WHAT’S UP RAVING THRONGS OF KF FANS. I got my first unsolicited remix today (to be posted soon). It was a thrilling experience which I would like to have over and over again, like eating my first bite-sized Reese’s peanut butter cup. With that in mind, I have created stems for my most recent 52 Weeks track and made them available for download to anyone who wants to take a crack at remixing / mangling / re-interpreting it. All I request is that you send me a copy and post it on some public forum like SoundCloud so I can link to it and sing your praises.
It’s late! I know. I was at SXSW and, if you have ever been, you’ll understand why I was unable to work on any music there. The new & tardy song is called “Parasite” and is a poppy ditty about self-loathing, replete with tambourines, whistling and bridge possibly filched from one David Bowie. There’s no knowing! It was hastily assembled, so I apologize if the sound isn’t as smooth as the other recordings. Now I’ve got to immediately head back to the studio and start working on song #4 since I’m off to PAX East with Frontalot on Wednesday. No rest for the Ken!
Song number 2 is here, right on time. By “right on time” I mean on Friday morning, which is now the official release schedule for 52WoK, which is the official acronym for this project. The song is called “The Red Sea” and I have had it partially finished for something like eight years. The structure and production style are heavily influenced by Beck’s “Sea Change” because damn, that is a fine album. If people express interest, I’ll post the lyrics. Otherwise I won’t! You are warned.
Greetings fans, friends and spambots! Today begins the “52 Weeks Of Ken” project, during which I will release one recording, every week, for 52 weeks. Most will be new songs, some will be new recordings of previously unreleased material, and a few will be covers. Everything will be released under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial license, which you can read about here. What that means is that you’re free to do anything you want with the recordings except sell them or use them in a commercial context. That means you, Glee. Eventually I will be making stems available for remixing and FLAC downloads for people with really sensitive ears.
Upon arriving at Virginia’s NekoCon, the first thing we noticed was the stark increase in costumery vs. PAX. I mean, whoah, that was a lot of cosplay outfits. We, in turn, felt extremely underdressed, but were never the less treated with all the pomp and circumstance befitting a featured convention performer. It was a nice departure, however brief, from the rough-and-tumble lifestyle we had become accustomed to. I even got to hang out with my dad, who was treated to his first ever MC Frontalot show. He described Front as “a hoopy frood who knows where his towel is.”
I’ve recently noticed that my pre-show mood has been declining steadily since I left for tour back in September. Where once I was bright-eyed and bushy-spirited, now I am a dark cloud of brooding silence who wishes for nothing more than to be left alone while playing Angry Birds. Industry friends have informed me that this is a critical stage of the transformative process one goes through when becoming a “pro.” I believe the answer is far less profound: failure to eat at Biscuitville. Hopes for improvement at tonight’s NekoCon event are dim, as we have passed into Virginia with nary a greasy wrapper in sight.
No segue here, folks, we’re getting straight into the action: our show at the Laboratory in Gainesville. This was our second time playing at the science-themed eatery and performance space, and while they had fewer beer beakers that previously, they more than made up for it with an improved sound system, stage and fancypants green room. Larry the proprietor is a fairly amazing guy who runs a tight ship and is a true champion of the arts, so if you find yourself in the land of gators, I suggest you swing by and catch whatever act is playing that night. On our night, those acts were Rappy McRapperson, King Pheenix, Emergency Pizza Party and DJ RoboRob. And Brandon! All in all it was a stupendous show, with lots of nerdy dancing, sweating and general revelry. Gainesville is definitely on our must-play list.
Here’s what I dreamed last night: that I was on tour with MC Frontalot (I’m not much of an escapist) and the routing had us darting between the US and various European cities. In Brussels we witnessed strangely-shaped airplanes flying impossibly slowly at very, very low altitudes through the city streets, apparently filled with sight-seeing tourists. “This is our last European date on the tour,” Front said to me. “I don’t think they can do that in the US.” Driven to experience this foreign form of informative transportation, I started searching the internet for “low altitude airplane tours.” Nothing came up. Somehow my perspective changed to that of a third-person observer watching as a man shouted “LOW ALTITUDE AIRPLANE TOURS!” while his wife waited impatiently in a canoe. “George!” she yelled, “you’d better get in this canoe right now or I’m going to leave without you!” George paused. His response was timid yet desperate: “Low altitude airplane tours?” The dream then revealed itself as an advertisement for some new search engine. THIS IS WHAT NERDS DREAM ABOUT. And also how they pad their word count!
I was going to start this post off with a pirate joke, but a quick browse of the archives alerted me to the fact that I would be repeating myself. Instead, I will be merely laudatory and state that Arkansas truly is a glory hole of natural splendor. Most states are a chore to drive through, see, but the one time home of the unfortunately named Archibald Yell provides eye candy at every turn. It felt fitting, therefore, that we respond by spreading the nerdy love in not one but two – yes, two! – cities. Those cities were Fayetteville and Hot Springs. This is their story.
Windy are the Kansas plains / littered with the night’s remains. So goes the famous poem “I Am Bored In The Tour Van” by reclusive indie poet F. Percival Spruce, author of such lesser-regaled verses as “The Window Defroster Makes My Butt Sweat” and “What Smells Like Pee?” I can’t help but feel solidarity with the man as we travel from Wichita to Fayetteville, searching fruitlessly for a breakfast dispensary in what appears to be a tastiness desert. But lo! Our new Garmin has just found us the shiny and promising Penny’s Diner. Thank you, Kendric Beachley, for saving us from hanger!