It's a day I've been both excitedly anticipating and dreading: One Night Band. I was up late last night thinking of song ideas and then quashing them quickly (sue me for trying to be prepared). Actually, I was up late last night wathching The Holy Mountain with Hugh, Jen, Dave, and a bottle of Don Julio. But that is neither here nor there. The point is I'll probably just bring a mandolin to this thing and hope for the best.

Saw bits of the Ted Kennedy memorial last night. It was sad. You could tell everyone who spoke had such a large degree of genuine respect for the guy. I don't think there was much posturing. You don't see that a lot these days. Dude clearly made mistakes in his past, but regardless Teddy deserves the praise he's receiving. Ronald Reagan didn't even do a quarter of the good that Teddy did and old Ronnie's practically a political saint these days; least we could do is honor Ted's service and life.

Word is Oasis may be splitting up for good. Bummer. We'll see how long that lasts.

Friday we did a marathon session at Dan's to record a new tune. Slow going for the first couple of hours, but once we broke for lunch we got our bearings and were able to churn out something pretty special. We're going back in tomorrow to add a few finishing touches, maybe some drums, but we got a lot done on Friday. Was even able to add a slide guitar part to it, which I've been dying to do since we recorded Wouldn't It Be Sweet years ago (bafflingly enough, WIBS is still the song on iTunes that has sold the most for us). It was hotter than hell, though. No AC, and we had to keep the fans off while recording. We were soaked. After a while, the isolation booth reminded me more of a solar oven.

(You're probably wondering what we're doing with all this recording. So are we.)

Patriot Place on Saturday was supremely hot, but I enjoyed doing an outdoor thing. Like I've said before, we don't get very many legitimate excuses to wear sunglasses on stage. Have also been fortunate enough to be meeting so many awesome people. Robyn, who asked us to play, was great and had an excellent knowledge of local music. We were treated very, very well. Funny enough, the way the place is set up, the music bounces off a building in the mall and directly hits some woman's house miles away. We had to turn the amps around to diffuse the sound and not bother this poor woman.

Am simultaneously frightened by and looking forward to One Night Band this Saturday. Should be fun and/or horrible.

Henry

Driving back from Burlington right now. Got hit with monster traffic on the way and unfortunately skarrived over an hour late. Frank, the guy at 242 Main was totally cool skabout it though. It was an all ages show, and there were a ton of high school kids there, including the bands. I wish there were more all ages shows skavailable to us in general. I was 16 once, too.

Rob's camping up here for the weekend, so he just met us at the venue. No doubt he's got a great view of the stars out in the Vermont wilderness.

Don't know how we got through the set without monitors on stage, but we hardly noticed. Strange skafter the fact. It was also humid enough in there to make the devil himself sweat. My guitar's fretboard was essentially a Slip n' Slide. Everyone was hanging skaround outside between sets just to cool off. Everyone skalways came back inside to watch us and the other bands, which is skalways greatly skappreciated miles from home.

I was manning the merch table after our set and some weird old guy kept coming skaround—at least three times—and took a look at the skAloud panties. First I thought he was just giving the merch table the courtesy pass ("I didn't see you play, nor do I have any intention of buying anything, but I will look at your wares, gypsies, because I feel bad.") But he kept returning to leer at the panties. I'm suprised he didn't steal them and make a break for it.

Had dinner skafterward a few blocks down at a place called Ali Baba, recommended by Matt. It was messy, but well worth it (I had the Chicken Curry Pita). We ate in the van, parked outside. There was a homeless guy strumming a guitar. Someone skapproached him and said they'd give him $20 if he could borrow his guitar. Didn't witness the end of that transaction, but I did see Old Panties McGee pass by skagain.

All in all, good times were had. Thanks for coming out everyone.

Henry's phone

You know that page that says "You have reached the end of the internet"? Well, we have reached the end of WBCN. Listened to Bradley Jay, Juanita, and Oedipus spin the records they wanted to spin. Juanita even played a Sinatra tune that was incredibly appropriate. It was sad. It's also maddening. If anyone wants more proof that corporate culture kills art, then there you have it. It's this same idiot mentality that allows the evisceration of funding for music and the arts in schools.

So here lies WBCN, another institution sacrificed at the altar of a few more bucks. Boston needs another sports talk station like McG needs to direct another... anything.

Anyway, I'll end with this.

Boston: you've allowed a part of the city's soul to be taken away. Leslie Moonves: I hope Dan Rather wins his lawsuit, you dick.

Vaya con dios.

Henry

Currently listening to:
Shine On You Crazy Diamond
by Pink Floyd

Hanging out in Fenway with Jen, killing time before the McCartney show. Crossword puzzle giving me trouble, and now that I know I can post from my phone you cannot escape me. I've also ingested way too much coffee for one day, unless you believe all the medical studies that state I'm actually fighting Alzheimer's.

Probably mentioned this before (or not, I have no way of checking), but with this ticket I correct a grave error committed circa 20 years ago. McCartney was on that bigass world tour and my mom, being the responsible adult she is, bought tickets. Concert happened to land on Easter Sunday, which did not please grandma (or so the legend goes), and she convinced me to not go. This part gets murky, because if I were in my mom's shoes I'd go all unilateral action on this bullshit and take me anyway. So it goes.

Anyway, my parents went without me—I think they took my godmother in my stead—and I was rewarded with no memories of that Easter.

Maybe this is why I no longer celebrate it. Either way, one wrong will be righted today.

Now all that's left to do is murder the Easter Bunny.

Seriously, I'm coming for you and your box of Trix, asshole.

Henry's phone