Hellllllooooooo... I'm gonna move this junk over to Tumblr. Seems easier and I dunno, it's time for a change? Please follow me over there.
http://scottsimonsmusic.tumblr.com/
Thanks!
s
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
How To Write a Hit Song - by Ko$ha
How To Write A Hit Song - by Ko$ha
Today's music landscape is really hard to navigate without the proper knowledge and tools. The advent of home recording, the ease of internet distribution and the fact that the industry hasn't fully figured out how to make consumers buy music again has lead to a low point in popular music. With such limited money to be made, you should only focus on writing hits. Hopefully, this column will give you some pointers on how to write a surefire hit song. It's not as hard as you think. In fact, it happens everyday!
Are you ready to write a hit???
1 - Start off with a simple drum beat. 74-88bpm usually works great. If you HAVE to go faster (or you're using Logic), make sure it's "four on the floor". For drum sounds, try an 808. Not the ACTUAL drum machine. Just do a Google search for "808 samples" and click on the first result (Note: If you're more of a Bing person, click on the 3rd result). Once you have a 4 bar pattern you like simply copy/paste until the 3 minute mark. Its ok if it goes over or under a little bit, but you're not doing yourself any favors. Add a simple piano or synth line for harmony center and whatever you do, don't bring in the synth bass until the chorus!
1b - If you can't think of a beat on your own, try using the chorus of an old 80's or 90's song you like and changing all or most of the words. Voila! Something new and fresh that no one has ever heard. Don't worry about potential law suits... do what songwriters do and let lawyers do what they do. Besides, the sampled artist will thank you once they start receiving requests for State Fair performances, YouTube video cameos and an ironic MTV VMA appearance.
2 - For your title think of a word or phrase that has a syllable that can be repeated ad nauseam. It gives the listener something to sing in the car, shower or karaoke bar and cuts down on the amount of lyrics you'll need to write for the hook. See: Halo, Halo, Halo... My-my-my Poker Face... or any song written after Umbrella (ella, ella).
2b - If you're stuck for a title, try using one that's already been done (like Nelly Furtado's/Hall & Oates' "Maneater", Beyonce's/Eurythmics' "Sweet Dreams", Kelly Clarkson's/The Eagles' "Already Gone", Katy Perry's/Jill Sobule's "I Kissed A Girl" or something just different enough no one catches it. See: Jordin Sparks' Benatar-inspired "Battlefield"). It's ok... no one will remember the old song especially if its before 2008. I don't think anyone's touched "Hey Jude!" yet. Have at it, Rob Thomas!
3 - Now that you have a beat and a title, you're 75% done! Wasn't that easy? Time to put together your verses. For your verse melody, make sure you only use 1-3 notes total. You can use them in any order but no more than 3 and no less than 1. If you happen to sing an extraneous scale tone, you can fix it later with AutoTune. Once you have a melody sketched out, it's time to tackle your verse lyric. Lyrically, your verses should be about love regardless of your title but first things first: point your internet browser to www.rhymezone.com (Bookmark it to save time later!). Extra points for using words that are related to the title but don't really make sense. If you run out of word ideas, try a simple whoa-oh, hey or yeah to fill in space. Be mindful of current language trends. For example, use "shorty" for "girl" wherever possible.
I've started a verse below for you to give you an idea of a hit song verse! No stealing! LOL
"If we're in a Civil War, then you are Grant and I am Lee.
One day Ima make you surrender to me.
You are gray and shorty, I'm blue
Whoa-oh, Hey, yeah, like that, Ima do you"
See? It's simple!
4 - Onto the bridge... A bridge is only necessary if you think your song is too short after chorus 2. If you decide to write a bridge, be patient. A well-formed bridge can take up to 5 minutes to write! If you opt out of a bridge section, try repetitive nonsense syllables or ask a friend to rap for 16 bars.
5 - The homestretch... For chorus 3, make sure a portion of it is broken down. It doesn't make sense after 2 minutes and 15 seconds of beat-driven songcraft to continue doing the same thing. Your listener needs a break and breakdown third choruses are ALWAYS unexpected! Once the song kicks back in, double your chorus but this time the singer should ad lib on top of the 40 vocals that are already there. To end the song, try a fade out, stopping the music and letting the singer sing the title a capella (note: use delay!) or for an artsy-flair, try repeating one or two lines from verse 1. Be careful though. This technique could push your song over 3 minutes or worse yet, confuse your listener who may think the song is starting over.
6 - Now that you have a hit song make sure you bounce it down to an mp3. Mp3's make music easier to steal so more people can hear it and their inferior sound quality masks any mistakes that would otherwise be noticed on CD. Upload it online and email it to friends with the subject "My hot new track!!!" then sit back. Artists LOVE hit songs. Like fruit flies to red wine, they will swarm your song and you'll be choosing among the biggest artists in the world to cut it!
What do you do now? Well, its only noon... Write a few more hit songs today!
Good luck songwriters! Please check out my other columns "How to Saw A Woman in Half Safely", "How to Hit a Homerun - EVERY AT BAT!" and "Why Nixon's Southern Strategy Started a Demographic Divide That Ultimately Led to the Election of George W. Bush (Which In Turn Cleared the Way for the Election of Barack H. Obama)".
- Ko$ha
Today's music landscape is really hard to navigate without the proper knowledge and tools. The advent of home recording, the ease of internet distribution and the fact that the industry hasn't fully figured out how to make consumers buy music again has lead to a low point in popular music. With such limited money to be made, you should only focus on writing hits. Hopefully, this column will give you some pointers on how to write a surefire hit song. It's not as hard as you think. In fact, it happens everyday!
Are you ready to write a hit???
1 - Start off with a simple drum beat. 74-88bpm usually works great. If you HAVE to go faster (or you're using Logic), make sure it's "four on the floor". For drum sounds, try an 808. Not the ACTUAL drum machine. Just do a Google search for "808 samples" and click on the first result (Note: If you're more of a Bing person, click on the 3rd result). Once you have a 4 bar pattern you like simply copy/paste until the 3 minute mark. Its ok if it goes over or under a little bit, but you're not doing yourself any favors. Add a simple piano or synth line for harmony center and whatever you do, don't bring in the synth bass until the chorus!
1b - If you can't think of a beat on your own, try using the chorus of an old 80's or 90's song you like and changing all or most of the words. Voila! Something new and fresh that no one has ever heard. Don't worry about potential law suits... do what songwriters do and let lawyers do what they do. Besides, the sampled artist will thank you once they start receiving requests for State Fair performances, YouTube video cameos and an ironic MTV VMA appearance.
2 - For your title think of a word or phrase that has a syllable that can be repeated ad nauseam. It gives the listener something to sing in the car, shower or karaoke bar and cuts down on the amount of lyrics you'll need to write for the hook. See: Halo, Halo, Halo... My-my-my Poker Face... or any song written after Umbrella (ella, ella).
2b - If you're stuck for a title, try using one that's already been done (like Nelly Furtado's/Hall & Oates' "Maneater", Beyonce's/Eurythmics' "Sweet Dreams", Kelly Clarkson's/The Eagles' "Already Gone", Katy Perry's/Jill Sobule's "I Kissed A Girl" or something just different enough no one catches it. See: Jordin Sparks' Benatar-inspired "Battlefield"). It's ok... no one will remember the old song especially if its before 2008. I don't think anyone's touched "Hey Jude!" yet. Have at it, Rob Thomas!
3 - Now that you have a beat and a title, you're 75% done! Wasn't that easy? Time to put together your verses. For your verse melody, make sure you only use 1-3 notes total. You can use them in any order but no more than 3 and no less than 1. If you happen to sing an extraneous scale tone, you can fix it later with AutoTune. Once you have a melody sketched out, it's time to tackle your verse lyric. Lyrically, your verses should be about love regardless of your title but first things first: point your internet browser to www.rhymezone.com (Bookmark it to save time later!). Extra points for using words that are related to the title but don't really make sense. If you run out of word ideas, try a simple whoa-oh, hey or yeah to fill in space. Be mindful of current language trends. For example, use "shorty" for "girl" wherever possible.
I've started a verse below for you to give you an idea of a hit song verse! No stealing! LOL
"If we're in a Civil War, then you are Grant and I am Lee.
One day Ima make you surrender to me.
You are gray and shorty, I'm blue
Whoa-oh, Hey, yeah, like that, Ima do you"
See? It's simple!
4 - Onto the bridge... A bridge is only necessary if you think your song is too short after chorus 2. If you decide to write a bridge, be patient. A well-formed bridge can take up to 5 minutes to write! If you opt out of a bridge section, try repetitive nonsense syllables or ask a friend to rap for 16 bars.
5 - The homestretch... For chorus 3, make sure a portion of it is broken down. It doesn't make sense after 2 minutes and 15 seconds of beat-driven songcraft to continue doing the same thing. Your listener needs a break and breakdown third choruses are ALWAYS unexpected! Once the song kicks back in, double your chorus but this time the singer should ad lib on top of the 40 vocals that are already there. To end the song, try a fade out, stopping the music and letting the singer sing the title a capella (note: use delay!) or for an artsy-flair, try repeating one or two lines from verse 1. Be careful though. This technique could push your song over 3 minutes or worse yet, confuse your listener who may think the song is starting over.
6 - Now that you have a hit song make sure you bounce it down to an mp3. Mp3's make music easier to steal so more people can hear it and their inferior sound quality masks any mistakes that would otherwise be noticed on CD. Upload it online and email it to friends with the subject "My hot new track!!!" then sit back. Artists LOVE hit songs. Like fruit flies to red wine, they will swarm your song and you'll be choosing among the biggest artists in the world to cut it!
What do you do now? Well, its only noon... Write a few more hit songs today!
Good luck songwriters! Please check out my other columns "How to Saw A Woman in Half Safely", "How to Hit a Homerun - EVERY AT BAT!" and "Why Nixon's Southern Strategy Started a Demographic Divide That Ultimately Led to the Election of George W. Bush (Which In Turn Cleared the Way for the Election of Barack H. Obama)".
- Ko$ha
Saturday, July 4, 2009
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to The Improv
A Funny Thing Happened On The Way to The Improv
I was invited and put on the guest list for the Hollywood Improv by my friend Roberto who was scheduled to do a set there tonight. I wasn't really in the mood for comedy but I wanted to support him and I've been wanting to see his set.
I took my seat in the crowd of about 125-150 people approximately 20 feet from the stage and ordered the first of my two drink minimum. However, Roberto didn't get to perform tonight. The host came out and did some warm up jokes and then warned against using any recording equipment including cell phones during the show. Then he announced, "Ladies and gentleman, we have a special guest tonight. Please welcome to the Improv stage.... Dave Chappelle!"
I had heard of Chappelle doing surprise long rambling sets in NYC and LA and that his set was very raw and not "stand up". While other celebrity comedians who show up unannounced at clubs hope to try out and refine new material in front of a smaller crowd, I had heard that Chappelle's sets were more off the cuff, conversational and unprepared.
Indeed, his set started off slow. He was speaking quietly and made some funny comments but his timing was awkward. Any other no name comedian probably wouldn't have gotten the laughs he got, but we were all excited and caught off guard at his appearance so we were more inclined to laugh. He was equal parts carefree entertainer and paranoid genius. He made veiled comments about his bad experiences after the Comedy Central show and a couple of not-so-subtle jabs at Charlie Murphy and Chris Rock . He told the crowd that we didn't want to know the truth he knows about how the world works and how his whole perspective changed once he saw how the rich truly controlled everything. There were moments of awkward silence but there seemed to be an underlying truth to a lot of what he was saying. After a bit, he asked the crowd for things to talk about and then completely unprepared talked about the suggestions - everything from Sarah Palin to traveling the world to what he's been doing and what he has planned for his career. (He hadn't heard that Palin resigned as Governor today but made a wise observation about how "they will make her the right-wing Oprah... just watch.")
About 2 and half hours into his set, things got interesting when a young African-American comedian named Reggie who had just done a set at a bingo hall down the street (no joke) kept talking to Dave from the stage - offering to open for him on tour, asking to be an intern, etc. Finally, after checking with the crowd and club, Dave invited Reggie up on stage to do some jokes while he sat at the stage piano and listened. Reggie was visibly nervous but confidently launched into a joke about radio advertisements. Certainly not innovative, but impressive for his bravery and drive. Dave bluntly, but kindly, critiqued his joke. Chappelle really played well off of the kid's energy, offering some pointers then thanked the kid for inspiring him with his enthusiasm for the craft of stand up. Reggie told a few more jokes and Chappelle was gracious and mentoring. It was an amazing moment and made me think this is what Dave needs to be doing, using his experience to help up and coming comedians. Trust me, it would make intriguing reality TV.
At one point just after the 3 hour mark, Chappelle made a comment that was funny because it was very true. He said "You all are still here for the same reason I'm still here: We're both just waiting for some REALLY funny shit to happen,". Sure enough, his, and our wish, was granted when the club manager handed Dave a note that read "4 TMZ papparazzi out front". Dave went on a rant about TMZ but then had an idea... He found a look-alike in the crowd, gave him a hoodie, sunglasses and a fake girlfriend and spent 45 minutes staging a way to fool the photographers waiting outside. It was genius. He gave random audience members lines to say like "You still got it, Dave!", showed his stunt double how to walk and what to say and asked him to get in his car once the driver pulled it around. He said if this ended up on TMZ's website or TV show it would be hilarious and then filmed a video with his iPhone for his wife just in case it did air. He started off, "Baby, this is not me. I'm trying to fool TMZ." It was a very real and endearing gesture. The whole crowd was in on the stunt and once the host said goodnight we all cheered and walked out the door with Dave's doppelganger. It seemed to kind of work while Dave signed some things then snuck out the back door of the venue.
It was fascinating to see someone who has reached such celebrity sincerely want to connect at a more direct level with real people. After seeing Dave Chappelle tonight, I'm convinced he will make a comeback someday. However, it won't be as a stand up comedian or a sketch artist. I think he has more to offer at this stage in his life and career. I was privileged to see a little bit of that up close tonight.
I was invited and put on the guest list for the Hollywood Improv by my friend Roberto who was scheduled to do a set there tonight. I wasn't really in the mood for comedy but I wanted to support him and I've been wanting to see his set.
I took my seat in the crowd of about 125-150 people approximately 20 feet from the stage and ordered the first of my two drink minimum. However, Roberto didn't get to perform tonight. The host came out and did some warm up jokes and then warned against using any recording equipment including cell phones during the show. Then he announced, "Ladies and gentleman, we have a special guest tonight. Please welcome to the Improv stage.... Dave Chappelle!"
I had heard of Chappelle doing surprise long rambling sets in NYC and LA and that his set was very raw and not "stand up". While other celebrity comedians who show up unannounced at clubs hope to try out and refine new material in front of a smaller crowd, I had heard that Chappelle's sets were more off the cuff, conversational and unprepared.
Indeed, his set started off slow. He was speaking quietly and made some funny comments but his timing was awkward. Any other no name comedian probably wouldn't have gotten the laughs he got, but we were all excited and caught off guard at his appearance so we were more inclined to laugh. He was equal parts carefree entertainer and paranoid genius. He made veiled comments about his bad experiences after the Comedy Central show and a couple of not-so-subtle jabs at Charlie Murphy and Chris Rock . He told the crowd that we didn't want to know the truth he knows about how the world works and how his whole perspective changed once he saw how the rich truly controlled everything. There were moments of awkward silence but there seemed to be an underlying truth to a lot of what he was saying. After a bit, he asked the crowd for things to talk about and then completely unprepared talked about the suggestions - everything from Sarah Palin to traveling the world to what he's been doing and what he has planned for his career. (He hadn't heard that Palin resigned as Governor today but made a wise observation about how "they will make her the right-wing Oprah... just watch.")
About 2 and half hours into his set, things got interesting when a young African-American comedian named Reggie who had just done a set at a bingo hall down the street (no joke) kept talking to Dave from the stage - offering to open for him on tour, asking to be an intern, etc. Finally, after checking with the crowd and club, Dave invited Reggie up on stage to do some jokes while he sat at the stage piano and listened. Reggie was visibly nervous but confidently launched into a joke about radio advertisements. Certainly not innovative, but impressive for his bravery and drive. Dave bluntly, but kindly, critiqued his joke. Chappelle really played well off of the kid's energy, offering some pointers then thanked the kid for inspiring him with his enthusiasm for the craft of stand up. Reggie told a few more jokes and Chappelle was gracious and mentoring. It was an amazing moment and made me think this is what Dave needs to be doing, using his experience to help up and coming comedians. Trust me, it would make intriguing reality TV.
At one point just after the 3 hour mark, Chappelle made a comment that was funny because it was very true. He said "You all are still here for the same reason I'm still here: We're both just waiting for some REALLY funny shit to happen,". Sure enough, his, and our wish, was granted when the club manager handed Dave a note that read "4 TMZ papparazzi out front". Dave went on a rant about TMZ but then had an idea... He found a look-alike in the crowd, gave him a hoodie, sunglasses and a fake girlfriend and spent 45 minutes staging a way to fool the photographers waiting outside. It was genius. He gave random audience members lines to say like "You still got it, Dave!", showed his stunt double how to walk and what to say and asked him to get in his car once the driver pulled it around. He said if this ended up on TMZ's website or TV show it would be hilarious and then filmed a video with his iPhone for his wife just in case it did air. He started off, "Baby, this is not me. I'm trying to fool TMZ." It was a very real and endearing gesture. The whole crowd was in on the stunt and once the host said goodnight we all cheered and walked out the door with Dave's doppelganger. It seemed to kind of work while Dave signed some things then snuck out the back door of the venue.
It was fascinating to see someone who has reached such celebrity sincerely want to connect at a more direct level with real people. After seeing Dave Chappelle tonight, I'm convinced he will make a comeback someday. However, it won't be as a stand up comedian or a sketch artist. I think he has more to offer at this stage in his life and career. I was privileged to see a little bit of that up close tonight.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The Difference Between West Hollywood and West Virginia: No. 112
When selling you cable in WV, the Time Warner rep's sales pitch is "You get over 200 channels including ESPN, ESPN 2 and ESPN NEWS!". In West Hollywood, the sale's pitch is, "you get over 200 channels including Logo!".
Sunday, May 3, 2009
12
A couple of years ago, I posted a blog about my dad, Mike Simons, who passed away May 3rd, 1997 at the age of 49. I add or change a few things each year since and repost. Since I posted it originally I've gotten so many great messages and stories from you. Some of you commented as sympathetic readers and others responded with your own stories of loss. Either way, I post this blog again because this date is a big part of who I am and the music I write.
Thank you for reading and thank you for continuing to listen to my music.
s
---------------------------------
Twelve years ago today my whole life changed...
My father, Mike Simons, passed away unexpectedly at the age of 49 from complications after a bone marrow transplant. He had a blood condition called Aplastic Anemia but he was supposed to pull through. He had the best doctors at Johns Hopkins and a perfect match bone marrow donor, my aunt Eileen, his sister. In fact, the day he passed away he was technically cured but while his immune system was compromised from the transplant he contracted pneumonia.
I'm not sure losing someone ever gets easier, you just learn where to put it in your heart and mind so you can go on with your life each day. However, this year has been particularly tough for me because of my move to LA, my first solo release as an artist and my career as a songwriter starting to take shape a little bit. My dad was the one who encouraged me to major in music composition in college when I was in 9th grade setting me on this path. He also spent 9 months in LA trying to make it as an actor in his early 20's but after 2 extras jobs and no money, he returned back to West Virginia to get into local TV and radio. When I was 19, a year before he passed away, my dad took me on his NBC affiliate's meeting in LA for my first trip out west. NBC put us up in the Beverly Hills Hilton and we met TV stars, watched upcoming pilots for the fall season and got to bond. I never thought I'd ever live here, NYC seemed more likely, but now that I do I have a million questions for my father I'll never get to ask. Aside from my dad's amazing wit and sense of humor, his strongest trait was probably his ability to listen, give advice and make big deals seem less big.
My dad continues to be the biggest influence on my life and my music. I have so many great memories of my father and a lot of them revolve around music. In hindsight, I feel like my dad was training and preparing me for what I do now my entire childhood. He wasn't a professional musician. He was actually a weatherman, and a damn good one too. Not a metereologist, mind you. He didn't know much about the weather, but he prided himself on being able to talk off the cuff without saying 'uh...' and being the personality and face of the station. Although, he was born and raised in Philadelphia, a lot of people knew and loved Mike Simons in the state of West Virginia. I still get stopped and told stories I never knew about my dad or how he touched someone's life.
My dad would work 9-5 everyday making commercials and imaging for the TV station or then do a 530pm and a 6pm newscast. He'd come home for dinner with his stage makeup on and we'd have dinner and then hed go downstairs and take a nap somehow sleeping while blasting either La Boheme, his favorite opera, or Simon & Garfunkel Reunion Live in Central Park. Then hed wake up at 10:15pm and go back to the station for his 11pm newscast and be home again by midnight. On the weekends, he had appearances for the station or charities. He loved his work but somehow I don't remember him missing anything important of mine - performances, soccer games, pictures before school dances, etc.
Before he was a weatherman, he was a radio DJ and I still have a ton of his vinyl. He also acted in and directed community musical theatre and was the best in the area. In high school, he was a very good clarinetist and when it was my turn to be in the school band in 5th grade, I unknowingly signed up for a life of testosterone-fueled hazing and chose to play the clarinet just like my dad. I remember the night I first rented my plastic Bundy from Bandland and my "Best in Class Book One" vividly. My dad setup up two chairs and a music stand in the living room. First, he showed me the delicate way to put together a clarinet. ('You have to hold down this key up here so the bridge key doesnt get bent when you twist...'). After the assembly lesson, we went thru the first few notes in the book starting with 'open G' - me on my shiny plastic rental clarinet and my dad on his worn and dull wooden professional model clarinet. I showed up to school on the first day of band already ahead of my class. When I turned 15, I was first chair clarinet and my dad finally gave me his wooden clarinet - the Selmer 9-star with the wide barrel just like Benny Goodman, one of my dad's idols.
I remember in 6th grade telling my Dad about the teasing I was getting for having picked clarinet as my instrument. Kids would snicker "Isn't that a GIRL'S instrument?". So my Dad gave me a piece of advice. The next time anyone asked if clarinet was a "girl's instrument", since most famous clarinet players are male - Benny Goodman, Woody Herman, Artie Shaw (I know, I was a dorky kid) - I should reply, "If the clarinet's a 'GIRL's instrument' then name one famous GIRL clarinet player...". For the next few weeks, I boarded the afterschool bus armed with my pointed response. I couldn't wait to defend myself. The first kid to say something would be reduced to tears, not with fists, but with my crushing retort. In line for the bus there was one soccer kid, Todd, who had a spikey mullet and seemed to always wear shin guards even on non-game days. Todd looked at my plastic black clarinet case and asked THE question as if he were the first to ever pose it. I shot back quickly with "WELL... If clarinet's such a 'GIRL's instrument' then name one famous girl clarinet player..." and waited for him to run away crying. After thinking for a brief moment, Todd said, "Scott. I can't even name AAAA famous clarinet player," and (probably) high-fived some other soccer player and laughed his way onto the bus. Thanks, Dad for the advice, but most father's don't instill the lineage of big band clarinet players into their 6th grade sons... but I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm glad you did... and I still hate shin guards.
Another great memory of mine is being in elementary school riding in the passenger seat of my dads car and listening to him sing an impromptu harmony with the song on the radio. It was a motown tune but I can't remember which one and I asked him 'How do I know what notes to sing for harmony?' and he answered, 'Just sing a third above or below the melody and that usually works. You'll have to change a few notes here and there to fit the key.'. I didn't even know what a third was but I could hear what he meant and it made perfect sense. That piece of information was way more valuable and simple than anything my college professors (that I'm STILL paying for) taught me.
In 8th grade my dad saved my career. I was REALLY into Young MC and MC Hammer and yes, even Vanilla Ice. I was in the back seat on the way home from a vacation with my parents and my dad had recently re-purchased his two favorite albums on cassette - 'Revolver' and 'Sgt. Pepper's'. We listened and sang along a million times to both tapes that trip and when we got home he handed me the two cassettes and said 'Learn these.'. I did. I learned every song on my 47-key yamaha my parents just bought me. That started my obsession with the Beatles and I began to sift through my dads Beatles vinyl, cassettes, magazines, pictures, videos, etc. He told me stories of when he saw them twice - once in Philly and once in Atlantic City - while I watched the famous Shea Stadium concert on video being drowned out by shrill teenage screams. He told me about skipping school to buy the new Beatles record and he and his friends would sit and listen to it on repeat all day and night. And when the rest of the world thought that Beatles 'got weird', my dad thought they got even better.
When I was in high school, my dad let me write the 22 second WBOY news theme and even credited me at the end of every news cast. Any sample cassettes he received in the mail of national news and jingle packages he would hand off to me for me to listen and learn to what was out there so I could one day have the option of doing jingles. So while my friends were listening to 'In Utero' and 'Siamese Dream', I was probably in my room listening to 'Intense News Sequence 2'. Ultimately I chose pop songwriting as a career, but because of the experience he gave me I am able to pick up a few free lance gigs a year writing commercial music.
Even though I wrote a lot growing up, my dad never heard most of my pop songs. He died before the Argument formed and before I graduated with my composition degree. He did hear a few less-than-stellar cover gigs and even booked my first gig for me at age 15, new year's eve at his friend's restaurant in Clarksburg (see earlier blog: "My First Band"). He also helped me with some lyrics on songs I was starting to write for myself at 19. However because of him, not only was I prepared to make music my life but I chose to. My dad's passing away keeps me grounded. It reminds me why I do this through the ups and the downs with no promise, just the hope of success. My dad gave me so much knowledge and taught me how to be passionate about music and it'd be a shame to let that go to waste.
This blog is only a fraction of my memory of my dad. Somehow, I ended up with so much more than 20 years of memories, but these are the "music" ones. I could go on and on about his sense of humor and wit, his creativity, his passion for family, his love for film and tv but I'd fill the entire internet.
Losing my best friend, my idol, my father was the hardest thing I've ever been through in my life. Its so personal but also universal because everyone loses someone in their life and is left with a huge hole and only tiny memories to fill it. Thanks for reading a few of my tiny memories.
s
Here is the song, "Foot of the Stairs", I wrote about my dad that is on my EP: http://blip.fm/~5fncz
Thank you for reading and thank you for continuing to listen to my music.
s
---------------------------------
Twelve years ago today my whole life changed...
My father, Mike Simons, passed away unexpectedly at the age of 49 from complications after a bone marrow transplant. He had a blood condition called Aplastic Anemia but he was supposed to pull through. He had the best doctors at Johns Hopkins and a perfect match bone marrow donor, my aunt Eileen, his sister. In fact, the day he passed away he was technically cured but while his immune system was compromised from the transplant he contracted pneumonia.
I'm not sure losing someone ever gets easier, you just learn where to put it in your heart and mind so you can go on with your life each day. However, this year has been particularly tough for me because of my move to LA, my first solo release as an artist and my career as a songwriter starting to take shape a little bit. My dad was the one who encouraged me to major in music composition in college when I was in 9th grade setting me on this path. He also spent 9 months in LA trying to make it as an actor in his early 20's but after 2 extras jobs and no money, he returned back to West Virginia to get into local TV and radio. When I was 19, a year before he passed away, my dad took me on his NBC affiliate's meeting in LA for my first trip out west. NBC put us up in the Beverly Hills Hilton and we met TV stars, watched upcoming pilots for the fall season and got to bond. I never thought I'd ever live here, NYC seemed more likely, but now that I do I have a million questions for my father I'll never get to ask. Aside from my dad's amazing wit and sense of humor, his strongest trait was probably his ability to listen, give advice and make big deals seem less big.
My dad continues to be the biggest influence on my life and my music. I have so many great memories of my father and a lot of them revolve around music. In hindsight, I feel like my dad was training and preparing me for what I do now my entire childhood. He wasn't a professional musician. He was actually a weatherman, and a damn good one too. Not a metereologist, mind you. He didn't know much about the weather, but he prided himself on being able to talk off the cuff without saying 'uh...' and being the personality and face of the station. Although, he was born and raised in Philadelphia, a lot of people knew and loved Mike Simons in the state of West Virginia. I still get stopped and told stories I never knew about my dad or how he touched someone's life.
My dad would work 9-5 everyday making commercials and imaging for the TV station or then do a 530pm and a 6pm newscast. He'd come home for dinner with his stage makeup on and we'd have dinner and then hed go downstairs and take a nap somehow sleeping while blasting either La Boheme, his favorite opera, or Simon & Garfunkel Reunion Live in Central Park. Then hed wake up at 10:15pm and go back to the station for his 11pm newscast and be home again by midnight. On the weekends, he had appearances for the station or charities. He loved his work but somehow I don't remember him missing anything important of mine - performances, soccer games, pictures before school dances, etc.
Before he was a weatherman, he was a radio DJ and I still have a ton of his vinyl. He also acted in and directed community musical theatre and was the best in the area. In high school, he was a very good clarinetist and when it was my turn to be in the school band in 5th grade, I unknowingly signed up for a life of testosterone-fueled hazing and chose to play the clarinet just like my dad. I remember the night I first rented my plastic Bundy from Bandland and my "Best in Class Book One" vividly. My dad setup up two chairs and a music stand in the living room. First, he showed me the delicate way to put together a clarinet. ('You have to hold down this key up here so the bridge key doesnt get bent when you twist...'). After the assembly lesson, we went thru the first few notes in the book starting with 'open G' - me on my shiny plastic rental clarinet and my dad on his worn and dull wooden professional model clarinet. I showed up to school on the first day of band already ahead of my class. When I turned 15, I was first chair clarinet and my dad finally gave me his wooden clarinet - the Selmer 9-star with the wide barrel just like Benny Goodman, one of my dad's idols.
I remember in 6th grade telling my Dad about the teasing I was getting for having picked clarinet as my instrument. Kids would snicker "Isn't that a GIRL'S instrument?". So my Dad gave me a piece of advice. The next time anyone asked if clarinet was a "girl's instrument", since most famous clarinet players are male - Benny Goodman, Woody Herman, Artie Shaw (I know, I was a dorky kid) - I should reply, "If the clarinet's a 'GIRL's instrument' then name one famous GIRL clarinet player...". For the next few weeks, I boarded the afterschool bus armed with my pointed response. I couldn't wait to defend myself. The first kid to say something would be reduced to tears, not with fists, but with my crushing retort. In line for the bus there was one soccer kid, Todd, who had a spikey mullet and seemed to always wear shin guards even on non-game days. Todd looked at my plastic black clarinet case and asked THE question as if he were the first to ever pose it. I shot back quickly with "WELL... If clarinet's such a 'GIRL's instrument' then name one famous girl clarinet player..." and waited for him to run away crying. After thinking for a brief moment, Todd said, "Scott. I can't even name AAAA famous clarinet player," and (probably) high-fived some other soccer player and laughed his way onto the bus. Thanks, Dad for the advice, but most father's don't instill the lineage of big band clarinet players into their 6th grade sons... but I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm glad you did... and I still hate shin guards.
Another great memory of mine is being in elementary school riding in the passenger seat of my dads car and listening to him sing an impromptu harmony with the song on the radio. It was a motown tune but I can't remember which one and I asked him 'How do I know what notes to sing for harmony?' and he answered, 'Just sing a third above or below the melody and that usually works. You'll have to change a few notes here and there to fit the key.'. I didn't even know what a third was but I could hear what he meant and it made perfect sense. That piece of information was way more valuable and simple than anything my college professors (that I'm STILL paying for) taught me.
In 8th grade my dad saved my career. I was REALLY into Young MC and MC Hammer and yes, even Vanilla Ice. I was in the back seat on the way home from a vacation with my parents and my dad had recently re-purchased his two favorite albums on cassette - 'Revolver' and 'Sgt. Pepper's'. We listened and sang along a million times to both tapes that trip and when we got home he handed me the two cassettes and said 'Learn these.'. I did. I learned every song on my 47-key yamaha my parents just bought me. That started my obsession with the Beatles and I began to sift through my dads Beatles vinyl, cassettes, magazines, pictures, videos, etc. He told me stories of when he saw them twice - once in Philly and once in Atlantic City - while I watched the famous Shea Stadium concert on video being drowned out by shrill teenage screams. He told me about skipping school to buy the new Beatles record and he and his friends would sit and listen to it on repeat all day and night. And when the rest of the world thought that Beatles 'got weird', my dad thought they got even better.
When I was in high school, my dad let me write the 22 second WBOY news theme and even credited me at the end of every news cast. Any sample cassettes he received in the mail of national news and jingle packages he would hand off to me for me to listen and learn to what was out there so I could one day have the option of doing jingles. So while my friends were listening to 'In Utero' and 'Siamese Dream', I was probably in my room listening to 'Intense News Sequence 2'. Ultimately I chose pop songwriting as a career, but because of the experience he gave me I am able to pick up a few free lance gigs a year writing commercial music.
Even though I wrote a lot growing up, my dad never heard most of my pop songs. He died before the Argument formed and before I graduated with my composition degree. He did hear a few less-than-stellar cover gigs and even booked my first gig for me at age 15, new year's eve at his friend's restaurant in Clarksburg (see earlier blog: "My First Band"). He also helped me with some lyrics on songs I was starting to write for myself at 19. However because of him, not only was I prepared to make music my life but I chose to. My dad's passing away keeps me grounded. It reminds me why I do this through the ups and the downs with no promise, just the hope of success. My dad gave me so much knowledge and taught me how to be passionate about music and it'd be a shame to let that go to waste.
This blog is only a fraction of my memory of my dad. Somehow, I ended up with so much more than 20 years of memories, but these are the "music" ones. I could go on and on about his sense of humor and wit, his creativity, his passion for family, his love for film and tv but I'd fill the entire internet.
Losing my best friend, my idol, my father was the hardest thing I've ever been through in my life. Its so personal but also universal because everyone loses someone in their life and is left with a huge hole and only tiny memories to fill it. Thanks for reading a few of my tiny memories.
s
Here is the song, "Foot of the Stairs", I wrote about my dad that is on my EP: http://blip.fm/~5fncz
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Here I Come To Ruin The Day
I was in bed by 1230am after my gig, a relatively early time due to the fact that I just traveled back to LA and my body is still on east coast time. I read some blogs online and right before I flipped off my reading light a tiny spider crawled across my pillow and onto my hand. My jerking reaction flipped the spider onto my laptop. He then sprinted towards the edge of my bed where I ended his life with a size 10 1/2 left-footed Nike. Despite the chills on my arm, I was so tired I was able to talk myself into attempting to sleep. I turned off the remaining light and Cheddar, my almost 11 year old orange and white cat, jumped up on the bed, then slowly crawled onto my chest for a kiss-for-pets trade. He laid there on my chest purring until all of the sudden he sprang off the bed. I heard him in the pitch dark running frantically around my room, his claws lightly scratching the hardwood floor. I dismissed it at first as a burst of playful energy after a day of deep naps. After another minute, he didn't settle so I turned my reading light back on and caught the glimpse of a silhouette scurry along the wall. Cheddar alternately jumped up on the bed and down to the floor several times in lion-mode, pupils wide open, obviously trying to corner some sort of prey.
I left the room to grab my flyswatter I bought when I moved in, but had yet to use. I planned on killing the previous spider's spouse or worse yet, a curious roach. By now Cheddar was shoving his nose behind my night table so I assumed the role of his sidekick and shifted the table out from the wall for him. The silhouette scurried back under the bed.
"That's a little bigger than a roach... What the fuck is that?", I thought.
As I stood in a Barry Bonds stance, I gently pulled the bed out from the wall. And Cheddar pounced! Twisting, spinning and batting, he lead a klutzy assault against a scared shitless grey mouse which then jumped onto the side of my mattress clinging for dear life like a rock climber. It was then I did what any self-respecting grown man would do...
"CLAAAYYYY!", I called to my Craigs List-found roommate. "THERE'S A FUCKING MOUSE IN MY FUCKING ROOM! ...OR A RAT!".
Clay, shirtlessly sprang from his desk chair and asked "A mouse or a RAT?".
"A mouse and/or a rat..."
"Well, if its just a mouse, then you don't need to worry. How big was it?".
I showed the length of the mouserat with my index fingers, almost exactly the size of the catnip-stuffed practice mouse I bought Cheddar a few months ago. While the words "just a mouse" incredulously tumbled around my head, Cheddar was chaotically cornering and scheming and stalking Mickey, ducking under the bed then back on top for a higher vantage point. I grabbed a box from the living room and handed it to Clay, then stood outside the room with a full grip on my useless flyswatter. Clay identified the silhouette as "definitely just a mouse" and informed me how much more scared the mouse was of me than I was of it, as if he were some sort of rodent mind reader.
"Well, whatever it is, can you get it out of my bedroom?".
Clay tactfully forced the mouse behind my night table again and then asked me to lift it up.
No mouse.
"Check the drawers," Clay suggested. No Mouse.
"Remove your pillows and comforters,". Flashlight under the bed, quick check of the closets, back to the night table.
Mouseless.
I thought I saw Cheddar smack his forehead, like a TV police chief might when his small town deputies lose a criminal in an alleyway foot chase. Clay guessed that Jerry found a small hole in the wall, maybe his initial entrance point, and made his escape, a theory that would make total sense if there were any fucking holes in my wall.
Clay went back to his room and said, "Yell for me if you see him again".
"Oh I will..."
Cheddar continued to search for his lost chance to redeem some feline dignity that has slowly been stripped over 11 years of domestication. Knowing I wouldn't likely be able to fall asleep tonight, at least not in my room with David Copperfieldmouse, I began dusting, sweeping and cleaning my room. I figured should our visitor come back, maybe he'd be so impressed with his tidied up surroundings, I could catch him off guard, scoop him in the box and put him back outdoors.
So now its 245am. My room is neat, my cat is freaked, my skin is itchy and I'm still awake and completely unfazed by the dead roach I found lying on its back beneath my speakers.
dick.
I left the room to grab my flyswatter I bought when I moved in, but had yet to use. I planned on killing the previous spider's spouse or worse yet, a curious roach. By now Cheddar was shoving his nose behind my night table so I assumed the role of his sidekick and shifted the table out from the wall for him. The silhouette scurried back under the bed.
"That's a little bigger than a roach... What the fuck is that?", I thought.
As I stood in a Barry Bonds stance, I gently pulled the bed out from the wall. And Cheddar pounced! Twisting, spinning and batting, he lead a klutzy assault against a scared shitless grey mouse which then jumped onto the side of my mattress clinging for dear life like a rock climber. It was then I did what any self-respecting grown man would do...
"CLAAAYYYY!", I called to my Craigs List-found roommate. "THERE'S A FUCKING MOUSE IN MY FUCKING ROOM! ...OR A RAT!".
Clay, shirtlessly sprang from his desk chair and asked "A mouse or a RAT?".
"A mouse and/or a rat..."
"Well, if its just a mouse, then you don't need to worry. How big was it?".
I showed the length of the mouserat with my index fingers, almost exactly the size of the catnip-stuffed practice mouse I bought Cheddar a few months ago. While the words "just a mouse" incredulously tumbled around my head, Cheddar was chaotically cornering and scheming and stalking Mickey, ducking under the bed then back on top for a higher vantage point. I grabbed a box from the living room and handed it to Clay, then stood outside the room with a full grip on my useless flyswatter. Clay identified the silhouette as "definitely just a mouse" and informed me how much more scared the mouse was of me than I was of it, as if he were some sort of rodent mind reader.
"Well, whatever it is, can you get it out of my bedroom?".
Clay tactfully forced the mouse behind my night table again and then asked me to lift it up.
No mouse.
"Check the drawers," Clay suggested. No Mouse.
"Remove your pillows and comforters,". Flashlight under the bed, quick check of the closets, back to the night table.
Mouseless.
I thought I saw Cheddar smack his forehead, like a TV police chief might when his small town deputies lose a criminal in an alleyway foot chase. Clay guessed that Jerry found a small hole in the wall, maybe his initial entrance point, and made his escape, a theory that would make total sense if there were any fucking holes in my wall.
Clay went back to his room and said, "Yell for me if you see him again".
"Oh I will..."
Cheddar continued to search for his lost chance to redeem some feline dignity that has slowly been stripped over 11 years of domestication. Knowing I wouldn't likely be able to fall asleep tonight, at least not in my room with David Copperfieldmouse, I began dusting, sweeping and cleaning my room. I figured should our visitor come back, maybe he'd be so impressed with his tidied up surroundings, I could catch him off guard, scoop him in the box and put him back outdoors.
So now its 245am. My room is neat, my cat is freaked, my skin is itchy and I'm still awake and completely unfazed by the dead roach I found lying on its back beneath my speakers.
dick.
Friday, February 6, 2009
My First Band
I started playing the piano later than a lot of kids I went to school with. I was really interested in music from a young age because of my dad who was not only a high school clarinet player, but also a community musical theatre director. Other kids were doing private lessons and recitals with printed programs and cookies but I was never drawn to that. When I was in 4th grade, the staff at Bandland music store came to Johnson Elementary and demonstrated each instrument available in band the following year. I chose the clarinet as my instrument, partly to follow in my dad's footsteps and partly because simply growing up Jewish in West Virginia wasn't quite torment enough.
I remember vividly when I started to resent the clarinet. One day after school in 8th grade, I watched Patrick Burnett on the gymnasium stage at Bridgeport Junior High with a swarm of kids, mostly girls, hovering around the piano as he played "Great Balls of Fire". Up to this point, I had merely learned the Clarinet 1 part to "Everybody Have Fun Tonight" by Wang Chung which isn't recognizable with out the rest of the school band. That day I raced home and asked for a keyboard and shortly after, my parents came home with a brand new Yamaha PSR model keyboard with 100 sounds, several beats and built-in speakers. One of the first things I did was to flip on the auto chord function, which allowed users to play one or two notes and the keyboard automatically filled in the rest of the chord. I "wrote" my first song, an instrumental, no lyric or title, with the chord changes: Am-F-G-C to a "16-beat" ad nauseam.
As I got older and more proficient at piano, my dad would challenge me to learn songs. One evening after dinner he may have asked for "Piano Man" and the next night it was "Anything off of Revolver". I'd put on the cassette and stop and start to pick out each note and chord by ear. Then after a short while, he'd check back in to hear me perform the song along with the recording while he stood in the doorway of my bedroom and beamed. In the coming years, if we were at anyone's house with a piano, my dad would beg (read: make) me perform from my repertoire he had steadily crafted with post-dinner requests at home.
Not too long after I turned 15, I joined my first cover band. While other kids at my school joined bedroom or garage bands with people their own age, I joined a band of older, more experienced musicians. There was the attractive singer Cheri, from Liberty High School, who I think was part Native American and loved Southern Rock. There was Ken, the virtuosic Berklee-bound electric guitarist who could play every Yngwie Malmsteen and Eric Johnson lick note for note. There was the leader of the band, the drummer Joey, a Clarksburg veteran musician and Berklee grad, who before returning home to West Virginia served as the backup drummer on Michael Jackson's BAD tour. Lastly, there was 15 year old me: just evolving out of my Young MC/MC Hammer phase into the potent and highly flammable mix of The Beatles, halftime marching band arrangements, showtunes and current Casey Kasem pop/rock. With wrap-behind-the-ear eye glasses, button-up shirts, a meticulously hairsprayed wave of hair and an Ensoniq SQ-2 76-note keyboard, which I split to cover all the keys parts, horn stabs, string pads and left-hand bass lines, I was ready to rock the bars and restaurants of Harrison County underage.
We named ourselves "Generations" and with the help of my dad we booked ourselves a New Year's Eve gig at his friend Tony's restaurant downtown. I can't remember if we ever did any other gigs. I can only remember this particular night and hours of practicing Toto's "Hold The Line", Lynrd Skynrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" and Eric Johnson's "Cliffs of Dover" alongside cover band staples like "Shout" and "What I Like About You" - which is almost always sung by the drummer wearing a headset mic, a tradition Generations did not dare to break. One idea leading up to the gig, was to live up to our name and change outfits each set that represented a different decade. The concept died a quick death when I was reminded that this wasn't "an Art Center production" but rather Clarksburg's finest menu venue fledgling rock band.
In preparation for the December 31st gig, I was told to have Auld Lang Syne sequenced (recorded into the keyboard) ahead of time so that once 1992 gave way to 1993, we could all dance with our significant others - or in my case, my mom. I went the extra mile and made the last chord of my shuffle feel Auld Lang Syne joltingly segue into the ubiquitous dance-hit "The Electric Slide". As the Saint Charles Place restaurant revelers drunkenly counted down from 10, I loaded my keyboard sequence. As soon as I heard the mass "Happy New Year!", I punched the grey "play" button and left the stage to search the sea of balloons and sequined nightgowns for my mom.
Generations didn't last much longer after that gig. When I got to college, I quickly joined a new cover band called "The Inner Groove Collection" - West Virginia's premier 7-piece funk-rock band, which is a whole other story. However, the experience of my first cover band still sticks in my head because it gave me the first taste of the instant gratitude you get from performing live while simultaneously making me aware that keyboard bass always sucks.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
