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Death is a funny thing.  No, not physiological death, but "Death," the Tarot card.  Unless you're a studied occultist, you might not grock a positive message from the card's macabre imagery.  But, in fact, it suggests hope and new beginnings from the ashes of loss.  It's a welcome portent.  A blessing.  [Unless the card appears upside down, and then you're properly f**ked.  Sell your stocks.  Update your will.]

Remember my "couture" songwriting notebook? Of course you don't. But trust me when I tell you it was the height of fashion in 2018 - at least, until drop-crotch pants crushed it. F*#king Bieber.

But a lot has been learned since then, and I'm proud to unveil my next-generation songwriting notebook, free to download and share. It's the "mecha" version, with the stain-fighting power of Borax. And a new lemon-fresh scent.

A YouTube video I published a couple years ago generated some unexpected interest in my music production desk. It's a custom build, designed around a vintage Kurzweil MIDIBoard MIDI keyboard controller. Should you wish to build one, I've shared all the gory project details here, with freely downloadable CAD drawings and cut sheets. I hope you find it useful.

In a prior blog post, I proclaimed proudly that my latest scratch-built audio workstation would handle any sort of processing load my musical ambitions could throw at it. High-def 24-bit, 96 kHz audio. Surround sound. Blah, blah, blah. That was a foolish statement.

Is there an upside to writer's block?  Yup.  It's the excuse every songwriter needs to take a nice, long trip.  Call it "research & development" on your taxes. This time, I followed my muse - or, maybe 'kami' - to Honshu, the big island of Japan.

A lot has happened since I graduated from Berklee College of Music in 2016. Among other things, I've worked on my vocal technique, following the teachings of Berklee's Anne Peckham and Jeannie Gagné, and Melissa Cross ("Zen of Screaming"), but still haven't found 'my voice.' That is, I'm not satisfied with the sound of my vocals and am losing confidence. Well, I might be a DIY musician, but vocal technique can't be fixed in a vacuum, so I'm returning to Berklee College of Music for help.

My songwriting trip to London was a comedy of highs and lows.  On the bright side, the home of Big Ben (looking quite anxious this time, sheathed in alabaster Latex), revealed no shortage of musical inspiration.  On the darker side, I contracted microbial vestiges of London's Great Plague (ca. 1665) that literally knocked me off my feet.  Those spendy Harry Potter theater tickets?  Wasted.  [Well, actually, I survived the first act, but another three hours shimmed between fanatic Pooterheads would've challenged my composure on the healthiest of days.]

Next week, I'm heading to London for seven days of songwriting tourism. Okay, that's not a real thing, but it should be. Any tunesmith will tell you, nothing obliterates writer's block like travel - the more exotic, the better. In preparation, I crafted a new songwriting notebook - one that supports my unique workflow. And matches my outfit. Because nothing screams "punk rock" like a couture songwriting notebook. And, more importantly, because nothing screams "suicide risk" like a dog-eared Trapper Keeper in the armpit of a 50-year-old "songwriter." Pick your poison. I choose rock. "Double-goat horns, baby!"

Last year, I produced a clean, respectful TR-909 drum solo to celebrate 909 Day. Well, this time around, we're going crackers. I'm an industrial musician and it's time we got filthy.

Today, I began an entirely new sort of audio recording project, narrating course notes from a road race into what you might call a "virtual rally navigator" audio program. To explain, imagine a traditional audio tour through the Louvre, but in a Lamborghini Diablo, at 110 MPH. "Hairpin left at 'La belle jardinière' in 3, 2, 1...." Buckle up, buttercup.

I really need to stop buying instruments and start playing them. Last week, I came across an orphaned 2012 Fender Deluxe Jazz Bass in a (pop-up) window and thought it inhumane not to give her a good home. So, let's call it an act of charity. I'm selfless that way.

This year, I'm celebrating 909 Day with a quick little drum solo. No bass. No guitar. No vox. Just pure, glorious Roland TR-909 goodness, with a touch of environmental darkness and overdrive. But not too much. After all, we want to honor the venerable 909 without distorting it beyond recognition.