Last entry was a shout to The Roots Cafe open mic and its super-chill, welcoming host, Brandon Whightsel. This one is to Ceol (pronounced Kee-Ol, I think) and its witty, lovable and very Irish host, Niall Connolly. This Wednesday SONG CLUB (NOT an open mic) takes place in the cozy back room of an Irish bar, where their cheerful and energetic waiter zooms around dropping beers at tables and with Jedi-like instincts, catches falling mic stands – He also doesn’t ask for a credit card while you are building a tab and later simply asks for a reminder… “How many Guinesses was it, then?”  That is some goddamn charming-ass shit, if you ask me.

The host does a good job of keeping everyone around for the duration of the evening (except for the wankers, of course). Folks who sign up get three songs each and in the middle of the evening there is a 35-minute feature act. Last night the feature was me.  Booyah. 

Mr. Connolly should get some credit for including the feature act, a seemingly un-New York thing to do, and the regulars earns props too, for warmly welcoming the new guy, who hasn’t exactly made his bones at this joint, although I certainly will return.

In the host role, Niall stands out. When things wound down at about 12:30, he shut down the PA and brought his guitar to the table, where it was passed around four times despite the fact that everyone there was drunk or tired, or in most cases, both.  This whole experience turned out to be a throwback in so many ways, now that I think about it, and Niall deserves most of the credit.  But more than that, he is an extraordinary songwriter, who as far as I am concerned is under the radar (even in local terms), for being so unusually talented.  Listen to Niall’s music at his myspace page.

Speaking of unusually talented singer-songwriters under the radar, Casey Shea, Wynn Walent and I will be playing at Bar 4 on Thursday night, between 8-11pm.  Oh my God, oh Oh my God.

Most Tuesday nights you can guess where I’m going to be.  For almost two years now, the Bar Four open mic has been the spot, and I don’t see that changing any time soon.

But there’s a new kid on the block, and its name ain’t Jordan or Joey.  The Roots Café, one of the cooler new spots in ever-changing Park Slope, has a Monday open mic, and it is worth checking out.  

Fellow Local Correspondent Brandon Whightsel is the emcee for the night and he typically kicks things off with two of his well-crafted songs.  Brandon is laid back (like the venue) and he does a good job of making everyone feel real comfy (also like the venue).

 

The place was opened by a cool fellow from Alabama, named Jamey.  He makes great coffee and yummy grits and more than anything he’s done well to make the place welcome and unpretentious and the Monday open mic is no different. 

Check it out.

Spring is upon us.  The weather would not suggest such a thing, but Kathy Lee Gifford tells me so.  With the changing season, comes the changing beverage. 

A few days ago, I attempted my first Bloody Mary Mix.  It’s pretty good.   Here’s the recipe: 

3.5 Qts :: Tomato Juice 
4 Tbsp :: Lemon Juice 
3 Tbsp :: Worcestershire Sauce 
3 Tbsp :: Horseradish 
3 Tsp :: Tabasco Sauce 
3 Tsp :: Salt 
3 Tsp :: Pepper 
Juice from 1 squeezed Lime

I would rate this recipe as moderately spicy, which is probably good if you’re serving it for guests.  That being said, keep some horseradish, Tabasco, and black pepper at the ready for lovers of el picante, like me.

As for the mix to alcohol ratio, most will tell you, 2 parts mix to 1 part vodka. 

While sipping this fine drink, I suggest listening to the song Bloody Mary, by The Bloodsugars, currently my favorite live NYC band, who will be taking SXSW by storm this week.  This song plays as #2 on their nifty website.

 

There is a fellow who has gathered quite a bit of notoriety this year in the Local Correspondents scene… he covers classics, inspires sing-a-longs, pays tributes to his favorite musicians both on stage and off, and without fail, places home-made stickers on anyone in sight.  Of course, I’m talking about The Sticker Dude.

Well in his typically supportive fashion, The Sticker Dude offered to videotape my last performance at Union HAll, which was AMAZING FUN.  The resulting recording was far less typical, as The Sticker Dude captured the mixture of creepy red lighting, ultra-distorted reverb, and frightening screams of seemingly delighted listeners, all combining to make this the single most psychedelic Matt Singer music experience ever.

 

Watch below, as the Dinosaur Feathers join me and the band to do our best rendition of a calypso classic, entitled “Touch Me Tomato,” originally performed by Phyllis Dillon…

 

Learn about The Sticker Dude’s work at Ragged Edge Press and check out his brand new Myspace page.  Whether you friend him or not, he will place a sticker on you.  I guarantee it.

My friend Kerri Doherty is gifted.

She and I made a play date a few weeks ago, biking from our respective Brooklyn apartments to meet in Dumbo, where I watched her experiment with her roommate’s big fancy camera.  A five minute walk from the York Street stop on the F train, we found ourselves in another place and time. Kerri captured this.  Having little experience, she speaks pretty humbly about her photography skills.  I would like to show them off…

Check out the rest of the photos that she took from this beautiful day, HERE!

Kerri is also a great writer.  Kerri’s blog Squid Eating Squid is pretty cool.

My friend is gifted.

Okay.  It’s over.  The people have spoken, and they spoke for me, but just a tad quieter than they spoke for Dead Heart Bloom.  I’m over it.  But before I put it to rest, let me just say thanks to everyone who voted for me and spread the word about Matt Singer Nation.  You are not small.

In the wake of the The Deli’s Artist of the Month results, I found myself doing something I almost never do these days: Watch T.V.  I had just taken a brisk, late-morning walk, purchased some much needed tupperware, and returned home to find Karina making a chocolate cake and using the television as background noise for her baking frenzy — pretty standard fare for a Saturday afternoon at home.

Less typical was what was playing on the T.V. It was the Boston Children’s Chorus, singing songs about social justice, apparently this choir’s forte.  In between songs, Louis Gossett, Jr., described the connection between the music and lyrics to important moments of social change through history, focusing mainly on the civil rights movement of the 60’s, but also connecting the musical themes to change still yet to come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Watching these kids put themselves out there in such a passionate, directed and completely un-ironic ways was incredibly moving, and it was just the medicine I needed, feeling kinda crummy about finishing second in a popularity contest.

Lets talk about  a maverick.  And I don’t mean the Alaskan, hockey mom, road to nowhere kind.  I’m talking about Lieutenant Pete Mitchell, call-sign “Maverick.”

That’s the kind of inspiration it took to put together my proudest cover song moment.  It was by sheer luck and the resourcefulness of one Shwa, an excellent singer-songwriter to whom people should listen, who caught the band playing “Take My Breath Away,” at The Living Room with accompaniment of three greats, Kevin Johnston, Ivan Sandomire, and Paul Basile.  If Berlin should stumble upon this one day, I do hope they do not take this rendition as utter disrespect:

Lisa Box did tell me that seeing the four of us on stage, dueling verses, conjured images of Goose, Mav, Strider and Ice Man playing shirtless volleyball on a hot, sunny day, to the tune of “Playing with the Boys.”   You be the judge:

This is one of the most boring days of my life.  Sad too.  The ceremony is more or less vacant.  The church feels more like an auditorium.  Except for the bride and groom, everyone looks sullen.  Then the awkward 4 hour space in between the ceremony and the reception.  What the hell is that? In residential Juarez, there’s not much to do (and at the urges of my mother, who is hoping that I will not be kidnapped on this trip, I am not exactly looking for anything to do).  So, to the hotel my girlfriend and I go, alternately napping, raiding the pathetic “buffet y bar” in the downstairs lobby and watching CNN Mexico (not surprisingly superior to the CNN we get in the states).

We shower, I iron my suit, she applies her make-up and we’re off.  At the reception, we’re greeted by two large armed men who guide us through a metal detector.  Really though.  I would have taken a photo of this if not for the fear of being clubbed by one or both of the gentlemen.  Luckily for me, I have left my machete and Uzi at home.  The reception hall is basically empty.  No one arrives at a Mexican wedding until two hours after start-time, except for the old folks and the Americans.  So lets fast forward two hours.  

The reception hall is still kind of empty but I’m drunk on several poorly made gin and tonics, which have obviously grown on me.  Still bored. The wedding band is surprisingly good, but no one pays attention.  My girlfriend’s amigas join us at our lonely table and things are looking up.  But wait, no dinner.  What?  No dinner.  Seriously?  Yep.  Just a table in the middle of the room with some chocolate covered strawberries and nuts, which all the little kids have already turned into a pile of crumbs and strawberry stems.  I’m about to go ape-shit.  Haven’t smoked a cigarette in 9 months but I’m about to. Instead a have another gin and tonic and sulk.

Then, out of nowhere, a loud crack, a sizzle, everything gets bright…

 

 

 

 

Fireworks, pool noodles, half-naked women with masks, ballon animals, boys on stilts, the bride on stage, singing her ass off, everyone on their feet, dancing their asses off.  Holy shit.  This is the best party I have ever been to. Another gin and tonic, por favor!

Mike Grubbs has been working out.  There’s no question about it.  My good friend, fellow Family Records label-mate and front man of Wakey!Wakey! has definitely been developing his upper body.  He gave me a long hug a few nights ago and he just felt like a different person.  So muscular.

 

 

Don’t get me wrong. 

I liked it.

If you want a taste of some of that rock-hard business, I recommend checking out one of his upcoming shows at The Living Room – part of his January residency – which to no one’s surprise, has been going smashingly.  Just pay him a compliment after the show and he’ll probably hug you too.

 

His last two residency shows will be on Monday, Jan.19th (with Lacrymosa opening at 8pm) and Monday, January 26th @ 9pm.  The rest of his band members are also very good looking, and well toned.  But not as muscular as Mike.

 

I am never the first.  Always been a late bloomer. 

 

That I did not speak my first words until a relatively old age still serves as initial evidence for this fact.  My grandmother even proposed that I might be “delayed” – a term which seems to me more truthful than offensive – until I found myself with my parents, in a wooded area in Maine, at the ripe age of three, when I finally opened my mouth: “This is a very spooky forest.”

 

Clearly, I had been holding out for just the right thing to say.

Same with blogging, I guess.  It should come as no surprise that I am the last of all my Family Records label-mates to finally start this thing.  I actually still don’t even get what this whole blogging business is all about, but as an egomaniac and total conformist, I feel obliged to participate.  Naturally, in a few years, I will probably have transformed into the greatest blogger alive.  Young bloggers will ask, “What advice do you have for an inexperienced blogger like me?”  Veteran bloggers, while celebrating me publicly, will secretly succumb to bitterness and envy, and mutter hateful little things under their breaths, and even attempt to ally themselves in an effort to overthrow my blog-domination, only to find that their coalition forces just don’t measure up. 

Of course, this is just one theory.  And besides, in New York, the spookiest of all forests, I only seek to “dominate” in the less literal, Casey Shea sense of the word. Truth be told, I’m not ready or equipped to say anything nearly as poignant as “this is very spooky forest.” 

So I’ll just say, “Hello World!”