GOOD MUSIC: Benjamin Jaffe

It has been a hot second since I’ve written about music that I find compelling.

Benjamin is one of those people.

I saw him perform again last night. He is a force of nature—I assure you of this. I have been so busy in recent months and years, that I haven’t had the opportunity to stay current with all of his music releases.

However, I wanted to take a moment to share what I have been listening to in the past few weeks. I made an effort to purchase his newest release this morning on Bandcamp. A created a link to his Bandcamp if you would like to support his work. All of his creative output that he has released is well worth listening to. Enjoy. I do.

Enlightenment with Bill.E

My Upcoming Tour Dates

Austin, Texas

S. Congress in Austin, Texas

Austin. Austin City Limits. Being within Austin City limits—literally, not so much the hit musical phenomena that encompasses and personifies the great city in which I speak. It’s magic. The city is pure spectral spectacle.

I would live here. I have a feeling I will live here.

Growing up playing music, I was entranced by stories of Stevie Ray Vaughan, and his brother Jimmie. Willie Nelson. Johnny Winter.

These days, you can find murals and statues that celebrate the music of Stevie Ray Vaughan. He died young, but he made a lasting impression on his adopted home of Austin, Texas—who lifted him on their shoulders in celebration of his music and his passion for the blues.

An acquaintance of mine in Long Beach (another musician), once shit all over the name Stevie Ray Vaughan, saying that he couldn’t stand that white horse shit that passes as blues. It bummed me out hearing him rant on a guy whom he never met… nor have I for that matter—however, I carry his spirit in reverence, much as I do Eric Clapton as well, for they helped to introduce me to wide variety of African American talent that contributed to years of truly authentic American Culture and American History. Yes, they were white: but, they loved black music and carried it in the deepest reverence and respect, which showed in their craft. Furthermore, they brought black music to me, a kid in Visalia, CA, who passionately researched who Stevie Ray Vaughan’s influences were, and then listened to them, hearing all the riffs he lifted from their repertoire: Albert King for example. You can listen to Albert King and hear his inarguable influence on the playing of Stevie’s.

Then again, what does a guy in Long Beach, CA know about Austin, Texas? What do I know about Austin, Texas for that matter? Nothing. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I keep coming back. I keep returning because the place is pure imagination and sorcery on my senses.

There are more music venues here than I have ever seen in my entire life. There is talent of such a caliber, that it constantly has me questioning not only my own merit as a musician, but also my sanity in continuing to create music as a songwriter—that is until I meet said musicians after they have proceeded in tearing my face of with their talent, and politely handing my facial features back to me at the end of the night: feeling their genuine sense of connection and intolerance for being overly vain insofar as it is concerned with themselves—their curiosity of my own music, their kindness in listening to it, and in showering me with compliments.

I was connected with a local musician and guitar player in the area named Phil Hurley. He is a Los Angeles transplant as well, who has been living in Austin Texas now for around 14 years. He has lived all over the place. He has played guitar for countless people of merit and distinction, and has operated within bands and musical acts who were signed to major labels, from an early age. We became quick friends and I am astounded by his talent and generosity.

He was kind enough to make time to meet with me, and to show me around a bit, to take me to some of the coolest hangs in town such as Donn’s Depot on a Monday night. There is a weekly residency that has been happening at this old venue, constructed from the remnants of 5 old train cars, nestled politely and sheltered within the entrance of tall tall buildings and sky scrapers. Chris Gage has been playing piano and singing there on Monday nights for nearly 27 years. Phil brought me down to Donn’s Depot, and shared me with the all of the wonderful folks who are a community. They haunt that establishment every week, and listen, in deep love, of what Chris Gage provides as a musician and pianist.

As we walked around these 5 train cars, everyone greeted Phil Hurley, as he was acquainted to nearly every individual in that place. Chris Gage recorded and produced his latest record, which is available to listen to right now on all the streaming services. Phil and Chris quickly began catching up with one another on one of Chris’ breaks from playing, and Phil asked if we both could come up and play a few songs, to which Chris was beyond receptive.


I met more beautiful and wonderful people in Donn’s Depot in one night, then can possibly be expressed in words—or good intentions for that matter. There are good people here in Austin, and Donn’s Depot is just a small subset of the greater whole that is this beautiful city. Don Emmons for example. A photographer and gentleman, and scholar. Or, the videographer Jay Curlee, who was a Hawaiian transplant—him and his wife both, who have been living in Austin now for 7 years. Don Emmons came from New Jersey, if memory serves me correctly (we were having drinks—quite a few of them).

Performing with Chris Gage at Donn’s Depot in October of 2022. Photo courtesy of the winker with an eye, Don Emmons.

A place is always the people who live there. Austin is exceptionally lovely.

Truth be told: most places I have the privilege to visit in order to play music, are exquisite and lovely—because they are full of good people who let a ragamuffin such as myself, stay and play some tunes he wrote about life. They listen to my stories. I am the luckiest man alive—and my brood (artists and musicians most specifically) are thankful for the love, gratitude, kindness, and open hearts being displayed by individuals who understand that we just travel around trying to spread some love. Sure, now and then, we all get a little lost sometimes—but love is most certainly the answer to nearly every quandary asked… and gratitude is the doorway to happiness… and happiness is work. It does not come easy to us. We work for it and we work at it.

A deep and special thanks to my friend Scott Spencer. He is an Austin native. I met him through my brother from another mother, Frank Reina. Both of these gentlemen are Texas natives. Scott, has shown me more kindness and support than I could ever hope to repay to an individual in a lifetime. Nonetheless, I hope to one day. I suppose the first step in that endeavor would be success at what I am trying to achieve. I will focus on that notion with all my might—and swing back to previous when I have more to offer this world than the love in my heart, the songs that I write, and the stories I tell. In the meanwhile, may those suffice my friend.

FIND ME ON SOCIAL MEDIA

Come see me live on my 2022 FALL TOUR around the UNITED STATES

Apache Junction, Arizona | Desert Valley House Concerts

Superstition Mountain

Where to begin? The question most of us might ask—then again, perhaps I am being presumptuous: some of us may not ask. Some may lack the interest. Others of us might just do, and forgo the asking aspect of things. Whatever the case may be, the beginning seems like a good place to start, so let’s arbitrarily work with that. After all, it’s the beginning of my Fall 2022 tour, so it seems the most logical place to begin.

In the beginning: I found myself in Apache Junction, Arizona. I’ve been here once before, however, it wasn’t a thorough affair. It wasn’t even a one night stand. It was one step away from a drive-by encounter—such as my experience with Phoenix, Arizona: a city I have only truly appreciated from a Freeway (which does not count for anything by anyone’s account). I played a show for the DESERT VALLEY HOUSE CONCERT series, and was immediately on my way home the next morning. I had been on the road for two months, and Apache Junction, was the last function of my multi-city-trans-state adjunction. I was on tour. That’s what I mean.

This time, as the fates would have it (not to mention my own insatiable curiosity) my kind hosts Darice and Lance offered to have me stay a few days to see Apache Junction and its natural splendor. Its Ghost Town: Goldfield.

Its Mountain Ranges, as barren and jagged and dangerous and unforgiving as its surrounding valley. History as seen through the eyes of various Native American tribes who inhabited this region. Superstition Mountain, observing from on high, the people of Apache Junction in their air-conditioned homes.

Goldfield Ghost Town was a wealth of photos. It was also 100 degrees outside. I met it somewhere in the middle and tried to give it a few hours of my time, as I was concerned that further investments might result in me melting, or spontaneous combustion: whichever comes first.

It felt as if I was spread, butt-naked on the hood of Goldfield’s automobile on a hot summer’s day—running on the assumption that it has an automobile. They for sure had a tractor. And a train for that matter. The later wasn’t functioning as they were waiting on a part to fix it. We’ll settle with me naked on a tractor. Fair enough? (And on that note, I bid ado to my male audience). I kid and promise to not hold your imagination hostage with naked insinuations that lead to mental perturbations over hot surfaces.

I am avid fan of all things old, and an even bigger fan of daydreaming about what it would be like to live in an era such as this. I can only imagine what people smelled like. The advent of a daily shower was not quite a staple of the residents of this centennial plus legacy. The occasional bath perhaps? That might even be an exaggeration. I let my mind wonder, along with my senses. I can always plug my nose while I do.

What I can say is that there were no shortage of air-conditioners in this ghost town.

… and I appreciate that. I was sunburned either way, but the cool air felt nice across my scorched person. Let’s not mince words: that was my fault. An intelligent-forward-thinking individual wears sunscreen. As I am none of those things, I wore my sunburn like a badge of ignorance, in the remnants of a ghosty village. People pointing and stating, “Look at the visiting village idiot.” I waved and kept that stupid smile across my face, nose plugged, thinking about bygones well past, absently. It’s easy to be happy on occasion, and this made me happy—that is until I felt the overwhelming urge to retreat back to Darice and Lance’s air-conditioned home for a nap. Am I the only one who feels as if the heat is a vampire of energy when the temperature is well near the surface of the sun? I would share a picture of me napping, but I haven’t the foresight for that either. The photograph is resting comfortably next to my sunscreen: unused and under-appreciated.

This small town had to be the constellation of a gold mine, and sure enough, there was a gold mine present. For $7 you can take a guided tour of this gold mine, but believe it or not, it was so hot outside, and I was so depleted of energy, that I couldn’t picture myself going down there on this occasion. I will probably regret that decision—more likely, I will probably revisit it in the future, as I have quite the fond fascination with the gold rush of the 1800’s, especially as it was recounted by Samuel Langhorne Clemens in “Roughing It.” Words will suffice where our eyes fail us, or more closer to the point as it pertains to me, where my drowsy eyes outweigh my curiosity. Which is not often, mind you.

A day of recovery was in order, so I spent most of the next day reading. My friend Darice with Desert Valley House Concerts told me, “You should read this book.” I have been gobbling it up like a hungry hungry hippo.

At the moment, it’s all I find myself wanting to talk about. So, what is the book about? It’s about Quantum Physics and reality. All of the discoveries made by the Quantum Physicists of the 1900’s and 2000’s. Tangible reality. Is this reality objective? Older sciences before Quantum Physics have never taken into account the role of consciousness into this equation.

We are not inactive observers of reality. We are simultaneously observing it and creating it. An analogy that is accurate, is reality being like a dream. As we sleep and experience the dream, we feel like merely a participant—however we are also simultaneously creating the dream we are experiencing subjectively.

Quantum Physics for the past 100 years has been finding this exists in our observation/creation of reality (The Universe).

An example: “The Double-Slit Experiment”

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Double-slit_experiment

This and many subsequent experiments points to the direction that we are not and never will be independent entities in the Universe. We, in fact, live in a participatory Universe, whether we particpate or not. What does this mean?

Everything we do, or don’t do, alters that which is around us. Everything is probability, much like the second law of thermodynamics. A quantum computer, is a direct reflection of this notion.

It's a direct reflection of reality. It's more powerful as a computer because we are designing something that is closer to the function of nature. Probability. It takes into account as many possibilities as possible, and runs on this very notion.

It's like the second law of thermodynamics. Just because we have never seen a shattered glass move backwards into a solid form of un-shattered existence, does not mean that it can't happen. Quite the contrary. Mathematical probability shows us that it CAN exist, even if the probability of it is low.

A quantum computer is taking all possibilities into account, much as reality does, apparently. Probability wave.

I don't completely understand all of this—but this book is helping me to get a general sense of what quantum physics is.

It's both freedom and probability. That we are an active part of the Universe, whether we try to be or not. If you find this alarming to read. It’s okay. Einstein did too. He saw that is was real and how experiments such as the double-slit experiment verified these notions, and this is why he found it so hard to accept, as its very notion contradicted classical concepts of sciences. The very notion of science is to maintain a detached observation of reality around us, at least, in a traditional sense maintained over the corse of pre-existing efforts in understanding reality (The Universe).

It's like a dream. We feel like a participant in the dream while we sleep, but we are actually making the dream that we feel like we are along in the ride for! It's magic, in a sense. And reality: it functions the same way.

Nature only appears to be objective, to those who want to see it that way. If we realize that we are the active imagination of all probability, we realize we are actually not outside of the Universe, but helping it to become what it is at every moment, regardless of whether we try to or not. We simultaneously are spectator and creator, creating as we spectate, and spectating as we create.

The craziest thing, is that nature seems to reinforce whatever we “want” to see, speaking outside of the boundaries of quantifiable experimentation. If a group of persons wants to believe that they are outside The Universe, observing it in a cold and detached manner in a subjective stupor, feeling that their actions/inaction play no role in the constant creation, nature does not argue. It’s simply reinforces that possibility like a warm blanket.

If however, people take the time to really try to see that reality (The Universe) is probability, than they collectively realize that everything is a possibility, no matter the small nature of the number describing the probability of the action: i.e. a shattered glass becoming whole again before your eyes. That is real statistical analysis of a shattered glass. There exists the minute possibility of it becoming whole again.

In the words of the standup comedian Bill Hicks: “Young men on acid realize that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration—that we are all one consciousness experiencing our self subjectively. There is no such thing as death. Life is a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves. Here’s Tom with the weather.”

And let there be no doubt, the weather didn’t disappoint. It’s the tail-end of monsoon season in Arizona. Micro-bursts are abound. They pickup patio furniture to great heights, only to drop them in places the owners of which might not agree with. I quickly helped Darice to collect her patio belongings under the confines of cover, to prevent mother nature’s exterior decorating options.

Chili was had. Conversation was abound. Discussions of a hike the next morning were agreed upon in the Usery Mountains above Mesa, Arizona.

Joe, one of Lance and Darice’s friends chose the location: Wind Caves. We made a morning of it.

It was a conjoined effort to remove my own naiveté in regards to Wind Cave, this Mountain Range, and it’s trail, in general. Specifically, I’m still pretty absent in so far as most other things are concerned—and it’s always great to know that Wind Cave was named aptly: plenty of wind and plenty of cave to go around (they both were very generous and we shared). Listening to these fellas both brainstorm a painting company in which the painters put the F.U. in Fun Home Renovation was my personal highlight to an already stunning view (not pictured).

However, the main reason I am here in Apache Junction is to play music—which was done. I done did that for Desert Valley House Concerts. We had a wonderful time. Exhibit A (good time):

As with most places, it’s not the place, its the people that make the place, and Apache Junction is no exception. Thank you Darice and Lance for making this such a lovely experience.

Come on out and see me play live in a city near you:

"Fool For You" has 18,000 plays on TikTok

Fool For You (Live at Studio 333) could go viral! What??

I have never had anything like this happen to me before. I recently joined TikTok, and a few days ago, I uploaded a brand new mix of a song that I wrote called "Fool For You (Live at Studio 333)". I had this really beautiful video footage that Damian Apunte filmed years ago, of the band and I playing the song live at my friend's recording studio.

I didn't have a lot of money at the time of filming that video, and so I decided to try and mix the audio myself. Long story short, the audio didn't turn out all that great. Fast forward five or six years later. I sent the audio off to my friend Ryan Lipman, to mix. This was during the pandemic. I had lots of time on my hands, and it had always bugged me, that the audio wasn't as good as the video footage. Well, let me tell you: Ryan fixed that problem. He sent me a gorgeous mix for the song.

I then proceeded to forget about that mix.

That bring us to three days ago. 

I was looking through my hard drive, and I found this mix that Ryan Lipman did. I took the existing video footage I have, threw that into Adobe Premiere Pro (a video editing program), and added Ryan's audio mix to this footage. It looks (and now it sounds) beautiful.

Instilled with this new confidence in the song, I posted it on TikTok. Two days later, it has 18,000 plus views. My follower count suddenly explodes. People are asking where they can listen to the song. It's been incredible.

I decided to re-release the song. It's now live on Spotify and Apple Music: the new mix of the song. I also re-uploaded it to Youtube:

These are small victories.

The song hasn't gone viral. It's just received more attention than I am used to—from a younger demographic. I am not accustomed to that, I suppose? It most certainly isn't unwelcome. It warms my heart and lends to me feeling the furthest from being antiquated: relevant. Special even?

For a short period of time, it feels special. I feel special (just a little bit—forgive me for that if it is an ugly thing).

Who knows what the future holds? Perhaps the song will continue this upward trajectory. Then again, perhaps it won't, and perhaps it will fall into obscurity once again.

Regardless, I am thankful for the new ears and new hearts and new brains that have found this song.

I make music to connect with people, and it feels really lovely to connect with new people. People who I have never met in person.

In all honesty, I hope and dream that it continues to gain momentum. I texted my aunt Doreen yesterday, to share with her that it was exploding on this platform. I told her that I had my fingers crossed that it goes viral. She said, "I'll pray for it. It's more reliable." I used to tell Doreen that I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a little kid—or a professional baseball player. And whatever it was, she always supported me. She is supporting right now in prayers. Prayers that it will go viral.

I hope that it does this because it's a good song. I truly believe in this song. I always have—seeing the reaction I receive from people when I play it live.

Here is a link to check it out on TikTok:

Click this image to find “Fool For You (Live at Studio 333)” on your favorite streaming service. The new mix by Ryan Lipman is now available on Spotify, Apple Music, Youtube Music, and every other streaming service you can think of.

You can also click this link below to find it on your favorite platform of choice to listen to good vibes:

https://songwhip.com/mikevitale/fool-for-you-live-at-studio-333



Additionally, here is a link to my latest release from 2021. It is a Country and Americana inspired collection of songs. The album is called Φ. It is available on all the major streaming services by either clicking the album cover to the right, or the link below:

https://songwhip.com/mikevitale/phi

I am thankful to have you all in my lives.

I am thankful to be touring in October and November of this year.
(You can see all my show dates here: https://www.bandsintown.com/mikevitale

I am thankful for all the people who have been contributing to this tour on my GoFundMe. Every little bit helps, and I hope you have been enjoying my newest album, DESERT DOGS (which I send when you contribute to it), before it gets released next year on July 11th 2023: https://gofund.me/7876a2cd

May you all cross your fingers for me, or pray, or carry me in your thoughts. Whatever suits your demeanor and life outlook. May this song soar, even if just for a little while, over small mountain ranges. May it see a small bit of what the world has to offer, and connect me with more folks than my wildest imagination could ever fathom.

- Mike


FALL 2022 United States Tour


New Orleans and the South as Filtered by Numpty Abroad

I am not accustomed to the foreign affairs of the common folk walking the French Quarter adornments of Bourbon Street with open containers, nor am I in equal measure accustomed to the cobblestone stumbling of the before mentioned, namely myself enjoying alcohol laden libations as I meander down River Street in Savannah, Georgia in search of secret treasures for the senses, whether they take the form of old buildings, old stories, proposition in prostitution, voodoo and hoodoo gift shops, tales of ghosts, passing relic steamboats and modern freighters alike, live music, and Catfish—the later breaded to perfection, a fluffy, light, and delicious surprise with every bite. Both places have become tourist powerhouses akin to an ancient dinosaur innocently walking into a tar pit. However, I can’t help myself for being both predator and prey to a location that allows me to do nearly all of my favorite things, simultaneously, or at the very least, in rapid succession of one another.

There is a magic to seeing places I have only read about since I was a child. I absolutely have had the assisted lens of television and the silver screen to paint pictures of false pretense in two dimensional simulacrum, but the real treasure is to walk amongst the bonanza yourself. “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” is largely responsible for the second gold rush of tourism afforded to Savannah, Georgia—while New Orleans has obtained the golden age of post-Lent celebration, Mardi Gras, from its predecessor Mobile, Alabama, which celebrated this holiday long before it became the staple character of New Orleans demographic. My second cousins who all live in Mobile, Alabama shared this interesting fact with me while I had the privilege of their company for a few days, playing a house show at my cousin’s place. What a privilege this has all been. To see the Redneck Riviera, as my cousin Bill put it, was a treasure: Bayou La Batre. He punctuated my visit with jokes such as this: 

“What do you call a beautiful woman in Bayou La Batre?”, he asked me with a small grin.

I said, “I don’t know, Bill.”

“A visitor.”

… and speaking of beautiful women.

I was briefly the prey of a lady of the night while in New Orleans, operating with a charisma that was quite intoxicating, far beyond what I had been pouring into my person throughout the evening. She was dark and fit and lovely as a mistress as she passed by me with compliments accentuating my masculinity, and initiated the conversation with an assurance that there was nothing in the direction that I was walking in—I asked her how she knew that. She assured me, “because I just came from there.” I playfully mirrored her approximations by assuring her that there was nothing in the direction she was heading. She asked me why I thought such? I assured her, because, “I just came from there.” And while she did shower me with peppered compliments of “gorgeous” and the like—I could not help but feel the salt seasoning being poured in unscrupulous quantity and appetite on my wounded wallet for her consumption. I will however, kindly accept her bouquet of accolades and admire their freshness of uncut potential. It would be a small feather in a hat that I wasn’t necessarily wearing anywhere else, aside from my own imagination.

I became the second-hand tourist on a musician’s budget, listening to ghost stories told on old and ancient streets described by Anne Rice, yet narrated by a young lady, her congregation of paid acolytes, following her every word and movement down a dimly-lit thoroughfare. My ease-dropping was brief, for I never wish to overstay my welcome, especially when it involves the livelihood of another, so it was to be only brief punctuations of dread and fright for me on that evening—both in the realm of storytelling, and gambling for that matter. You can do that in New Orleans as well—and I pursued this vice, if only momentarily in the one casino afforded to the city by ordinance. However, with a $25 dollar minimum buy-in on a hand of Blackjack, my appetite went un-satiated, aside from being given a brief form of entertainment watching many a gambler bet away or receive their fortune for an evening. However, when my interest ran its course, I was back out into the evening to sponge up more of what was to be had in the French Quarter. 

Frenchmen Street gave me a bit of what makes my heart sing: jazz and groove music being played by the best musicians that the United States has to offer. I drank my wine and listened to the language of their improvisation with an eager ear and appetite for cold drink and warm jams on a breezy night. Jazz Fest had been cancelled this year, and I tried in vain to use this as returned selling point for booking a few house concerts in the area for myself—I was initially turned away by house concert hosts because of Jazz Fest’s occurrence during my planned occupation. Despite the demise of the festival this year, I had a small taste of what it would have had to offer: a large assortment of college-age students playing inspired renditions of the theme song from the movie “Halloween”, as a groove tune, leaving no stone unturned with tension and release and old scales rarely heard in the realm of pop music. Heaven can be found in the mustached-villain twist of a half-whole scale, modal variations, diminished and augmented approaches over altered dominants, and any number of other fanciful music being spoken, with the effortless of conversation, that are common place when listening to an art form, under appreciated in its difficulty and mastery by the performer, to the common listener.

However, despite all of this goodness, and badness: my first order of business when arriving in New Orleans, was to find The Natchez. I speak eagerly of this vessel. It is like an old friend. It’s a steamboat on the Mississippi River, named after a city. It is still functioning, and still doing its good work for fine folk wishing to see the splendor of the great Mississippi River. I had no greater wish in my heart that to see it with my own eyes, after reading of its exploits in the words of Samuel Langhorne Clemens. Alas, my efforts were to no good effect, satiated. There was an empty dock. My inquiries (only after further strolling down the river, mistaking another smaller boat for The Natchez) proved to be found with the sad news of its repair for several weeks in maintenance, perhaps from the recent hurricane.

There was evidence of this everywhere, in the neighborhood in which I stayed, which was just outside of the French Quarters: large piles of tree trunks and branches piled to the 15 or 20 feet high, occupying precious sidewalk and street space, the later with tremendous water damage. The drive in to New Orleans, was the most revealing evidence of heartbreak, as I witnessed tremendous amounts of homes, left to Lucifer matches, with little evidence that the pile of rubble was ever a living quarter for a loving family. Entire roofs missing. Tremendous holes punched into the sides of both commerce buildings and residence, alike. Given that it has been months since the original occurrence of the event, it can only be said that I feign the sight New Orleans and its residents at the storm’s recent precipice.

I have, dear reader, been a sponge. A murky little sponge that perhaps belongs on the bottom of the ocean, but has found itself meandering amongst new places in search of joy. It has been my wish to see new things while I play new things for new people. I have done all of these things, and continue to do so today. I am off to go explore Charlotte now. May this find you smiling and well.

ϕ by Mike Vitale | Digital Release of Full Album on September 21st 2021

Hey Friends, I'm proud to announce that my new album will be released to all the digital streaming platforms this summer on Tuesday September 21st 2021. The album is called ϕ (phi).

If you are a Spotify user, here is a pre-save link for the new album. Supposedly, having people pre-save the album and the singles, is very helpful for getting onto Spotify playlists, which would be a boon to its reach to new ears, so to speak—so I would be honored to have you do that, should your kind heart be so inclined:

PHI
https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/mikevitale/phi

Here is the official release schedule for every single as well as the titles being released as singles.

Tuesday August 17th 2021 - TIME MACHINE
https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/mikevitale/time-machine

Tuesday August 24th 2021 - YOUNGER DAYS
https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/mikevitale/younger-days

Tuesday August 31st 2021 - EMPTY CIRCLE
https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/mikevitale/empty-circle

Tuesday September 7th 2021 - HOME
https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/mikevitale/home

Tuesday September 14th 2021 - GONE
https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/mikevitale/gone

Tuesday September 21st 2021 - ϕ (phi - FULL ALBUM)
https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/mikevitale/phi

SUNDAY September 26th 2021 - FULL BAND ALBUM RELEASE SHOW at Alex's Bar in Long Beach, CA at 8pm (more details coming soon—this is bonus info for the folks kind enough to read this far into my post; thank you for caring and for loving and supporting me).

"Which Way Are You Goin'" | Jim Croce (Mike Vitale Cover)

One of my friends and Patrons, Susn, asked me to learn a Jim Croce cover called “Which Way Are You Goin’”. At the time, I was completely unfamiliar with this song. It is from his posthumous album released shortly after his death.

To me, it seemed relevant to many of the things happening around the world right now, as well as, within the United States. The year is 2020, and we are still finding ourselves confronted with a reality in which people refuse to hear each other when we speak. Yes, it would be easy for you the reader to laugh at me boiling things down to something so simple, but I ask that you entertain this idea for just a moment.

So many of us do not listen to one another. We wait for the other person to stop speaking so that we may in turn, talk. It is my speculation that this is because we value our own insight, thoughts, and ideals over those of the others around us.

When we truly respect others, we listen to what they have to say. We don’t just wait to talk. We observe and weigh what was said. We compare it against our own thoughts and ideals. In the year 2020, I hope that people may achieve this feat. In 2021, and the many years to come, I hope that we can become a species more open to ideas that are not our own—that we make an effort to expand our horizons in order to better fill the frame of our perceptions of one another—that we are capable of respecting each other as living creatures with our own unique thoughts and feelings, trying to share such in an open forum of communication.

Given our current circumstance world wide amongst a pandemic, may we all recognize each other as the same fragile creatures simply trying to express what we are feeling and observing, so that others around us may understand, and listen.

Pandemics aside, our issue with not understanding each other, starts at not listening. Once we successfully listen, it is then our duty to open our mind to as many possibilities as we are capable of. Hypocrisy is the mortar of our own bricks of belief, a burden we carry around for ages, before deciding they are far too heavy to carry any longer as a burden, so, we build a wall with them instead.

Like any piece of art, this song can be interpreted in a number of ways, however, by my own approximation—it seems to lean into the wind of hypocrisy as a subject matter—something that I feel is the mortar to many of our walls: as humans, as cultures, and creeds, and so forth. There is worth and intention to walls. However, there is equal virtue to an open field—the later however leaves itself open to so much, both positive and negative in nature and intent.

May we listen more and remain open, like a field. May we make no effort to incite the building of a wall. May we remain hopeful and positive. May we reach out to one another with olive branches, and not spears.

Thank you everyone on PATREON for helping me to make this happen.

Vocals, Electric Guitar, Synthesizers, Bass, and Drums - Mike Vitale

Mixing and Mastering - Mike Vitale

Video Footage and Editing - Mike Vitale

“Which Way Are You Goin’” - words and music by Jim Croce (lyrics available within the notes of the Youtube video).

New Weekly Shows in Los Angeles Every Thursday Night Starting January 9th 2020

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I would say that one of goals this year is to play as many shows featuring my own music as possible. I have already been doing this—but a key ingredient in the continued success of such is finding a room where people will listen.

So, I created an event called “Listening Room Presents.”

I figure that I and many others, are trying their best to propagate some positive vibes on this planet, so why not try to do it every week! Every Thursday to be exact—right down the street from where I live. For free. No cover.

I’ve been very fortunate to meet a lot of talented folk in this area, and I wish to share all the wonderful music I have been running across, with my neighbors as well as any and all lovely people who are willing to listen.

The event is taking places at Talon Tap and Wine. A very warm thank you to Tom, the owner, for providing a space for us to share our original music.

The event runs from 8pm to 10pm, every Thursday, featuring two special guest singer-songwriters that I admire, as well as myself and my friend Tom Bremer, playing an acoustic duo set of songs I wrote at around 9pmish.

It is open to the public, and we would love to have you there to listen.

Talon Tap and Wine has one of the largest selections of Craft Beer and Wine in Eagle Rock! It is also an affordable location to have a few drink. They have one of the largest selections of high quality craft beer in my neighborhood, hands down, that can be purchased for as little as $2.50, and can be enjoyed right on the premises for an additional $2 taping fee. There’s not many places around town to enjoy such fine quality libations for $4.50. They also have a fine selection of craft beer on tap, and a selection of wines to enjoy on the premises as well.

January 9th is the first of many shows, and we would be honored to have you there to listen, and even more honored if you spread the word and brought a friend along with you.

GOOD MUSIC: BENJAMIN JAFFE | Oh Wild Ocean of Love

I first heard Benjamin Jaffe many years ago in a band called Honey Honey. I was competing against them in a radio station competition. I gave them a listen and thought they sounded great! They ended up winning that competition and getting a record deal with Jude Cole and Keifer Sutherland’s record label, which I think was very well deserved. I didn’t keep contact with their music though. I forgot about them. There’s a lot of really great music going on around us; it wasn’t intentional by any means… it just sort of happened.

Fast forward a decade or so, and I’m at Hotel Cafe for one of the Hootenanny nights they do on the last Monday of every month. It was a fantastic night of music. Everyone was excellent—but for whatever reason, this dude stood out to me in a way that was unforgettable. His songs were mesmerizing… and interesting—unique—I think that’s the right word. He has a beautiful voice. He’s an excellent guitar player—a studied guitar player. I’m watching him play chord inversions and utilizing a lot of the chord vocabulary that I’ve been studying myself for years, so I can see it. I can hear it. On these Hootenanny nights, the artists only play three songs, but that was all it took for me to dig what he was doing. I was hooked. I talked to him afterwards, we exchanged numbers and email. I joined his email list. He told me he was working on a new album. He sent a free download from that album to everyone on his mailing list. It was a song called “Dominator”. This one:

I listened to the hell out of that song. This was all probably in the later portion of 2017. “Dominator” kept me satiated while I waited for that full length. At any rate, he finally released said album. It’s called “Oh Wild Ocean of Love.” It was my favorite album of 2018. Heads and tails above the rest. It’s curious, and fun, and serious, and deep—like a Kurt Vonnegut novel. He’ll make me laugh in the middle of a serious song. I can relate to him. Did I mention he’s an excellent lyricist as well? He is.

I could sit here a wax poetic about his music—but instead I just urge you to pop this album on while you’re driving your car by yourself. I sat in traffic for hours on end listening to this beautiful piece of work. My desire is that you will get nearly as much joy from it as I did. It’s an album. It’s not a single. It’s not two tracks you love—and skip, skip, skip. It’s good art. It’s good music.

You can find WILD OCEAN OF LOVE everywhere where streaming music is available. You can also purchase his album if you fancy.

DUSTIN LOVELIS | Dimensions | "Idiot"

After having written that last entry Tao Te Ching and sharing Madison Cunningham with you in previous weeks, I got to thinking: I don't talk enough about all of the local music around me I admire and love. I think I will continue to write these and share, and just coin them GOOD MUSIC.

There is so much excellent art happening on the local level. There is too much—too much that goes unnoticed. It's criminal.

We all know this in our bones. We are avid supporters of local art that resonates with us.

As some of you know, I spent 5 years living in Long Beach, and I found several wonderful acts there that I cherish (and I will be sharing all of them with you): Dustin Lovelis is one of them.

He is such a unique amalgamation of influences. There is this inescapable retro quality to his music that I admire as well—you feel comfortable in it, like your favorite t-shirt, a t-shirt that is new to you, but you just bought it from a curated second hand store for $67 and you're completely comfortable with that decision because it was love at first sight—and remember? It's comfortable as all fuck.

Most of all, I resonate with the deep honesty of his music.

However you want to describe it, there is a gravity that carries the will to bring one to tears given the right opportunity: such as someone just breaking your heart, or you yourself making a mistake you regret. Dustin is providing the soundtrack for you in those times by sharing his own personal experiences—perhaps—at least in my own imagination, that is the way I interpret it.

You can find Dustin and his music on all of the streaming services, but naturally, you can truly support his work by making a purchase, like I did, here:

https://porchpartyrecords.bandcamp.com/album/dimensions

If you are interested in finding him online you may do so here:

Facebook

Instagram

I hope you enjoy the song I posted of his, up yonder. It is entitled "Idiot."

You can also learn more about him through the all powerful Google Search Engine. If you are local to southern California, catch a show of his soon. He would be full of gratitude, and you yourself will be floored by his sheer talent.

- Mike