Cold turkey on cold turkey

I have spent the last few days acting like one of those animatronic mannequins from a Disney ride doing the same motion over and over. My motion: eating cubic hectares of Thanksgiving leftovers. I even made a yogurt smoothie out of the leftovers from the homemade cranberry sauce. It was dee-licious. Alas, my binge is coming to a screeching halt as my gravy train runs dry. I'm going cold turkey on cold turkey.

Tonight I'm going to the premiere of the Drake and Josh movie. I'm bringing a little red napkin to use as a mini-red carpet just in case.

Ironically the first two full-length movies I have scored are both Christmas movies. I'm hoping to expand to Easter films in '09.

Happy Holidays is screening in New York this Saturday. This is good news for all of you New Yorkers who are weeping that you have to miss my show in LA at the Mint on Saturday. You can go see a movie with my music in it. Listen closely and you'll hear my cameo as a radio DJ.

Here are the details for the screening:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Happy-Holidays/28747205098?ref=ts#/event.php?eid=42656852535

Atrophied extremities

Hello interweb. Remember me? I have neglected my bloggy duties in favor of helping score the music to "Merry Christmas Drake and Josh". We worked long and hard (that's what she said) to get 'er done (which is what that comedian from Nebraska said) on time (which is what the train conductor said).

Originally I thought this gig would be "ghost writing" which is spooky, but only partially neat because you don't get to see your name in the credits. Good news, though, I shall be officially credited as "additional music by"!

Now that I'm not working the twelve to fifteen hour days I have to prioritize my newfound freedom.

I'm planning to:

-Enjoy this "sunlight" that you hear so much about

-Blog once a week

-Write music that doesn't use pizzicato strings

-Use my atrophied extremities (I feel like I've been in a cast for a month only without the weird smell)

-Buy a houseplant

I'm proud of my hometown!

I'm playing December 6th at the Mint (it's not just for toothpaste flavor anymore) at 9:00. I'm going to round up some friends to perform some holiday-themed goodies with me. Won't that be nice?

¡Viva Mexico!

It's been an insane couple of weeks. Backhouse Mike, né Michael Corcoran, and I spent many moons working out horn arrangements for a Drake Bell tour in Mexico. We arranged a bucket o' tunes for trumpet, tenor saxophone, and trombone. After a quick show in Denver and a trio of rehearsals we hopped on a plane headed para Ciudad Mexico.

I took Spanish in elementary school and in seventh grade. In high school I switched to Français. Seeing as how I now live in driving distance of a nation of Spanish speakers, this may have been a poor choice. Somehow, by the end of the week, I was remembering palabras de Señora Rhoda, my elementary school Spanish teacher, whose fashion sense, even to my untrained, fifth-grade eye was a decade or two behind the times. I vividly remember the middle school Spanish teacher informing us how to use the phrase "que lastima!" "You don't have your homework done? ¡Que lastima!" Why my brain hasn't ejected this moment in favor of other current pertinent data, such as the serial number of my stolen alto saxophone, I will never know.

My favorite aspect of the trip was trying to communicate my ideas to the locals using my hyper-limited vocab. This mix of Spanish and English was also particularly apropos because I'm in the middle-end of reading "The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao" by Junot Diaz. This book has introduced me to vocabulary words such as culo and ripio (these are not family friendly words you learn in elementary school).

The tour was an unequivocal success. We played five sold out shows to about 10,000 peeps a pop. I've uploaded a video of what it looked like from behind the organ:



That was with the volume turned down to ten percent. I wear in ear monitors to keep from going deaf.

Now that I'm back in town, I'm about to get busy doing some ghost-writing (spooky-style, just in time for Halloween) on a movie.

Before I descend into the paincave of the studio for weeks upon end, I'll come up for air in time to play a show at the Hotel Cafe this Friday at 11 pm.

Nice hat, Picasso

I set a new personal best for traveling hellishness yesterday. We had a weekend o' Drake Bell gigs, starting with Tulsa on Saturday, and finishing with Richmond, VA on Sunday. Sunday "morning" (if 4:25 in the AM can really be named as such) I awoke before my alarm, because my desire to avoid oversleeping overrides my desire for sleep. We hopped a plane to Cincinnati (I think). It was not a jumbo jet. It was a "let's gate check your saxophone, because if it's bigger than a box of kleenex it won't fit in the overhead bin" plane. The nice lady who was in charge of the gate-checked luggage said "we'll take good care of this" when I handed her my baby (and by baby, I mean Mark VI Selmer sacks o' fun, not an actual infant). When we landed everyone got their gate checked luggage after we walked off the six steps from the plane to the tarmac. Everyone, that is, except for me. After a tense five minutes of waiting for the also-nice luggage lady in Cincy to find my saxophone she said "it must have been stuff under some other bags, because it was hard to find." In the words of Bill Lumbergh, that'd be greeeaaaaaaaat.

We had three more flights after that point, with an afternoon gig in Richmond mixed in. All in all it was 24 hours from waking hotel bed to sleeping home bed. There were no alarm clocks in my life today.

I almost forgot! Whilst in Richmond I was talking on the phone to a friend. I was wearing a hat at this moment. I was backstage, and standing next to a fence. On the opposite side of said fence was the parking lot. A friendly fellow was strolling past and heckled me with this line: "nice hat, Picasso!" To which I should've replied, "yeah, but at least I haven't mailed an ear yet!" I was wearing one of these hats:



Perhaps he mistook my chapeau for a beret, the kind you find in a secondhand store.

I posted this heckle on Facebook and a friend replied with this:

"Picasso did love his hats. I for one like am delighted to hear that people are still referencing obscure artist biographical details in every day life. Does the heart good."

Now I'm back in the mix. Tomorrow (Tuesday, 10/6/08) I'm playing a solo show at Boardner's in Hollywood. See you there.

clutter fried brainbox

My quest to write one song a week is on track! Sort of!

Everyday this week I've come up with pieces of songs, usually one verse and a chorus. Nothing's finished yet, but I'm moving in the right direction. A friend told me about the book "The Artist's Way," and some of the exercises therein. I'm three-fourths of the way through "Shantaram" by Gregory David Roberts and I have no intention of cracking another book until I'm finished. Instead I'm beginning my creative process each day with a page or two of free association. This has given birth to little two word babies like "befriend anemone" and "clutter fry" As to whether or not this scribed babbling will lead to a song, yo no se. I feel like these pages are mental calisthenics, so as long as I don't pull a hammy in my brainbox, everything should be good.

I can't help but wonder how James Mercer comes up with these gems:

"But when they're parking their cars on your chest
You've still got a view of the summer sky
To make it hurt twice when your restless body
Caves to its whims
And suddenly struggles to take flight..."

I'll have what he's having.

Speaking of free association, last night I put popcorn in a bowl of turkey chili, and it was delicious.

My next voyage is October 7th at Boardner's in Hollywood. It'll be solo electric, and I'll mash my fingers way up on the tiny strings.

Seal and the President

I have an upright bass. It was originally purchased by my brother for my Introducing Zack Hexum record. It stayed at his house for the last decade or so, and was a (slightly dusty) fixture in his living room. A year or so ago it was bequeathed to me. Now it's an extremely dusty figure in my living room. Through a friend of a friend of a friend it's now on it's way in an SUV to be used in a music video for Seal. I should've slipped a note in the fingerboard letting Mr. Seal know that I used to play his first album real loud in the (not dusty) living room when I was thirteen. I may or may not have danced around a little bit too. You'll never know, and neither will he.

According to his Wikipedia page Seal had six birth names, which he has since whittled down to one. That has to be a record. I wish I could have that kind of efficiency with my CD collection. Perhaps that kind of ability to cut away the fat would be good in the political process.

After reading about and watching some of the Sarah Palin interview with Charlie Gibson, and her failing the pop quiz on the Bush Doctrine (or as I've nicknamed it the oxy-doctrine-moron, because "anticipatory self-defense" sounds like something a locker-stuffing high school bully who was on the debate team would make up) I found myself thinking...

Who would you vote for if there were such thing as a Presidential Aptitude Test (PAT, henceforth), and your life depended on the candidate's score*. Let's say that the PAT has some multiple choice questions on current events (with extra credit for knowing how many houses you own), a speech section where you have to make Vin Diesel shed a tear, a diplomacy challenge where you have to convince a despotic military leader to trade you his chicken burrito from Chipotle for a can of spam, and finally a lie-detector with a full-blast-tazer attached that the candidates are hooked up to while watching their own commercials.

If my life was on the line I'm not picking the party who picked a VP that left her town of 9,000 people 20 million dollars in debt after her mayorship. Although, if she would've used the cash she kept from the "thanks, but no thanks" bridge to nowhere, I guess she could pay that debt back...

I'm also not picking the party that picked the V.P. candidate who still thinks that Iraq has links to Al Qaeda, even though the Bush Administration, who originally perpetrated that falsehood, have admitted there is no connection.

Tonight I play with my jazzy trio at Aura in Studio City at 10 PM.



*This was inspired by a Bill Simmons column about determining the NBA MVP race by picking one player as your teammate if your life was at stake.

Invoking Nickelback in the political debate

I was awakened this morning by what I think was the voice of a fireman on a fire truck. He was using his loudspeaker and a deep and burly voice to say "get off the phone!" to a driver who was practicing some civil disobedience by driving while talking on his/her cellie. I'm hoping to hear that same voice of reason command my neighbors to "pick up your dog's poo!" Or maybe tell me "stop watching TV and go play tennis!" This could be an invaluable motivational tool.

WARNING political viewpoints to follow, I won't be offended if you click the back button instead of reading on.

I was listening to the radio yesterday, and John McCain's life story was being retold with a tender piano accompaniment at the RNC. They put a cute little anecdote about both John and Cindy lying about their age when they met. They left out any part about Senator McCain already being married at that moment, I guess that wouldn't play well for the family-values party, but at least we're out of the airport bathrooms.

I'd like to reflect on Governor Palin and former Mayor Giuliani's mocking of Senator Obama's stint as a community organizer. Click here for Barack's timeline. In 1983 Obama was a full time organizer for City College in Harlem who mobilized student volunteers. 1985 was the year he began his three year stint as a grass-roots community organizer in Chicago. At the same time Ms. Palin was coming in second in a beauty pageant, and would then go on to an eerily Vice Presidential career where she would get paid to talk about hockey on TV, but that's not the point.

The point is after 1985 Senator Obama continued and elevated his distinguished career as a public servant (editing the Harvard Law Review, registering 150,000 voters, teaching constitutional law, being elected to the Illinois State Senate, passing legislation requiring interrogations be recorded, writing two books, and being elected to the U.S. Senate). Comparing Sarah Palin's penultimate job as mayor of a city of 9000 to Barack's post-Columbia pre-Harvard job is like Nickelback (sorry Canada) putting down Radiohead's Pablo Honey. It's nowhere near the whole picture.

the horror, the horror

I can't stomach it. I can't watch the Republican National Convention. It's the scariest fictional horror movie of all time, because it can become real.

I can, however, watch The Daily Show, and feel a little better:



Later in that show Newt Gingrich says that Sarah Palin has more experience than Obama, Biden, or McCain. Apparently, you're only qualified to be President if you're a former Governor, because that's worked out so well for Still-President Bush.

I'm going to go take a deep breath now.

celebrity purse attack

It's time. I'm picking up the pen and the microphone. Yes, it's time for new music, folks. I'm hoping to get back on the one-song-a-week pace that I was on the year before I recorded The Story So Far.

I wrote my song for the week today, so I guess I can get back to watching Simpsons reruns in a dirty undershirt and growing a beard. I don't know what the song will be named yet. It's about optimism, mostly, which is a challenging perspective during the Republican National Convention, but I digress.

The Hotel Cafe was a rip-roarin' good time. Thanks to everybody who came out, and especially those who came and brought fresh bodies/new people to the cult/concert. I salute you.

Michael Corcoran played guitar on Beyond My Means and Done Him Wrong. He also sang and tickled the ivories on Dr. John's "Such a Night". I moved Michael into my top friends so all can know where and how to find him.

Here's the setlist:

sun still shines
only a rehearsal
met a girl
what if I
hold on
open to close
beyond my means
such a night
done him wrong

I'm playing Aura in Studio City on September 17th with the jazzy organ trio.

I was a spectator last night at the Hotel Cafe. Dave Yaden and Josh Kelley performed. It's been too long since I've been an audience member there. Highlights included reuniting with some music folks I haven't seen in a good long while, having Katherine Heigl's purse whap me in the stomach when she squeezed by, and hearing some excellent musicians. What more could I hope for? (This is where "I Love LA" should be piped in, but I haven't paid for the licensing rights.)

lonely t, meedley meedley meeeeee

My

internet

connection

at

home

is

painfully

slow

right

now

and

I

don't

know

why.

I wanted to recreate the experience, for you, dear readers. Let's move on.

My Olympic Fever is dying down, thanks to lots of clear liquids and tylenol (which, by the way, is "lonely t" spelled backwards). I have a burning desire to play volleyball after watching the U.S. mens team beat Brazil, but methinks it wouldn't be good for my nimble, yet breakable fingers. Instead I'll just have to pine for a time when I could've been a gold medalist in the freestyle 120 bpm scale relay.

Impending downtime from the road has gotten me motivated to get more students (I teach saxophone, guitar, piano, etc.). With some help, I've written my first ever resumé. I'm all growns-up, apparently. If you or someone you love/know wants to take some lessons in meedley, meedley, please send them my way.

In other news, Friday (8.29.08) I shall play the Hotel Cafe at 11, and I juuuust added an acoustic gig at Saint Rocke in Hermosa Beach on Sunday. Details for Sunday will be posted on the profile just as soon as I get 'em.

burning gas

I'm thinking about starting my own music company called Nabadybies Records.

I survived a cross country trek/mini-tour. Chicago was gently decimated. Omaha was slightly laid waste. Denver was spared. I was supposed to play a Drake Bell show there, but Mother Nature said "oh no, you di'n't" so instead we fled to Los Angeles, 14 hours straight putting us in after foe in the moe-nin.

The purpose of the trip was two-fold (much like my wallet). My friend Dan needed to move from Chicago to LA, and I needed to rock!

Downside: my guitar started crackling like an old-timey phonograph during my show at Uncommon Ground. During the set at Mick's in Omaha all heck (maybe just some heck, or heck-some if you like) broke loose. I had to finish "Two Times Two" in an a capella style. Fortunately, new friend and formidable talent Korey Anderson saved my ax, as it were, and let me use his guitar (which sounded much better than mine, hmm...).

Upside: to the many friendly faces in Omaha and Chicago, I thank you.

Tropic Thunder: totally ridiculous and highly recommended.

On the drive home we stopped at the same gas station that we previously stopped after a Drake Bell gig. That gas station stands out in my mind because a family followed us to that same service station for at least thirty minutes to get an autograph. Upon return I can only assume that this same family burned the gas station in our honor:


I know gas prices have been heating up, but that is just too far.

Now after a morning on hitting tennis balls I'm back in the swing of things. I'm excited to conquer the Hotel Cafe on August 29th. I hope you'll be there if you can.

drunken, serial killing, cab thief

Sunday night I played saxophone on a jazzy gig that was a stone's throw from my apartment. I walked the mile or so to the gig, attempting to shrink my carbon footprint (don't tell anyone that my footprint went clown-sized by flying to Chicago a day later).

The gig got done about 12:30 AM, and I wasn't pleased about the prospect of walking home that late with my saxophone. I hailed a cab after a few quick minutes. When I got in the taxi's meter was at $30. This was my first indication that something strange was afoot.

The driver, a youngish dude, was chummy. After exchanging pleasantries I asked, "aren't you going to reset the meter?" To which he replied "oh yeah!" because it had apparently slipped his mind. He hit the button on top, which turned the meter to "off".

This is where I calculated that there were three possible reasons:

1. He was a serial killer and wanted to turn me into house slippers.

2. He was high/drunk out of his mind.

3. He had stolen the cab and didn't know how to work the meter except to hit the button on top.

Of course it's also possible he was a drunken, serial killing, cab thief. In fact, I think that's the most likely outcome.

The rest of the two minute ride climaxed with him zooming upwards of 50 MPH in the right lane to pass a bus. Fortunately, we didn't die in a fiery crash and the ride was over after our near Back-to-the-Future-level venture into the non-passing lane.

We screeched to a halt, and I said "how much do I owe you?"

"Whatever you think is fair." I calculated that I was leaving with my life in tact, and not as a pair of house slippers and decided that five bucks was a fair fare.

Tonight I play Uncommon Ground in Chicago.

Tomorrow I play Mick's in Omaha.

Zoom!

A trip in pix

It's a blur, for sure. I'm back from New York. Here's a photo essay to show how I spent my Summer vacation.

Woodstock, NY is a magical place with antique, yet funky drum machines.



It's good to stay indoors and use drum machines when it looks like this outside...



Although back in Brooklyn, it's bright when you're staying in the living room.



And scary when there's a bloated pigeon blocking the door.



I played basketball for the first time in a long while. The gym had no air conditioning and the sweat flowed like wine.



On the way back I flew over a farm where they grow records.



On Monday I'm off to Chicago...

NY state of blog

I already posted a blog on my myspace, but since I can't cut and paste on my iPhone, I'll write you fine folks a different one.

I played the cutting room in NYC on Friday. Twas a great time. It was a reunion of my old running mates, and not in a Lieberman, Edwards kind of way.

I won't say that I miss living in New York, but I do miss my peeps there, much in the same way as you might miss former cellmates, you know cuz of the bonding that happens in adverse situations.

I spent the weekend with Jesse Chandler, the Brooks to my Andy in Shawshank terms (but without the noose and the chair), in Woodstock. We recorded a cover of "girl don't tell me" by the Beach Boys using a drum machine from 1969 and other fun toys.

I might just have to throw that online for your consumption when I'm home.

Thursday I conquer Ohio...

Now I sleep.

hoosegow

It was a musical odyssey. I don't know if anyone recorded the set from Aura last night. If not, there's no hard proof, and I can either tell you it was the greatest or worst show in the history of the world and you'll never find evidence to the contrary. Let's go with somewhere in the middle, yet leaning towards the greater side.

John Wicks plays drums, and plays them well. The show was our first extended musical experience together. Joel and I have played together for most of my six years in Los Angeles, and his ability to grow as a musician never ceases to amaze. We had moments of sublime empathy last night.

Playing improvised music provides a meditation for me on stage. I find myself in an entirely different state of mind then during my rock performances. During our rendition of Beck's "Nobody's Fault But My Own" (thank you Rob for the charts) I felt the audience was with me on each note. I played soprano, and I slipped away from the microphone to release all my air into the horn.

While my jazzy ambitions took a step forward, my career as a standup comedian took a step back last night. I brought my Nalgene bottle filled with water on stage. Joel asked what kind of concoction I was drinking and I said "water". He said "Daddy's water tastes like fire." I "lol"ed and repeated his line into the microphone to share with the audience. This was met by a deafening silence (and chances are high you're not laughing right now either). To which I replied, "even the banter is going to be esoteric and totally incomprehensible tonight."

What else do I know?

I got an iPhone. I did not buy the new one, I got one from a friend. I may or may not have tweaked it out, and I may or may not be playing Mike Tyson's Punch Out on my mobile telephone next time you see me. Aren't I stealthy? I feel like I should be wearing a trench coat filled with wristwatches.

I am on call for jury duty next week. This may not work out well because I'm flying to New York on Thursday. I informed the nice jury-duty-phone-line woman of this, and she said, "that's ok, just tell them when you get there what your schedule is." I'm not afraid of being on a jury. I think it would be an interesting experience, and I believe in the concept of civic duty. I'm a little perplexed as to how, as a self-employed entrepreneurial type, I'm supposed to keep my life moving if I got called into an epic O.J.-style trial. Fortunately I can blog from my iPhone now, although the typing is nowhere near fifty words a minute. Has this episode of Law and Order happened? Musician is thrown in the hoosegow for updating his myspace page in the jurors box while McDonald's is on trial for having coffee that's hot... *bong-bong*

falling coaster parts

I am the weekend warrior. Drake Bell and band have officially survived our fourth weekend in a row of plane-filled, rockutastic fun.

Our grand finale was Oklahoma City this Saturday. We witnessed a gigantic piece of metal fall off the roller coaster track and tumble fifty feet. The metal was not injured, but I bet the dirt underneath smarts a little. All the people were safe, and the band decided unanimously not to ride the rides that day.

Now I'm back home, recovering from a menage a trois de tennis (couldn't find a fourth for doubles, this is a family program). I forgot that I was wearing a collared shirt (mock me later), and have a bright red triangle of sun where I neglected to put sunscreen. This triangle looks vaguely like the brand the Beastmaster had on his hand. I wonder if that means I can talk to the ants in my kitchen now?



Nice marmot.

I've added a show on August 12th at Uncommon Ground in Chicago. Ow!

books and planes

I'm back from another weekend binge of plane flights and Drake Bell gigs. I've got a couple thousand more frequent flyer miles to my name, which is good for vacationing, and not so good for my carbon footprint. At least we flew in the carpool lane. Also, I've discovered that the book is not an electronic device and therefore can be used during takeoff and landing. As a result I've got some book recommendations for you.

I'm almost finished with the book This is Your Brain on Music. I've discovered I may have an usually large cerebellum. No, that's not a pickup line. The book is dense at moments, but definitely worth the brain power.

Book recommendation number two: Ken Follett's World Without End. It's the sequel to one of my all-time faves Pillars of the Earth. I'm sad that I'm finished with World w/o End. I miss the characters. Maybe they'll myspace me or something (they had ye olde internets in medieval England, right?).

One of the unexpected side effects of reading those Follett books is learning that back in the day your last name was often determined by your career. I've delved into a decently wide variety of music related jobs so would my full name in olden days be: Zachary Songwritersaxophonistteachercomposersidemanblogger? I'd have to get yardsticks to use as business cards. The abbreviated "Zachary Songwriter" is pretty decent, although I'm partial to Hexum, so I won't be pulling a Prince/Diddy anytime soon.

My next gig with the Zack Hexum trio is right around the corner. Here's a flyer:

feet on the ground, power not grounded

I just got finished with a four-gig/five-days-of-flights-rampage with Drake the Bell. I brought my laptop with me in hopes of being able to blog a bit from the road. Alas, I was so wiped and wifi was so not-free that I essentially only got my computer out in time to put it into it's own little rubbermaid tray and have it x-rayed to deaf.

The good news, I'm back! The bad news, I leave again tomorrow. I'm leaving this here laptop right at home, so my next blog will either be typed with a BlackBerry Pearl (no iPhone for me yet, but I do enjoy imagining my ownership of said gadget) or it won't be typed until I'm back home in the good ol' Los of Angeles.

The four show run was eventful, to say the least. We were harassed and perhaps even intimidated by a power-hungry woman who wore Crocs. We played Six Flags Atlanta, where the poor kid had the roller coaster-fence-hopping accident just one day before. I got the crap shocked out of me three gigs in a row when I touched a metal part underneath the rented Hammond B-3 and microphone simultaneously. I think I took the Lord's name in vain into the aforementioned microphone when that happened. You're not supposed to do that at soundchecks in the South. The only gig where I didn't get shocked was the one where the show got cut short by lightning. Go figure.

Continuing on my power riff, as of yesterday, my folks' place in Omaha is one of 20,000 homes that have been without electricity for a couple days in a row. Fortunately no trees were embedded in the Hexum family roof, so no harm no foul.

I posted four shots from the Hotel Cafe show on the myspace page.

Zap!

Ow!

backhanded conundrums

If Rafael Nadal is right-handed, but plays tennis left-handed does he get the left-handed slightly shorter life expectancy? Or does he just get the good batting average? Does right-handed baller, but left-handed eater/writer LeBron James shop at the leftorium for everything but his sneakers? Do you even need to shop for sneakers when you have an eight-figure (or is it nine?) endorsement with Nike? I think not.

Why Lakers, Why?!

I've been attempting to come to grips with the colossal failure of my beloved Los Angeles Lakers last night, and more specifically why I care like I do when they lose, and why the hell I bother to follow sports to begin with. I came up with this, which was written in a message to someone who was pondering related issues:

Following sports is great because it's roller coaster ride on invisible tracks. You watch a movie, and you more or less know what's going to happen and that the good guys are going to win. In sports all that stuff is off. Even if you believe that the refs are betting on games, you don't know which side they've bet on beforehand. It's such a great ride when you've got your Rain Man-style statistics at the ready, you read every column and scouting report, and your team wins. You feel like you had some cosmic part in willing your team to victory, especially since you wore your lucky Magic Johnson '87 MVP t-shirt.

On the other hand, I'm simply pissed the Lakers "wet the bed" after having a 24 point lead. The fan, especially when watching the game on TV and not at the arena, has exactly zero percent input on the outcome of the game. The fan thinks, "I would've known to at least foul Ray Allen, or punch him in the kidney or something." When they lose it really makes me think, couldn't I have been learning origami, or trying to end world hunger instead of screaming at a television?

It's very anti-Zen following a team, all highs and lows, no creamy middle. Those stakes only get raised as the playoffs stretch onward towards infinity. At the beginning of the season, with Kobe demanding a trade to Chicago (so he could lose to the Celtics more often, no doubt) I thought there was no way we were going to be in the Finals, but here we are (and by "we" I mean a team that I don't play on) and now I'm mad we're losing!

Even though a team has never come back from a deficit of this margin in the Finals, I still have a sliver of a glimpse of hope. That doesn't really make any sense to me, but I guess in the end that's why I love sports. Nobody knows for sure that the good guys will win.

A Ditty (no relation to P Diddy)

Ladies and Gentledudes! Boys and girls! Feast your eyes on the first-ever-in-the-history-of-the-world (as far as I know) video flyer!

I wrote myself a little jingle for the upcoming show at the Hotel Cafe on the 24th. I hope you like it.

Marylandfarmer!

I feel like the NBA playoffs are at least as long as the Democratic Primary process. Unfortunately the Lakers are looking at a Hillary-style deficit if they don't pull out some serious mojo in game three. If you only count LA county, I think the Lakers will win the popular vote either way, so we'll always have that. I smell a return to the not so pleasant, 60's style feeling of losing to the Celts in the Finals if the Lake Show doesn't annihilate Boston tonight.

One bright spot of the seemingly endless playoff season has been the constant barrage of the Docker's commercial that features Marlena Shaw's California Soul. A rare benefit of the modern cross-marketing-assault of everything under the sun is the chance to discover some little-known brilliance that has fallen by the wayside.

As a result, an ad for middle-aged-man-pants got me into a little googling, and it makes me wonder if I should start with Miss Shaw's hit-the-nail-on-the-head-titled album "Who is This *bleep*, Anyway?" (And no, I'm not comfortable typing the "b" word. And yes, that's the actual title. Let's just move on.)

Perhaps my first record would've landed me a commercial for car insurance long after it's original release had it been called "Zack Hexum: Whoever, That Motherfather Is" instead of "Introducing Zack Hexum".

Sidenote: a year or two ago I watched Tarrantino's "Jackie Brown" on a network that was not allowed to say naughty words. Motherfather was one of the somehow more colorful substitutes for dropping the MF bomb. Another that I keep planning on adding to my lexicon is "Maryland Farmer", a little bulkier than the original, but what it lacks in poetic grace it makes up for in goofiness. Substituting the so-called bad words in a Tarrantino movie is a mammoth undertaking, somewhat akin to counting the number of choruses of blues B.B. King has played, or the number of Milwaukee's Beasts consumed at UNT drumline parties.

Speaking of ale and the like, here's John McCain's new strategy for tapping into the teetotaller demographic.

If I could veto one thing out of existence it would have to be C.G.I. animals acting cute in mostly live action movies. I see you George Lucas! Not to beat a previously whipped groundhog, but this was the first thing to come to mind. Stick with what you know.

Finally, pack your bags folks, because we're going to the Hotel Cafe on June 24th at 10 PM. Be there... or... I guess... don't.

Mozart's Punch-Out

The day that began with seeing Craig Kilborn on the tennis courts carried on with a phone call from my friend asking me to haul it over to the studio to lay down some baritone saxophone on Beach Boys legend, Brian Wilson's, new record. If you don't think I'm introducing myself as "hello, I'm Zack Hexum and I played on Brian Wilson new record" for the next couple years, you're crazy.

I didn't get to meet Brian, but rumor has it he drank one of the bottles of water I bought and left at the studio. This makes me feel like one of the *ahem* "enthusiastic" Drake Bell fans who hangs out after the gig and screams like they're on fire when I throw them one of Drake's guitar picks after the show. I suppose that ecstatic joy is the common thread of all music fans, it's just degrees and fear of large men with needles that keeps me from getting the artist's face tattooed on my kneecap.

That momentous day concluded with a friend getting me a ticket to a semi-secret Elvis Costello show at The El Rey Theater (I still hate saying "the el", but I'll move on with a twinge of cognitive dissonance). Twas my first time seeing Elvis. On recent records his vibrato is a bit much for me. Live he blew my socks off. Fortunately I was wearing comfortable shoes, so it worked out well.

After last Wednesday's series of unbelievable events, I had a quick jaunt to Iowa for a gig with Drake the Bell. We played Waterloo. Alas, I was unable to find the time to hit up a pawn shop and have another Little City Driver-style Dobro experience. We did, however enjoy rocking out. We're going to add Jellyfish's "Joining a Fanclub" to our repertoire before our next batch o' shows. Best be warned.

Sunday, SUNDAY, ¡SUNDAY! was the recording session for Brandon Rogers' single "Broken". I was there in my capacity as string quartet arranger, and let me tell ya, folks: there ain't nothin' like the real thing. When I was doing ghost-writing for TV over the last few months I used sampled strings, because I didn't have the budget or the time to employ an orchestra, or more specifically use anyone who's name wasn't Zack Hexum, or at least someone who was wearing his underwear. Yesterday, however Brandon hired the über string quartet "The Section". I felt like Thomas Edison, listening to parts I invented being played by flesh, blood, and wood musicians and their instruments. I'm already scheming for my next opportunity in that department.

Mozart wrote his first symphony at age eight (I knew how to get thirty lives on Contra for Nintendo when I was 8 years-old, and I may have learned how to ride a bike by then, too). I'm writing my first piece for string quartet at an age when I'm old enough to have fathered an eight-year old, but that's ok. I'm on my own pace here, folks. I could totally take Mozart in Mike Tyson's Punch-Out (if it were a two-player game).

Sunday's string-stravaganza ended with a quiet and 99% pleasant evening at Libertine. The artist who was on after me had what I assume to be either a mom or manager (or a momager, as I have dubbed this archetypal character) patrolling the crowd who shushed me and a group of friends for talking during the line check (this means the artist hadn't started performing yet). She asked us to kindly move to the other end of the bar and topped it off with a "you understand". Yes, I understand. You're asking a portion of the audience to move away from the artist during the performance, thus erasing the likelihood of creating new fans who aren't specifically there to see them, and annoying/alienating (annoylienating?) complaining blogging musicians, such as myself.

I've played a decent amount of solo shows where I've battled talkers, drunk talkers, drunk-dancing talkers, drunk-dialing talkers, Weird Al, talking heads, headless talkers, and most of the in between. A silent audience may be golden, but the artist has to earn it.

Anywah, it's been a busy and unbelievably lucky couple of days. Time to get back to it, and manufacture more of those.

Faux Paws

As often as possible I make it over to my neighborhood tennis courts to hit some balls with a friend. We usually play five games to eleven, we don't serve to start off, it's more like table tennis with gigantism. In the middle of game three my friend recognized Craig Kilborn looking for a tennis court.

Here's my history with Craig:



Anywah, I haven't seen him since the day the show aired. It was fun to catch up. He's still abnormally nice to me, and I hope to be able to lone him a kidney at some point to return the favor. We talked about Frank Sinatra and this song.

Craig reminds me of Neil Slater, the director of the One o'Clock Lab Band at North Texas. They're both real tall, have a sharp biting wit, and have a goofy side that's unexpected. Also, I can now add that they're both tennis enthusiasts to the list of shared mannerisms.

There are many Neil Slater moments and quotes that were gently scarring, but mostly make for good stories after the fact. Among them: "it's not too late to go to med school." The rest involve adult language and belittling oversleeping drummers. We'll save those for another time.

My time spent with Craig significantly more brief than my five semesters in the One o'Clock Band, but Mr. Kilborn's half-joshing "don't fuck this up" before I performed on the show was definitely Slaterian.

Now it's back to work. On my plate today: I'm arranging some strings for Brandon the Rogers today. He's going to record a version of "Broken" and I'm sitting down with a couple of wikipedia pages to remind me of the appropriate playing ranges and Beethoven's String Quartet in C sharp minor, to remind me of how a string quartet is supposed to sound).

This will be my first time writing for a string ensemble, which is one of the reasons I jumped at the chance to do it. I'm hoping to avoid any amateur-hour missteps (by the way, what's the plural for "faux pas", is it "faux paws"?). I guess I'll start by writing in pencil. After that I'm gonna go for the gusto like Sasha Vujacic shoots threes.

Wish me luck.

biting a hole

And the Oscar for worst use of CGI groundhogs in a live action movie goes to....

Indiana Jones and the Disappointing Skills!

Accepting the award will be George Lucas, who previously earned an award for giving birth to the worst character in the history of cinema (Jar Jar Binks, Star Wars: Episode One).

And the Oscar for most depressing and simultaneously enraging cable movie goes to....

Recount!

I haven't finished this movie yet, but I have a pretty good idea that Gov. Bush becomes President. Wimper, sigh, shudder. The only way the bad feelings that surround this movie could be topped for me personally is if they made a movie about the game of intramural basketball where the dude shoved me from behind causing my knee to implode.

Back in the real, un-cinematic portion of Hollywood, I had a heckuva time at the inaugural gig of the Zack Hexum Trio. Kevin Kanner, and Luke Miller played great. Lots of peeps turned out. Many thanks to ye.

Much to my neighbors chagrin my saxophone practice routine continues on, even though the jazz gig has come and gone. I spent most of Memorial Day weekend nearly biting a hole in my lower lip, as I got intimately familiar with my still-new-yet-sixty-year-old alto saxophone. I also penned a new jazzy composition in anticipation of the next trio gig. I'm hoping it'll be July 18th at Tommy Ray's, but that's not set in stone yet.

Now I turn my attention to other matters. Sunday will be the return of my acoustic guitar and vocal cords at Libertine on Sunset. Get out your lighters (or cell phones) and prepare to semi-quietly rock!

you've got to follow through

It's time for a montage, folks. Duh duh-duh-duh duh-duh duh duh duh... (that was supposed to be the start of the theme from Rocky). I'm training like Sylvester Stallone: chasing chickens around my apartment, and punching frozen tofu (since I've given up red meat). I think there's even likelihood of a happy mob chasing me around Hollywood on the way to the grocery store. Friday is the world premiere of the Zack Hexum Trio. I've put myself on a saxophone practicing routine for the first time since skaters wore baggy pants. This blog will serve as an open letter to my neighbors thanking them for not throwing bars of soap at my door, like my suite-mates in Kerr Hall did in college. Yes, love and saxiness are in the air.

It's nothing spectacular really, I start off playing long tones, i.e. going from one note to another very slowly. Next I go through a particular minor scale through the entire range of the horn, then do the scale in thirds, and then play the arpeggio. I then repeat this drill through all twelve keys. This is the way good ol' Mr. Riggs taught me to do it, back in '97.

As an aside, Mr. Riggs, creamed-corn enthusiast, is retiring after this year. Everything I know about how to sing a melody I learned through him. He once said, and then had me repeat the phrase "the smallest increments are felt by your audience." This phrase was my "use of the force, Luke". I think he meants that the work you do matters. Johnny Jazzfan might not know that you're playing the major ninth instead of the flat nine on the half-diminished chord, but he can feel it.

My practice routine then carries on with improvising on the chord progression to a golden jazzy oldie, such as "I've Got Rhythm" in all twelve keys. I follow that up with working on memorizing the material for the upcoming gig.

Practicing saxophone makes you sweat, if you're doing it right. It's like driving up-hill in a Prius. It just takes a bit more fuel than other activities.

I've taken to watching the Tennis Channel a bit in between things. I'm hoping that some of the expertise I'm witnessing will transfer to my game. Thus far I've re-learned that 80's Andre Agassi could've been a stunt double for David Lee Roth, and that Rafael Nadal "adjusts" the back side of his capri pants a lot.

You've got to follow through on your forehand:



And on that note, it's back to running up stairs and punching Dolph Lundgren in the face.

ever serve time?

The pajamas are off, ladies and gentlemen, and it's 11:06 AM. I think I'm mostly human again (my bionic earlobe notwithstanding).

The tea is hot, the window is open and Spring is springing.

I've added three Southern Californy area shows, in addition to the jazz gig at Tommy Ray's on May 23rd:

Libertine on the Sunset Strip June 1st, 8:45 PM.

Hotel Cafe on June 24th, 8 PM.

Zoey's in Ventura on July 11th, 8 PM.

I've been coming back to this blog for almost an hour now, hoping for divine comedic inspiration to strike...

Instead I'll steal from Chevy Chase, and keep with the gastroenterological humor of the week:

hello my baby, hello my honey

I watched a Simpsons episode whilst couch-ridden that had a quote that was apropos to my last few days: "The terrifying lows, the dizzying highs, the creamy middles."

In the dizzying highs category:

On Friday I had a fantastic marathon day in Phoenix. I performed for a non-profit called the "Musician's Enrichment Foundation" or MEF. The concert was held at St. Mary's High School, and it was a heckuva time. I got to play in a saxophone quartet for the first time since I don't remember when. The second half of the concert was me performing songs from "Open to Close" with flute, alto sax, trombone, and bass clarinet. I'm anxiously awaiting a copy of the video from the concert so that I might share it with the internets.

In the department of creamy middles:

On Saturday we had a Drake Bell gig at Union Station in Downtown LA. I awoke at the early hour of 4 AM, and made it to the gig without a hitch. Things would take an unexpected turn for the worst after a lunch at Luz del Dia (which I'm pretty sure must be Spanish for, "questionable results in your stomach are soon to follow"). Now, everyone had the same thing as me, two chicken tacos (I'm still avoiding red meat, but the occasional chicken has proven hard to avoid in my quest to be a semi-vegetarian), and no one else reported the same amount of destruction that was to follow me around for the next 72 hours. I'm not calling for a boycott, I'm just sayin'.

The terrifying lows:

I have spent lots of time with my bathroom and on my couch since Saturday evening. I polished off the John Adams mini-series I've been saving a for a rainy (poopy?) day. It's Tuesday now, and I don't feel like this anymore:



I'm still wearing pajama pants and it's one PM, so life isn't quite back to normal, but I'm optimistic.

fiery-toothed guitar

I'm officially going back to college to get a degree in cryptology. I updated my email (long overdue, dude!), and many of the handwritten email addresses are highly "artistic". I need to stop giving people massive quantities of muscle relaxants at my shows, because this is just not working. And yes, for the record, my handwriting is as bad as most righties when they try to right lefty. I'm just sayin'.

Because of this I did a little informal survey. Lots of people use gmail, hotmail, and yahoo. A surprising number also use "fake.com" or "poopypants.org" as well. Who knew?

My company whilst I worked on the email list assembly line was a live in home performance of Duke Ellington on Digital Video Disc. It was as if the whole band was in my living room, only my living room was Europe in the late 50's (and therefore black and white). Ain't technology grand?

I got my acoustic guitar out of the case after this weekend's beach bash and it smells like firewood. I'm not planning on lighting it on fire to see if it burns, so don't even ask. That would be a page out of the Jimi Hendrix book I don't need to swipe. Playing with my teeth is also not high on my list, although that would've been interesting when I had my braces in high school.

undefeated

And we're back. I took a "personal week" from my bloggy duties. Being 30 feels mighty nice, and kind of tastes like chicken. Thanks for all the nice burrthday wishes.

I had a heckuva time at Julie G's b-day-beach party on Sunday. I did my best to overcome the competing noise from the drum circle and the relatively chilly weather. I can officially feel my fingers now.

The Lakers are undefeated in the playoffs, and so am I. Of course, I'm not actually playing, so I'll be bringing that up in my post-season interview.

I'm excited about the big Phoenix show this weekend. I wrote arrangements for eight different songs for flute, alto sax, trombone, and bass clarinet. You do the math on the number of charts. Thus far I've been informed that I wrote a treble clef on one of the trombone charts. I think North Texas is knocking on the door to revoke my diploma. In the words of the great Paris Rutherford "feel that!". That doesn't make sense to anyone who I didn't go to school with, but it's real funny to me.

I'm holding fairly strong on my pseudo-vegetarianism, although my mom wasn't stoked "what will I cook for you?" I guess the beef broth with burgers, on a bed of steak won't be on the menu.

On that note. I'm off to lunch.

a rant

The Superdelegate phenomenon is rearing its ugly head again. If Hillary loses the popular vote, the delegate count, and still somehow convinces the professional politicians in the Democratic party to make her the nominee I'm officially retiring from amateur politics (again). This possibility makes me want to hurl large objects. I'm trying to find a happy place in my mind, but with no avail.

I believe that Senator Clinton has to know deep down inside that this is just bad pool. If she can become a nominee after losing the nominating process that's really no better than President Bush becoming the "leader of the free world" after losing the election to Al Gore. Boo! Between that and the 3 AM fear-mongering ads I hope she thanks Karl Rove and the Republican Party for inspiring her campaign tactics during her acceptance speech.

I finally got around to watching Barack Obama's speech on race. I would run into a burning building for this guy. I haven't donated to either candidate until now. We must not waste the opportunity to elect a once-in-a-generation leader. Make the right choice now and we'll be telling our grandkids about what we did to make a difference after what is among the darkest eight years in our country's political history.

Ok, I feel better now, kind of (grrrrrr!).

More good meat debate after the last blog. Good times!

Meanwhile, I'm still a musician. I was just about to recommend that you go listen to Caribou only to discover they're playing The El Rey (yes, it kind of hurts to type "the el", but that's just how we do it) tomorrow. I gotsta gets me some tix.

A Farewell to Meat, Day One

I received a lot of quality responses after my throwing down the meat-free gauntlet to myself. Thank you. After reflecting a bit I've decided that I'm still going to eat fish, preferably sushi, and also eggs, preferably scrambled. The plan is to go beef and chicken free for one week and reevaluate from there. Unfortunately my first day as a semi-vegetarian (fish&veg&eggetarian?) had an inauspicious debut.

I was sharing my quest for meatless-ness with a couple of friends on the way to lunch. We went to Porto's Bakery. The "potato balls" were recommended as a must-have by one of the aforementioned friends. I ordered a veggie sandwich and a potato ball. I was less than pleased to find out during my first bite that the full name of the potato ball is probably potato MEAT ball. That 2 inch ball of goodness is going to be my last bite of bovine for at least a week, as long as I don't get hoodwinked into accidentally ordering a strawberry shake with steak in it.

After my meat debacle I spent the evening tinkering with my new pedal board and a hot glue gun. I avoided the very real possibility of fastening my new Memory Man delay pedal to my forehead, so I consider it a success.

I just looked at my iTunes sales report and 14 people downloaded "I Met a Girl Like You Once" last week. I smell a meatless steak celebration in my future!

See you at the birthday party at Libertine on Sundee.

meedley meedley monday morning

Good morning internet. How are you? Don't you know me? I'm your naive son.

I am feeling good, in a Nina Simone-ish kind of way. I'm feeling good despite a couple of not-so-fresh feelings:

I had a weekend of gigs with Drake Bell in Vegas. I've expanded my gambling habit to include blackjack. It felt pretty decent to have won $25 the first night I played. It felt incredibly stupid to have had a net loss of $60 on the second night I played. I think I'm going to stick to music and save the card counting for Hallmark's product managers.

Another idea is bouncing around my head. World food prices are on the rise. It takes 16 pounds of grain to produce one pound of edible animal flesh. I also can't shake conversations I've had with friends about meat contributing to some types of cancer. I love In 'n Out burger real hard. It's a deep, profound, and perhaps unconditional love. I think it's time that meat and I went our separate ways. Like the dude says, "at least I'm housebroken", no wait! I meant the other dude, the one who says "be the change you want to see in the world." And since I'm not planning on morphing into a couple of quarters and a dime, I need to start with red meat. Yes, I'm going to ween myself from the teat of meat. I may very well fail. If you see me on youtube David-Hasselhoff-style, shirtless and surrounded by burgers, that may the time when I admit I'm powerless over a higher power (in this case the higher power of fast food).

The big three-oh is fast approaching, folks. Am I worried? I've had just as many days on Earth as everyone else who's 29 and 11/12ths years old. No, I'm not worried. My (perhaps obnoxious) motto on the subject is: if you live to be 100, you're going to feel really stupid if you look back and realize you've felt old for 70 percent of your life. It also doesn't hurt that I was carded not once, but twice while gambling this weekend. I won't be going out for any high-school-age acting roles, or any other roles for that matter, but I'm happy with where I am, and more specifically when I am.

Don't forget to come to the really big shew this Sunday at Libertine on Sunset to celebrate the aforementioned passing of my 20's.

Now I'm off to practice all my meedley-meedley's...

by the guay

I'm taking a trip down mammary lane (wait, I think that means something else...). I dusted off an old timey mp3 of a concert I did with Rob Wilkerson. It's from a gig at a place called The Rising in Brooklyn back in 2002. Oh New York, I never really felt at home in you, but I sure did have some great times playing music, and the camaraderie we had was profound. In the name of full disclosure: I had to consult the ol' spell check on that one, my thinking was comrade is spelled like that, therefore comraderie should be spelled like that. Who needs a college degree when you have the internets! I guess that's why I came in 2nd in that elementary school spelling bee.

Now I am here, and am happy to be(e). It's laundry day. It's also take-my-new-alto-to-the-repair-guy-to-have-it-looked-at day. That's a national holiday in Paraguay, by the guay.

Back to the tangent of the internets, or at least my corners: I put up the information for my concert in Phoenix that's on May 9th. I'll be performing for MEF, which is a music school thingy. I'm writing arrangements for flute, alto sax, trombone, and bass clarinet of seven or so of my songs. I'm excited! Lots of pencil and paper work to do now.

Until next time, thanks for stopping by, but mostly stay classy.

they won't carve my face into a mountain, but...

As Gloria Gaynor said, "I have survived." Ok, that's not what she said, but we'll be creative with tenses for the porpoise of this blog. I'm officially done with my first job writing music for TV. I turned in my final episode Monday. The show I'm working on, which shall remain nameless since I'm "ghost writing" (it's really not as spooky as it sounds), has had it's series finale.

It was a success for these reasons:

-I didn't get fired.

-My rent is paid, and there's food in the cupboard.

-I quintupled my producing/recording/mixing experience.

The process went something like this: the producers of the show messenger over a VHS tape with timecode on it, the main composer and I divvy up the scenes, then we furiously and simultaneously compose and record music that's exactly lined up to the various scenes. Next we mix the finished product, and finally upload the music to an FTP server. On average I did about eight minutes of music a week. The first scene I did took me 20 hours to do two minutes of music. By the last episode it took six hours to do the same amount.

I'm hoping to do more television and film in the near future, but for now I'm excited to get back to booking some tour dates. I'll be hacking away at that over the next few weeks, and I'll put 'em online as soon as I know 'em.

Jon Stewart on elitism and the presidential race:

“If you do your job well, they might carve your head into a mountain. If you don’t think you’re better than us, then what the fuck are you doing?”

compound words get fractured

Saturday was a bucket o' fun. Videos were made of the show at the Mint. Enjoy one here:



Click on the user to see more of 'em.

Musically it was perhaps my favorite show that I've done. Luke, Joel, and Charles, you are worth your weight in doubloons.

I'm currently locked back in the studio working on the ol' television music stuff. My last day off feels like it was Christmas. Can you feel my whiny tears through the blog? I wonder if the teardrops will short out the motherboard on this here computer.

It's good to be busy, and complaining about not having stuff to do is nowhere near as fun.

Tomorrow (Tuesday, April 8th) I'm playing the Plush Cafe in Fullerton. Details are on the profile. The lovely and talented Thomas Freund (some call him
Tom) will also be performing. I'm imagining we will be sitting in with on each other's sets. I'd like to say that eachother should be one word and not too. For instance if nowhere is one word... I'm just sayin'. Maybe I'll go German style and start connectingthewordssimplybecause I can. Ok, maybe not.

Back to work! Mush! Mush, I say! See you tomorry.

a good day

It's a big day folks. I got my special advance copy of Jessie Baylin's new album Firesight. The song we wrote "Not a Day More" is on the record! Ow! I'm excited. You can pre-order it off Amazon through that link. I listened to the first four tracks on the drive to the studio today, and it sounds beautiful. I'm honored to have played a part in its creation.

Second big piece o' news: I got my new very old saxophone! I changed game plan from the previous blog in which I debated the pros and cons of paying for a top of the line new horn or a medium of the line new horn. Instead I found a beautiful silver plated Selmer Super Balanced Action alto on Craigslist. The previous owner bought the horn in Paris in the 50's. He kept it in immaculate (I that word started with an "e", but spellcheck disagrees, and who am I to argue?) condition for 55 years! This thing has mojo. I'll be posting pictures, and probably making a YouTube video of it before too long as well. Good times!

I also renewed the warranty on my 1 year-old laptop! Go ahead logic board, break! I dare you! Just kidding. Please, please, please don't, it's a big pain in the ax, even if it's covered.

It's been a momentous day thus far, and it's only lunch time. Maybe I should go buy a lottery ticket. On the other hand, I'm hoping to avoid heavy falling objects for the rest of the day.

slap back

Last Summer I toured with Drake Bell. Today we got the band back together for a li'l performance at an elementary school. Jamie plays drums in Drake's band. We invaded his son Carter's music class today. It was a surprise. The way I know it was a surprise was because every ear drum within a ten mile radius must still be ringing from the squeals and screams of delight. We played two songs, Drake answered a few questions, "what's with the beard?" being my fave, and split. It's nice to make kiddies happy.

The rest of the day is filled with pizzicato strings, and electric guitars here at the studio. I'm working on TV stuff, and it's going very well, thank you.

Subliminal promotion: Hello, (come to my show at the Mint on Saturday) how are you?

Didn't that make you want buttered popcorn?

Yesterday I typed the sentence "I think I'll go bowling in in his honor." I sometimes like to add what we in the music biz call "slap-back delay" to words words. Doesn't it make me sound sound like like an an early early Elvis Elvis record record?

Back to work!

baked-sugary-goodness

i have been remiss in my blogitude lately. Yet here I am, and with a renewed purpose.

What have I been doing? Composing music like it's going out of style, which it may very well be.

A heckuva time was had at the Hotel de Cafe last Saturday. Luke Miller filled in the bass frequencies (plus many more) on the keyboard/organ. It was the first show of the post-Shupp era. I think I'll go bowling in in his honor.

Last week I also played keys 'n saxamaphone with Charles Robert Paxson. He has a rehearsal space downtown. I like to drive with the windows down whenever it's reasonably possible. If you go just a bit past downtown on the 101 there's a bridge that you cross that smells like baked-sugary-goodness. I don't know what it is or where it comes from (hopefully that's not what anthrax smells like), but every time I pass that bridge now I start sniffing like a drug addict.

Next Saturday I'll be at The Mint, which doesn't actually smell "minty" since we're on the subject. Nonetheless, it shall be a great show if all goes according to plan.

I'm purty sure this is the Hotel set from the other night:

Beyond My Means
What if I
Little City Driver
Done Him Wrong
Only a Rehearsal
How Many Times
Hold On
Princess of Darkness
Is This Love (Bob Marley)
One Spin

Let's save more for tomorrow.

sweet 16 thousand

Oh snap!

I have exactly 16,000 friends right now. Let's hope no one deletes me as a friend, or their own profile. Also, let's hope my flakey friend approving stays flakey. That's a pretty safe bet.

Brandon and I are formulating a secret plan of attack for Saturday's show at Zoey's in Ventura. I am excited. Art thou?

I have been poking around the YouTube, and I discovered this is how you practice if you are a badass:



Whammy!

I haven't posted a blog this late in the day in a long time. It feels pretty good. The sky is extra dusty looking. I wonder if there's a fire somewhere that I am not privy too.

Final thoughts: Geraldine Ferraro, for the love of Oprah, please stop talking!

What's in a name?

I posted a new hootenanny of a video on the youtubes. It's a duet with the brother and I. In case you would prefer not to click on the above link, let's go ahead and post it right here.



Related note: this is not one of the Hexum Brothers:



But a little wah wah guitar never hurt anoyone, I suppose.

I decided to snoop around the internet and see if I could learn something about my last name. I came up with this from ancestry.com:



I'm a mystery, apparently. Spoooooky

Today feels more Monday than Thursday to me. I think that's because I had a show on Tuesday, which made that feel like a Saturday. Therefore Wednesday become Sunday, and now here we are.

What will tomorrow feel like? Only time will tell.

before I get too deep

I'm reading The Inner Game of Tennis right now. I attended a jazz "band camp" (hee hee) when I was in high school and one of my teachers recommended it to me for it's philosophical approach that can be applied to playing music. It's only taken me 12 years to get around to it.

The book talks about avoiding negative judgments in your playing, and this can be applied to tennis, music, or any complicated task or hobby. (Hobbit? No.) Point being, one would be better served to observe then to criticize. The line judge in a tennis match doesn't say "that ball was out, and boy, your backhand sucks," or "that ball was in, and you are a much better player than your opponent." By avoiding these judgments we can avoid mental pratfalls, and the snowball effect that comes with beating yourself up (aren't the challenges of the game, and a willing and occasionally able opponent trying to beat you enough?).

I teach guitar and piano lessons. Applying the ideas of the Inner Game to teaching is really intriguing to me. The problem is, I feel that I need to learn how to get out of the way, and let the student teach themselves. No matter who your teacher is, the individual always teaches his or her own self best.

It seems to me that it's impossible to improve at a task without having positive and negative reinforcement. Without a sense of what quality is, and therefore "good" and "bad", there's nothing to teach. I suppose the trick of applying the ideas of the book as a teacher are to get the student to get past judgment and get to observation. I guess this means I'll have to stop saying things like "you messed up the fourth measure, and this means you are a very bad person."

My final pondering for the day is related, and one that I've wondered about for a while. It relates to the four truths of Buddhism. There's a more detailed explanation on that link, but it says the truths are:

Life is suffering.

The origin of suffering is attachment.

The cessation of suffering is attainable.

The path to the cessation of suffering.

This fourth truth seems to be a sentence fragment to me at first glance, but that's not the part that bothers me. What bothers me is what place do achievement and quality have in Buddhism? Without hard work and ambition would we have a cure for polio, Michael Jordan, or Apple MacBook computers? Doesn't the existence of excellence lessen the amount of suffering the rest of us experience? I imagine that many successful and ambitious artists, athletes, and entrepreneurs don't follow these four truths and have a hard time dealing with life when their heyday is in the past. Are the people who achieve excellence martyrs for humanity?

I try to approach my career from a Buddhist point of view. I don't crave fame or wealth (except for the necessary wealth to purchase a new saxophone, pay rent, get sushi from time to time, and see an occasional movie). I crave the ability to keep going, to write better music, to be inspired, and to communicate.

Does the Dalai Lama have a myspace page? What are the chances he checks his own mesages? What are the chances he'll read this blog and add me as a friend?

Until next time...

Go Lakers.

Om.

cheap hobbies and cheaper puns

Behold, oh internet. I hath added a couple shows up in this webspace.

Some shall be solo. One shall be a full-banded excursion.

Zoey's will be also be featuring the vocal and electric piano stylings of one Brandon C. Rogers. Brandon is doing his own set, but chances are high that there will be at least one duet.

I watched ye olde NBA All Star Game in New Orleans and was reminded that Branford Marsalis is a mighty fine saxophonist, or as I like to pronounce it "sacks-often-ist".

My alto saxophone (sacks-often?) was stolen (grrr). I now have an insurance check that is burning a whole in my bank account. I'm either going to buy a Yamaha saxophone for two g's, that is medium fancy, or this beautiful, highly fancy Selmer alto for the low, low price of $4000:



Maybe I should've taken up a cheaper hobby in high school, like spaghetti collecting or cross-stitching pocket lent. Perhaps I could've taken up a cheaper Hobbit, like Samwise.

As Krusty said, "puns are lazy writing!" But what else will I do with my spare time that doesn't cost $4000?

brick-o-fructose

Sorry neighbors. I wrote a new song yesterday. Whenever this happens the stereo goes on repeat so I can get into the meat of what the song is about and where it should go. I'm expecting a brick-o-gram through the window with a "stop playing that song!" post-it attached at any moment.

One of the new tricks I've learned from my TV scoring Yoda to my Luke (a.k.a. my boss) is that if you want your background vocals to sound like the Beach Boys, sing 'em loud! That's a primary feature of yesterday's new ditty. I've been listening to "Our Prayer" from Brian Wilson's Smile, and the a cappella break in "Sloop John B." The sound of that vocal wall is tasty like high fructose corn syrup, but much healthier for you. "Wall o' Vocals" are a new staple of my diet.

Other than my plans at juggling masonry, and high fructose similes it's a simple day over here. I'm off to play some yellow-ball in a moment.

Yesterday I was asked what candidate I'm supporting. I'm leaning Barack, but I've got a lot of love for Hillary. But instead of my opinions, let's think about yours for a moment. Click this link for a non-partisan survey that will help you figure out which candidate you line up with.

kang, kodos, and my life of crime

In case you missed a previous blog, I'm ghost writing music for a TV show these days. A friend who scores a couple of shows has a wee bit too much on his plate, so I'm doing half the music for a particular show (which shall remain nameless). Last week I was holed up in the studio, scoring early and often. This week I'm off, and back to the more important work of talking about myself.

Today I return to the world of the living. I'll be seeing sunlight firsthand (and not through the studio skylight), getting worked over on the tennis court, replying to myspace friend requests, finally updating the email list, and booking a show or two.

I've been reading a bit about how "superdelegates" will effect the outcome of the Democratic Presidential nomination. What with the record voter turnout that's being reported around the country, that personally makes me want to kick me heels up and shout "what the hizzle?!" That's got to be number two on the top ten ways to make people disenchanted with the democratic process, right above Kang and Kodos taking off their Barack and Hillary disguises at the eleventh hour and revealing their true policy goals of enslaving the human race.



Nevertheless, I shall carry on with my obsessive trolling of the news of the Presidential race, and my new found poli-crush on Hendrik Hertzberg.

This weekend I went to Vegas to visit friends and lost 100% of the seven dollars I invested in "jacks or better" video game poker. This is one of those experiences where early failure in the short term may be best for the long run. For example, coughing your brains out the first time you try a cigarette, or getting caught shoplifting baseball cards* on your first attempt doesn't feel great in the moment. Fortunately, when you're tallying up the plusses and minuses of the human condition down the road, these moments will lead to a relative karmic jackpot. On the other hand, maybe I'm missing my calling by not pulling a bank or stagecoach heist.

We'll never know. Instead I'll teach myself Joni's "Raised on Robbery" and ponder.



*It was fourth grade, and I blame my delinquent friend, Freddie, for talking me into it.

Blue Sting

Saturday was a good one. I played the Hotel Cafe. We sent Bill Shupp off to San Francisco with a bang.

I'm attempting to start a new tradition where the band does an "in the style of" cover at every gig. Saturday we did Radiohead's "Karma Police" in the style of The Police. No, not with donuts, but rather with stacked fifths on the guitars, lots of "eeh oh"s, and plenty of hi hat fills.

Two notes on the picture that will follow:

Is Sting doing Blue Steel?

Craig Kilborn said I look like Stewart Copeland, but I'm thinking I could be Andy Summers' stunt double.



Here's the setlist:

only a rehearsal
how many times
done him wrong
little city driver
beyond my means
what if I
2x2
hold on
karma police
open to close
one spin

Don't forget to be super tomorrow, Californians.

Groundhog's Gig

My calendar has just informed me that my show on Saturday is on Groundhog's Day. Someone get Bill Murray on the phone and have him teach me how to sculpt ice.

When last we left off I was getting ready to play a gig with Charlie Paxson. We had a hoot. Charlie's boss, Colin Hay, was there. He's a congenial guy, in addition to being a great singer and writer. I'm in his top myspace friends. Booyah.

For a long time the change your top friends was only sortable by email. This was real annoying to me, because I didn't have the patience to sort, or the email addresses of some of my friends profiles. You can sort by myspace url now, so I'm finally able to return Colin's favor and put him up there. Good times.

Slow news day again?

Purrhaps.

Saturday will be a bittersweet show, and not because of the possibility of six more weeks of Winter. Bill Shupp, is moving to San Francisco. Bill or "Shupp" or "Shuppstitution" or "The Shuppster" has played with me for more than five years now! He's played bass, drums, and acoustic guitar, or filled every role on the bandstand except for my own. This Saturday will be his grand finale with me (at least for the foreseeable future). I'm planning a 20 minute Rush medley with a 40 minute slap-bass solo as a tribute to Bill.

Mr. Shupp, your impeccable musicianship, professionalism, sunny disposition, and tech geekery will be sorely missed. Perhaps we'll figure out a way to have him play future gigs via webcast.

butter knives

Tonight the tables will turn and I'll be a part of "and band". I'm sitting in on the saxamaphone with my compadre Charlie Paxson at the Silverlake Lounge tonight at 9 PM.

In related news, I will soon be contributing $70 to Los Angeles County. After a little rehearsal for the aforementioned gig, I double parked in front of my apartment so that I could load the ol' saxophone into the residence, and not have to walk around with my horn late at night. My hazard lights were just the beacon the parking authority needed to leave me a $70 love note from the city of LA. I'm hoping my experience as a driver/parker in Los Angeles will be $70 better afterwards, but I'm guessing not.

Charlie will be playing in my band at the Hotel Cafe this Saturday. It will be neat.

I've really been enjoying toast with honey lately. That has become a problem, because I haven't been washing the dishes frequently enough to keep up with the accelerated use of butter knives, and now I have to use a spoon.

It's a slow news day, apparently.

I've been listening to a speech on the Word for Word podcast by President Clinton. He asserted that if we got serious about getting buildings around the country up to the environmentally friendly standards we would have a veritable ton of new jobs at many different skill levels. I think the public often doesn't associate being environmentally conscious with economic friendliness. The economy grows anytime there are new things to be sold, and a new set of services to be provided (like with the explosion of tech companies in the 90's). This could be one of those times.

making oohs

The clouds have parted. Rumors were swelling that they were going to replace the "Sunny" in Sunny Southern California with "Rainy" if the precipitation didn't stop by today. Fortunately all epithets are in tact. I'm still the Lego Maniac. Randy Savage is still the Macho Man. Karl Rove is still the Prince of Darkness.

I have been remiss in my bloggy duties lately. That's because I've taken on a new Winter/Spring job of ghost-writing music for a TV show. I'm not going to tell ya which one, because I don't know if I'm allowed to. Hint the theme's lyrics start out with: "so no one told you life was going to be this way". Ok, not really. That show isn't on the air anymore. The West Wing, Six Feet Under, and The Sopranos aren't on the air anymore either, so I'll have to hold out that Alf Clausen has too much work and calls me to help out with The Simpsons if I want to score one of my all-time favorite shows.

Point being, I've been holed up in a studio making marches, vocal oohs, and ten second segues. It's been a great challenge, and mostly very fun. Because of this golden opportunity I'm going to put touring on hold until the season gets finished. That means I should be back on the road in the Summer, barring any unforeseen stuff.

The good news for you Angelenos, other than the rain relenting, is that I'm playing the Hotel Cafe this Saturday. It'll be a full band show, with full band shenanigans. I'm thinking of pulling a "Hannah Montana" and asking Zac Efron to be my body double while I do a costume change into my pleather one-piece leotard.

More on that and other disturbing ideas next time.

five cents on the dollar

I've been availing myself of the free downloads from iTunes U. Did you know that if we keep up the current rate of oil consumption that it will all be doneski in 40 years? When you think about it like that, it's amazing gas isn't $10 a gallon. Get your calf muscles ready, because we're going to be riding the bicycle much more often about the time that some of us hit 64 years-old. As Ricky Bobby said, "with advances in modern science and my high level income, it's not crazy to think I can live to be 245, maybe 300. Heck, I just read in the newspaper that they put a pig heart in some guy from Russia. Do you know what that means?" From that perspective riding a Schwinn at 64 doesn't seem so bad. That's not even middle-aged yet.

Other podcast/lecture highlights:

In "The Writer's Almanac" Garrison Keiller reads Louis Jenkins' poem "Too much snow".

My favorite line:

"Someone wished for this snow. Someone got a deal, five cents on the dollar, and spent the entire family fortune."

We don't have that problem in Southern California. As a matter of fact the weather couldn't be more mild if you had your hand on an outdoor thermostat. That was ideal for yesterday's 3 Hour Tour. All went well, and as you can probably guess, I'm not writing this blog from a deserted island. I made new friends and ate more fried chicken then I care to admit.

Zoey's was also a hoot as usual. I've found that as a performer every once in a while I'll get a glimpse of a new level of creativity and comfort on stage. Friday was one of those nights. On Sunday I didn't achieve that same level of inner mojo, but I know it's out there, or in there, as the case may be, and I am determined to grab it and make it mine every day.

Here's to getting better, and staying better.

My next opportunity to slay the dragon will be at the Hotel Cafe on February 2nd. Hope to see you there.

Zing?

doppelganger, except with names

The weekend looms large, ladies and gentledudes.

Tonight a little voyage up to Zoey's Cafe and Loft in Ventura, CA is on the itinerary. Sunday, a little voyage in a boat will set sail (or set motor, more likely) on The 3 Hour Tour. I shall be there. Shall you? Or "shell you?" to make a horrible nautical pun.

Last night, things were jazzy at the Pasadena Jazz Institute. I played saxophone with my tromboning friend Garrett Smith. There was another Zack H. on the stage, although his folks and my folks had differences on how to spell our first name. His name is Zach Harmon, and he plays them drums and them cymbals real nice, although it's not this newly discovered Zach Harmon. How many Zack/Zak/Zach H's are there?! This reminds me of that Edie Brickell song, "someone there's somebody that looks just like you do, acts just like you do, with a different name, and a face that looks like you"

Anywah, I'm excited to get this party started. In case you are wondering what you've been missing, here's a li'l audience perspective from the Plush Lounge.





Finally, I leave you with these parting words:

Open sesame.

air/fire guitar

I think I found the meaning of life in a myspace captcha. Then the comment went through and I forgot it.

Good news is I still have Brad Mehldau's jazziness playing on my iPod to keep me comp'nee and enlighten me.

Tonight (Tuesday) I'm playing the Plush Cafe in Fullerton. I've been polishing my guitars and practicing all my guitar pyrotechnics.

If this happens, someone bring a fire extinguisher, or I'll have to play air guitar on future gigs.


What with the political process in the news, I thought I'd share this blog with ye:

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/hendrikhertzberg

I'm back on the jazz horse this week, playing a gig Thursday night in Pasadena. Details to follow...

Also, don't forget Zoey's Friday and The 3 Hour Tour on Sundae.

If you did eat a sundae for 3 straight hours, you would probably have a massive brain-freeze (or nose ache, as I called them in my youth).

I got an early copy of the new Big Believers album, and it's delicious.

Till next time... Zing!

Rain, man. Chandler.

As Radiohead once said:
The raindrops, the raindrops, the raindrops

Maybe I can keep this going and make my blog "a six degrees of Radiohead quotes" kind of thing.

Or maybe not.

It's raining in Southern California. This is newsworthy, because it's not supposed to rain or be cold here. Also, everyone here has plastic surgery and a script in their back pockets at all times.

Should I be writing a script instead of these words? Probably not.

Continuing yesterblog's theme of reconnecting with artists who have inspired me, I started re-reading Raymond Chandler. To put it briefly, Chandler wrote noir detective books set in Los Angeles. Chandler's "The Big Sleep" became a movie featuring Humprey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Two of my favorite movies, "L.A. Confidential" and in a more subtle way, "The Big Lebowski" are both grandchildren of Chandler's body of work.

Chandler lived in thirty-some different residences in Los Angeles, in just about every conceivable neighborhood. After reading an article in the L.A. Times (that I can't find, but there's a similar one here) I decided it's time to revisit my first favorite author. Thus far it's been a treat. I'm hoping to work in some snappy/witty, tough-guy dialogue into my blogs.

"I don't like your manner."

"That's alright, I'm not selling it."

Zing!

I've decided to change the spelling of my name back to Zack, or maybe I should call myself "Zing" Hexum. As in Zing a zong of zixpence.

If it rains as hard as they say it will, I wonder if the 3 Hour Tour, will turn into an ark. Tickets are still available, so just in case...

Till next time, don't forget your raincoat.

typos and corrections

Corrections:

Reno is actually known as "the biggest little city in the world," not Las Vegas.

and

"Fitter, Happier" is from OK Computer, not Kid A.

and

My name is really spelled "Zatch", I've just been putting you guys on all these years.

*Cricket*

*Cricket*

I teach guitar lessons. Yesterday we listened to Elliott Smith's music to illustrate the concept of voice leading on guitar. Elliott's music had slipped out of my mind a bit, I'm glad he's back. Time to practice!

I got a nice mega-sized bump from a 311 MySpace bulletin yesterday, so that extra digit or two in play count for the day wasn't a typo. I'm doing my best to send a "hello" to each new friend, so some of those requests may sit in the inbox for a minute or two. Thank you!

Lost Vegans

Happy New Year.

I have a printer. I have labels. I try and combine these two items when it comes time to send out the ol' PayPal orders of the new album. I ran out of magenta ink. You wouldn't think this is a problem, since I don't print labels in magenta (although, maybe that should be my New Year's resolution). However, the lovely engineers at the Brother corporation have deemed that you must have all varieties of ink in order to simply print black. This is poor.

As a result I have been handwriting the last batch or two of orders until my ink gets here (I ordered it online, because it's a whole lot cheaper). Sometimes my mind wonders/wanders when I write these addresses. Yesterday I addressed a CD to a music fan in Las Vegan, NV. Somehow I don't associate vegan-dom with the neon lights of Las Vegas. Any vegans in Las Vegas surely must be lost, no? Welcome to Lost Vegans, NV, the biggest little city in the world.

As you can see my endless appetite for puns (better puns then destruction) hasn't abated in 2008.

I think this is a fine opportunity to make bad jokes like "Oh Em Gee, I haven't seen you all year!"

I don't have a lot of resolutions to put into practice. There are the ever present Kid-A-style "fitter, happier" ones, but in general things seem to be going right on schedule. Mostly, I want to see through a bunch of the ideas that have been bouncing around in my head. The first episode of the Talking Music Show needs to be edited. I have a burning desire to play saxophone, and have been considering getting together a group, or a "combo" as the jazzy folk say, to assuage those feelings.

I'm close to finished with Chuck Palahniuk's "Survivor" and I can't say that I'd recommend it, at this point.

I saw "I am Legend" last night, and I would say that I recommend it. It may not be the most ground-breaking film of all time, but it's definitely entertaining.

Speaking of being a vegan (which I am assuredly not) one New Year's resolution I'd like to put into practice is finding a CSA (community supported agriculture) farm to get more tasty and more responsible meals happening. All this was inspired by my favorite book of '07, The Omnivore's Dilemma.

I'll leave you with the thought that if you're reading this, you've survived 2007, and at least one of my blogs. Health and happiness in the Near Year to you.