Who Is Mike Vitale?

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Mike Vitale (Photo Courtesy of Monika Lightstone Photography)

I spent hours yesterday updating this website. Good golly, there is so much that needs to be updated. Who would have thoughts its such a busy job updating when you are busy updating simply creating and living life without talking about the fact that one is creating or living life? Here is my latest bio update. One more serious, and a second—less serious:

Mike Vitale is a singer-songwriter based out of Los Angeles, CA. He is currently out touring the United States in support of a full length album called φ: 12 new songs written by Vitale over the course of the past several years, as well as 11 new singles he is releasing over the course of 2023, that will eventually lead to a complete 12 song album called DESERT DOGS.

The third single from DESERT DOGS was released on May 27th 2023 and is entitled "Coyote." It's a tip of the hat to the great cowboy country writers of the 1940's and 1950’s, to Mark Twain (quite possibly one of the funniest people I have ever read), and to the end of a long pandemic—finally being able to appreciate the fact that I can tour again, and to count the many blessings of good health and the freedom to roam that which has never been explored by me. I am so very lucky. We are all so very lucky to live in such a beautiful country full of natural splendor.

The fourth single from this record is being released Friday July 7th. Capturing the feeling of deep attraction when seeing a beauty across the bar from the narrator, "Drunk on Your Mystique" is a summer vibe, frothing with the energy and excitement behind a crush on a total stranger. It's music and lyrics convey the Caribbean local and estuary of a port city where people are free to indulge in the fantasy and reverie of romantic whimsy. I plan to play this song all over the U.S. on my tour that starts this week and to promote on socials and playlists.

DESERT DOGS is immediately available as a BANDCAMP download to anyone who would like to contribute to Mike’s 2023 tours through his GoFundMe page: https://gofund.me/e6dcc0b9

LESS SERIOUS?

Mike Vitale is a Singer-Songwriter/producer/forward-slash enthusiast, based out of Los Angeles, CA. Eagle Rock to be precise (come by for a cup of coffee with him). When not preoccupied with speaking in third-person about music related stuff, he enjoys short walks on long beaches with his two border collies, Border and Collie. He is certain that this sentence is useless, but also doesn’t believe in absolutes. The dogs may or may not be fictional. All the other stuff is probably true, especially if it involves putting one word in front of another while simultaneously singing those words over-predetermined blocks of music. Totally his idea (don’t steal it).

TOUR DATES

What are Dreams?

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My actual dreams. Yes, I have aspirations—and I am doing my very best to will those into existence: from thought to actuality. But I also dream, and I remember these dreams that I have at night while I sleep. I don’t always remember them, but I do quite often, especially when sleeping flat on my back, with my spine aligned.

I’ve been keeping a dream journal. I started journaling entries of my dream content sometime before the pandemic—it was around the time that I moved to Los Angeles. I think it has been one of the most profound experiences of my life trying to derive meaning from them.

I started reading a lot of Carl Gustav Jung last year, and with a bit of guidance in terms of his theories on how to interpret my own dreams, it has been incredible what I have found. Profound. It is changing my life as well as my outlook on it. I’d love to share some of these dreams with you at some point, in a one on one conversation. I have always enjoyed personal conversations with people. Perhaps I will have the privilege of getting to know you under those circumstances one of these days. In equal measure though, I am so busy with all my aspirations (ironically), that talking about my dreams one on one with a person is a rare privilege for me (should the individual have interest in such subjects) so forgive me if that never happens.

I have turned some of these dreams into art pieces. They become songs or even short works of writing that I share on my Patreon page and on my website. Here is an example of one.

As a beautiful article in Time Magazine pointed out, “Modern psychologists and neurologists, armed with imaging equipment including PET scans and MRIs, have taken things to a deeper and more technical level, speculating that dreaming is the brain’s way of dumping excess data, consolidating important information, keeping us alert to danger and more.”

This may also be true. Stranger yet still: all of these notions could be true.

Regardless of your current outlook on dreams: a vast majority of the population have the exact same type of dreams: flying, teeth falling out, being back in school taking an exam, driving a car, being chased by animals, being naked in a public space in front of people, not wearing pants, and so forth.

I find Jung’s theory for this correlation, to be the most interesting of the lot. He speculates that the portions of the brain responsible for dreaming predate written language and deals and communicates in symbols. A portion of our cerebral cortex, called Wernicke's area and Broca’s area (slightly behind and in front of the ears, approximately), is responsible for language: the use of language and the comprehension of it. The cerebral cortex, from which these two regions are a part of, are the most recent evolutionary addition to our brain structure.

Jung’s theory continues that the older portions of the brain, such as the cerebral cortex, the hippocampus, the limbic system, the amygdala, and so forth, provide us with a symbolic and emotional compensatory monologue—a monologue without words: symbols and metaphors using memories and the rich construct of human experience that we all contain in an area called the collective unconscious. Think of the collective unconscious as something akin to—instinct—yet different and unique. It is a collection, a pool of symbols and meaning and archetypes throughout our continued development as a species.

However, his largest contribution was the idea of compensation—that our dreams are often (but not always) compensatory to our conscious waking life. He illustrates this notion, often, in many of his essays, using experiences with his clients. For the sake of brevity, I will use one such experience that can be found in this article: (https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4217604/)

“Jung was seeing a patient, who was a highly intelligent woman. Jung’s analysis with her dream went well at first, but after a while he got stuck with the interpretation and noticed a shallowness in the dialogue with the analysand. Jung decided to communicate this to the patient. He then had a dream the night before he was to meet with her again. The dream is as follows:

I was walking down a highway through a valley in late-afternoon sunlight. To my right was a steep hill. At its top stood a castle, and on the highest tower there was a woman sitting on a kind of balustrade. In order to see her properly, I had to bend my head far back. I awoke with a crick in the back of my neck. Even in the dream I had recognized the woman as my patient.

The interpretation of the dream was immediate and crystal clear to Jung: if in the dream he had to look up at the woman, his analysand, then in waking life Jung had probably been looking down on her both intellectually and morally, as according to Jung, ‘“dreams are, after all, compensations for the conscious attitude”’. Jung shared his dream and interpretation of it with the patient and it produced an immediate positive change in the effect of her treatment thereafter.”

It is a deeply fascinating rabbit hole of curiosities. However, please, “you don’t have to take my word for it,” as Lavar Burton would say.

CATCH ME PLAYING LIVE NEAR YOU

Singles Release Show at Hotel Cafe Main Stage on Friday August 26th

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The Hotel Cafe Main Stage

Hey Everyone,

I’m proud to announce that the band and I will be playing our first big show of 2022 at the Hotel Cafe main stage on Friday August 26th in celebration of three new singles I will releasing here shortly.

I would be deeply deeply honored to be surrounded by friends to ring in these new songs, before I leave to tour the United States again throughout October and November of this year. The tour booking is coming along nicely by the way. Here the dates I have scheduled thus far:

I would be honored to have you at Hotel Cafe to celebrate all the hard work I have been pouring into my music and its production, but also all the touring, promotion, management and booking I have been doing. I would be so thrilled to be surrounded by the people I love, hopefully with love in their hearts for me as well.

-Mike

Plan Bee?

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Plan Bee?

by Michael Patrick VItale

I am currently sitting outside and writing this on the patio in front of the rented space that I call my home. I was working on writing something else, but now I'm writing this. I was enjoying a cup of coffee as I often do every morning.

I just went to reach for my coffee mug, but stopped mid-reach; a bee has just landed on the table right next to the handle of my coffee mug. I'm starring at it right now. It sits there motionless, with what appears to be no immediate intentions of moving. I wonder what it is thinking.  

It does not appear to have any ill-will towards me, and I too, have no ill-will towards it. I imagine that it has no desire to cause me any harm, nor do I to it. So, here we both sit, while I, continuing to write and express myself, it lightly brushes its wings and does the secret beautiful things that bees do when you have the opportunity watch one up close like this. After all, for whatever reason, it flew to this table where I am sitting and decided to land by my enormous green Rainforest Cafe coffee mug. However, I do not want to be stung simply because I desire another sip of coffee, so I'm waiting and continuing to type away on my iPad.  

Well, no intention of leaving still, so I begin to appreciate it for its subtle parallels to life and just as I do that, it flies away to continue its busy day full of bee things.  

I take a big rewarding sip of my coffee and I can't help but think back to a few weeks ago when something remotely similar happened, with the glaring exception of us both reacting to each other in a completely different manner: the results however were just the same; the bee flew away.  

I was sitting outside and writing just as I am now, and a bee landed on the table next to my drink, however, on this occasion, it took flight and decided instead to fly around me cyclically, repeatedly, and eventually landed right on my shirt. I remained motionless and let it do its bee things that only bees know, for about 5 or 10 minutes. I could feel myself growing impatient. I had things to do, but I didn't feel comfortable returning to them with a bee on my shirt.  

I started feeling resentment towards the bee for taking its sweet-ass time doing whatever the hell it was doing. It eventually launched into the air again, only to continue to fly around me. I sat there trying to remain calm, but this time, it was flying closer to my face and I could hear its buzzing wings as it continued to make its rounds.

At this point, I freaked out and jumped from my chair and tried to distance myself from the bee as I had no clue as to what its intentions were and I didn't want to be stung. I ended up running over to the opposite side of the patio and it followed me there, continuing to find interest in me and fly around me half-hazard. I didn't want to hurt the bee so I had no choice but to once again remain perfectly still and let the bee do its bee stuff. It flew over to the opposite end of the patio and buzzed around something else for a little while. It landed. It flew away. It came back and flew around me some more.  

I remained motionless and watched. No sooner did I decide to return to a state of calm, than it decided to fly away. I wonder what it was thinking? Did I look like a flower? Was I a layover from its busy day of work, doing bee stuff? What attracted it to me in the first place? How often do we play energy ping pong with each other? How often do we mistake each others intentions, yet act nonetheless? How much of our interactions with one another resides within the domain of cause and effect?

I will never know for sure. Perhaps you may not either. However, why should that ever stop curiosity from chasing its own tail, in favor of that which is not wagging, politely.

Bronco II

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Bronco II

by Michael Patrick Vitale

I remember. You remember too. That one time. The memory you might be embarrassed by. The memory that could very well make you smile—if not blush as well, in the fraught of youthful naïveté—there might be a bit of shame mixed in there as well. A concoction of emotions that could very well string a few tears down a cheek, while recollecting—however, I do not think this is the intention of the memory. If anything, it was a deep lesson in a well of wisdom through mistakes hopefully never made again. I only had a few bruises—a few scratches on my back, and arms, and torso. I walked away with my life. I should be grateful. I should be on my hands and knees.

And I was that night, as I crawled from the indiscernible mangled confines of the cracked and destroyed windshield of a Bronco II that was totaled in the shape of a taco, along the side of a rural country road on the outskirts of my hometown of Visalia, California. I was just a kid. A kid who thought he knew it all, yet also had some small inkling that he was a fool—especially while on his hands in knees, crawling, in utter shock, through shattered glass, and dusty horizon of loose dirt sent arial by the bouncing spin, side-over-side of this Bronco II into an old oak tree, going Lord knows how fast. It made contact with that tree, so far up, it makes my stomach churn. The tree bark scrapped off, where the truck slid down the side of its wise and old trunk. It stood proudly, in the face of the ignorance of youth.

I was in the backseat. I didn’t have a seatbelt on. I was drunk. My friends were both intoxicated too. Coincidentally, both of those factors saved my life: being drunk, and having no seatbelt on. As the Bronco flipped side-over-side, I could feel myself bouncing from ceiling to seat, ceiling to seat, ceiling to seat… and I remained loose and an unconstricted bag of fleshy blood and water, from the alcohol, as if my friend did not just flip his car, swerving wildly and out of control, down this rural road that led away from his house—in pursuit of a pack of cigarettes no less. We were all out of cigarettes. We wanted cigarettes; we wanted to suck on the teat of nicotine like a bunch of stupid fucking infants.

My two friends who occupied the front seats, driving and as co-pilot—they had just dropped acid before we left. I opted out on that adventure on this occasion. I had done enough acid and mushrooms at that time in my life, albeit, in the humble pursuit of awareness in the spiritual. I did not require a spiritual journey that night. I had one well-enough without the assistance of psychedelics. That spiritual journey began with me rhythmically bouncing from seat to ceiling, for what seemed like an eternity. No seat belt. I survived.

We all survived. We all crawled out of the windshield, calling out for one another. Disoriented. Coughing from the dirt and debris. We all groggily walked back to his rural house, surrounded by orchards and farm land, to the driver’s parents’ house. They were out of town. We took advantage of this fact by sharing a fifth of Jack Daniels, and our thoughts and good company with one another, if I remember correctly. We might have smoked a few joints too. Loosened up our attitude. Became the warm campfire of friendship, providing heat for one another.

We got back to his house, and examined ourselves in the mirror of his lower bathroom in the downstairs quarter of his huge country house. I was in shock. My friends were in shock as well. There was some laughing and jubilee in the realization that we survived, with few things to remind us, aside from the damages inflicted on our persons. We showed each other these bruises and scratches. There was laughing involved, yes—but please take into account: we were all in shock—and that shock makes it difficult for me to remember much after this examination in the mirror of a downstairs bathroom.

What I do remember is being upstairs in his bedroom, trying to fall asleep on his cushioned bamboo chair, contorted into the shape of a question mark, listening to my two friends on acid, as they concocted a story to tell my friends’ parents. To explain how things came to pass. To explain how three youths nearly died that night, by the hand of their own ignorance—while also omitting those pertinent facts, in favor of some judicious half-truths and lies—if not to both help me, but to also help themselves. I slowly began to sober up, and become annoyed by the chatter of their acid-peaked thoughts, and to feel the full and fool weight of my own decisions—and to forgo my fingers, for counting the many blessings that appendages would never account for, because I will never have enough of them.

I remember waking up at one point, and seeing my friend through my drowsy and sleep starved eyes; he was languidly and contemplatively staring out the window, as his Bronco II was lifted onto a flatbed truck—it was during the sunrise of the next day. The light of the new day reflected across his face. I think his mind was also, where my mind was, while I tried to sleep. What have I done?

Paul Simon on Creativity and Songwriting | The Subconscious Mind and Unconscious Contributions to Creativity

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A while back, I had mentioned to you all that I feel that I sometimes write from the subconscious, and that I am not alone in that evaluation of my creative output. I went on to list a few artist names where I have heard or read them saying such in their own words.

And in all fairness, it is easy to say just about anything on this planet:

- I look great in this underwear.

- I'm a nice guy.

- I know what I am talking about

- I know what I am doing when I song write.

You name it. We as human beings can say anything: so it is important to cite our sources from time to time. So, as shown above: straight from the horse's mouth:

Paul Simon on Subconscious Writing: 29:44

Additionally, it is a different thing altogether though to be a student: and to not just be a student, but to realize that we are never a master. We are always the student. We have much to learn: always.

I have much to learn about songwriting, so I do research and I study. I have for years. I continue to.

I am a student. I love to learn.

We should treat each other as someone worth listening to—because I can guarantee you: no matter the individual, if you remain open, you will learn something from them: profound to the mundane.

I have a friend who's wife tells him that he is a shark.

What she means by that is, he must keep moving so that water flows through his creative gills, so that he may breath and stay alive. I understand what she means.

I too must constantly be moving, whether it is intellectually, creatively, physically, or any other type of movement you can think of, whether in the abstract sense or in the real real true true.

In one of the more poignant spots in this interview that took place in 1986, Mr. Simon talks about marketing—and how musicians primarily should be busy making music. It is unfortunate that in 2021, the trend of musicians is very much tilted towards marketing themselves. While there is nothing wrong with marketing per se, there is when it is 80% marketing and 20% self-reflection, creating, study, craft, practice, history, reading, poetry, listening, and so forth. We as artists must be mindful of this. If we do not remain mindful, we become out of balance—perhaps with ratios just described—but in other matters as well—some of which are far more detrimental, or any number of degrees proceeding such.

FOR SONGWRITERS, A FEW (but not exclusive) USEFUL TIMESTAMPS:

- 22:00 - Technique

- 22:38 - Interests and Technique

- 26:45 - 12 Notes of the Chromatic Scale

- 27:45 - Instruments and their Importance in Creativity

- 28:00 - Rhythmic Writing vs. Melodic Writing

- 29:44 - Subconscious Writing

Another book that I own that has been invaluable to me is "Songwriters on Songwriting" by Paul Zollo.

This whole interview is a blessing to watch, as is that book just mentioned. We learn from the kindness of those who share.

Lots of love y'all!

I'm heading to the store to pick up some gardening supplies.

- Mike

"Satin Doll" | Arrangement by Joe Pass

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Boy oh boy. Am I a horrendous jazz musician. I’ve been trying to chip away at improving this deficiency over the past 10 years or so, but to be completely honest, I haven’t made much headway—and that’s okay: it’s just for the fun of it. It’s a hobby. Most of what I’ve been doing is trying to treat music as a language, and learning some of the lexicon of jazz musicians that I admire. This is the A Section of Satin Doll as arranged by Joe Pass. There is so much to playing jazz, and these are some small baby steps I’ve made.

Thank you to everyone on Patreon for your encouragement and support: https://www.patreon.com/mikevitalemusic


A Peculiar Growth... and a Mouse

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A Peculiar Growth… and a Mouse

By Michael Patrick Vitale

I was in my quaint living room in Los Angeles, California. I have a beautiful fiddle leaf fig that occupies a space directly to the right of my work desk. However, its appearance was different than I normally remember it. It has been carefully manicured to have its main branch subdivide into several different shoots of branches, each with their own constellation of leaves. It is quite beautiful. It differers from the predominate majority of their variety that has a lone shoot, or trunk, which will continue to grow to the heavens, until it either buckles under its own weight, and begins to curve, or if a ceiling or otherwise, inhibits its upward expansion.

While I have tried to maintain the relative size of this tree by restricting its new growth, on this curious occasion, I noticed a peculiar new growth, that I had never noticed before. It resembled an oblong organic pod or tray running horizontal along the top. I had never noticed this before. It appeared to have a lid. I was curious beyond belief. I slowly began removing the organic lid. There was an overwhelmingly sticky bond between the lid and the organic tray; it resembled an adhesive viscous secretion of sort, as I pulled the lid away and back from the tray; this viscous material remained attached to both ends, the tray top and its constituent container, for lack of better words. Rather than remove the lid, I pushed it away, as one might do with the heavy top on a sarcophagus. While it was not a heavy lid, the secretions and absolute queerness of the entire growth on a fiddle leaf fig, creeped me out. So, I do not think I was eager to touch it a lot. I do not feel like that I was full of fear, but I most certainly felt on edge, as if, to be prepared for the unexpected.

What I found inside were two distinct things. It appeared to be a spiders nest as there were two or three sprawls of spiderwebs inside. Instantaneously, I felt as if this might be the home of the spider I was observing the other night. In addition to this, I also saw what looked to be a new miniature version of a fiddle leaf fig on the inside of this organic container.

Having inspected the contents, I pushed the lid back over the top of this organic tray of sorts, so as not to disturb the creatures or spiders living inside this peculiar organic case. I was overcome with a feeling of bewilderment by this whole ordeal, if not a bit of fear, perhaps as I appeared to be dealing with something previously unknown—in my home no less.

I look down on my floor, in front of the desk, to see a cute white mouse, with a rather elegant and appropriate tail. I am ashamed to admit that my initial feeling was that I needed to eradicate this rodent. It began to scurry off towards my bedroom. I had a reassured feeling that my cat would take care of the mouse.

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

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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).

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

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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!

"Want" | Mike Vitale (Original)

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“Want”
words and music by Mike Vitale

A tall glass of water
A safe bed to sleep
A roof overhead
Warm food to eat

A world full of want
Desires and dues
Everyone needs something
Without exception too

Someone to hug us
When we’re feeling blue
Someone to love us
Through and through

Everyone wants
We’re all living proof
Everyone needs something
And I’m no exception too

Maybe under an overpass and over this life
Feeling all alone and cold and scared and hungry at night
Empty as a Dixie cup, discarded just the same
Crumpled up and wasted under pliable walls, blankets, and rain

Who here marks value on things you can count
Please add up all the tents and tarps standing about
Everyone here needs a home and no one ever wants to feel alone

Ted Greene | "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"

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Getting sick is a drag. I'm heading to the doctor today.  I'm a smidge concerned—I seem to have caught something a little more severe than a cold.  At any rate, in regards to yourself, stay safe and healthy.

All that said, I've been trying to better utilize my time away from the realm of singing in other ways—like working on Ted Greene arrangements for solo guitar!  

Let there be no mistake: Ted Greene was one of the most amazing and versatile guitar players you have probably never have heard of (unless you are a musician).  He wrote several books on chord study and single note soloing—and many fine guitar players in southern California used to take private lessons with Ted, before he passed away. I first heard him through my friend Marcus McMillan, who studied with Ted for several years. He would record his guitar lessons with him. They were a blast to listen to. It was immediately apparent the guy was beyond the normal boundaries of guitar ninja gaiden territory. He was somewhere else entirely.

His knowledge of voice leading, inversions, and chord voicings made him the foremost authority on cracking your skull in two as a listener.  You need only buy his books to get a grasp of this.  He was a brilliant mind—a trailblazer in terms of the chords he used—no exaggeration necessary.  The only players I’ve heard use the chord voicing he found, are his students.  That is why I study these songs.  They are equal parts inspiring—and I learn these chord shapes within a utilized context, which is priceless in and of itself.  I have already started writing some songs that use some of these tasty vibes.

There is always a nugget or passage in these tunes that are extremely difficult to play.  If you are a guitar player, I’m sure it might be apparent just watching—however, if you take a crack at playing some of them, I’m sure you’ll see what I mean.

Speaking of which, here is a link to Ted's website should you have any interest in perusing:

tedgreene.com

Enjoy!

- Mike

Puppy Love | Mike Vitale (Original)

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Puppy Love
words and music by Michael Patrick Vitale

Puppy love tore up the garden diggin’ up old bones
Puppy love tore up the garden diggin’ up old bones
Now I’m chained up in the backyard whinin’ them painful moans
‘cause puppy love tore up the garden diggin’ up ol’ bones

Pretty little lady I’m a hungry for your love
But I’ve got nothing but an empty bowl
Pushin’ it around the yard with the end of my nose
Wishin’ you would feed me somethin’ but all the lights in the house are dark
So I curl up in the corner waitin’ for the sound of your car to park

‘cause puppy love tore up the garden diggin’ up ol’ bones
Puppy love tore up the garden diggin’ up old bones
Now I’m chained up in the backyard whinin’ them painful moans
‘cause puppy love tore up the garden diggin’ up ol’ bones

I’ve got a one leg perched up and it’s twitchin’ in my sleep
I can still smell you on my coat
I’ve been dreamin’ about you forgettin’ the finer details of this anecdote
It’s like I’ve got an itch that I can’t scratch so please help a poor dog out
I completely lose my command of english every time that you’re around

‘cause puppy love tore up the garden diggin’ up ol’ bones
Puppy love tore up the garden diggin’ up old bones
Now I’m chained up in the backyard whinin’ them painful moans
‘cause puppy love tore up the garden
Puppy love tore up the garden
‘cause puppy love tore up the garden diggin’ up ol’ bones