of milk while reaching for a slice of wonder bread. The guy who was playing my dad was then to stand up and act as if he were going to whack me. I laughed through the first take and improvised. I used my arm to shield my face. This was meant to look like I was parrying the blow, when in actuality I was covering up the giggles.

Fast forward to 2006, after a gig at the Hotel Cafe I was asked to audition to play a singer-songwriter in a movie. The character's name was Zack, he was 28 years old, and fed up with the music industry. Now, maybe my midnight screaming occasionally includes phrases like "damn you to fiery hell, Trauma Records!!", but I don't consider myself to be especially jaded. Other than that, my name IS actually Zack, my driver's license says I'm 28, and don't let my basketball obsession fool you, I am a singer-songwriter. To make a long story short, one can infer that since I'm typing this blog and not practice my lines, I am still a musician, and haven't yet pulled a J-Lo. It turns out that they needed someone with more acting experience than knocking over a few glasses of milk.

In the process of this audition, one of the involved parties used the term "gravitas" to imply depth. This was the first time I can remember this word being used. Then it was the second time, the third, and the fourth time (all by one person). This is one of those "inconceivable" moments: "you keep using this word, I do not think it means what you think it means". Wikipedia calls gravitas a "loanword", a word directly taken into one language from another with little or no translation. Back in the day gravitas meant dignity, seriousness, and duty. I think the growing usage of gravitas implies dooty.

Item number three: It is what it is
I deem this phrase McZen. I've heard close friends use it and I will not call you by name here. Consider this a gently-public intervention. Saying "it is what it is" does not imply mysticism or depth. I suggest instead we go back to "que sera sera", at least then we get to hum a tune.

For example:
Friend one: "Hey dude, where's that forty bucks you owe me?"
Friend two: "It is what it is."
Friend one then beats friend two, to the tune of $40 cash.

A more than acceptable exception: The Sheers have a great song called "It Is What It Is"

I am all for the popular lexicon expanding. I have no problem using the words "website" and "internet", although "internets" is dicey. The issue I have is with new words being used as marketing tools to bamboozle the general public. I'm sure countless stand-ups have done routines on this, and not to Mencia my way to the top of the blogosphere, but used cars are now referred to as pre-owned. Is this supposed to leave you with a slightly fresher feeling after having paid $8000 for a Chevy that smells like a kitty litter box?

Here's a phrase that one is likely to hear on a reality tv show that I think should earn you a free fast ball to the nether-regions:
"I think my couture has gravitas, but it is what is."

Finally, I'd like to take a stand against myspace spam (a message from a total stranger) that refers to one as "sweety". I'm considering starting a profile for a lemon, or Margaret Thatcher, or dirt, or castor oil and see if people still leave comments like "Hi sweety, stop by and listen to my new song", so that I could reply and say "I'm a lemon! Don't call me sweety!"

Pandon's Labyrinth

Deer reeders,
Tonight We Ride. I shall play a solo show at Verity in Canoga Park. I will attach a flyer to the end of this blog. Feel free to scroll to the bottom if the anticipation is too much for you.

I'm having a hard time not fixating on Brandon's Idoldom. Last night I was attempting to hone my poker skills (i.e. donate money to my friends). In between games one of my friends googled Brandon and found some fan sites that are already up and running. They (the Bran-thusiasts) were running through different names for fan stuff. We voted for the B-Train, f.y.i. Someone had apparently read this very cyberspace and mentioned "The Brandon Rogers Friend Army" phrase I coined (patent pending!!). Is it more strange that American Idol watchers found their way here, or that I found my way to read the Idol Watchers who had read me and now am writing about them? It's sort of like living in a haunted house with friendly ghosts. I'm aware of you and comforted by your presence.

Syllogism time:

Any fan of Brandon's is a fan of mine.

Wait, no...

I'm a fan of any fan of Brandon's.

There we go.

Brandon's still holding strong in my top peeps on my myspaceness, yet the data on his page has vanished into the ether. More friendly ghosts, methinks.

One final note on this oft-visited subject: any idiocy that leaks from these typed words is not a representation of Brandon, The Fox News Corp., or its subsidiaries.

Moving right along... I saw Pan's Labyrinth last night. Consider it highly recommended by me. I want to be uno fauno for Halloween next year. Then I'll be able to make corny jokes about being horny, getting my goat, etc.

This is not the flyer for my show:



This is:

In other news, my email list will actually be fully functional real soon like. Bill Shupp, master of bass, drums, and email servers is currently working over the Yahoo spam blockers so that you may receive the email updates you so deeply crave (in my mind at least). Soon you'll be able to add your city and state, so you won't be constantly taunted with shows in California if you live in Calcutta or Kathmandu.

Now I'll wander through my repertoire and figure out which songs I will play tonight.

Thanky.

American Pie-dol

Yes, the suspense has been suspended for a few days. Soon America will decide the fate of my compadre Brandon on American Idol. We re-elected Bush, right? Pardon me...

Ok, now that I'm done sucking my thumb and rocking back and forth in the fetal position...

My favorite part of last night's Idol?

"I have some bad news for you: you aren't not going to not, not, not be not seeing a lot of us on the rest of the show."

Wait for 15 seconds while the petrified contestant tallies the sextuple negatives...

"This is bull... I demand a recount! I sing better than Paula!! Oh wait! That means I made it!! Thank you!!"

This is the part when Paula, Randy, and Simon think "Uh-oh, we accidentally gave them one too many "nots", does "Top 25" have the same ring to it? I know that Fox has a show called 24. Can they call it 25 next season?"

I kid because I love, and because I'm absolutely emotionally invested in this show.

Anyway, get ready to vote fer Brandon. In my delusional mind I'm imagining "Brandon for America", as a homage to Barack and Josiah Bartlet's campaign on American Idol.

There's an idea! Can we have Simon, Randy, and Paula preside over future Presidential debates? Maybe they don't even need to debate any further. They can just sing and we'll decide whether they're cute or not. I can imagine Ralph Nader as a William Hung-type. Or Dennis Kucinich covering Don McLean's American Pie. We'd have to get John Ashcroft as a guest judge and have everyone do his "Let the Eagle Soar".

Someone slap me.

AND!

Happy Valentine's Day.

I wanna be sedated

My best friend and one time tourmate, Brandon Rogers is a contestant on American Idol this season. Watching the episodes he has been on thus far has been exhilirating and terrifying at the same time. The Brandon Rogers Friend Army has had regular watching parties and I've screamed real loud every time he's on screen. Good thing there's tivo. We have to rewind it ten times before the nervous energy and general insanity settles down till one can actually here the sound blasting from the tv. I'm proud of him. Tune in tonight to find out if he makes the top 24. Tune in tomorrow on this blog to find out if I induce a coma so I won't have a heart attack or bite my fingers off from the stress of watching him on this show. I know he's good enough to win the whole deal. I hope the rest of America agrees with me.

I'm playing The Verity Room in Canoga Park this Friday. Come see me. It's all ages. Here's a flyer:

Rascal Skeets

I'm on a plane sitting directly behind a senior citizen whose head is closely shaven. He has a divot in his cranium that makes it appear as if he's been doing jumping jacks in a room with a low ceiling for the last few years. Seize the day y'all! Age is rapidly approaching. The end of the special airplane edition of Wheel of Fortune is also rapidly approaching as I type. The last puzzle was model airplane kit.

I'm returning from the first vacation I've taken in about seven years. Don't cry for me Argentinia, I don't operate a jackhammer from sunrise to Sunset Blvd., but it sure feels good to get away once every other Presidential term or so. I am officially not a vegetarian, and the snapper population has me and my three vacationaires on the most wanted list.

The good news? I have no plans to give up my musical career (or my basketball jones) to become a professional water skier. I will say this to beginning water skiers: learn from my mistake, LET GO WHEN YOU FALL! I essentially punched myself at forty miles an hour. I have a new respect for stuntmen. I wonder if Ed Norton would consider being my stuntman the next time I try and water ski. I wonder if he appreciates my calling him Ed? He never calls anymore. I've dropped the 'ward.

Will it ever be possible for me to see Skeet Ulrich and not reflect upon Satan and Saddam Hussein having a framed picture of him over their bed in the South Park Movie? I think not.

I watched a good parcel of The Grammys yesterday. I lost! I demand a recount! I played saxophone on Michael Bublé's Grammy Nominated Caught in the Act DVD (which I have yet to see, other than living it). You can just call me "Grammy Loser" from this day forth.

Highlights:

-Gnarls Barkley!

-Ornette Coleman reading his own name on the teleprompter when he was announcing the nominees for a category.

-Tony Bennett thanks Target.

Lowlights:

-Smokey Robinson has the crazy eyes (but sure sounds good!).

-Worlds longest Eagles tribute, with's world's most mediocre-est performance of the guitar leads in Hotel California. I'm a decent fan of Rascal Flats (for instance, I'm reasonably sure I spelled their name correctly), but that performance was sadly tepid to my tastes.

In other news, I have been gently bitten by the Texas Hold 'em Bug. I've played probably six or seven games of poker before this week, and doubled my total of games on my vacation. Sadly, I did not double my net worth. I did however win twice. I am, as the kids say, "all in". If you see me in a drunken pile of my own filth in an alley in Vegas in a few years, know that it all started here.

Now it's back to The Grind (no, not the MTV dance show with Eric Nies) of making strings, reeds, and vocal cords vibrate in a pleasing manner.

I am playing a solo show at Verity in Canoga Park on February 16th. Details are on the ol' myspace as well as ZackHexum.com.

Holy crap, the afore mentioned elderly fellow with the unique head in front of me, just reclined his chair so far back I can smell his thoughts. I feel like I'm typing inside my own ribcage. This sounds like a good time to call it a day.

Welcome to wherever we are

Hello peeps.
I used to post my blog at the forum of ZackHexum.com, but the evils of the internet (viagra ads) overran that, so I've decided to move things over here. This blog has an RSS feed. Click on the RSS in the address bar (where you type in http://zackhexumisneat.com). Once you subscribe to the RSS feed, you can simply look in your bookmarks to see if I've posted a new blog. Woo! This is exciting stuff.

Thanks for stopping by.
-Zack