See The Boss Pedal, Be The Boss Pedal: An Argument For Digital Effects In Normal Conversation

As a clear sign that I have been driven mad, I have permanently effected the affects of this particular medulla oblogata with my recording within Dante’s digital pit, I have come to the realization that digital effects are not just for music.

Furthermore, I need to make a miracle machine (which is tricky as the dog ate my engineering degree) that puts digital effects where they belong: conversations. This may require we all walk around with permanent earphones on to get the effect (big and fat), but what are words worth? They are worthless unless you can EQ them to a listenable form and then blast them through BIG reverbs.

Effects will be the new punctuation. They will say. When I create the machine. I will be hailed as yet another distraction (like iphones and Instagram and insulin) that is keeping us from becoming the species we should be, in our most perfect and docile form.

Dull. Dullllllll. Im So Bored with your plain, simply heard speeches. Do me a favor…ask me that in Flanger. Phase me, baby.

Consider how it can really emphasize the conversations you are already having?

Don’t you feel cheated when you are angry and yell at someone and it simply dissipates? Try that with a big hall reverb. Now THATS angry and impossible to ignore.

What about ordinary dull conversations with people in the grocery line? Slip in some Digital Delay…and slowly build it, so your words leave your mouth and are suddenly bouncing, bouncing everywhere, every direction, every corner and crevice of the subconcious till theres no option for anyone but to turn away and look at the Star or People Magazine.

Late night and early morning? Need to talk to people but your too wasted to form words? Compression. Everything you say will have more impact, even if that statement is ‘I’m sorry I dropped the ball on the Perkins account.’. Your manager can only admire your honesty, forthrightness and deep sonorous tones. And this is how you get a promotion.

Tryin to explain away a prior bad act? Speak clearly through a Heavy Metal distortion. Raise the gain. Speak slowly and stare directly into their eyes and watch as they get confused, a little sad and go away.

Need a lil pickup in the bedroom? Ladies love a good Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, brother. Get all Issac Hayes and shit and lay it down.

My point being that we short change ourselves in terms of appropriate dramatics. Sometimes it takes a bit o’ science.

The REAL point being this record is killing me.

(dictated but not read in Vibrato)


The Last American Idol Is From Connecticut

For today, let us not speak of corporate funded creativity, media monopolies or manipulation of times, of numbers, of mass perceptions that television trades in. Let’s not consider the true Devil’s bargain that televised singing competitions bind there winner’s with (for reference, google Phillip Phillips).

Let us celebrate. The Last American Idol is from Connecticut. Whether you cheer the ‘Last’ fact or the ‘Connecticut’ fact, this morning offers something for all of us.

For every musician I’ve heard slag American Idol, this must be pointed out: Television is not the music industry, though from the wide coverage on commercial radio and spreads in the now sad and pointless ‘Rolling Stone’ could confuse. Theses spaces have been capitalized with a capital ‘F.U.’, marginalized into amorphous blobs of meaninglessness.

Let them go. It’s time.

American Idol made great television. It was compelling. More so when Simon was still on, but whatever. Certain television shows have gained success by taking dumb ideas and doing them exceedingly well. Why should the muse starve? Why does good art necessarily equate to bad credit?

You need recognize the difference in form. Television is a nod and a joke and a hand in your wallet. Especially if your watching with your kids, who are not canny enough to know they’re being played. Television has created great works of art, but more often than not, its a long vamp to the commercial breaks. And it’s supposed to be. Television is unbearable politics and seriously unfunny humor and the Super Bowl.

But imagine awaking by the CT Shore today and being a kid. Its like the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. There’s no difference. It’s ‘Bye Bye Birdie’ writ into an internet infused, phone voting tribute. Nick Fradiani is Elvis. Today. And thats grand. Even Elvis wasn’t Elvis everyday.

Aside from Nick’s, life goes on unchanged. We don’t get the day off, which is the real horror. Mainly cause it’s so nice out today.

And lets keep our outrage focused where it could do well or at least remain topical. Connecticut. I watched a report on local news featuring bar owners whining that they live in fear of ASCAP fines that could accumulate from the over covered cover band songs. Seriously, whining, near tears.

Awwwwww….. (no wait…that wasn’t convincing….) AAAAAAAWWWWWWW….. (yeah).

And wish Nick well. He is a songwriter. He’s played the bars. He is one of our own. Its not impossible to work your way out of a corporate Rubicks cube on your own terms. Simply review the career of the True Rebel Queen of Idol, Kelly Clarkson.