Music for a Year

Watch Limitless

Sat, 14 Jan 2012 11:25:00 GMT

You may have heard of this movie. Bradley Cooper, Di Nero, a cute blonde chick that cuts creepy men with little girls feet? Yeah.

Thats "Limitless". Fantastically adrenaline pumping thriller of a movie. It has a couple loose ends at the credits, but by then I was so pumped I easily forgave the writers....and those hyper-zoom camera shots feel like you're in the thing Jody Foster helped them build in Contact. If you haven't seen this formula 1 car of a movie, it goes like this (don't worry no spoiler). Poor Bradley Cooper is a unproductive writer with an increasingly long streak of writer's block. He is stagnant in every way, unkempt, unmotivated, unable to focus...and his hair looks upsettingly like mine.

See?

Which is why Im getting a haircut very soon. Anyways. He runs into his ex brother-in-law on the street who , over a couple drinks notices how terrible he looks and offers to him a "sample" of a "product" (called NZT) he is "legally" distributing. He even assures him its FDA approved. After a few hours of reluctance but realizing his ever increasing desperation to alleviate his terrible purgatory of a life, Cooper takes the pill and in thirty seconds the haze is lifted. His vision, hearing and every sense is heightened. He becomes aware of every noise, sensation, and piece of information around him. Manically, ee finishes his entire long overdue novel in four days, masters the piano in three, discovers he can inadvertently learn any foreign language by half-heartedly listening to audio tapes while he jogs. He becomes personable, charming, likable, a social prodigy, a marketing whiz, completely fearless in every situation. He becomes a super genius, limited only by the laws of physics.

Side effects of the pill, that would later be revealed to him include; crippling headaches, blackouts (which during the course of you may or may not kill a hooker), noticably bloodshot eyes, and russians trying to kill you. So the question is, side effects............aside..heh..heh...if there were some drug out on the market that would allow you to experience unfettered access to your subconscious, allowing you retain and recall every piece of information you encountered, learn at an exponentially increasing rate would you take it? Im truly curious. Answer below, best response gets a one month supply of NZT!! YAY!!!!

Eat a Ghost Pepper

Sat, 26 Nov 2011 14:09:00 GMT

This blog isn't going to be about music. Oh no. This is something dangerous. Something terrifying and painful. Something that burns with such ferocity even Dante would have trouble describing it. The Bhut Jolokia. We in the U.S. call it "The Ghost Pepper".

For several months now I have been dying to get my hands on one. After seeing countless Youtube videos of people being rendered useless for several hours after only a small bite I knew I had to try it. My grandfather and uncle got me hooked on hot stuff during our annual visits to Bethany Beach where they would douse some wings in an assortment of different incendiary sauces. My first taste of something real hot was "Da Bomb" which tops out at about 50,000 Scoville Units. Scoville units are the units of water it would take to completely dilute the taste of one unit of the heat being measured. So 50,000 S.U. = 50,000 parts water per 1 part hot sauce before the flavor couldn't be detected. Which means really hot.

Jalepenos are about 5,000. A complete joke when compared to the mighty habenero which peaks at about 90,000 - 130,000. Habeneros are still just "really hot stuff 101", however. I have had many habeneros in my lifetime and although they are by no means mild, they are still a manageable pepper for my palette. The ghost pepper, however, is a different story.

It goes like this.

My friends Sean, Brook, Rusty and I meet up at a local Indian place called "Bollywood" which is gaining reputation for its absurdly spicy entrees, many of which the owner wont even allow you to order until you have tried all of the prerequisite dishes which he uses to gauge your ability to handle heat. We are greeted by a distinguished middle aged Indian man with a great sense of humor. I order the "Bollywood Special" (a really hot dish) and some Naan filled with chicken. He says "Get either-or, if you eat the Bolly Special, you will not enjoy anything else." I ask him to make it as hot as possible; the kind of hot where you pass out.

A few minutes later he emerges from the kitchen with a spoon. He says "try". I try. It is a very flavorful, thick curry-like soup with a little heat to it, called "Madras". He carefully watched my face. No grimace or pain. He takes the spoon and disappears back into the kitchen. A few minutes pass and he come out again, with, at first glance, the same thing, but after looking a little harder, this is a much darker red color. I try. He sees a little grimace on my face. This stuff is way hotter. About 2/3 the heat of a habenero. He spices up the dish accordingly and brings it out accompanied by a small sample of what he put into the dish to make it hot. We eat our dinner, and yes it is definitely hot, but I still want something to knock me out.

As we are leaving I ask him if he has anythying special from india to knock me off of my feet. He says "hold on" and goes into the back for a minute. He emerges with a small red pepper. He says "this is called hand-grenade, do not eat inside of here". Awesome.

Sprinting outside with my friends and telling them to get the phones ready for pictures, I pop the whole thing in my mouth, chew as fast as possible and swallow the first half. The grimace on my face grows, as I feel the waves of heat crashing into my mouth , nose and skull, this mother is going to be exactly what I wanted.
My smile soon fades as the waves of heat keep increasing. Soon, it is too much. I literally drop to the ground in pain. My friends, who were laughing, stop, but still continue to record the spectacle. Im laying on sidewalk, families timidly walking by, as I rock back and forth in a pile of mulch, drool cascading out of my mouth and unable to talk. I can hardly see from my eyes tearing up so much. I need to get back to my house where I can recuperate before the gig I have in about an hour. I muster up enough strength to stand and doubled over in pain, slowly walk to seans car. We get in, Rusty wishes me luck has a good laugh and heads home, smiling and shaking his head and Sea and Brooke and I are speeding back to my house. Half of my body is literally hanging out of the car window, drool and snot pouring out of my head. Two state troopers pull up to us at a stop -light, with my head hanging out and facing the ground, very concerned as to what the hell could possibly be wrong with me. I signal for them to roll down the window. They oblige as I explain my dilemma wasn't caused by alcohol, but a ghost pepper. They both start laughing, im guessing they know what they are. One of them goes "I love ghost peppers". Ha, yeah right.

This story will end with me curled up into the fetal position in the back of Seans car, violently puking out of the window like a dragon spewing fire at two lanes of traffic, cars swerving to avoid the fiery puke, horns honking and everyone looking. Not an ounce of embarassment. When you are in pain like that, there is no other feeling. My face was white as a ghost, eyes bloodshot, nose running, stomach in knots. And yes, I will probably do it again.

If someone dares you to do this, Im not going to say don't do it, but consider this blog post, it won't be an enjoyable experience, except maybe those watching. (Unless of course, they have to clean your puke off of their car. Sorry Sean.)

Do a cover song of Jessie J's "Price Tag"

Fri, 04 Nov 2011 20:06:00 GMT

November has already crept in again, but this time I really don't mind. I think the conditioned hatred I used to have of fall has finally left. For it used to mean summer was over, and so were the warm days of non-stop running about the neighborhood, going to the beach, having no homework or cares and enjoying the family vacations to the beach. Soon to come were mornings that started at 6:00 a.m., the never ending stream of worksheets and book reports, the constant struggle to stay awake all day. Don't get me wrong I did have my share of fun at school too, but it paled i comparison with the freedom of summer. But now the school days are long gone and fall now just means when I walk down the street, the trees will look like impressionistic brushstrokes, which I don't really mind at all. I finally have made myself sit down and crank out a cover with a video like I've always planned on doing, so without further delay, here it is. Jessie J's "Price Tag".

Let me know what you think!

Explain my Top 5 favorite Cd's at this moment

Mon, 19 Sep 2011 23:07:00 GMT

So I noticed something on my old college's web site that certain students were spotlighted for their musical achievements and given interviews. I remember one thing I really enjoyed was hearing about the student's top 5 favorite CD's. Since you pretty much have to started playing in the womb and be a total badass to even be considered getting this interview, I was not fortunate enough to get it. So Im doing it myself on my blog. Although I can't really decide on 5 CD's being my all time favorites, I have 5 that I highly recommend and all are completely unique and at some point life changing in my taste and enjoyment of music, so here we go.

5 - Suzanne Vega's "99.9 Fahrenheit Degrees". Somber vocals, really effective songwriting, ambient guitar layers, and industrial laced grooves that are built with an even blend of electronic sounds and and real instruments. These sometimes haunting songs pull influence everywhere from light bossa nova to introspective folk to something reminiscent of the Nine Inch Nails.

4 - Imogen Heap's "Speak for Yourself". This is a production masterpiece to say the least. Absolutely lush, vibrant songs that are as finely crafted and original as a human fingerprint. The highlight of this CD is "Hide and Seek" a jaw dropping tapestry of electronically altered vocal harmonies, like an alien acapella group. This is not to be confused with "Mmmm Whatcha Say?" and in my opinion is infinitely superior to the somehow more popular song that sampled this one.

3 - John Mayer's "Room for Squares". This CD pretty much did it for me. When this came out I must have listened to it five hundred times. Definitely a more heavily produced effort from this never-ceasing-to-amaze writer, but still outstanding, nonetheless. John Mayer has a way of writing a song about things you swore you were the only one going through. From the nostalgia-inducing "1983" to the humorous foot-in-the-mouth anti-hero of "My Stupid Mouth" to the ephemeral happiness by a fire in "St. Patricks Day" this collection of stories is the perfect road trip companion.

2 - Dave Brubeck's "Time Out". Dave took swing and bebop, melted it down like a crazed alchemist and pretty much single-handedly invented cool jazz. This CD was a groundbreaking showcase of experimental jazz forms full of altered time signatures, tempo changing sections and dual tempos. It sounds like a sunday walk through a park of abstract sculptures. This was one of the first CD's I ever really listened to over and over, one of the many great ones in my dads collection.

1 - Thomas Newman's "America Beauty Score". This is it. To me, this is arguably some of the most beautiful music that has ever been created. His anti-orchestra method of creating music yields unique soundscapes that vividly induce certain moods. I once listened to the theme "American Beauty" (I think its track number 6) for more than 5 hours straight on repeat. These tracks are perfect for getting lost in a painting or a good book. You have to hear this one.

Dirty Loops

Fri, 16 Sep 2011 20:43:00 GMT

No this is not a blog entry about what happens if your little brother takes a dump in your box of fruit loops. I want to bring to attention a growing trend. At a seeming increasing rate the pages of Youtube are being filled with an all too similar cover artist prototype. The world absolutely does not need one more cute, 15-25 year old stylishly dressed with an acoustic guitar playing the same 30 or so covers that the entire rest of the world covers. It's beginning to become redundant. Yet you see their videos quite frequently sporting hundreds of thousands of views. Why is this so? Well, you can't deny that almost all of them are talented, at least with regards to singing, and the sound of a well trained human voice is a beautiful thing. But why such the lack of originality? Why does almost every one sound strikingly similar to something you've heard before? Because there is hardly any, if at all, musical interpretation. Just throw a little cute R & B run, maintain eye contact with the camera and POOF, instantly, another star is born. There are too many stars and the sky is so full you can no longer distinguish one from the other.

Yet every now and then someone rises above to completely reinvent a sound and push the envelope of musicality with a seemingly impossible level of skill, talent, taste and chops. That band is called "Dirty Loops". They can take the most trite songs and make them fusion masterpieces. I invite you to enjoy this cover of Britney Spears' "Circus". It's damn good and to me should send every little acoustic guitar holding clone (even myself included) back to the practice room to start making some more original arrangements .

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From a person educated in music of many styles, I can say these guys, quite simply put, take dumps on anyone else that covers pop tunes these days (or at least out of the ones I have seen). Hide your cereal boxes.

Rockout at Ruddy

Sat, 20 Aug 2011 11:45:00 GMT

Well. Where do I begin?

What happens when four guys, unrehearsed, who have never played a full show together decide to book a gig at a local place in front of an audience of a couple hundred folks? Well, I would imagine it could very easily be a shit-show of a night that is chock full of microphone feedback, out of time songs, forgotten words and missed chords, possibly some accidental pants-shitting as well. Fortunately, by a miracle, we did not have to skip town after our show and hide from an angry pitchfork wielding mob. We didn't have to sign up for witness protection. We actually had arguably the best night any of us have ever had playing music.

The feeling was just right. There was a hum of energy right from the sound check. Every song just kind of fell together. From Justin's tap dance solos (which immediately turned the heads of anyone who wasn't already listening) to Rusty's Tazmanian devil like hands smashing the cow skin congas until they whimpered to Danny's Ella Fitzgerald-like jazz scat solos dripping with melody, I would say our night was almost a miracle. A couple of us were pretty damn nervous, and thats not a thing that typically happens much when you do this full time. I think we realized about thirty seconds into the first song we were doing really well, everyone was listening, and now is one of those times when you really cant screw up.

Here is a video (Courtesy of the wonderful Laura Isaac) of us rocking out Jill Scotts "Its Love"

If every audience was this great, I think almost everyone would play music for a living.

. From Stevie Wonder's "I Wish" to Jill Scotts "It's Love" to Trains "Meet Virginia" injected with jazz scatting, rock fusion playing, latin vamping, tap dancing, four-trading, stomping, swinging, funktastic-goodness. It was such a fun night and more than anyone we have the crowd to thank. So if you came out, thank you thank you thank you! Luckily we snagged a couple videos out of the night too.

And here is the more well known Sublime hit "Badfish"

To all of you guys who came out and stayed and danced and cheered and sang, you rock! We are really fortunate all of you came out to rock with us, let's do it again soon! Thank you Carlos and Michael for having us all play, we're looking forward to next time!

Dylan

"The Young Professionals" New Video

Thu, 04 Aug 2011 10:14:00 GMT

Hey, so I mentioned in the last post I am a part of a duo called "The Young Professionals". We have a little bit of funk influence, a little pop, a little R & B and a little Reggae. We will be working almost around the clock to build up a solid repertoire with enough variety for any crowd. We are really looking forward to getting a following in Annapolis and playing for my hometown friends to Here is one of our many covers.

So here is a little sample of us doing a Maroon 5 cover:

Feel free to leave a comment below, let me know what you think of the cover and also let me know what covers you would want to hear us play! We do have a lot more videos to make before we start taking requests but, if there are enough suggestions for a certain song, we will add it to the repertoire.

Rockfest and "The Young Professionals"

Thu, 28 Jul 2011 19:24:00 GMT

Hey guys, like always its been a while, a little too long. A lots happened in the past few months. A list of highlights include playing lead guitar for Justin Myles at Southern MD's Rockfest.

Our seven piece band rocked the heavens that day, which was no easy task, considering we were playing right after Sam Grow Band (the best band in Southern MD - they blend southern rock and pop with soulful vocals and screaming guitar solos). Everyone in Sam's band is just a monster. As I was getting out of my car when we first arrived, I could hear Mike Stacey just destroying a guitar solo....after soiling myself, I regrouped and headed to seek shade.....and some wet wipes. Joe Barrick was on the drums beating them to smitherines with his human metronome-like arms. Gene was ripping up the bass and Sam was belting out pure beauty. It was a little intimidating to know we were following.

Adding more of a challenge was the fact that our band was made of 7 members who had never played together before, some had never even met and we had 3 rehearsals to get everything airtight. Let's not forget it was about 110 degrees out. I actually saw a cloud get heat stroke and fall to the ground. Two people caught on fire. A seagull melted.

But in all seriousness the bass player for Sara and Chelsea (a duo of beautiful girls with beautiful voices backed by seasoned rockers) actually had passed out from the heat. It could have been just because he was on stage with Sara. The world may never know. They still all went on to rock out and sound amazing (and look amazing).

This was by far the biggest challenge of my musical career thus far. But I think we pulled it off very well, and everyone before and after sounded fantastic. And thank you to everyone who showed up, James and Amanda Lepore from Baynet Radio especially!

Band lineup:

Justin Myles - Acoustic Guitar, Vocals
Joe Pipitone - Drums (NY based drummer that grooves solid and strong, sounds Carter Buford meets Neil Pert)
Anthony Damron - Bass (bass player for "The Piranhas" , and hired gun for about every band in the SOMD music scene)
Shiloh Kestel - Sax (Kenny G, kill yourself........Shiloh will ruin your career with one note)
Danny Jauregui - Keyboards, Vocals (Jazz vocal major from Towson University, can scat like ella and croon like sinatra)
Dylan Galvin - Electric Guitar, Vocals (I playa the guitar......)
Russel Williams - Percussion (big name player here! Played w/ Lloyd Dobler Effect and Jill Scott, he has a furious, show stopping style and his hands are lethal weapons.....no seriously)

Justin has a laundry list of accomplishments, including touring with STOMP!, having a degree in dance, playing several instruments, recording, performing and producing his own CD and being a bad-ass tapdancer. Click on his name to hear his stuff, its got loads of groove, tight bass playing, complex DMB-esque guitar riffs with a heavy dose of R & B and funky soulful pop vocals. Not to be overlooked.

And in other news... I'm now in a duo with singer/keyboardist Danny Jauregui. We call ourselves "The Young Professionals". Fitting, right? Were doing covers right now, but in about a year, when we are solid and probably getting really sick of those covers, were going to start writing original music. Whoop. I'll moving back up to Annapolis again and doing music in the duo full time. Look for us in downtown Annapolis, Northern Va, Southern MD and also DC and Baltimore...hopefully we'll tack on a few more states over the next year, also. Im looking forward to seeing some of your beautiful faces out in the audience!

Dylan

Write poetry in the middle of the night

Fri, 01 Jul 2011 07:35:00 GMT

I was a little restless last night, so I decided I would bide my time by taking a stab at some poetry. Not meant to be good or bad, just poetry. Here it is:

"Writhing Thoughts"

My thoughts twist and writhe
a wet worm out of the ground
eternally squirming
slipping out of the hands or sleep
that try so desperately to grip
but fail in vain
again and again

"Muse of the Dreamworld"

oh, muse of the dreamworld
please croon an ancient lullabye
of somber intoxication
the feather soft fluttering of sleep
slip into my mind and seep into the cracks
leave no part untouched
wash over the grey matter
flood my thoughts,
drown my anxieties
short out the lights
and bring the crystal clarity of deep dark rest

Hope you enjoy it. Feel free to post some of your own.

Slappa' da Bass

Sat, 16 Apr 2011 16:25:00 GMT

The goofy Verizon song rings on my phone. The robotic female voice monotonously repeats "Call from Sean Postanowicz". I pick up.
"Hey whats up man?" he says.
"Nothing, I'm just doing some practicing"
"Playing guitar?"
"Actually bass"
"Hey what would you think about teaching bass"
"What, like...teach it to someone?
"Yeah"
"Um, I mean yeah I guess, I have only played it for like a couple weeks"
"Okay well I have this dilemma I was supposed to teach at this place......but..then I accidentally got another job somewhere else. Do you think you could write a pretty good bass lesson?"
"What kind of bass lesson, this is for a beginner, right?"
"Yeah, of course, cool, write it up, you have to give a bass lesson to one of the head instructors at this music school at 4"
"WHAT!?"
"I'll text you the address and meet you at 4, see ya"
"But wait, I.."
click.

And this is how began my career as a bass instructor. Believe it or not, this intro lesson actually went pretty well. I actually have one more introductory lesson to give and then I'm official. I love the unpredictability of music life, but I'm rushing to learn like mad because in as short as time possible, I need to go from this:

To this:

Since the moment this phone call ended, I have been in a Rocky montage but instead of punching meat I've been slappin' da bass (or at least trying to). Im trying to learn how to slap, walk, groove, shimmy, etc....so if any of you blokes out there play a mean bass, I would love for any tips, tricks, shortcuts to help speed the process of becoming a bass badass.

"Looking Up" - Video

Mon, 11 Apr 2011 20:14:00 GMT

Hey remember that time when I was going up post a recording of "Looking Up", that original song I wrote? I know it's been so long everyone has probably almost lost interest. I went through a while of going back and forth between what lyrics I wanted so I just said screw it and put something up last night, I hope you like it. Let me know what you think.

How are the Resolutions?

Sun, 23 Jan 2011 23:28:00 GMT

So, like many Americans, I have made a few resolutions this year. One is to run a half marathon (I might to for a full one, but it just seems a little boring to run for about 4 hours). Another is to finally get my rock/blues/funk/fusion chops together and apply all that stuff I learned at Berklee and never used (for my music friends; using Mmaj7th arpeggios in solos, harmonic minor runs, melodic minor chord scales, etc.). I would like to start trying to really learn Japanese as my next language. I messed around with it in Community College, but only remember random phrases like "I am the Pokemon Master". I realize Spanish is much more practical and probably easier, but I've wanted to learn it for a while. Oh yes, and how could I forget the last and not least of the resolutions: One year, no beer (and all other alcohol included). I am attempting to stay clear from all alcohol for a year. This may be very challenging, especially on St. Patrick's day and the weddings coming up, but I figure if you can't enjoy the fun parts of life without a buzz, thats a problem. So please, respond to this with your New Year's resolutions and tell me how they're holding out so far. Hopefully still going strong, as we haven;t even rounded the first month yet! Lets make this year one to proud of.

Dylan

Be like Water......?

Mon, 13 Dec 2010 11:57:00 GMT

This blog is part of a little paper Im writing. It's not particularly aimed toward music, but I thought it would be an interesting read for some of you. It's a little phenomenon I've noticed over the years, I tried to take it out of the abstract and throw in some simple analogies so it doesn't sound like the rantings of a sleep-deprived Scientologist. I hope you enjoy. Give me your two cents or even ten cents if you got it.

Staying in the same exact place physically, emotionally or mentally, or an extended period of time will hault all of your ?momentum? through time and thus increases your entropy, or chaos. Think of yourself like water: if you move you stay fresh, like a clean fast flowing river, if you don?t move you become stale, stagnant and unhealthy, like a dirty black swamp. Studies are showing (medical journals, websites, private studies, etc.) increasing evidence that this ?stagnation? actually is detrimental to your overall health, which would seem to be the universe?s way of letting us know not do it. Sitting for hours on end in the same spot (physical stagnation) increases risk of death according to the New American Cancer Society. Dwelling on thoughts or past events (emotional stagnation) can lead to depression, anxiety, according to a researcher at the University of Missouri-Columbia. Simply not thinking or challenging the mind (mental stagnation) can lead to Alzheimer?s, Attention Deficit Disorder and overall lack of cognition and/or concentration. The observable detriments of not moving should be obvious indicators that human beings are not made to move or behave in such a way.

In his 1962 handwritten essay, one of my personal favorite people of history, Bruce Lee, states ?Water is so fine that it is impossible to grasp a handful of it; strike it, yet it does not suffer hurt; stab it, and it is not wounded; sever it, yet it is not divided. It has no shape of its own but moulds itself to the receptacle that contains it. When heated to the state of steam it is invisible but has enough power to split the earth itself. When frozen it crystallizes into a mighty rock. First it is turbulent like Niagara Falls, and then calm like a still pond, fearful like a torrent, and refreshing like a spring on a hot summer's day."

Bruce Lee's whole spiel on the system of martial arts he developed, Jeet Kun Do, was to be like water. Once you could truly understand what that meant, you would never loose a fight. Once mastered, one would have an awareness of everything going on around and could react in a way that would diffuse incoming energy to nothing. It seems like water is an even better role model than Dr. Phil. Whoop. Also, water doesn't cheat on its wife.

The theme of this story would be: move. All the time. In every way. When you stop moving, the universe begins to make you get fat, dumb and stressed. Think of every moment you are not improving something, you are slowly becoming an emotionally vulnerable, quadriplegic Pillsbury Doughboy. The battle against entropy is a never ending one. So go for a run (or a walk). Read a book. Try to experience new sights, sounds and sensations. Go somewhere you've never been. Try new flavors, hear new sounds, try new hobbies and for the terribly lazy even new TV channels will get your mental cogs turning a little bit (like a TLC documentary on the origins of our solar system instead of a rerun of "Real Housewives of Orange County") Even a new beer or wine you've never had will stimulate your brain and help you from becoming a stale soul. Change up the pace you've established in your life. You'll stay fresh and clear headed and hopefully people will stop telling you you smell like a swamp.

The Tough Mudder

Tue, 30 Nov 2010 12:08:00 GMT

Once again, its been too long since my last entry. Im just dying to get me hands on a digital camera so I can stop having to pester all my camera owning friends for pictures of the blog worthy events. But let's get to the real blog.

Last weekend I ran the Tri State Tough Mudder in Englishtown, NJ. It was the first race of my life and probably not the best way to ease into racing, but once I had registered it was too late. On its homepage, the Tough Mudder is described as follows:

"Tough Mudder is not your average lame-ass mud run or spirit-crushing ?endurance? road race. It?s Ironman meets Burning Man, and it is coming to a city near you. Our 7-12 mile obstacle courses are designed by British Special Forces to test all around strength, stamina, mental grit, and camaraderie. Forget finish times. Simply completing a Tough Mudder is a badge of honor. All Tough Mudder sponsorship proceeds go to the Wounded Warrior Project."

I ran the Tough Mudder as a 4 man team with two high school buddies and one of their college buddies, including:

Will - The Team Captain and Navy SEAL in training. He runs Ironmans as a cool down from his real workouts. It is rumored that he once ran the entire length of the Grand Canyon in fifteen minutes.

Mike - Seen here sniping unwanted cats, Mike is a weightlifter and another man of the military that informed us race day that he didn't start running until 7 days prior.

Sean - The unbreakable Polack who trained with me to prep for the race. He also loves pain almost as much as trees.

The journey starts inside of the awkwardly silent Toyota Prius on rt 4 north, destination: Jersey, baby. Snookie was not seen, although she was smelled briefly on the turnpike. After about 300 miles and $0.16 in gas money we arrived at our friend Christy's to stuff ourselves with gluttonous amounts of whole wheat pasta and begin the pre race slumber. Unfortunately for me, I couldn't sleep. So I stared at the ceiling for about 7 hours until everyone started getting up at about 6:00 A.M. After a light breakfast we all jumped in Christy's SUV, which spent all the gas we saved in the Prius in about 10 miles, and headed for Englishtown, about 25 miles from where we were.

We get out for a stretch in the parking lot. I've already been up for 24 hours and now a little wired from the 5 Hour Energy I just drank to take the fog away. Even less to my advantage, I realize I am wearing a pair of blinding white K-Swiss tennis shoes. I will later find I am quite possibly the only person in this entire race without a bad-ass pair of running shoes. A frigid northern wind is sweeping through the lot, biting our noses and ears. I look around the parking lot to see what look like members of SEAL team 6 stretching and lacing up. I am later relieved to realize that not all the race runners will look like the Expendables. These guys were the Mudder Elites, running this race for time and trying to qualify for World's Toughest Mudder, the 50 mile version of this 12 mile race. As we approach the registration booth, a woman on a megaphone is repeating "come sign your death waver here, you cannot register until you sign the death waver".
We all sign our lives away, get our paperwork, get our race numbers and I meet a couple of in line behind us that tell me they were up all night drinking and bar hopping and their friend flying in from Nevada might not even be registered. I suddenly feel less tired and less worried. We start our warm up run.
The air temp is about 38*F with the wind chill, but the cold air will soon be the least of our worries.

November 20, 2010. 9:40 A.M. We are tightly pakced at the starting line, which lies in the middle of an empty football stadium. We are in a mob of fellow runners, some with war paint, some in costume, all gritting teeth and clenched hands. A very enthusiastic man is guiding us through the Tough Mudder creed on a megaphone,
"As a Tough Mudder I pledge that?
* I understand that Tough Mudder is not a race but a challenge.
* I put teamwork and camaraderie before my course time.
* I do not whine ? kids whine.
* I help my fellow Mudders complete the course.
* I overcome all fears."

Sounds great. My heart it pounding, my legs are coiled springs ready to run the length of the earth. Silence.
Then an air horn goes off, they throw a smoke bomb into the middle of the crowd and everyone madly sprints towards a monster truck that floors it though the first stretch of track. As we leave the obnoxiously sticky rubber track in the stadium we see several friendly reminders:

So we were off, establishing pace at mile one, and seeing fellow racers who had left earlier coming the opposite way on the track next to us yelling "It's not too late to turn back! Quit now while you still can! You WILL die!". Quite encouraging. After a good 1.5 miles we cross a pair of ropes tied taught over a river. No problem. We all get through easily and then come to a tall wooden platform with a rope. We climb up to see that there's nothing but a drop. And water. Dozens of other racers are jumping in, so without too much thought I plunge in, right next to a guy dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.

When I hit the water, my body instinctively panics. Instant loss of breath, my skin is burning and my mind screams repeatedly "GET THE F#&^ OUT OF THIS WATER!! Im sure this is what most people were going through. To say it was cold is laughable. This water felt like absolute zero. People are being pulled out left and right by life guards and medical personal. Some people hit the water and instantly panic. One man, upon impact, goes into shock and is rushed to a nearby hospital. Water temp at the time is about 35* fahrenheit. About 10 minutes until hypothermia begins in this kind of water. This was no longer a nice jog in a cold morning New Jersey. The real race had begun. Move forward or die. Everyone, including myself, is scrambling as fast as our quickly numbing bodies allow only to find an obstacle in the water itself. Pairs of barrels blocking the way out. Can't climb over. Are you kidding? I take in a deep breath and go under. All the noises and screams of racers are muted by the water. Complete darkness. The water is so murky not even the slightest hint of light shines through to help guide the way around. The ice cold water is a piercing every inch of my face and body. Im frantically trying to feel my way to the opening and my breath is almost out after only a few seconds. I blindly take a guess and attempt to surface. My God, breathing air never felt so good. I have to do this twice more before Im out of the water.

I can hear Sean and a dozen other random Mudders screaming profanities over my own for a moment. He soon comes running out of the water, steaming and shivering with the rest of the team. Laughing at how absurdly cold the water was, we are off again. We have to trek through the water again before the water obstacles are over. Getting out the second time feels like my skin is coming off of my bones with each step. The 38 degree air felt like a warm afternoon on a California beach after getting out of the water. The course had many spots that almost overlapped itself, so we could see people who were earlier on and further ahead in the race at certain times.
It was easy to tell who had and hadn't gone in the water yet, not even by seeing who was soaked and who wasn't,
but by who was laughing and cheerful and excited

and who looked like they just left a concentration camp.

After that water, every Mudder's game faces were on. We climbed over and under cargo nets,

Ran at least three miles through waist high mud, hills, and turns

Slammed ourselves up and over walls

Climbed through cramped wooden piping lined with jagged rocks

Had to carry a car tire a half mile and then immediately run through field's worth of kerosene-soaked hay, flaming and smoking as much as the inside of a burning building.

Oh and lets not forget the 'suprise obstacle' that wasn't revealed until we were at the starting line. This last little gem was a roughly 20 square foot wooden frame with electrified wire dangling from the top, effectively named "The Jellyfish". What did it feel like? This gives you a little bit of an idea.

Then we see it. The home stretch. Right back where we started. My water-logged K-Swiss felt like Looney Tunes prison shackles with the cannonball attached. We joined arms and took one last sprint through the finish, to a massive and welcoming crowd.
After a brutal 12.09 miles, covered in mud, legs heavy, body shaking from the stress of the race and the extreme temperatures we all rushed to the post-race concessions where we ravenously ate the free energy bars, bananas and muscle-milks.

Immediately after finishing, Will went to the information booth to talk to the registrar. He had already paid for two days and since we weren't going to be in Jersey the next day like we had initially planned, he decided he was just going to get his money's worth by running the entire race over again the same day. But to raise the stakes, he grabs a 25lb kettle bell and begins the entire run over again!
Thats pretty damn tough. My hat goes off to you Will and all you other guys and gals who were carrying 30lb chains, rucksacks filled with weights and you crazy mofo's who dressed in full on suit and ties, briefcases included. The best part of the race was the overall sense of camaraderie. I saw people sacrificing race time to help strangers, groups forming human chains to pull competitors up huge mud covered hills and people pulling down the cargo net so everyone else could just jump over. Thats teamwork.

You don't see that much on the streets, but if there is a place to help that "every man is my brother" mentality, the Tough Mudder is the place where it starts.

We all were rewarded with orange Tough Mudder headbands, shirts and free Dogfish Head Beer. It was one hell of a race and I have nothing but respect for each and every one of you fellow Tough Mudders. Good racing, and I'm looking forward to seeing some of you in either PA or VT.

Dylan

Blood Sweat and Tears came to my gig!

Mon, 25 Oct 2010 23:22:00 GMT

Ok, ok, long overdue for a blog entry. It's been a bit of a crazy month. One of my best friends finally landed a winning blow on the job market and got hired as a surgeon's assistant in Kentucky. Crazy how someone with a Biochemistry major has touble finding a job. Damn economy. This month I have also been frantically trying to locate the last few pieces of my authentic Sweeney Todd costume (for Halloween, of course). There was a court date I had to worry about (suspended registration for not doing a VEIP emissions test) but I decided to fight to $140.00 fine. The MVA screwed up and reported that I lived in a county I did not at my old address. In St. Marys (my current county) you aren't required by law to take VEIP tests. I explained my dilemma to the judge, despite the state attorney's best efforts to tell me I was guilty because I failed to present a specific document. Long story short,"Not Guilty". Booya. Hit a few local open mics as well. Not to mention a decent amount of gigs this month. So with all that paired with my uncanny propensity for procrastination, I must say I am sorry for such a long delay.

Anyways.

Last week, I was playing at Obrien's again, up in Annapolis MD. It was a wednesday night, not that many people at the bar at first. Sometimes its really hard to give your set all of your energy when you have to play 4 hours 2-5 nights a week, sometimes for only 4 or 5 people. Its hard to always want to play your best because when you play for a living, the job aspect of it really pushes you down at times. Thankfully, a few of my friends showed up, which always makes me feel like the last 3 men of a losing battalion watching 100 reinforcements come rushing over the hill to help them. One of the reinforcements being Ben Bays, a badass percussionist who had played with the Naptown band "The Higher Hands", an infectious groove oriented band with Funk, Go-Go and R & B roots. He just so happened to have his Conga on him. I figured the crowd wouldn't mind a little extra power to the rhythm for the last set. So we jammed out on "Sunday Morning", "Beg, Steal, or Borrow", "Hey Jealousy", and the place started dancing. Everyone was raising their beers, laughing bobbing heads; pretty much every sign you hope to see as a performer. One of them came up to us, introducing himself as Teddy and asked it he could play on a song, informing us that he was in a band. Good enough for us. So Teddy scooted up to Bens Conga and started throwing a cow-skin beatdown. I came in with the the chord progression from "Hotel California". And we rocked out in a fiery unison for the happy patrons. After finishing up the set Ben and I sat down at the bar with Teddy. Turns out Teddy was Teddy Mulet. As in the trumpet player for "Blood Sweat and Tears" and "Gloria Estefan".

(Wahumuna!? Its Teddy Mulet!?)

After looking around the room, I noticed it wasn't just Teddy, but half of band! They just so happened to be touring in Annapolis and were playing at Ram's Head the next night. They were in Obrien's to unwind after a long drive. Teddy was a really nice guy, he was telling us about lots of great spots to play in Florida, stories about the road and how about being a young man in the audience at a "Blood Sweat and Tears" concert, obviously before he himself was a member. He told me "I never could have guessed I would be up there playing with them about 20 years later." I'd say that's about as much inspiration as you can get playing a random local bar gig on a Wednesday night, wouldn't you?

I was actually happy I didn't really know who I was playing for, that would of probably made it a little nerve wracking. They are all such high caliber musicians, and its nice to see them off the stage, realizing they are just chill people who so happen to play music. So we hung out the rest of the night, talking to the rest of the band and having a couple pints. A few weeks before, an entire minor league baseball team from California walked in the door. I guess you should always be trying to play your best, you never know who will walk in the door.

The Song for Ingrid Michaelson

Tue, 14 Sep 2010 05:59:00 GMT

So remember when I said I would write a song for Ingrid Michaelson? Well Im finally finished and I going to let you see the lyrics before I officially record it. Its called "Looking Up". It's my "shot in the dark but I'm still wishing to meet you" song.
Feel free to throw your two cents in, although Im unlikely to change anything about it since I went through about 5 drafts and Im quite happy with the way it sounds, musically and lyrically, I always like to hear feedback. Think Nick Drake, Paulo Nutini, and of course Ingrid. Simple pretty, diatonic finger-picking pattern style playing with soft mid-range vocals and earnest tone.

"Looking Up"

(verse, verse, refrain, verse, refrain, bridge, verse, refrain)

I can?t seem to find a good beginning
That plays as well as the reel my head?s been spinning
But I figured I
At least should try

You might think I am just a little crazy
Or I?m long lost in a sea of reverie
So I?ll just say
Please come my way

I?ve been looking up
Waiting for the chance to come

Maybe we could go out for a coffee
And we could trade a few funny stories
And then from there
Who knows where

I?ve been looking up
Waiting for the chance to come

If you are weary of my intentions
And I won?t ever win your time or your affection
Just tell me I?m looking in the wrong direction
So I can get this crick out of my neck

Til? then I?ll be holding onto my wishes
Dreaming that the sound of all your kisses
In sweet array
Will gently say

I?ve been looking up
Waiting for the chance to come

(painting by Jim Thalassoudis)

So there it is. Im realizing as iI look at the lyrics more and more this can pretty be used for any two people, so it will be open up to a wider range of listeners who are looking up as well. Since you dont know what the music sounds like I'm interested in how what you expect will differ from what I've written. Hope you enjoy it and again, feel free to let me know what you think. It's one of about 6-8 songs Im going to try and get recorded and put on a new, entirely acoustic album. And Ingrid Michaelson, although your probably never going to read this, Ill be looking up.

DC stands for Directional Cluster-f#*%

Sun, 12 Sep 2010 14:10:00 GMT

Honestly. I know Im a night owl and my job requires late hours but this is not cool.

I want to know who designed the roads and intersections in DC? Was it designed by a group of lemmings? Look closely at the time stamp on this post. Yes, 5:10 A.M. Why? Because it took me almost an hour and a half to make my way out of the intestinal track of satan that is currently known as downtown DC. Now the gig itself went pretty well (James Hoban's; an Irish pub with a really cool staff and lots o' drinks, wa woo wee wa). My Mapquest directions led me there correctly but the last tenth of a mile was absurd. Du Pont circle is pretty much the biggest shit show of city road planning you will ever see. It looks something like this:

("Welcome to Du Pont circle, please check your mental health and well being at the first stop light")

Yeah, Imagine that steaming dump of a traffic circle with fifteen side streets that all have the same name and stop lights every 12 feet that stay red for 5 minutes and green for .06 seconds. Seriously, why do pedestrians need 45 seconds to cross a 10 foot area? Is everyone in DC quadriplegic? Are they out walking their turtles? After already being late to my gig from having to circle the restaurant 5 times around figure A to find a parking spot I was a little on edge. The 3 hours of playing music to pretty girls and fellow Irish brethren helped me quell my heart attack for while. A couple of Jameson's on the rocks didn't hurt, either. However, after the gig was over and I was packed up and headed back home I pretty much had a full on aneurism within ten minutes of trying to follow the Mapquest directions backwards. On top of having to follow the directions backward and being in completely unfamiliar territory, every road sign in DC looks like this:

So you are lost in DC. It's 2:30 A.M. Everyone is drunk and seemingly a potential threat to your well being. You see a guy puking all over the road, two people are making out on corner (not romantically but sloppily and angrily), a girl gets her heel stuck in a crack and plummets into a fire hydrant. Now these sights can be amusing and/or hilarious, but not when you don't know how to get away from such an area. And just when you think you've taken every single road and you cant get any more lost you come to this little diddy:

(so do I just get out my car?)

I almost lost it after my second attempted escape was foiled by a construction detour that led me right back downtown after 40 minutes of what I thought was proactive driving. Apparently the city was not ready to let me go just yet. My nerves were tingling, my eyes were bloodshot, and people in cars next to me appeared to be uncomfortable when they timidly glanced over at me talking to myself in my seat, rocking back and forth. Just before I became Michael Douglass in "Falling Down", by some miracle, I made it out onto the interstate. I have never been so happy to see the beltway. As of this moment, I never want to go to DC again. Am I being dramatic? Of course, that's half the fun. Actually thats all of the fun because nothing else about this was fun. Getting out of DC when you don't know how is about as much fun as using a cactus as toilet paper. Probably a little less bloody, though.

If you are reading this and you, either wholly or in part, are/were responsible for the designing of the roadways in the downtown area of the District of Columbia, please contact me at 1-800-jump off of a bridge with rocks tied to your feet.

You have a blessed day.

Emergency Songwriting

Mon, 06 Sep 2010 13:39:00 GMT

My friend Sean and I were making some food at my house. His friend-girl (not girlfriend) was planning on meeting us for some Balderdash later in the evening. By some turn of events, she texts him on his new, amazing Droid that she can't make it. It's always an unfortunate time when the prospect of being in the presence of women, in all their splendor, is impeded. So rather than sulk in the corner and spend the night playing Halo and crying in a puddle of urine (foreshadowing), we decided to try and turn the events back around. He texts back "No way, you have to come, I'm making food and I even wrote a song for you I was going to play, its called peeing in your pants". "Aww, really!?" she replies hinting that there may be hope after all. I wasn't entirely sure how a song about peeing yourself would get such a response, but whatever. It's still a shot in the dark, and more likely will just make her feel guilty than actually change her mind and decide to come over. She replies "I'll be there in fifteen". Wahuh!? We look at each other. We realize a new predicament. We have no such song. Sean doesn't want to look like a huge, lying d-bag, so that means we have fifteen minutes to write a full song, lyrics and melody, about "peeing in your pants" while still maintaining a lighthearted, slightly romantic and funny tone without being too ridiculous (assuming that would be the appropriate style for this situation). I also have never met this girl, so she may hear it, be completely offended and say "You guys are dicks" and then leave. We run upstairs, abandoning the veggie burger on the stove and we get crackin'. Sean was preoccupied guiding her, via the Droid, to the house and time was of the essence, so I scrambled to crank out some lyrics as fast as I could. My degree has finally come in handy. The lyrics go as follows:

You've got the prettiest smile
And I love the way you move when you dance
Something about your hair falling in your face makes me a little crazy
But its not as half as cute as when you pee your pants

So come a little closer
I'd like to give you a little

Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle

You shouldn't feel ashamed at all
It's something I can definitely overlook
Because the only thing that I really can be concerned about
Is the heavy beating heart you recently took

So come a little closer
I'd like to give you a little

Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle

If it would make you feel better
I don't mind clothes a little bit wetter
I never told anyone, bit I do it too, we can pee together

So come a little closer
I'd like to give you a little

Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle

Song Form (be careful, advanced songwriter use only):

Verse, Pre-Chorus, Chorus, Verse, Pre-Chorus, Chorus, Bridge, Pre-Chorus, Chorus

Yes, cliche lyrics everywhere, but that happens when you have to crank out a song in about ten minutes. Also I've never seen her dance, but it rhymed with pants, so leave me alone. I finish just as Sean is going back downstairs to let her in the door. He walks her up the stairs and through my bedroom door and I'm just finishing printing out the lyrics for us to read. Just as we are introducing one another, Sean goes "what's that burning smell?". Veggie burger. Fire. Death. He sprints downstairs and comes back up with something that looks like a veggie burger on one side, asphalt and charred seagulls on the other. He still ate it, though. Anyways she loved the song. Maybe we'll put up a recording of it sometime soon. In hindsight, I feel this may have been a little bit creepy to sing to a girl the first time meeting her. A very interesting way to make a first impression, but I think it was a worthwhile endeavor. I know what you're thinking. "Wow, Dylan, how much did it cost to harness such awesome skills that allowed you to write a song about peeing your pants in ten minutes!?" About $100,000 from Berklee College of Music. Dammit.

Miley Cyrus Death Metal

Wed, 01 Sep 2010 22:01:00 GMT

Usually at OBrien's on a tuesday night, there is a very, very small and quiet crowd. Sometimes an occasional bar patron will bob their head and seem to be into what Im playing. The bartenders are always great, they always give a good applause after every song. But nonetheless, its usually a quiet night for the most part, without much suprise, because its tuesday. This only one day after terrible monday, the worst day the world will ever now. The dreaded workweek is only 2/7th done, lots of pain to suffer through, so understandably, the morale of the tuesday nighters is about equivalent to the Jonas Brothers before a bare-knuckle bar fight with Jason Statham. However, last night was a little different.

A small group of my good friends came (about 10) and made OBrien's sound like a baseball game, which may or may not have been enjoyed by the manager. I'm sure he didn't mind that much when he saw the bar tab, though. I was loving every second of it. Judging by the applauses after the songs and the volume of the voices singing along, it was like playing for a family of Tazmanian devils with megaphones, every solo artists dream come true. Well, at least mine.
My dear friend Danny had a few sips of a couple beers and was Gobstoppin' (Annapolis jargon meaning "dancing") and singing opera style vocal harmonies. He's a jazz vocal major from Towson with a larger than life personality. To give you an idea, this is Danny:

(The piercings are fake)

A couple of my lovely lady friends from home, Steph and Erin, all gussied up and looking fine, made the one and a half hour journey all the way up from Leonardtown to come see me. I was quite happy about that. So they walked over and sat at the bar near the table the rest of my friends were at and began whaling away to all the lyrics of the songs also while also making the view even better. Soon after they arrived, by some strange scientific anomale, almost 30 people trickled in over the next 45 minutes. Obriens was packed with a bunch of singing, dancing fiends and it couldn't have been more wonderful.

The highlight of the night, had to be when of my friend at the table began singing along with "Party in the USA". He has a God-like volume to his voice and was screaming in death metal style "YEEEEEAAHH-EEEYAA-EEYA-EEYA, ITS A PARTY IN THE U.S. A." Now I'm aware that this glass shaking, bird-exploding, baby killing screaming (which was as loud as my voice going through the P.A.)cannot be fully described in text, but imagine M. Shadows from Avenged Sevenfold wearing Darth Vaders Helmet. Also keep in mind it was enough to make almost the entire bar stop mid- conversation in awe of what they heard.

After hearing his Miley Cyrus death metal voice, I started laughing while I was trying to sing. My attempt at trying so hard not to laugh made it even harder not to laugh, and my friends, especially Danny, whose two sips of beer had him buzzing like a neon sign, absolutely lost it and almost coughed his beer all over the table. The chain reaction spread to everyone else at the table and it just snowballed between us. I began to laugh so hard I stopped mid-song, keeled over in hysterical pain and almost fell to the floor. It was the first time in my life someone had made me laugh enough mid song to make me stop during a show. I really hope it wasn't the last, either. I finally composed myself and finished my set with half the bar singing "Wonderwall". Not my favorite song of all time, but people seem to like it.

After the show, we all headed to the famous "Double T" after an overzealous douche bag of a police officer screamed at us for standing around my car, quietly discussing plans of where to go and eating a bag of organic almonds. Then he gave Danny a stare down, as if he had just sexaully assaulted a small rodent in a public place. I guess officer douche-bag doesn't like almonds. Maybe he's having family problems. Maybe he just pooped his pants. All in all, it was a great night, definitely my favorite time at Obriens so far. Thank you guys for coming and I'm looking forward to more shows like that.

(Hey, get the hell out of here! There are no almonds allowed on this street!)

I Appreciate my Fans More and More

Mon, 30 Aug 2010 10:10:00 GMT

Although my following is still a very small one, there seems to be a slightly increasing amount of people who come out to see me from time to time. This is always a wonderful thing to see, of course, not only because it gives me a little bit of confidence in yourself (if I were atrociously, pants-shittingly terible this probably wouldn't happen) but also because (and I never really noticed this until recently) you begin to develop relationships, however seemingly minute or ephemeral, with new probably would have never known. It can be enjoyable, interesting, enlightening, maybe even strange, but I find myself sitting down during breaks or after shows and enjoying the company of my listeners more and more. It's comforting to connect with a complete stranger through a God-given medium (music)and begin mapping out each others souls over a beer and soft bar chatter. It seems to me alot of tension between strangers on the street that end in conflict seems to be linked with each person fearing something in the other. Singing along with people and then talking with them between sets gets the underlying social tension melting like snow in april.

I wanted to say thank you to all of you (every single one, and especially all my friends!) who have come out to see me at a show. I really enjoy seeing your faces in the audience and it always gives me a little rush when I see you guys walking in the door during a set.

Dylan