The second in the Acoustic Covers project, Out Of Touch by the mighty Hall & Oates. Produced and mixed by Matt Pendergast at Q Division Studios, Sommerville, MA.
When you distill this song to it’s lyrics and melody, it’s really brilliant pop song writing. Splash that snazzy 80’s production on top of it, and there’s no denying Hall & Oates were master hit-makers.
We recorded this song in two hours, myself on vocals, keys, and drums, Matt on guitars and bass. By the end of the session, we knew we were onto something special.
A good friend of mine is touring with John Oates right now and sent him the track to check out. John’s respons: “I like it a lot”. Whoa. Oates likes it.
My eternal gratitude and thanks to all the super-early pledgers who were the first to jump on board this new journey with me. This morning when I saw that folks already had pledged towards the making of the new EP, I actually teared up. As an independent musician, the path frequently veers from broad and bountiful to dry and dusty depending on the season, timing, and mysterious bolts of luck… but this morning, I felt more supported and embraced than I can acutely express. Your pledges will indeed make this new record happen, and I will most certainly fulfill my pledge to you, to bring you along for the journey so that you can see how you’ve truly made a difference. Money is a strange thing. It brings us worry, fear, doubt, enjoyment, experience, power, comforts, and can be tied into every range of human emotion. On this campaign, I see this money as an exchange of energy, I and will work with all my heart to tip the scale in your favor. What I want is for your pledge to come back to you ten fold, so you see that you are not just “buying” a new product. You are bringing real music forward, and helping me create something for the human heart to feel. Honestly, I think that’s the whole point of our existence, to really feel. Feeling and experiencing through music, well that’s the Great Connector right there.
ETERNAL GRATITUDE, FAMILY!!! First update and free download for pledgers is coming SOON. Check it out right here: http://www.pledgemusic.com/projects/chrissipoland
All love, always… xxoo Chrissi
Thanks to Manish Gosalia for snapping this shot from the acoustic set at Rockwood Music Hall, NYC.
“Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground” Released on iTunes by BFMDigital!
The first song in the “Acoustic Covers” series was released worldwide today by BFMDigital! I love this song, penned origianlly by Willie Nelson. The words and music have always cut right through me, so this was my first choice for the project. Producer/remixer Matt Pendergast and I came up with this “covers” project idea after watching some live and very stripped recording sessions that had been filmed. We loved the idea of taking a song, stripping it to its bare bones, and creating our own haunting version. This track, produced and mixed by Matt at Q Division Studios in Sommerville, MA, was tracked in one hour. Our intention for this project is to “not think, just feel”, therefore taking very little time, very little takes in the studio. Raw! I sincerely hope you enjoy it, please pass it on and repost if you do! We’ve already tracked the next song and cannot wait to drop it on y’all! Think 80’s.
Opening For Pat Benatar, Tarrytown, NY
Last Sunday night I had the honor and privilege of opening for one of the First Ladies of Rock, Ms. Pat Benatar, at the Tarrytown Music Hall just outside of New York City. It was a last minute call, and I had just a couple of days to drum up a proper opening set for this pop icon. My good friend Greg Mayo and I hit the stage at 8 pm sharp armed with a six-song set that packed as much punch as we could fit into our little duo set up, Greg on the electric, myself on the acoustic. Not for nothing, but we hit ‘em pretty good, and I was beyond grateful for every cheer or wave of applause thrown our way.
Being an opener is a double edged sword. On the one hand, you are getting an opportunity to play your music for a built-in audience and thus receiving a chance to entice a new wave of potential fans into your musical world. The flip side of this is that everyone there DID NOT come to see you. In fact you are holding up the show, for crying out loud. So my theory on being an opener is really simple: Within the first five seconds, grab the brass ring of their affections and don’t let go. You have five seconds to make them sit up just a little bit and say, “Hmmm…ok. Let me check this out. I’m intrigued”. If you can do that, you’ve succeeded. Anything beyond that is a pearl on top of an already priceless pile of gold. If you don’t grab them right then and there, your potential new fans are now just a crowd of people checking their watches and waiting for the real show to start.
I’m so very thankful to report that we did, indeed, grab them in the first five seconds. They stayed right there with us for twenty-five minutes. They listened, clapped to the groove, cheered us on, and gave us devoted silence in the quietest section of the set. Thank you, Tarrytown….I love you.
Now, let me just say a few words about the main event. Pat and her husband/longtime producer Neil Giraldo (who goes by the ultimate rock nickname Spyder) took the stage with their band and proceeded to melt everyone’s face off from the downbeat. They raged through the hits like “I Need A Lover”, “Heartbreaker”, and “Love Is A Battlefield”, as Pat bounded around the stage with electrified exuberance. Her voice soared high, ripping through octaves with all her rock glory. “I’m 59. I’m old!” she exclaimed at one point. But you know what I think? The only thing those meandering years have done is filled her with more wisdom, wit, and experience. She can still smoke a whole lot of folks one half her age, and she looks FIERCE. I was mesmerized.
When Pat and Neil sat center stage on two stools to perform a captivating duet, Neil told a short story that I did not know. He told the crowd, “Patricia and I met in New York City in 1979. She had an idea and I had a plan. So we hopped a plane to LA, and twenty-eight days later, we had completed In The Head Of The Night”. Just before this, Pat told the audience that she and Spyder had just celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary. “And I don’t know how he does it”, she laughed.
These two stories are what I was most blown away by out of the entire performance. Here is an example of that very rare instance in life when two people come together with nothing but a dream and love in their hearts and set out to see where it will take them. In Pat and Spyder’s case it took them from the New York City struggle, to musical success, to the top of the charts, around the globe a hundred times over, to pop icon status, to an intimate show in Tarrytown, New York, where I was lucky enough to cross their path. What I saw in these two incredible people is the infinite possibilities that lay waiting for those who dare to come together and breathe life into their dreams, trusting in the power of what’s between them. At one point, Spyder grabbed the phone of an excited fan, walked over to Pat and put his arm around her, snapping a photo of the two of them. As he snapped that photo, it was as clear as a crystal blue sky that the love they have for one another is the driving force behind every hit, every Grammy, every whirlwind tour. Otherwise, how else could they have survived this long?
Yoga Teachers, We Need To Talk…
I love yoga.
I love music.
I DO NOT love when yoga teachers play the wrong music in my coveted yoga class. This is a beef I’ve had for a while, and it’s high time I say my piece. So I’ll say it in this post because I’m too much of a chicken to tell it to an instructor’s face.
I’ve had an on-again/off-again relationship with yoga for years, but lately it’s been totally ON. I’m talking serious devotion, hitting the 8 a.m. classes with fervor, going for double classes in one day. The practice I have found in recent months is helping to unlock a great deal of strength in me, making it easier to move forward with challenging events and to stay focused on all the music I’m working on. It is also giving my butt a nice, new “lift” (bonus).
Just getting to the mat can be the hardest part of a class, carving out that time to challenge the body and the mind, letting everything else go. So when I actually do it, when I ACTUALLY GET TO THE MAT, I’m seriously ready to focus on the task at hand. Which is yoga…
Still with me? Good…
So I’m on the mat, breath is centered, I’m feeling the inner Goddess emerging, I’m connecting with all that is glorious in the universe, I follow the teacher’s cue and move gracefully into the first downward dog of class, I’m so freaking namaste in this moment!
The teacher walks over to his/her iPod, connected to the stereo.
You better be calling up Tibetan chants or singing bowls, I think.
Still holding that dog… stay centered, we are all one, breathe in the light of the Divine-
And then the Goo Goo dolls come blaring out of the system.
OH MY GOD, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!?!
Now, don’t get me wrong, 90’s light rock has it’s place in the world. Like in small coffee shops scattered around Portland, Oregon. But in yoga? Look, I’m trying to get my Eastern philosophy on, and that’s hard enough to begin with. How can I empty my mind of all it’s insanity, focus on my “intention”, AND maintain my drishti while Johnny Rzeznik is all up in my ears? I just can’t. And now I’ve just lost my ouija breath, awesome.
I’ve definitely been a purist when it comes to yoga classes, but in recent months I have lightened up quite a bit when it comes to the music situation. I’ve come to realize that not all western music completely ruins a session. For instance, I was taking a hot power class on the Upper East Side recently, and just as we were moving into a challenging flow sequence the teacher dropped the digital needle on “Move On Up” by Curtis Mayfield. You know what? I got pumped! I took in Curtis’s words, “So keep on pushing/Take nothing less/Not even second best/Just move on up” and I was like, “Ok, yeah. Let’s step it UP!” It was empowering, it was a good song choice for that flow. Thumbs up, teach.
Now let me give you an example of someone who’s paying ABSOLUTELY ZERO ATTENTION to the lyrics they are playing in class, and how they are inadvertently ruining the entire philosophy of the practice. #giveyogateachersadonotplaylistalready
Last week I was laying in shavasana which isconsidered to be the most important posture in yoga because it seals in your practice. This hot vinyasa class had been extra challenging, not because of the asanas or the sequences, but because the teacher had been blaring Bon Iver so goddamn loud that I couldn’t hear his instruction and was left to wrangle myself in and out of postures by trying to see what everyone else was doing. Laying in that final pose, I was attempting to remain centered and full of love for everything and everyone, even my stupid yoga teacher. Juuuuuust as I’m sinking into the mat to float away, he goes for his iPod just one more time and dials up “Because Of You” by Kelly Clarkson.
I’m sorry. But OH MY GOD ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME FOR REAL?!?!?!?!
Let’s break it down.
1.) The definition of yoga: “to practice attaining spiritual insight and tranquility”
Because Of You lyric: “Because of you I am afraid”
Hmmm. So, blame someone else for all your fears and insecurities. Great message.
2.) The abhyasa sutra: “choosing actions and applying effort to bring about a stable state”
B.O.U. lyric: “I’m forced to fake/a smile, a laugh, everyday of my life”
Huh. So, you have no control over your fake emotions, and you’re doomed until you die. Good to know.
3.) Pranayama: “The extension of life force through the breath, where the breath is the true key to emancipation and utter calm”
B.O.U. lyric: “Because of you/I’m ashamed of my life/Because it’s empty”
Right. So, everything is someone else’s fault, your existence is shit, you’ve got nothing going for you, and the only breathing you do is between sobs of misery. Got it.
I almost said something to him after class, I really almost did. Instead, I decided to just ream him out in this post. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! (Don’t hate me.)
Another audaciously inappropriate song that yoga teachers LOVE to play during shavasana is Jeff Buckley’s version of the Leonard Cohen song “Hallelujah”. This is most likely because of Jeff’s whispery voice and his angelic guitar playing. They may think this sort of “vibe” is very suitable for the peaceful calling of shavasana. HOWEVER:
“Maybe there’s a God above/But all I‘ve ever learned from love/Is how to shoot somebody who outdrew you”
HELLO?!?!?!??!?!
Oh, and Jeff Buckley was suicidal while recording this song. Then he killed himself.
Yoga teachers everywhere, let me just say, I do salute you. You go to hundreds of hours of training, study endless amounts of ancient texts, and get paid shit money to spread the teachings that have helped millions to live a more centered life. You give men a place to connect more with their “heart center”, and you give women a reason to max out their credit cards at Lululemon! That being said, I ask you to please learn how to use your iPod wisely. The East already thinks we’re idiots. Let’s not enhance their argument.
Namaste, mothafuckaaaaahhhs!
Life On The Farm…RIP Buck Buck :(
One of my favorite things to do as a resident of New York City is get the hell out of it when I can. Don’t get me wrong, I love NYC and have made a somewhat successful life for myself there so far. But after a while I will begin to experience brain-melt, like being overly exposed to a cranky toddler or Full House reruns. I’m lucky, because I have an idyllic paradise to which I can escape….my HOME. It’s really incredible, a small ocean town with picturesque New England beaches, craggy cliffs overlooking golden marshland, nineteenth century lighthouses, and PAPA GINO’S PIZZA, FAAAHHK YAHHHH! (Only Massachusetts natives are applauding the PG’s reference right now…outsiders usually hate it.) My younger sister Melissa and her husband bought our Nana’s farmhouse a few years ago after she passed away, where they have been hard at working with restoration projects, returning the property to it’s true farm glory. This was the house our mother and her syblings were raised in and it was a second home to us as children. Now in this same house, Melissa is raising her two brilliant boys (my nephews, geniuses) and we all get to live the farm dream all over again. Enter the chickens. So the new fad sweeping the nation is raising your own chickens, which is acutally an old fad that went away and is now cool again, like playing records or composting. If Oprah was still on the air, she would have definitely devoted a show to this. Suddenly you’re seeing it everywhere, people building coops in their yards and raising little feathered friends for fresh, organic eggs. You reduce your carbon footprint, get a whole slew of new pets, and experience the buttery perfection that is a farm fresh egg on a daily basis. I’m telling you, it’sall the rage. Chickens are back, get into it. But it was only a matter of time before something went wrong. Terribly wrong. While I was home recently, on a little writing break/visit, we experienced our first hen house tragedy. I came home after running some errands to find my sister sitting at the kitchen table, looking solemn. She was also trying not to laugh. I was about to find out why. “Buck Buck just got snatched by a coyote.” I gasped. So did she. Then we both tried to squash our sick sense of humor. We tried to remain serious. Buck Buck was definitely the favorite chicken. All the gals have wonderfully inventive names, like Lobster, Jean, Big Chicken, and Hen, named by my nephews (geniuses). But Buck Buck (named by Ben) was the most galant and glorious, a gigantic, white-plumed lady who ruled the roost. “What happened?” I asked, in a low, serious tone. She said the girls had been out roaming the yard, free ranging style (so green!) for the first time in weeks. They had been kept in the pen due to excessive coyote sightings around town. Their hungry howls had been echoing through the woods in recent nights.These wild dogs are totally in the know about the chicken fad, and they’ve been staking out targets for a while, I’m sure. Melissa thought it would be fine to let the hens have a quick roam in the yard while she fixed the kids some lunch. Little did she know, the ladies were being watched. They had not even been out for 10 minutes when Ben started shouting from the kitchen bay window. “Hey ma, wook at dat! Wook at dat! Is doggie and Buck Buck!” Oh to be innocent and two…he thought they were playing a friendly game, the coyote and his pal the chicken. “The coyote was prancing like a happy puppy, wagging it’s TAIL, with my chicken in it’s mouth!” she said. We both let out quiet grunts of disgust, still somewhat attempting to hide our twisted smiles. I mean, it WAS kind of funny… “Buck Buck was definitely dead. Her neck was, like-” She made a quick gurgling noise at the back of her throat to sound like something snapping. “Maybe the coyote has babies to feed. She needs to feed her babies,” she said. That made it less evil. I mean, we feed to chickens to OUR babies, so….circle of life? The kids haven’t noticed that there’s one less chicken in the hen house. They are still too young to reazlie the true fate that Buck Buck came to meet a few weeks ago. One day, they shall know the truth. For now, life on the farm goes on. For days after the pillage, the remaining ladies cried in mourning for their beloved leader. All day, they just wandered aimlessly around their pen, sadly croaking, “Buuuuck, buk buk buk buk BUUUUUUUUUCK.”
LOTF Update
Things We Should Be Concerned About According to Daniel
(age 4)
written by Melissa Guzek, contributor to LOTF
(because she owns the place)
Being the lucky caretaker of the family homestead has it’s up and downs. From the inside out there are things to worry about, such as:
Do we keep the old wall paper for nostalgia?
How many family members do we need to consult before moving a picture?
How many chickens does one family really need? What’s the protocol when a coyote eats your chicken right in front of you and your two year old? (RIP Buck Buck). Sigh…
These issues are nishtkefelecht, according to my four year old. For him there are much more pressing matters. Take a dead worm for instance. I’d like to personally thank my mother (Nana to the kinders. Yes, I love Yiddish) for telling Daniel that “the dead worm will make a really great snack for Mr. Blue Jay”.
Well the jokes on you Nana. Blue Jays are nasty killing machines who prefer freshly laid baby bird eggs. But I digress….
For the rest of the day I had the pleasure of dealing inquiries like “Aaahhhh, mummy….I’m worry about that worm”.
“Mummy, why is that worm dead?”
“Is the worm sick? “
“Who killed that worm??”
“WHY DO WE HAVE TO DIE.”
I fulfilled my motherly duty and answered each and every question to the best of my ability, with a few lies and a couple of I don’t knows…which is mostly true.
Life on the farm continues…
Acoustic covers series starts with Willie Nelson’s “Angel Flying Too Close To The Ground”.
Free download of the song available on my website! Produced and mixed by Matt Pendergast at Q Division Studios, Sommerville, MA xo
Flying…I Prefer Not To, Thanks.
What’s not to love about flying?
Umm, basically everything.
Let’s face it, unless you’re ticketed in first class on Virgin Atlantic, where you get a free MASSAGE during the flight, it’s pretty much going to suck. Depressing coach class cabins crammed with disgruntled people vying for every last bit of overhead bin space, fridgid blasts of AC even in the dead of winter, and getting repeatedly kicked in the back by the antsy kid behind you. And don’t forget the silent fight for the arm rest.
This is before they’ve shut the main cabin door.
How about having to put all electronics away for take off and landing? I mean, come on, really? Can we all just admit the plane will still function while Kindles are fired up and move on with our lives?
As annoying as the above points can be, there is still one aspect of flying, for me, that is utterly terrifying. Turbulence. Why haven’t they invented planes that are turbulent-proof? We can make a phone that could power a space shuttle, but we can’t make a turbulent-proof plane? WTF.
Now, I’m a sort of DIY gal. That’s another way of saying I like to be in control, espcially when my life is on the line. If I’m driving, I can pull over anytime. If I’m on the train, I can just hop out at the next stop. Biking, I can hit those breaks anytime I want! But when I board a plane, I’m expected to sit down, shut up, and just TRUST that the Captain isn’t going to run it into the ground, fall asleep at the throttle, or hit the wrong button and accidentally eject himself. And what if a bird flys into the engine? We are fools to think that every pilot is like Sully…FOOLS.
Here’s how it usually goes for me when turbulence strikes (and by turbulence I mean anything more than a 5-second gentle breeze):
Heart accelerates, palms get sweaty.
Breathing shortens, pupils dialate (I’m not 100% sure on the pupils, but I have a feeling)
If the turbulence gets worse, I’m most definitely likely to:
Cry.
Involuntarily grab the arm of the person next to me.
Beg whatever Higher Power that might in charge of planes to “guide us safe, keep us up, please stop shaking this fucking thing”.
In extreme cases, I’ve pressed my flight attendant call button, desperate for reassurance that we’re not going to fall out of the sky.
Me… “I’m pretty scared of turbulence, is it ok”?
Flight attendent, irritated… “Yeah. It’s ok”.
Flight attendent, irriated, translation…”You are a grown woman, did you seriously just pull me away from my trashy airport romance novel to ask if we were OK?”
And for those of you who want to offer the statistic solution, that you’re safer in a plane than you are in your car, I will throw eye daggers at you. Do you really think that’s going to help me, when I’m certain that the wings are about to crack from the violence ensuing all around us? Do you really think that’s going to chill me out as the engines are LITERALLY about to give out and send us plummeting? Oh just pretend I’m on a rollercoaster?
The one thing I hate more than turbulence is rollercoasters.
I’m actually writing this from a US Airways flight to Phoenix, and we just hit turbulence over the Rockies. I have to stop tying now due to sweaty palms and racing thoughts of my eminent death, which could happen at any moment now. If I post this, you know I made it out alive.
