Magic Matthew II & III

Okay, let me explain what this is all about. See, as a kid, my dad's expectations of me greatly surpassed my general comprehension.

In this double-feature episode, 3 year old me is trying to learn the old "bird in the balloon" trick. One of the only magic related things that my dad taught me which stuck was that if anyone ever asks, "How did you do that?!" Your answer must be nothing other than, "Very well." Clever, right?

Anyway, I'm going to break that rule now, but just for you. See here's how the trick works: there's a table with a secret compartment into which you cram a live dove. You tie a balloon to the top of the table. Then, if you're a 3 year old, you fumble around with trying to simultaneously pop the balloon with a fake knife, distract the audience with some kind of witty banter, and pull a hidden lever which releases the dove.

I can't even blow up a balloon.

So this episode illustrates that very disconnect between me and my dad which simultaneously caused every trick to flounder, and every video to take wings and fly away.



DOUBLE FEATURE!

And in this episode, I utter perhaps my greatest catchphrase: "Out With It!"

Treasure Excavation

Electric Lights Everywhere is John Paul Roney's blog. This is a featured blog. You can read more of his writing at johnpaulroney.blogspot.com.

Since moving to Nashville, we've discovered the joys of antique shopping. We first found it because antique items are waaaay cheaper than their modern counterpart at Target. Once we started frequenting antique malls, we started to notice that you could just sense when an item was more loved than another. Maybe it was from its expert construction, or maybe it was seeing that it has been lovingly worn over someone's lifetime. Finding a cool piece of treasure is a gift, but finding a treasure with love in it is a revelation.

In some ways I don't think it's surprising that we were drawn to antiquing, it's exactly how we got into our endless hunt for vintage instruments and equipment. From every tom in Ben's vintage Ludwig Vistalight kit, to Matt's vintage Telecasters, amps, and effects pedals, to my 61 Fender Jazzmaster, inherited from its original owner Hank Anderson; we've already been looking for pieces that were full of love without even consciously knowing it.

Now that we're writing in the studio in the We The Living castle, part of the reason that this time together feels so magical is that we're conjuring our own love and depositing it into the instruments we're using to craft our new album. Even beyond the thought of our friends being able to hear the love we put into the album that will mark this chapter of our lives, it's great to think of future treasure hunters picking up my Jazzmaster and sensing just how important and how loved that piece of treasure was.

Welcome to the Future

Live from 12th and Porter: AVAILABLE SOON

Dude Looks Like a Doggy

Back in the day, people used dogs as much for their function as their companionship. Hunters needed dogs to point, flush, or retrieve game. Shepherds needed dogs to protect and lead the flock. Store owners and shipyards needed dogs to warn of intruders. Aristocrats needed to keep their laps warm.

Companionship between dog and man explains itself. Man sees himself in his dog. The hunter sees the hunter in his dog. The shepherd sees the shepherd in his dog. The aristocrat sees the aristocrat in his dog.

From left to right: Charlie, Benjamin. Bowsers at their finest.

Now, few people use their dogs for their breed (some still do!), but the tradition lingers on. Now, rather than a store owner using a dog to fend off and warn intruders, he finds a dog that looks like him . . . physically. Man still seeks something of himself in his dog, whether it be temperament, personality, origin, or looks.

Magic Matthew I

When I was three years old, my father began filming me attempting magic tricks. I found the tape a few weeks ago and have started to put together a series entitled: Magic Matthew.

Enjoy.

"Parachutes, Music, and Monet"

Electric Lights Everywhere is John Paul Roney's blog. This is a featured blog. You can read more of his writing at johnpaulroney.blogspot.com.

I had heard Coldplay's Yellow, thought it was a decent pop song, put it on a mix tape for my high school girlfriend, slow danced to it in my living room on our three month anniversary (or some other trivial high school relationship anniversary) and had moved on. It was when I was walking in Baraboo's Farm and Fleet (not Fleet Farm, posers) when Trouble came on the Muzak that was playing in the background. I knew right there by the tire department, next to a massive duct tape display that my life was never going to be the same. That second will be burned into my head forever, because it was when I realized that there was a band making music that had never been made before and suddenly it was mine. I bought Parachutes a few days later and listened to it ad nauseum in my black Toyota Tacoma through the tape adapter.

Today the girlfriend is gone, the Tacoma is gone, and the duct tape is no longer on sale, but Parachutes makes me feel the same way every time I listen to it.

On top of being fearlessly dedicated to the groove and dangerously patient, the album's empty spaces were equally as important as the spaces in which instruments were being played. It reminded me of some of Monet's most masterful paintings that had almost twice the amount of blank canvas as painted area, yet still seemed to be brimming with life.

From beginning to end Parachutes escorts you through a fictitious world from imaginary coast to imaginary coast. It made me realize that if your art isn't bringing people to a world they have never experienced before you are treading in a world of imitation, and you are bound to be forgotten.