There was once a dick-weed…I won’t mention his name. I can assure you he was indeed a tumbling dick-weed. Though he lacked creative talent, he had a way of running schemes and making a lot of money…he had an uncanny ability to convince people into funding his mundane endeavors. He once said to me, “If I had even a quarter of your talent, I’d be living in a mansion in Beverly Hills…you’re the biggest waste of talent I’ve ever come across.” What a tumbling dick-weed like this doesn’t understand is that talent takes years to refine and channel…it takes mad discipline and obsessive dedication and learning the textbook frontward and backward before throwing it away—something most people don’t have the patience to do. Most people want to skip refining a craft…thus we have the almighty DJ–who simply plays other people’s music. Talent and monetary gain are on opposite ends of the spectrum as far as I’m concerned. The moment you attempt to steer your creative talent toward the money, the further you get from the amazing work.

I’ve seen this first hand. I once had a couple songs of mine featured in an NBC movie of the week. I hadn’t written the songs for the film, they were used after the fact–it was a simple licensing agreement, I retained all publishing. Still, when I saw the scenes I half cringed and half laughed, mainly because it was a teen heartthrob on stage lip-synching my songs in a pouty way to a girl in the crowd who was fawning over him with love daggers in her eyes. I can say, it wasn’t Nick Cage singing Elvis to Laura Dern–not even close. They did the same with another of my songs in an equally as corny movie…to this day I don’t divulge the names of those films–not even to friends…it’s like I did porno or something and I don’t want anyone to know. Years later I was asked to write some jingles for a clothing company. They sent me a popular cookie cutter hit song and asked me to write something like it—which wasn’t hard to mimic—a textbook chord progression and a textbook vocal melody over an electronic drum beat. Still, I delivered what they asked for, and the client was happy, but I’ll never tell anyone which commercial it was—because of the shame-over I experienced after completing the composition. I felt like I had to shower and go to confession after writing that song. You can’t blame the song though–you must blame the person who ordered it.

A few years back a music licensing company offered an agreement…when I asked them if they could guarantee that my compositions wouldn’t wind up in a hemorrhoid cream commercial or something even worse—they said they couldn’t guarantee it…and that in fact, my songs would likely end up in places I didn’t want them to wind up. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night with that hanging over me and I declined to sign. The company rep offered me a sanctimonious lecture on the virtues of being financially savvy and missed opportunities, but mentioned nothing about the importance of an artist’s body of work. It was clear that they didn’t see the songs as creative works—they saw them as products they could chop up and distribute–possibly to hemorrhoid cream companies. I’m not saying that I view score compositions as lesser works. I scored the soundtracks of both my documentary films and I’m content with the compositions…mainly because those compositions are in no way related to selling tampons, hemorrhoid cream or diapers. Imagine painting a grand portrait…and an ad executive and a team of marketing maggots defame your work for a toilet paper campaign.

Probably there are novelists, songwriters, directors, actors, painters, out there who are sickly brilliant, but you’ll rarely come across their work because they’re probably too fucked up to even leave the house…none do it for the money—it’s innate, like the way a spider knows instinctively how to weave an intricate web. The perfect work is like the quest for the holy grail. They’d create their best works, even if they were the last person on earth and there was nobody left to be moved. If you want a mansion in Beverly Hills, become a Hollywood accountant, or get a job as a ‘performer’ in a Marvel movie or start selling music to tampon commercials…if that’s creatively fulfilling enough for you, good job. Otherwise, stand aside and make way for people who are making an actual contribution to dying art forms, for the right reasons. Not judging, just saying.

 

Never thought I’d have to wear my rain suit for a jog in Franklin Village. It’s been downpouring for days. I expect to wear it during the months I spend in Vancouver—a place they call Raincity. The farmers in SoCal prayed for rain—I guess God finally gave them what they were asking for—with interest. I’ve never seen rain like this in LA. Good news is that the streets will no longer be grimy. LA gets rain now and then, but it’s never enough to wash away even the top layer of grime. This deluge however is bound to have our lovely town sparkling…probably not since the 1950s will the streets be so clean. I may just sprawl out on Silverlake Blvd and dry hump the sidewalk when this is all over. And by the way, to the people who throw their garbage all over the sidewalks and streets and use alleyways and shop fronts as their toilet—if you don’t have any respect for yourself, which you obviously don’t; at least have some for your city. How does leaving a half eaten rotisserie chicken on a bench that’s only three fucking feet from the garbage can make any sense at all? It’s just laziness and an utter disregard for your city.

Here are a few photos from our soundcheck at the Mint. Evidently, they have a policy at the Mint; if you want photos or video of your performance, the club will do it for a price. We’re not really photo crazed guys though, and it seems that any band who plays should be able to snap photos of their show…and so we declined. Eric’s friend snapped a few during soundcheck though, clever girl.

Next weekend we’re playing an unlicensed, underground, warehouse party in K-Town…DIY baby…obviously I can’t say where or when exactly…if you know or happen to find out, see ya there…that’s what indie rock used to be about.

Had a blast playing the Mint last night with my other band, Penthouse Killers. The Mint is a bit off the beaten path, but they have a giant Bukowski mural on the wall and that intrigues me. I wonder if Bukowski went in there to get smashed back in the day, when he was writing Factotum and getting in alleyway brawls. There is a documentary on YT about Bukowski…he drives around East Hollywood reminiscing about all the bums, hookers and junkies he knew around the neighborhood. Classic Chinaski.

Finally finished Waiters, the second novel I’m going to publish. It’s now available in the ‘Novels’ section of this page. It will be up on Kindle in a couple weeks. While writing Waiters I went all the way up the river, like in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. To the people I was surrounded by who thought I’d gone entirely mad…I guess I sort of did. But it’s the only way I could really tap into the Napalm Narrative.

Mailer was for sure a method writer. I highly recommend reading Tough Guys. If you’re not a reader, at least check out his discussion with Gore Vidal on the Dick Cavett show–it’s on YT. At one point everyone turns on him, even the audience…hilarious shit. I would say Mailer was the sort of guy who believed it’s better to be hated rather than fake liked. I sort of a agree with him. At least you know where you stand.

My novel Tales from Truman Park is now available on Amazon/Kindle. I’m glad the story has finally been told and is immortalized in print. That’s what this life is all about–creative achievement. How boring the world must have been when there was no art and only spores bubbling up through the muck for millions of years.

Check out the new video for Fallout Shelter. Shot around my hood in East Hollywood–we had a blast…in fact we had many blasts. Complete with a surprise Creepshow ending.

From my album, Middle of Infinity, here is a video for Mary.

Traveling from Los Angeles to Vancouver to Seattle, Jarrod Tyler and crew investigate the endangered state of contemporary arts & culture in the digital age and showcase the many citizens who fight to keep arts & culture alive in their neighborhoods. I made this documentary as a public service announcement that will hopefully raise awareness about the importance of keeping contemporary arts & culture alive.

This is a documentary I made about North Bend Washington, the eccentric town in which the Twin Peaks series was filmed. It’s not a public service announcement as my previous documentary was…but I was so fascinated by this little town that I was intensely drawn to this project. If you’re a TP fan, you won’t want to miss it.

Maybe we’ll run into each other in Central Park.

I played with a children’s orchestra way back when I was a child prodigy. I guess I was 4 or 5 in this photo. I preferred piano to violin but this particular group already had a pianist. What I remember about the kid with the checkered bell-bottoms behind me, beyond the fact that he carried his bow all wrong, is that he suffered from anxiety, especially when it came to performances. I vaguely remember this concert we did at an opera house…he was standing beside me, anxiously nibbling his fingers which tended to bleed. Moments before this photo was taken, I told him to relax…that we’d been chosen because we were the most talented kids at the conservatory…I told him good old Ludwig himself would have been impressed. I was trying to pep-talk him you see. He just turned to me and said, “I hate Beethoven and his stupid hair.” I laughed and it clicked that he probably really hated that his parents made him wear his hair like good old Ludwig.

Best Altman ever: Short Cuts.

Hollywood and Vine

With art it’s important to go all the way…even if it means losing friends, jobs, fortunes, lovers, and possibly your reputation. Go all the way…you’ll only be a greater artist for it. If you wear a Madchen Amick shirt while you’re going all the way…all the better, right?

Good Luck

Blue dream

East Hollywood…what a town.

Snapped some photos on the way to my surf spot in Malibu. Everyday is gorgeous in Malibu.

A block south of the Paramount lot…no shit–I’d hoped this was some elaborate performance art–that the old man was actually mirroring the Humpty Dumpty on the wall; that they had a great fall and an even better winter. But life isn’t a Fellini film. Are we really fucked? Well…that’s what I’ve been told.

 

LA Rehearsal, room E – Penthouse Killers HQ. Props to Wally for rockin’ the Big Drill Car shirt.

I remember when this place was Circus of Books. It’s now a smoke shop–but it should be a live music venue…especially now that Satellite is closed. 

Skateboarding is not a crime…the screaming hand longs to sink it’s teeth into parking lot security guards.

Back in 2006 I lived in suite 1, the window just left of the entrance. One weekend when my roommate was in San Diego, I went to Cha Cha’s and invited the entire bar back home for after hours drinks. The dude who lives in there now has no fucking idea of the shenanigans.

Punk Rock surfing…