So, like a complete idiot, I didn’t snap any shots from the stage when I played the first round of the Best Acoustic Showcase for the Orange County Music Awards, however, luckily, some people with professional camera equipment did.  So through the magic of my blog, I thought I would share a couple of shots from January 26th at The Gypsy Den in Santa Ana.  I can honestly say that every musician killed that night and it was an absolute pleasure sharing the stage with my friends Kurt Hunter, Brittany Bontempo, and Marc B. It was also awesome to make new friends The Vacuum Bell, I hate you just kidding, and some of the members of Canvas.

For more coverage of this year’s Orange County Music Awards, you can visit the following links:

http://www.ocmusicawards.com/
http://www.ocmusicawards.com/blog/

Thank you to everyone that came out—I think the OCMA’s estimated that there was around 225 people that came out to support that night!  I hope you all had fun.

Can you find yourself in some of the crowd shots? It’s like “Where’s Waldo,” but without the stripped shirt.

- Mike

ALSO

Welcome to my first installment of bedroomCLASSICS: This is a brand new song called “Latchkey Kid” and it is going to be on my next album which I am currently in the process of writing. I debuted it at The 2010 Orange County Music Awards Showcase a week or so ago—I wish I could adequately describe the pleasure, gratification, and magic of having 200 people sing along to a song. Perhaps we all have a bit of Latchkey Kid inside of us—or perhaps not. Either way, I hope you like it: I’ve included the words below the video.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Q36EimurQs

Latchkey Kid

Words and Music: Mike Vitale

Coloring books when I was nine
Anything that I could do to pass the time
Finished up my homework after I go home from school
Built a blanket fort in my living room

Set the oven to 400 degrees myself
Perched up on the countertop to reach a kitchen shelf
It’s dinner time, and my parents are nowhere to be seen
So corn dogs and fish sticks are my routine

I’m a Latchkey Kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in
I’m a Latchkey Kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in

Waiting by the phone for my parents to call
Staring at our family portrait hanging on the wall
My daddy says no TV if stay up too late
Too bad he aint here to regulate

I’m a Latchkey Kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in
I’m a Latchkey Kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in

Sometimes my father would come home late
And my mother would be drunk by then, smell perfume, and throw a dinner plate
No one to read me story when I tuck myself into bed
So I dream of love
I dream of love
and then start my day again

I’m a latchkey kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in
I’m a latchkey kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in
I’m a latchkey kid
I’m a latchkey kid
I’m a latchkey kid

Latchkey Kid
Words and Music:  Mike Vitale

Coloring books when I was nine
Anything that I could do to pass the time
Finished up my homework after I go home from school
Built a blanket fort in my living room

Set the oven to 400 degrees myself
Perched up on the countertop to reach a kitchen shelf
It’s dinner time, and my parents are nowhere to be seen
So corn dogs and fish sticks are my routine

I’m a Latchkey Kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in

Waiting by the phone for my parents to call
Staring at our family portrait hanging on the wall
My daddy says, “no TV” if stay up too late
Too bad he aint here to regulate

I’m a Latchkey Kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in
I’m a Latchkey Kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in

Sometimes my father would come home late
And my mother would be drunk by then, smell perfume, and throw a dinner plate
No one to read me story when I tuck myself into bed
So I dream of love
I dream of love
and then start my day again

I’m a latchkey kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in
I’m a latchkey kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in
I’m a latchkey kid
I’m a latchkey kid
I’m a latchkey kid

SELF:   “I bet other people don’t visit Capitol Records that often either.”

So from this minor leap in logic, I took the next big jump in assuming that you care and decided to write a blog about it.

Crack of Knuckles.

So, first thing is first: how about some photos?  This is the sink from the Capitol Records Mastering Department bathroom:

Now, personally, I feel that this sink says volumes about their mastering work—however, these two points are sufficient:

1. It fits one small infant—not that I’ve tried: more of an observation and less of a truth—I didn’t have a baby handy.
2. While music may or may not be born in this department, like this bathroom sink, they do a fantastic job of making music clean and presentable.

If putting out a record is liking birthing a baby, then mastering might be like a gentle wipe with a moist cloth on that infant afterwards: Lord knows I struggle to get my music to smell and look good, especially after I’ve been pushing it through my proverbial creative uterus for a long time—at least it feels that way.

With that being said, I am tickled to death with how much life Kevin Bartley brought to the album and I can’t wait for you to hear it.

This is Kevin—he’s the dude that mastered the disc and an all around nice guy:

Unrelated to Kevin, I was noticing on the way to the bathroom (as their hallways adorned these trophies) that countless other artists with mullets have had their albums mastered here.  Here are a few:

You know, to quote Richard Marx:  “Wherever you go, whatever you do, I’ll be right here waiting for you”— and certainly, here he is.

I’m debating growing my hair out in a similar fashion to follow suit—it seems like the thing to do.  Granted, not all of their artists have mullets, so it’s not necessary:  I was just thinking in terms of my business to party ratio and where those two ideas meet on my head.  For example:

He’s all party and no business (I’m talking hair, not music… George Harrison is amazing), and he mastered here also—I’ll get back to you on the whole mullet thing.

In terms of being wowed, this was one of my favorite albums growing up!  Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd changed my life  I feel honored to have the same mastering team working on my music:

In the meanwhile, it’s nice to be on the inside for once and I’m glad that you could join me:

See you back on the other side.

- Mike

PS

I’m thinking CD release party real soon, with a band.

PSPS

If you like these musings about my life, I added a function at the top right hand corner of this wordpress blog where you can Subscribe to them by adding your email address!  I would like that—feel free if you desire.  It’s wonderful having an audience.

Step 1:  Keep your mouth shut.

Step 2:  Keep it shut.

Step 3:  Wow, that was tempting, maybe I should speak up… no I’m resolute.

Step 4:  Don’t make eye contact.

Step 5:  Was that a camera flash?

Step 6:  Woops, I looked.

Step 7:  Wait, did he just wink at me?

Let me explain.

It all started off as an innocent evening of music going.  I was out to watch two of my many favorite local talents, Yeah, Brother, and Danny Maika.  At the conclusion of Yeah, Brother’s set at McClain’s Coffeehouse, I rendezvoused with two friends of mine, Max (who plays Banjo in the group Yeah, Brother) and his lovely girlfriend, Taryn, for an evening of minimalist debauchery at another local haunt of mine, The Pint House in downtown Fullerton a few blocks away.

Now, Taryn, Max, and I arrived just in time to catch Danny’s set.  Having my heart set on getting a little heady, I ordered a few pints of Guinness, and if I were to measure my progress in getting pissed by glasses consumed, I was somewhere around 3 or 4 before my interesting predicament occurred.  It all started with a note:

“So, whatcha drinkin’?”

The note was passed along to me from a young lady I am an acquaintance of, sitting at the table next to us.  Now, for the record, Brittany was not the author of the note; she was just the messenger.  In fact, the penman was a dude next to her whom I had made eye contact with briefly and gave a friendly smile (mistake #1 for those of you who may be keeping count).

Now, that evening, I was running under the assumption that everyone at the neighboring table are friends of one another.  Since I knew a couple of people in their group, and I was bouncing back and forth talking with various individuals seated there, I didn’t think much on the note I received, and cordially replied verbally to the written inquiry by saying to the gentleman out loud, “Guinness” (mistake #2).  I resumed my conversation with Taryn and Max, enjoyed listening to Danny Maika, and went on with my evening as planned.

As fate would have it, when our waitress magically appears at the table again with another round of drinks for Max and Taryn, she also happens to have a pint of Guinness that I didn’t order.  I was perplexed and pointed out that I didn’t order this drink, to which she replies, “Yes, I know.  He ordered it for you,” pointing to the author of the note; he waves.  Decision time:

a.)   Do I accept the beer from the stranger at the table next to me?

b.)  Do I refuse the beer?

I’m not one for being rude or un-cordial, so I accepted the beer and enjoyed it (mistake #3).  By doing so, perhaps I implied any number of things to the gentleman that bought me the beer:

1.    My cordial smile and head nod when we made eye contact earlier in the evening meant something more than “hello.”

2.    Like the Skittles ads, I taste the rainbow.

Unfortunately for him (and awkwardly for me), neither of these are true, however, at this point, it was too late.  I spent roughly the next 45 minutes avoiding his heavy drunken gaze and continued efforts to flirt from 10 feet away.  These included awkward long stares that I couldn’t help but notice from my peripheral as he tried in vain to initiate a visual exchange by persistently snapping photographs of me with a bright flash; he then would follow this with several stares or gestures that made Taryn laugh hysterically next to me.  At this point, I had already been taking flack from her considering my acceptance of the free drink and my explanation that I think it carried intentions beyond getting me drunk.

At the conclusion of Danny’s set, my drunken admirer invited himself over for a friendly chat, in which case, I stuck around for a minute or two, and then excused myself to go use the restroom.  Upon my arrival back, I catch the tail end of Max, Taryn’s, and my not-so-secret admirer’s conversation about him being an Interscope Records recording artist who was dropped from his label because his music was “too dark.”  I thanked him for the beer, after which he replied, “my pleasure” with a hint of facial grimace, and then he left.

Joey, if you ever end up reading this, I mean no offense and find your advances flattering, however, I prefer to keep the company of a woman.  I can’t help it and hope you understand.  Please don’t take offense, and thank you for the Guinness; it was cold, delicious, my favorite, and I appreciated the gesture.  If I can carry anything home from this story, I think it’s cool that we (as human beings with feelings and passion) are progressively moving towards a world where one man can hit on another in an open public space and the worst thing that happens is a blog.  My hat goes off to you Joey (and I mean that with the most respect possible); you know who you are and you are proud of it!  I wish more people could truly say that about themselves.

So, until the next time I get hit-on by a man, or until I find something else to write about, this is Mike Vitale saying, salutations, and thank you for reading.

- Mike