A Hotel Room Inside My Head

Painting by Edward Hopper

A Hotel Room Inside My Head

By Michael Patrick Vitale

There is a hotel room inside my head. It does not demand attention of its own adornments. It is not flashy, and because of this, its occupants might not spare their attention towards whether or not there is a mini bar, or a large television with multiple channels, a well-upholstered couch, the finest of wallpaper, or the most elegant of lighting apparatus and lamps and other assorted furniture. None of these things are the focal point for me, at the very least. I can’t speak for everyone else present—well, I suppose I could, but I will not out of my own misguided principle. I am there for music.

There is a concert to be had by everyone present at this event, in a hotel room, inside my head. A very intimate concert. In fact, I am one of the artists scheduled to perform on this very lovely day, in a hotel room, inside my head. I never do perform though. Nor does the headliner. The very first artist, a duo, is scheduled to perform. They are the only people who actually play any music, and they do so, criss-cross applesauce from the humble elevation of carpeted floor, adjacent and in front of a King-sized bed. They play music that is inspired and unique and quirky and endearing. It speaks of their heart and soul, and everyone present can feel this. I recognize and admire all of these traits from my perch on top of the bed, in the hotel room inside my head.

The person next to me on the bed, is the headliner. She was not pleased to find out that this act was playing. She was unfamiliar with them. I assured her of their talent and merit, yet she remained skeptical—that is, until they began to play their music. They changed her mind. She told me so, sitting next me, on a King-sized bed, in a hotel room, inside my head.

To be completely honest, I am surprised that she agreed to play—let alone that she is even present, in this hotel room inside my head. She is quite talented. She also can’t stand my presence. Under normal circumstances—let us say, outside of a hotel room inside my head—she would avoid all contact with me. It is not my place to say that such feelings are unwarranted, either.

Once upon a time, I sent her a song I wrote, thinking that it might belong to her. I was mistaken, apparently. Perhaps she misunderstood the lyrics. Perhaps I misunderstood the song. I remain open to the idea that sharing the song, with her, was a complete mistake. Things probably would have been better left unsaid, and unsent. Thinking about it in some sort of equal measure of pragmatism and ——————————, what is a human being aside from a collection of choices? Regardless, here we are now, on a King-sized bed, watching a concert, in a hotel room, inside my head.

The musical act who was playing their original music, concludes, and they are no longer in the room. However, this notion did not become apparent to me immediately. I was startled to find that my father turned on the television, in the hotel room inside my head. I had no idea there was a television. I had no idea that my father was present. What an entrance! It was an impressive use of show me don’t tell me (bravo!). I politely insist that there is a concert in progress, and that perhaps he should turn the television off. He complies to my request without a word of disagreement or disgust.

While my attention was diverted on father’s insistence to find suitable entertainment in the realm of the two-dimensional, my headlining act, disappeared as well. She was nowhere to be seen. In her stead, two dear and talented friends arrive, and begin unpacking their guitars in order to play. I am thrilled to see both of them, although, admittedly, I am closer to one of the musicians—more so than the other—and frankly, I am surprised to see the more familiar of the two, as he no longer lives anywhere near to me. But then again, what do I know of time and distance and possibility, when it comes to an intimate folk concert in a hotel room, inside my head.

Nonetheless, I greet him with a long and sincere hug to display my deep gratitude for his company. As he unpacks his guitar from its case, I stand from the bed, and walk towards the adjacent area, the stage, if you will, where the previous performers had sat and expressed themselves. I suddenly notice that the arrival of my two performer friends were accompanied in more than equal measure by a large group of strangers, scattered across the space that could be described as the hotel room inside my head. Their presence is not unwelcome. An audience is always appreciated, especially for a concert, regardless of whether or not it is, within a hotel room, inside my head.

I reorient myself towards my friend, who is attending to his instrument, with his back facing me. His hair has greyed substantially since I last saw him several years ago; it would be best described as a distinguished look of salt and pepper coloring, at ear’s length. I mention that “I am so surprised to see you,” to which he replies, “I am moving back here. My house has turned into quite the money pit.” I am pleased to hear of his return, but saddened by his housing woes. I am also just beginning to realize that he is setting up to perform—this is slightly troubling, as I was not expecting his presence to begin with. After all, we have a full bill of performers for the evening, and furthermore: I have no clue where the headliner is. She has all but vanished.

A quick perusing of the hotel room inside my head shows no sign of her presence. I check outside for her, within the confines of the rear and empty parking lot adjacent to the hotel room inside my head. The parking lot is surrounded and secluded within the perimeter of several tall and some yet even taller still buildings and cityscape; and the parking lot, adjacent to the hotel room? It too is inside my head. It is the parking lot inside my head. It is empty, if we do not count me, as I am standing there. Alone. Alone with my uncertainty.

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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.

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Mount Airy, North Carolina

North Carolina

Perhaps it was in my best interest to be reminded of seasons yesterday, as it would appear I have long forgotten their existence, having nearly spent an equal number of years away from the mighty oak and maple trees that garnered awe and splendor during the fall and autumn of my youth in the San Joaquin Valley. 

But, at present, my eyes are greeted by gold and red foliage mingling playfully along the sides of Interstate 77 in North Carolina, in direct contrast to a place where no such color can be read on the palms of Mother Earth, as if there were ever futures to be told on such appendages: tall tale or none at all, atop one hundred vertical feet of Mexican Palm Trees lining a never-ending residential thoroughfare, in the circuit board cities and towns of Southern California.

My host and audience guest both corrected me on the use of my “the” in front of their 77, when referring to Interstate roads—it was, after all, the horse I rod in on yesterday from the bearded Spanish Moss Oaks of Savannah, Georgia—to play Mount Airy, along the boarder of North Carolina and Virginia. 

It was also just an innocent little determiner, minding its own business, but seemed to be a fleeting point of interest amongst the locals, as it pointed inexorably towards my “California” point-of-origin—and I could have sworn that this notion was imperceptibly tucked away under my t-shirt collar; in truth, I momentarily found myself this week’s masked villain on an episode of “Scooby-Doo Where Are You?”, before resuming my honorary position in the Mystery Machine, searching for clues, and fans of my music.

I assure you, my intentions are quite playful and benign in mentioning this short anecdote under such light, much as their teasing was, in equal measure. I’ll happily pet a baby goat in jest and metaphor, amongst new friends and libations: and we bestirred such in copious quantity. The kid and kidding just found its way inside our conversation as we drank and talked.

Mt. Airy, North Carolina

I played for three very intent listeners last night in the birthplace of Andy Griffith, and the basis of Mayberry in the Andy Griffith Show. Jerry was kind enough to invite me into his home on a Monday to play a house concert for any folks who would be willing to listen on a school night. I am deeply appreciative of his hospitality and for opening his home and heart to me for an evening. We shared many a good story afterwards. He spent years as a youth minister and is a professional musician himself, and I feel both of these notions become immediately apparent and indelible in his company.

He has all the performers he has welcomed into his home, sign the inside portion of a door that leads upstairs from his kitchen. The door is sweetly adorned by the drawings and well wishes of a many a performer who have graced the presence of his living room, either acoustically or with a modest amplification setup. I appraised the given situation and decided that it would be best to play acoustically for such an intimate audience of folks. It was one of my favorite shows of this tour considering the conversational nature of its presentation, and I enthusiastically added my small contribution to his door.

I am a bit apologetic to anyone who finds pleasure in reading these small anecdotes from my life, as I would like to add to these stories more often within the scope of this blog that I affectionally refer to as INSIDE my HEAD. It has proven to be a bit challenging to keep up with social media posts for this tour, let alone to write consistently here on this website, in between the driving, sightseeing, playing music, and the conversations had along the way with hosts and guests within their homes. I am doing my best though to share what’s bouncing around in between my ears, like a kid who’s had a bit too much sugar.

I arrived at my Aunt’s house this morning who lives right below Charlotte in a small town called Fort Mill, South Carolina. It might give me a bit of an opportunity to catch up with you all, before the tour really kicks in to high gear on Thursday, with nearly back to back shows through to next Wednesday. I just picked up a last minute concert in El Dorado, Arkansas, thanks to my friend Chris Loggins. Good times are ahead and I hope that this finds you all enjoying yourselves as much as myself.

My new album is called ϕ and is currently available for your listening pleasure on all streaming services. You can find it here if you fancy: NEW ALBUM LINK I’m having a great time sharing it with new people all over the United States.

WHO IS MIKE VITALE?

I am a storyteller, singer, songwriter, music producer, traveling musician, Jungian dream analyst, all-around curious fellow (Spiritual, Mathematical Historical, Scientific), Taoist, and much much more, based out of Los Angeles, California. I’m constantly releasing new music, in all sorts of different genres. You can listen to me below, on Spotify:

SOCIAL LINKS

UPCOMING SHOWS

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Houston, Texas

The Houston, Texas House Concert was a huge success and I met and had the opportunity to play for some absolutely wonderful folks, from all walks of life, and from many different countries, who have all found themselves coming together in their own home community to hang out and listen to a songwriter from Los Angeles, CA.

I was told by my new friends that hosted the event, that we had about 50 or 60 people on the yard listening to me for the first set, before the concert

was interrupted by a brief shower—which I am coming to find is sometimes common this time of year in Houston? To be completely honest, I don’t know that for certain. No one in particular really provided any sage wisdom on the subject—there was much discussion of rain and its frequency in the weeks leading up to the event, albeit in passing, by text or email. I’m a human being, and sometimes I operate under assumptions, so bear with me if you are from Houston and are thinking, “self, this guy doesn’t know dick about Houston and its weather.” You would be correct—and there is no need for that language.

There are some things in life that are deeply refreshing to the soul of an artist, if I may be so bold to refer to myself in such a manner, on both fronts: spiritually and artistically. I do make art, and I am hardly recognized in a scope outside the realm of individuals who may have heard my name in passing or have lived within southern California for the past 20 years or so—and have blessed me with their company throughout the years while I have occupied the space of a stage, playing the music of my life. So, imagine my surprise to see all of these people here in Houston, Texas. I found myself asking them, “ so what are all you beautiful folks doing here tonight?”

The truth of the matter is that I have had some wonderful hosts not only here in Houston, but also in Austin, and San Antonio, who took the time to invite friends, family, and colleagues out to hear me play some music and to give me the opportunity to entertain them for an evening. Beyond this, I have never been to the southern United States before the month of October, with the exception of what states I visited in the earlier portions of my tour in August and September of this year. I am writing this to you from New Orleans, Louisiana. I have never been here before either.

If I may share something with you: I made it my goal several years ago, to travel the United States, on the back of my own music. I maintained and stayed true to this desire for more years than I care to admit—and while I have lost my way on several occasions, I feel some levity and forgiveness should be afforded—considering the immense amount of things I have had to teach myself in order to get to where I have arrived this year. This was an intention I had been planning to execute in 2020—well, before COVID-19 delayed these events. However, they were originally conjured many many years before that by a kid from Visalia, California that dreamed of traveling the world playing the music that he wrote.

In order for me to accomplish this though, I needed to learn how to make friends everywhere I go, to network, to multitask, to be my own boss, to be kind to myself as my own employee, how to write a song that people would want to listen to, how to be earnest in my art, how to write creatively, how to have a basic understanding of marketing, how music works in theory, how to arrange music, how to produce it, how to communicate with artists (as we are sensitive folk at times), how to be mildly charismatic (or even funny at times), how to use social media, how to create a website, how to influence search engine optimization, how to operate as my own record label, how to generate a mailing list, how to say “no” to some things, how to say “yes” to nearly everything, how to accept the kindness of others no matter what your pride has to say on the matter, how to maintain my pride through embarrassment and mistake (regardless of how subjective or objective either may be), how to know what I want and to pursue it to the best of my capability, how to create social events for my community, how to record, how to mix music, how to communicate with people that are experts at sound and mixing, how to do graphic design, how to explain what I am picturing in my head to someone helping me to realize whatever that creative thing might be, how to publish music and what are the necessaries to collecting money in a constantly fluctuating business model, how to shoot video, how to edit video, how to organize my own tours, how to do a tour in a cost effective manner that allows me to come back in the black, how the ego leads to the use of passive aggressive behavior and how to not behave passive aggressively, how to simply ask or express to someone that what he or she did does not make you feel good, how to ask if someone wants your opinion before giving it, how to not jump to conclusions, how to realize when someone is trying to convince you of something, how to apologize and when to say thank you, how to deal with a heckler in an audience, how to show appreciation for the kindness of others (always), how to be patient, how to push myself out of my own comfort zone in order to grow, how to deal with moving somewhere new where you don’t know anyone or have any friends, how to be the best version of myself and to live with as much kindness in my heart as I can muster, how to not dwell…

I know that deep in my heart and recollection, there is more than this. But, this is what I could think of over a cup of coffee in my hotel room. Everything is a work in progress too. But, have no doubt: all of these things play into trying to realize a dream, by my own approximation. Mine is not fully realized—but in equal measure, I realize that “life is a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves.”

So, Houston—John and Neda: thank you. I am patient. I am resolute. I am grateful. I am taking notes. There is much to learn and much to teach when the time is right—and there is much to see. Please excuse me dear reader. I’m going to see more of New Orleans right now. It is beautiful and rich with unexplored treasures.

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Greetings from Austin!

It has been a bit of a whirlwind week for me—following a hurricane week, and a monsoon week the previous before that.

I am in Austin, Texas now, playing my second show of the tour this Saturday October 9th.

Texas is quite beautiful.

The album is now available on all streaming services and I am in full swing trying to meet with management and booking agents here is Austin during the Austin City Limits Festival. This has been a more recent development in semi-bold efforts.

Regardless, I will be playing my music in the southern United States this month, either way. If my name were Justin Bieber, I'd be a Belieber—and it's not, but I still am.

Lots of love y'all.

- Mike

PS

The dates listed above are open to the public with an RSVP. If you anyone that would want to attend, just reach out. The Timmermans are inviting out a bunch of family that they have in Houston, Texas. You are more than welcome to do the same. Just send me a message.

ϕ by Mike Vitale

The album that I am releasing right now has been a labor of love for me. It is called φ, or Phi. I have worked on it since 2017.

Phi is an irrational number (like my ambitions)—and like Pi, except Phi deals with spirals and is derived from the Fibonacci sequence—the sort of spirals you see in a pine cone, a pineapple, or the spreading of leaves on select plants to garner maximum sunlight—or the spiral of a milky way galaxy that we all live in.

Some of us derive significance from such things. Others? Not so much. It isn’t a necessity after all. Perhaps it’s just a way to pass the time—and I do that either way.

Curiosity and living life itself, is a fine enough sentiment to cue the music to: so I do—and then give it a queue to rest in: 12 songs to be precise, if precision were ever something a human being truly achieves.

I find us all to be an amazing and beautiful curiosity. A wonder. A joy. A miracle. As I age, I only become more enamored with us all, and what our purpose is here on Earth. Each of us.

For me, it feels like it is to write music about my life, both the good, and the bad—and to share it with as much honesty as possible, so that people may know that they are not alone in the way they feel. To play these songs for as many people as possible. To share my life, openly for those who care to listen.

… and although happiness may hardly need such expression or sentiment—heartbreak certainly does. There are so many of us out there that are hurting. I try to help in my own way.

Much like any song, or curiosity, or memory, or thought, or expression—or human being for that matter: we all matter. We are made of it, and we pass in conjunction with it, with each moment we are lucky enough to perceive.

May we all find our purpose and keep on doing and being the best version of ourselves. I try really hard every day to be that.

These 12 songs, available on all streaming services right now, are my life, written in music and melody and words: they are as much for you as they were cathartic for me over the past several years. I am thankful for you dear reader. Know that.

Here is a portal to all the things (you can also click that beautiful album cover up yonder):

CLICK ON ME TO LISTEN TO THE NEW ALBUM

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Home | by Mike Vitale (Official Music Video)

If you happen to like this song, feel free to listen to it on your favorite streaming service as well!

HOME on Music Streaming Services

OR

SUBSCRIBE TO MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL

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Gone by Mike Vitale

Gone is now available to listen to on all streaming services. You can find it on your preferred service by either clicking the album cover or at this link right here:

GONE | NEW SINGLE

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Home by Mike Vitale

Somewhat embarrassingly—or probably more accurately, just in time: I wrote the chorus of this song well over ten years ago. However, that is where the song stopped. For the life of me, I had nothing more to provide to the contents of its possession. It had no walls or interior in which to stretch one’s legs, or to relax comfortably on the couch and admire its inner being. It had no kitchen to create soul food. It had no bedroom to make love, and to rest a weary head—let alone two—and so it sat, in my creative nexus, forgotten and alone, looking for a mate. No verses. No Pre-chorus. No body. No arms or hands to softly caress the listener. No legs to dance on.

I moved from Fullerton to Anaheim to Long Beach. Nothing.

Finally, I moved to Los Angeles, California and met a girl who became its muse. She provided inspiration that manifested several verses—and the verses reverberated, yet, not off of walls or roof or floor—but off of a person. People. They are home—more so than any bed in a room, in a floor plan, of a wooden house, on a block, in a neighborhood, in a town or city, could ever be.

Home is now available to stream on all streaming services here or by clicking the album image above:

STREAMING SERVICES

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Empty Circle by Mike Vitale

Leave it to me to forget to post this song, the day before the next single comes out.

This is the third of five singles I will be releasing consecutively, leading up the release of my full LP called ϕ

Empty Circle is one of my favorite songs on the album. It was written in retrospect to a particularly difficult portion of my life. Hindsight is 20/20, some people say. There is a deep well of truth to that notion—yet, there is also a particularly poignant lack of definitive answers to any questions we ask the mysterious 8-ball of life, or ourselves for that matter. We oscillate within the frequency of our own convictions and heart. Ever changing—sometimes instantaneously—sometimes on the plank of our own decisions at sword point on a villainous vessel of plight and circumstance.

We also just blow things out of proportion sometimes—like a balloon that doesn't quite know its own limitations—or like something just full of hot air.

It's our own reflection on the matter in hindsight, that lets us file these memories with some sort of archaic Dewey Decimal System for later study in the annals of our own life. Perhaps we can work hard to find meaning and improvement and personal growth in the library of our human experience—or we can chatter away with whomever, while the librarian inside our skull exclaims with a shoosh that we are far too loud in a sacred place of study.

Just like the little boy protagonist in this song, lost in the woods: I saw my own footprints in the snow, and became excited—only to discover that the trail of footprints were in fact, my own—I was walking in a giant circle, truly lost, cold, and all alone.

This one is called Empty Circle. You can listen to it on your favorite streaming service, here:

https://songwhip.com/mikevitale/empty-circle

As a small side note: thank you to all the wonderful people who find meaning in the tune, and have been adding it to their playlists on Spotify and so forth. I am humbled with appreciation for the gesture of sharing. I balled my eyes out writing this song. May someone find comfort in it knowing they too are not alone.

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Younger Days by Mike Vitale

While I am certainly not an old man, I do remember when phones were still attached to walls, and when they were dialed by rotary.

My grandparents went from the bold new innovation of electricity and radio on a rural farm in California—to watching astronauts landing on the moon on a television from a house in Tulare.

I remember when my parents gave my grandparents a VCR for Christmas. The clock would be blinking 12:00, 12:00, 12:00. I would wonder why my grandparents never set the clock to the actual time of day it was.

I understand why, now, at 42 years old.

The world keeps moving, and changing, any a rate that I hardly feel I can keep up with—and people are no different as well. We are walking contradictions in that sense. We stay the same—yet, we also do not. Slowly changing, yet rapidly aging.

I had a person give me the advice once, to be the best version of myself. I suppose, as a turn of phrase, it politely takes into account that we are "ever changing like the shifting continents"—and with each passing day, I do feel that I am growing older and older at an exponential rate. Time, perceptibly, seems to be moving faster—and I change quite slowly—perhaps imperceptibly to myself and everyone else around me, until I catch up with a person I have not seen in 15 or 20 years, or look into a mirror and notice grey hair in my beard and hair.

I know for certain that I am not the same man I was 20 years ago. I am all the better for that. I also feel that wading in the waters of the past has its short comings, when the future is as optimistic as we make it.

This is called YOUNGER DAYS. It is now available on Spotify and Apple Music and all the other streaming platforms you fancy. Find it here or by clicking the album cover image above: https://sng.to/mikevitale/younger-days

Do something nice today. Reach out to a friend and say hi and tell them that you love them.

Thanks for listening!

Mike

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Time Machine by Mike Vitale

Last week's single "Time Machine" is now available on Spotify and Apple Music as of August 17th 2021, as well as all the other popular (and not so popular) streaming services.

Here is a link to find it on your favorite of that variety:

https://sng.to/mikevitale/time-machine

- Mike

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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).

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ϕ: A New Album Coming Summer 2021 and a United States Tour!

I’m proud to announce the release of my new album φ, which will be celebrated through a United States tour—and the channeling of 5 singles to streaming services, before its official digital debut towards the end of summer. Physical copies of the album will be available to friends and fans at live shows before its digital release to your favorite binary haunts. I am currently working on booking a tour to support my musical release in both August and October of 2021.

I am working furiously on booking this damn tour as we speak, but these are current dates that I have thus far:

Aug 12th - Rockwood Music Hall | New York City, New York

Aug 13th - The Yurt House Concerts | Parsonsfield, Maine

Aug 14th - Byfield Community Arts Center | Byfield, Massachusetts

Aug 15th - New Hampshire House Concerts | Boscawen, New Hampshire

Aug 20th - Above Ground Winery | Middlebrook, Virginia

Aug 21st - The Fray House | Midland, North Carolina

Aug 23rd - Dish | Lynchburg, Virginia

Aug 27th - Westland Michigan House Concerts | Westland, Michigan

Aug 28th - Northville Winery | Northville, Michigan

Aug 29th - Psychedlic Swampwarming House Party | Chicago, Illinois

Sept 4th - Happy Hill Road House Concerts | North Freedom, Wisconsin

Sept 10th - The Garden | Colorado Springs, Colorado

Sept 26th - Alex's Bar (full band Album Release Show) | Long Beach, California

Sept 28th - Highland Park Bowl | Highland Park, CA

Oct 2nd - San Antonio House Concert | San Antonio, Texas

Oct 9th - Austin House Concerts | Austin, Texas

Oct 10th - Houston House Concerts | Houston, Texas

Oct 16th - Wolf Howl House Concert | St. Petersburg, Florida

Oct 18th - Running with Headphones House Concerts | Mount Airy, North Carolina

Oct 21st - Frank's Place | Cornelius, North Carolina

Oct 22nd - Patterson's Loft | Birmingham, Alabama

Oct 23rd - The Third Door | Marietta, Georgia

Oct 24th - JMac's | Chattanooga, Tennessee

Oct 29th - Desert Valley House Concerts | Phoenix, Arizona

For further details on exact locations for the show or to see if I am playing near you, give me a follow using the bandsintown app on your phone. No matter where you live, you will receive a push notification and an email when I am playing near you:

https://www.bandsintown.com/mikevitale

You can find one of the first music videos off the album right here (below these words—it’s a private link on Youtube). It’s a song that I co-wrote with my friend Daniel Blake Wilson, called “Younger Days”. A special thank you to the wonderful talent of Alper Yesiltas for sick photography skills and Ken Dougherty for his graphic design prowess on the album art.

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UPCOMING SHOW DATES

U.S. Tour 2021

Alright, so I scored and solidified my first house show on the U.S. Tour for August 13th 2021 in Parsonsfield, Maine. Great! Now, how am I going to get there? Great question! I am happy to pretend you asked.

My desire thus far is to reach out to all my friends (especially musician friends) for help. I spoke to several friends this morning, or at the very least, reached out to compadres in New Mexico, Texas, Arkansas, New York and Tennessee and so forth—and I am thinking about driving through the south and up the East Coast to get to Maine, and then driving through the upper portion of the US on the way back.

It’s not much of a plan yet—but hey, every plan starts somewhere—and this is my starting point.

I am trying to reach out to lots of kind people who I have met throughout my life to see what we can do to spend a day or two together on my trip to Maine and back.

Wish me luck—and if you’re feeling especially full of Grace, perhaps you can help me find a house show or listening room to play along the way. I would be honored and humbled by such kindness.

We start with a seed: August 13th 2021 in Parsonsfield, Maine—and then we see what can grow from that; I am putting my faith in humanity and friendship.

Lots of love,

Mike

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My blog and News Updates Have Moved

For anyone interested in my comings and goings, staying up to date with the latest news, reading short stories I have written, my current literature reading list, musings on life, and all the other stuff I normally post about, come on over to my Patreon page. You can click the icon to the left for easy access, or click right here: PATREON.

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"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).

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Superstition | Stevie Wonder (Mike Vitale Cover)

Here is my arrangement of the Stevie Wonder classic, “Superstition.” I’ve been trying to apply myself to learning some new things—in the case of this video, I taught myself how to play and use a Native Instruments Maschine mk3, a Roli Seaboard Block, shoot video on a Canon Eon Rebel t5 with a lens and camera that my friend is letting me borrow, edit on Premiere Pro, and put to use knowledge from audio mixing tutorials by Andrew Scheps (who is a really wonderful teacher—not to mention mixing engineer).

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

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Live Stream on Instagram Live | Friday April 3rd 2020 at 8pm PST

A huge thanks to my new friends at Live Nation and House of Blues for offering to advertise this live stream tomorrow night on their Instagram profile! Perhaps I might reach some new ears, which would be cool. If you are interested in joining me while I perform some original material from my two new albums coming soon, as well as some older songs from previous releases, swing by my Instagram at 8pm PST tomorrow night. My handle is @mikevitalemusic. You can also just click this image to take you there, directly.

Give me a follow on BANDSINTOWN to know when I am playing a live stream next!

http://www.bandsintown.com/mikevitale

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NPR Tiny Desk Contest 2020: Dandelion Seeds is now live on the NPR website!

As many of you probably remember from last year, I submitted a live recording of "Latchkey Kid (Live at Studio 333)" for the NPR Tiny Desk Concert Series. Everyone on Patreon helped to pay for the mixing of that song, which I am very thankful for. It is now available on Spotify and Apple Music.

Due to our current predicament, I am unable to record a song with the band, or to make a bigger production of it, so I opted instead to simply record the song at home and submit it on a zero budget.

This year I submitted my song "Dandelion Seeds" to compete in the contest, which is being judged by several radio DJ's as well as musicians. This year they have Bobby Boilen, Bobby Carter, Raina Douris, Tarik Moody, Quinn Christopherson, Brittany Howard, and Gina Chavez.

They just approved the song today and posted it to the NPR website, which has been great, because it’s been picking up some new plays and I’ve received a few new subscribers on Youtube:

https://tinydeskcontest.npr.org/2020/browse/?id=2889700

I'm always thankful for the prospective opportunity of new ears to listen to my art, and, above everything else: I hope that this finds you all in good spirits and health!

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