THEY RULE

I could not be more excited about sharing this first single by my band, THEY RULE.  Truth be told, we've thought of ourselves as a band for a good two and a half years, but it took this long to be ready to share the music and concepts with a bigger audience. Here's our story:

Michael Pereira and I have known each other for a hundred years, and have been performing on one another's solo projects along the way.  A few years ago, we started talking about making a record that paid homage to the music we grew up listening to in Miami, in the eighties and nineties.  We got together to see if we could make anything interesting happen during a five day writing/recording hang.  The music we made in that initial session far exceeded our expectations, and gave birth to the first four songs on our forthcoming album.  We kept going.  We have lived anywhere from nine hundred to two thousand miles apart for the entire duration of our creative partnership, a fact that has been challenging but also given way to new approaches for collaboration.

Our project has taken us out of our everyday personas and created new characters to express our ideas through: Microphone Mike and Beatriz La Beatz.  While their story is a sort of composite of our own lives, it has become its own saga, and Mike and Bea definitely have their own relationship.  Their history will be told through the full-length album, Make-Ups & Break-Ups, slated for release later this summer.  For now, the single "Microphone Love" will give you an idea of who they are, and what they value: music and love.

Please support independent music.  If you like the song, it's only a dollar to own it, and you'll be helping more music make its way into the world.

Thank you,
buick audra, a.k.a. Beatriz La Beatz

my first affair with a microphone was with a Soundelux
I borrowed it from a friend of mine 'cuz they cost a thousand bucks
that U195 was mine on every single track
eventually that sad day came when I had to give it back

oh my, from condenser to directional
my transducer is perfectional
I find my sweetest heaven
when I use my magic SM7

I love my microphone
it's microphone love

the first microphone that I ever owned was no-name SM58
I bought it at the strip mall RadioShack, way back
'88 was the year, to be exact
I'd sing into that microphone loud as hell, no one home

stars in my eyes, made me realize I'd never compromise...
until the day that I die
recording into a Panasonic boombox
coming up with raps in my underwear and socks
couldn't help thinkin' how it all would be
when people listened to my rhymes and they all jocked me
my microphone love is here to stay
I wouldn't be the way I am without it anyway
when I talk into it now, put these words in motion
'cuz all my raps are like love potion

oh my, from condenser to directional
my transducer is perfectional
I find my sweetest heaven
when I use my magic SM7

I love my microphone
it's microphone love

"wish I knew what you were looking for..."

This past December, I participated in an ongoing project led by author Amanda Havard.  She penned a series of books called The Survivors, and has set out to provide her written word with an accompanying soundtrack.  She was listening to a specific pool of songs throughout the process of writing her books, and invited a handful of artists to bring our own interpretation to these works.  As soon as I saw the list, I pounced on this one.  Written by Steve Kilbey and Karin Jansson, 'Under The Milky Way' brought global attention to the Australian band, The Church.  I have loved this song for as long as I can remember, and was so happy and humbled to sing it.

Enjoy,
buick audra

where the girls are

In 1961, Connie Francis released the song, 'Where The Boys Are'.  Its major themes were: hoping for love, waiting for love, and living without love for the time being.  The single, alongside a film by the same title, secured her place in music history - one that she maintains to this day.  When I was seven years old, my mother took me along with her to see Francis in concert, and 'Where The Boys Are' was the only song that I left with.  The hook gets you good, and regardless of what else is said within the lyrics, you know that chorus.  It's just one of those songs.

As I've posted here in recent weeks, I started a new interview series earlier this month, "One Rad Song".  It is a blog that features written interviews with artists and songwriters about individual songs from their catalogs.  I set out to track down the people I've been most influenced by and was pleasantly surprised when I heard back from several of them right away.  The first two interviews were completed and posted within ten days of my initial inspiration to do the project.  Since then, I've reached out to many more artists, of all kinds, hoping to maintain a steady flow of dialogue within this new community.  I went into it expecting rejection and even silence from a number of the folks - that seems normal for something like this.  What I didn't expect was the very noticeable pattern that has emerged throughout this process.

Without getting into specifics as to exactly how many artists I've contacted, I can lay down some basic percentages here.  So far, of the male artists/bands that I've sent some form of contact to, whether it's been direct or through some sort of management, eighty percent have responded - and all within forty-eight hours of receiving my message.  It's been everything from, "Yes" to, "Can we do a different song?" to, "Is it possible to do it later in the summer?".  Either way, I'm hearing back.  The twenty percent that I'm not hearing back from had been factored in previously.  One the other side of the coin, exactly zero percent of the female artists/bands have responded to my request for an interview.  Zero.  No one has so much as said, "No".

I hate that I'm in a position to be tallying these numbers.  If someone else gave me this report, I'd blindly defend the team that I'm actually a part of, which is Team Female Artist, claiming that there has to be some unseen element causing such an extreme divide.  But, I am the one sending out the exact same pitch to every one of these people, and I am also the one writing interviews for some really incredible musicians - all of whom, are men.

It's not even that I take the situation personally.  It just raises a brand new set of questions for me.

• Are female artists harder to get in touch with, via their website or social media sites?  Do they have more people between themselves and their audience?
• Are female artists less inclined to talk openly about their work and processes?
• Are female artists less inclined to be interviewed by another woman?
• Do female artists feel like they've had to work harder to get where they are, and therefore feel like they shouldn't have to talk anyone who lacks a certain level of notoriety?
• Do men have better professional manners than women?

I hope that none of the above is true.  I hope that it's all just the result of extreme coincidence(s).  Because, otherwise, I have to come to grips with the fact that I'm part of a group whose collective response to a simple thing is straight-up bizarre.  All I can say is, I come in peace.  I just want to talk about the work.

Like Connie, I'm hoping, waiting and living without for the time being.  Let's talk music, ladies.  Otherwise, stay tuned for an interview with myself.  Don't make me do it.

~buick audra

one rad song

I'm super excited to tell you all about a new project of mine.  I've started a new blog where I'll be posting interviews with writers and artists about one specific song from their catalog.  The idea came to me in a flash of lightning sort of moment, and I just had to follow through with it.  As a songwriter myself, I have been studying the art of song craft my entire life by way of listening to and learning from the music that has moved me.  I will now ask the questions I've long wanted to know the answers to.

I started with someone that I've recently developed a working friendship with, based on a collaboration of ours, Chuck Treece of McRad.  'Weakness' is a song that is near and dear to all who loved skateboarding and/or punk music in the '80's.  My interview with him is finally up for you all to check out.  More incredible artists and songs to come!

Rock,
buick audra

five reasons why I'm not a professional musician

In the spirit of self-awareness, I share these thoughts.  I'm not a professional musician in any way, and here are a handful of reasons for why I think this is the case.

1.  Right out of the gate - I have no outstanding musical proficiency on any instrument.  I'm a self-taught guitar player and songwriter who took a whopping total of six voice lessons about twenty years ago.  I'm no prodigy, nor super hard-working player.  I'm not even really interested in learning to play or sing correctly, which may sound lazy - but I don't think it is.  I just happen to be OK with my style(s) of doing what I do.  That being said, I'm in no way suitable to be in anyone else's project.  Because I don't speak the technical language of music very fluently, I'm a bit of a bag of rocks in a setting where people are calling out chords (or god forbid - numbers, here in Nashville).  I suppose I could sing with people, but I usually don't want to, and that's that.

2.  I don't care how anyone else thinks I'm supposed to be doing what I'm doing.  This is a pretty big piece of the puzzle, from what I understand.  It seems that artists today who have the backing of labels, management and that whole slew of other people I don't understand the roles of, all have this common denominator: they take direction.  Of course, there are people who get around these parameters and do it their way, and to all kinds of critical acclaim.  I, so far, am not one of these people.  I'm not saying I don't have hope for things to come, but I've definitely paid the price for not just doing what I was told, when my alleged potential "success" was on the line.  I wouldn't do it differently if given those same choices, but having the pink slip to my soul has meant that almost no one has heard my music.  It boils down to this one point for me: why is your way better?  If anyone can really answer that question for me, I'm open to the conversation.  But if your reason includes anything to the effect of, "Because that's what worked for ___________"... I'm all set.  I'm not trying to be like anyone else, so their art model won't work for me.

3.  I'm embarrassed by self-promotion.  I'm a member of the world, and I've moved out of the phase where I was a straight-up self-saboteur, but I'm nowhere near being the kind of artist that is comfortable with the endless stream of bragging that is expected when you make stuff.  I am crazy proud of my work, and would love for people to check it out, but I'll be damned if I tun into a third-person-speaking ego-maniac who thinks their every action and thought merits applause.  I see this happening to my peers, and it makes me feel so gross.  Stop the madness, guys.  We all know it's you writing your own bio.  Please.

4.  I loathe all but three recording engineers I have met in the wide world.  There are a number of people I'd like to work with, but my track record with the trail of dead behind me is sordid at best.  (For a longer explanation of why, read this.)  This may not seem like a very big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it is, and here's why: in the absence of said engineer, and more importantly - the equipment that they bring to the table, I'm making my records by myself.  Don't get me wrong, I love all that I'm learning along the way, but it takes for-fucking-ever.  Also, I have like, no gear.  If it weren't for the insane generosity of a few of my friends in the music community, I'd be tracking straight to GarageBand with a USB mic.  So, I'm a famous borrower of mics and pre-amps (I finally have my own monitors, thank you), and I work when I can.  My albums take an average of two years to be made by this process.  All of that just to avoid being in the excruciating presence of the freakshow of know-it-alls that sadly populate the recording world.
*Special note - mastering engineers not included in this statement.

5.  I've never co-written a song that I'd record for myself, nor do I do the work to have my songs recorded by others.  I write anywhere from fifty to eighty-five songs per year.  It's not a huge amount, but it's no small amount either.  I'm in that awkward place of having far too many songs to ever record on my own albums, while also having no outlet for putting the rest of them to any real use.  To boot, I occasionally co-write with other artists (usually at their request), and then pile those works on to the growing mound of Songs That Will Go UnRecorded.  Something happens to me in the co-writing process that dilutes my emotion around the subject, and turns it into an exercise of what my brain knows how to do: build songs.  It would be magical if any of the other people I've written with actually cut the songs themselves, but so far I'm zero for forty or so.  Pretty crap-tastic numbers.

There you have it.  I'm sure there are about seventy other reasons, but this is what I have today.  I love what I do, it just doesn't pay the bills.  With that, I'm off to work on an album that I started in December of 2009.  I told you.

~buick audra

oh, to be you

I'm now at the stage of life where I hear lots of interesting things from my peers, in the way of their ideas about the world.  The mid-thirties are a weird time of thinking you know what you're doing, all the while living with the secret fear that you have no idea at all.  It's different from your twenties when the fear has not yet presented itself; you're just an obnoxious know-it-all who does and says appalling things with no idea that you'll regret ninety percent of it later.  I have a sneaking suspicion that the forties will be about simply accepting that we have no clue.  I'm kind of looking forward to it, I'm not going to lie.  Because, you know what I hear a lot of these days?  Dudes talking about how much they "can't listen to (insert awesome album of yesteryear here) because it just doesn't sound any good".  I know way too many recording engineers.  And only three of them are exempt from this rant.

I don't claim to be an engineer, and I'm not claiming to know every single thing about sonic values, pre-amps, compressors or mics.  I'm just a musician who makes records.  I have recorded myself as well as other people and we've all survived it.  That said, I've been listening to music pretty much every second of my life since birth, and I just finally need to say this: HEY SUPER UNKNOWN "ENGINEERS", GET OVER YOURSELVES.  I recently heard some smack talked about a band that I hold in the highest of musical esteems, the Smiths.  Now, I understand what goes on with the Smiths, kids.  I know Morrissey can be a bit dramatic and even maudlin at times.  I don't think he would dispute that claim.  Perhaps Johnny Marr's guitar style isn't for you (in which case you might be deaf, but, hey).  I can even almost handle the idea that not everyone needs to know the thirty-thousand words to 'Cemetry Gates'.  Almost.  But, if you're going to tell me that the reason you've never given that group's music a chance is that you don't like the sounds they got, in 1987?  I'll meet you behind the school at 3:15.  Be ready to fight.

This opens up a whole can of what-the-hell for me.  Because, where does it end?  What's the criteria for acceptably recorded and/or produced material?  Does it have to be from 1990 or later?  Does it have to be un-famous?  Is a song or album without merit if the quality of the actual recording is below this undefined standard?  If any of that is true, it's just total mayhem in my mind.  Some of my very favorite music was made in what may well have been a garage or bathroom, and I love it just the same.  Without even touching on the vast expanses of great music made throughout the ages, I can find fault with this short-sighted approach when applied the last twenty-five years of punk, new wave, electronica, rock and pop music.  Let's take Operation Ivy's one record, for instance.  I don't know a single person in my generation that didn't live for that album.  Not only did it merge fast, sloppy punk with upbeat ska sensibilities, but the song subjects spanned everything from hot girls, to music in general, to coming together as opposed to always being separated by bullshit.  So WHAT if it sounds like it was recorded in a living room with maybe two mics with socks over them?  On the other end of the spectrum in 1989, we had Pretty Hate Machine by Nine Inch Nails.  I can't pretend to know how this record was made, but in my mind, Trent Reznor recorded it on some Tim Burton-esque machinery in his mother's basement, while wearing a leather dress.  When you look at it through that filter, it's the best album ever made, miraculous even.  But even if you don't, are you going to really sit here and tell me that the songs didn't change your life when you were fourteen?  That you didn't sulk in your room with bad eye make-up on, shrieking along to 'Head Like A Hole'?  Were you just born up above it?  Well, now you're down in it.

This brings me to my favorite part of those who suffer with acute cases of Engineeritis: lack of valid output.  Every single one of the people who complains about great music for sport makes nothing of the kind.  This is not to say that they're not all musicians - because they surely are.  They all wanted to be rock stars, whether they'd admit that or not.  Somewhere along the line, the fear took hold and they started recording more than they played out.  It might have started with close friends' bands, and then expanded to the circle around those folks, and so on.  Before they had a chance to notice, years had gone by, they'd gained thirty pounds and many moons had come and gone since they'd been on a stage.  Alas, they still make a record of their own from time to time.  The songs are uninspired and safe, the vocals are drowned in effects, but damn it - that three thousand dollar pre-amp makes the guitars sound just perfect.  Exactly six people own copies of said album, and the bitterness in the heart of the Sad Engineer Guy continues to grow.  They resent all who are not as afraid as they are, and they continue to criticize all who take the chances they never did.

The quickest way to tell an expert from a wannabe is this: the experts would never claim to be such.  I've had the immense pleasure of having my last two albums mastered by a proper genius by the name of Doug Sax.  That dude has worked on more great music than can be listed.  He has the frickin' Lifetime Achievement Grammy, know what I'm sayin'?  And everytime I've been around him, he's been interested in what I'm doing and how I'm doing it.  He doesn't act like I'm a fool for making records at my house with whatever gear I can scrounge together (most of which is borrowed from Gary Paczosa - another genius).  He asks thoughtful questions and tells me what he likes, and where he thinks I can do better next time.  The man's all class.  The two engineers that I've worked with who's styles and philosophies I LOVE, are still rocking out.  They're getting up there and exposing their guts just like everybody else.  That's why they rule to work with.  They're not judging the plays from the sidelines; they're still in the game.  They don't act like they know it all; they're still learning.  I hope I'm never done learning.  I hope I always listen to music and love it so much that it makes me scream, cry and flip out.  It's a gift, pals.  A gift.

The truly great ones among us just do what they do, because they have to do it, not because it might measure up to the Imaginary Standard of the Hate Brigade.  Regardless of whether or not their music is what you're into, the sounds are not the point.  The message, energy and innovation are the points.  You can spend the rest of your life tinkering around in your caves with your toys (all of which will be obsolete, at some point), but you're not changing anything in the world.  You're not saving anyone's life, least of all your own.  To quote the very best:

"Don't forget the songs that made you cry, and the songs that saved your life...
Yes, you're older now, and you're a clever swine, but they were the only ones who ever stood by you."

~Morrissey/Marr of the Smiths
(That's right - the goddamned Smiths.  What.)

Keep on creating.  Use what you have.  Believe in yourself.
Thanks for listening,
~buick audra

pretty good, pretty good

This is the first entry from my new blog about a punk rock quilting project!  Follow it!

ALL

Those of you who know me will find this project to be no surprise.  For those of you who don't, let me introduce myself.  I'm Buick Audra.  I have the All-O-Gistics on my music room wall and I wear a gold pendant that says 'Good Good Things'.  In short: I'm a Descendents fan.  I also happen to be a maker of sorts.  These two parts of who I am will come together over the following thirty-six weeks.

I currently live in Nashville where I enjoy a fairly chill life of making rock music and the occasional vegan cupcake.  I have a rad husband and a little old cat who wears a tuxedo, full time.  In past lives, I've also been the creator of many a thing out of fabric.  Lately those projects are becoming fewer and fewer, I guess to make way for the music.  It all started with quilting, many many years ago, and I've decided to get back in touch with that part of who I am.  I was recently flipping through a book of five hundred and one quilt squares and fantasizing about making a kind of sampler.  I've set out to do just that, though I'm adding my own punk rock twist: each square will have the name of a different Descendents song on it, by way of some fairly shoddy hand embroidery.  They will all be six inch squares with satin stitch embroidery.  I'm doing my best to pay homage to the Descendents font (Franklin Gothic Extra Condensed), but, yo... That's no joke, right there.  It will in no way be perfect, but I think it will be fun as hell.  I'm going to do one square per week, for the next thirty-six weeks.
This is my first square, and I started where it made the most sense to: ALL.

Enjoy, fellow Descendents nerds... Enjoy.
- B.A.

ALL: 6 x 6 inches, shoofly pattern in  cotton (inspired by 'ALL' from the album ALL, 1987)