budget fashionistas.
Current mood: rebellious

while riding the train down to portland, i sat next to a young lady with a beatles tote bag and a wedding ring. when i saw the ring, i decided that "sure, of course you can sit here" would be the extent of our conversation, particularly because she didn't really express any interest in getting to know the young man she would end up sitting next to for three hours. and that was fine with me; i read the remaining three-quarters of mr. untouchable: the autobiography of nicky barnes for the entirety of the train ride. about an hour-or-so into the ride, she leaves her seat to go to the snack car or the bathroom or something. i continue reading my book. upon her return, she takes a quick peek inside of her tote bag to make sure i didn't take anything.

i smirk silently and think to myself, "good move. i would have done the same thing."

walking through downtown portland, i see the same sights as i would see in any downtown area: tourists walking around with cameras around their necks (people still do that?), cute interracial couples holding hands, exchanging "you're cute" smiles with girls wearing the same american apparel hoodie as myself, budget fashionistas hanging outside of nordstrom rack. you know, the usual.

but the areas explored outside of the center are the parts that make me want to move there.

Currently listening : There's No Home By Jana Hunter Release date: 2007-04-10

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cheap and cheerful: a retread.
Current mood: chipper

i think that people who read my last blog entry and sort of wrote me about don't quite have me figured out. some of them took it as me being depressed; others took it as a "woe is me, look at how bad my life was" sort of thing, and i want to clarify that i'm not the type of person to dwell on my past experiences. i wrote candidly about my botched suicide attempt only because that's something that really happened to me.

most everyone who knows me or reads my blog regularly realizes this.

on a lighter note, tomorrow morning, i leave for my vacation to portland. this should go without saying, but i'm absolutely stoked. the idea is that it's a scouting process; a process in which i've said before is to see if i really want to live there. even before going, everything seems like a go. it seems like a wonderful place in every aspect, and i can't wait to go down there to meet people. katherine and i were talking about the differences in music scenes between portland and seattle, and she had some pretty incredible points, in addition to the ones that were discussed between myself and the assistant editor of the willamette week. house shows sound like they'd be an absolute blast to play.

there was a friend i was supposed to hang out with in portland, but for some reason, she's acting funny. i mean, i can sort of understand it, because we've never really been friends, just hot-and-cold phases where we're either cordial and flirty or not speaking to each other at all. i've tried to contact her twice about my impending arrival, and neither time has she responded. i mean, it's not a crushing blow or anything; it's just a head-scratching incident, because the last time we were on a hot-streak, i was pretty satisfied with just being her friend. there are a couple of variables that are best if i don't attack directly, but i feel the situation ulimately goes like this: she doesn't need my attention anymore, so she sees no point in being friends. and that's sad, because she's a nice young lady that i would have loved to hang out (non-romantically!) with during my trip to portland. but, all i can do is wish her a happy life.

i've been practicing a lot lately, probably because of my impending move and the allure of not wanting to completely fuck up whenever i end up playing my next gig. i hope the portland kids end up liking fresh cherries. it's only a matter of time. a writer for pitchfork agreed to listen to my record. i hope he likes it, as well. i can't really bank on anyone liking fresh cherries, though, because i know a lot of people who don't. so, we'll see how it pans out. things are finally starting to roll for fresh cherries, and i honestly thought this day would never come. fresh cherries is pretty much the only thing i ever think about, and it's nice to see that other people are starting to think about it, too.

who sells wolf tickets, anymore?
martin douglas martin, esquire.

Currently listening : Visiter By The Dodos Release date: 2008-03-18

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empty bottles.
Current mood: peaceful

people often remember the time where they felt more disappointed than they ever had in their entire lives. this time for me was when i tried to kill myself, and woke up alive.

in late july of 2005, i drew up a final draft of a suicide note, placed it in an envelope, and stuck it halfway under my apartment's front door. i put my favorite album, neutral milk hotel's in the aeroplane over the sea, in the CD player and put it on loop. i had spent the entire day drinking vodka and cranberry juice, and sat on my couch and took an entire bottle of sleeping pills. the house smelled like custard and apple-scented candles, lit all across the one-bedroom, blankets on the windows to block out the sun. the ideal situation was for someone to find out a week later, because i loved everyone in my life, and didn't want them to find out immediately. i hated myself, so this wasn't the attention-grabbing thing where i tell everyone in my life to fuck off. i just wanted to die; any feelings hurt in the process would have been just a byproduct.

then, i felt drowsy, and i cuddled under a blanket in my bedroom, with the solace that this was the last time i'd ever fall asleep.

eighteen hours later, i woke up, candles burnt out. "two headed boy, part two" was playing on my CD player. i run to see if the note was still under the door. it was. i opened it, read it, and cried into it right before i ripped it up and threw it away. i cried for a pretty long time after i woke up that early-evening; not because i almost killed myself, but because i ALMOST killed myself. i was so furious at myself for not dying, that i nearly threw myself off of my second-story balcony. i sat cross-legged in the middle of my living room, full of contempt for myself. i don't deserve to be alive, so why wasn't i allowed to die in peace?

a lightbulb flickers. maybe i was put here for a reason.

Currently listening : Reckless Burning By Jesse Sykes & the Sweet Hereafter Release date: 2003-01-21

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for chris walla.
Current mood: pensive

nervousness is starting to build towards moving to portland.

don't get my words twisted; i'm not getting cold feet. it's just that september 1st is starting to be visible on the horizon, and this move is bigger than anything i've ever done before. you see, the main impetus of moving to portland is to start my life over again, but i'm not really used to starting my life over the right way. in my past, given my penchant for self-sabotage, i would just intentionally destroy my life, consciously forcing myself to start my life anew. but this time, i'm not destroying much of anything; i'm packing up my bags and driving three hours down the road.

and that's what scares me. i've never done this before. i've never been this far away from my family. and even though there have been periods throughout my adult life where i've kept my distance from them, there's always been the security that they're just a couple miles away when i need them. now, when i need them, they're going to be three hours away. i'm so used to completely wrecking my life and my relationships with people and rebuilding new ones, that there's a small part of me that feels like the bad guy for just leaving them behind. of course, that statement reeks of double-standard, because obviously by wrecking my relationships with old friends, i've gone out of my way to look like the bad guy.

there's also a part of me that's afraid of the organizational aspect of starting a new life. you see, in my past self-destructive phase, the thing about putting a sledgehammer to your life is that it forces you to act quickly and find a new way before you completely sink. this time, however, there's a lot of internal transfer applications and looking for a place to stay, without any of the scramble of calling an audible and avoiding a blitz from the defensive line. there's planning involved, and i've never planned anything this big before.

when jeff weiss visited town a couple months ago, i told him about portland, and he agreed that portland's audience would be better for fresh cherries from yakima. there's sort of a left-of-center quality about portland that makes it my favorite city in the world. look at one of its most popular acts: who knew that a band [the decemberists] that uses instruments like hurdy gurdies and lyrics about victorian-era prostitutes and world war II-era gay soliders would be one of america's most popular bands? that's what i love about portland: if you're a band with the standard guitar-bass-drums setup and tight jeans and $350 haircuts, portland is a town that will call bullshit on you very fast. even it's most pop-leaning act, the shins, still has that intangible portland weirdness about them. i don't want to shoot my head in the clouds and say that fresh cherries from yakima will rise through the two-million-bands-per-square-kilometer in portland, but it's nice that there could be a few people out there that would appreciate it. seattle has one of the best music scenes in the world, but it's very much a pop town.

i'm getting cold feet, but i'm too far in the water to hop out now.

keep portland weird,
martin douglas martin, esquire
(or whatever it is you call yourself these days)

Currently listening : We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes By Death Cab for Cutie Release date: 2000-03-21

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inside jokes.
Current mood: contemplative

i feel somewhat of a kinship with outcasts nowadays.

katherine and i had a wonderful talk last night; among many other things, we talked about the nature of individuality and elitism [and the hilarious notion of "regular people" creating their own "personal brand," word to hipster runoff], which sort of leads into what i've been thinking a lot about. she was telling me about how she sort of feels uncomfortable in the northwest, because there's sort of this prevailing aesthetic snobbery that goes on in this region, and she doesn't fit neatly into a little categorized box like all of the other "individuals" that are so far out with their individuality, that it bleeds into homogeny [if 100,000 people are all trying to look "different," they all end up looking the same, right?]. at that point, our conversation took a few left turns in the course of discussing alternative/hipster culture in general, among a ton of other semi-related things.

"so, what's with the whole outcast talk, then, martin douglas?" because i took more time to think about it after we got off the phone [being as though i'm sort of required to be nocturnal, i end up thinking a lot for the lack of other things to do]. my childhood came into play, where i remember being friends with a lot of people. not because i was cool or anything, but because i was just nice to people. well, when kids are popular for being nice, other kids tend to pick on them. i remember getting picked on a LOT in middle and high school. i never liked seeing other kids get laughed at or picked on, either, because i knew how that felt. i know what it's like to be ostracized, you know?

the elitist nature of the indie rock scene is something in which i've never been fond of. everything that doesn't fit into their realm of artistic integrity or whatever bullshit seems to get targets placed on their back. i don't use fresh cherries from yakima to create distance from people; if anything, i'm more inviting and approachable than most dudes in bands. i answer all of my e-mails and myspace messages, and i feel communication is key to establishing a relationship with the people who like my music [i.e. fresh cherries from yakima dot com]. troll through fresh cherries' myspace page and you'll see somewhat of a melting pot: alternative/hipster kids, emo kids, mainstream kids, RAPPERS [and not just zilla rocca, either, but that's my dude]-- all kinds of people. that's why i feel the need to stand up for those who get picked on a ton [i.e. the emo kids], because i know what that's like: I'M A GEEK MYSELF.

don't get me wrong, one of the reasons i'm moving is to meet people [the thrill of being "the new kid in town" allows for people to want to get to know you], but i don't know if i'm interested in having a "social circle;" even in school, i was sort of a peripheral member of the three or four cliques i hung out with. i'm sort of independent in the regard that i don't NEED to be social; i do it because it's fun sometimes. i've always placed an emphasis on partnerships; i'm more interested in investing my energy into as few people as possible. not because i'm some sort of nihilist or anything, but because i know that once i move to portland, i'm not going to be home very often, and acquaintances who are touring musicians say that being on the road takes you out of the social circle, anyway. as david bazan once sang, "fewer moving parts means fewer broken pieces." i'd rather focus my attention on one person who is going to be around when i get home than seven or eight who will keep moving while i'm gone, as selfish as that sounds.

i guess most of my life, i've been obsessed with forging a partnership with someone. not necessarily a romantic one, but the thought of having an internal dialogue with someone else is extremely rewarding to me. it's nice being able to finish someone's sentence.

can we talk fast kine,
martin douglas martin, esquire.

Currently listening : Street Horrrsing By Fuck Buttons Release date: 2008-03-18

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buckets of gold and other tales of perpetual dreamers.
Current mood: confident

"graduating college is like the end of my life," she told me, as i brought merchandise to the edge of the shelves, "for all of my life, my life's goal was to go to college, and now that it's over, i'm sorta like, 'now what,' you know?" being as though i'm turning twenty-five this fall, i've seen this scenario played out quite a few times in my life. i've seen kids build up their art portfolios; i've seen kids take their college degrees and work at starbucks for the rest of their lives trying to pay them off. in a way, i think about what it would have been like to make my grandmother proud by being the first college graduate in her family, but i was far too stubborn to take a physical education class when i wanted an MFA in creative writing.

so, i ditched college shortly after my placement test, working shitty and not-so-shitty jobs ruined by my well-known penchant for self-sabotage up until this point.

well, at least we know where i'm at, now; on the cusp of having the only career i've ever wanted, even though the pay's kinda shitty, and it's getting shittier every day, since noone's actually selling records, anymore. however, i think it's more fufilling for me to be called a "stubbornly creative and visionary singer/songwriter" than to be afraid to chase my dreams for fear that my tuition loans will never be paid. my scenario's not for everybody, and i commend those of you [especially ceanne, who graduates this weekend] that have successfully gained a higher education. you have far more patience and drive than your starving artist friend.

i've been thinking about boosting my live show with effects pedals and samplers, but, of course, this requires money. i've been recording demos, but in order to record honest kids, i realize i'm going to have to devote the computer i'm on entirely to recording, so that i can delete everything except my music on this PC. the lack of memory causes it to overload too easily, which means i would have to buy another computer for blogging/personal use. that also requires money. i'd like to start touring, and i saw a nice little minivan for under $6000, but i would need to actually press up physical copies of my record, which, you guessed it, requires a few bucks.

the plan is to hit the ground running when i move to portland. the guy who owns the label that's helping with the release of the album is going to set me up with a few portland shows. and we'll go from there, hopefully. that's one really nice guy; i'd love to build the profile of fresh cherries so that his label can grow and expand, because he deserves it. there's also a seattle label that i'm interested in signing to, which will help with the release of the CD, which will help the vinyl come out quicker, and will also set everything else into motion. i have a date at the post office on saturday morning to send my homemade "press kit." thank you to those of you who have enough foolish pride to think i'm going to become famous [shoutout to you again, ceanne!]; and who knows? how fucking crazy would that be if it actually happened?

sometimes, i wish someone was there to ride shotgun, though. one of these days, right?

shadows, sky, sandwiches,
martin douglas martin... WHATEVER!

Currently listening : Fleet Foxes By Fleet Foxes Release date: 2008-06-03

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rejection letters.
Current mood: confused

so, lately, i've been navigating this weird middle ground, where people feel fresh cherries from yakima is too arty for the pop kids, and too poppy for the art kids. it's naturally confusing, being too idiosyncratic for one crowd and being too conventional for another, but i suppose working on the outside of two completely different scenes is something i've been doing most of my natural life.

it's certainly an ego-killer, not being selected to play local festivals and getting no-replies from labels and blogs, especially the latter, where i thought that something fairly esoteric would have a chance to be embraced by a community who have hoisted acts on both sides. i'm generally not bitter about it, but when a blogger posts about singer/songwriters whose music is far more boring or derivative or whatever, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. however, there are times when the blogs embrace a singer/songwriter who is clearly better than i am [bon iver, for instance], and then i try to convince myself that it's just "not my time."

after friday night's gig, i think i finally realized that i'm really not ready to be embraced on a widespread level, yet; i'm still a fairly green live performer, and my live show is not exactly where i want it, yet, in both performance and presentation. of course, conquering stage fright is my only way to become a better performer, but i've also been kicking around ideas of how to have the songs more realized onstage, rather than it just being "amateur night at the coffee shop." i'm not talking a full band JUST YET; more like playing with samplers, looping pedals, and an electric guitar in addition to the trusty acoustic. you know, giving the songs more texture.

most times, i feel that this "enforced period of obscurity," as malcolm gladwell called it, is better for me; i can build an audience in a more organic way, instead of being one of these overhyped, flash-in-the-pan "blog bands." however, being as much of a dreamer as i am, not being met with enthusiasm brings my head down from the clouds and knocks me down a couple pegs, which is probably would i needed in the first place. being able to build fresh cherries from yakima into something that legitimately deserves to be paid attention to is the ideal way to work as an artist, and, as katherine and i talked about last night, libras are nothing if not idealists.

for those of you [ahem, ceanne] who truly think i'm going to be famous; maybe you're right. it's just going to take a little more time than i thought, which will probably make me appreciate even more.

poster child for moody introverts,
martin douglas martin, esquire.

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stools.
Current mood: bouncy

"your stool should have lights on it that light up whenever you sit down."

i was walking through downtown seattle, sort of lost, with shanah and duncan, whom i've tagged as the "ideal married couple." he's like 6'4", 6'5", and she's likely about a foot shorter. they both wear black-framed glasses, and between the two of them, they have to have at least twenty-five tattoos. they often finish each other's sentences. they look in each other's eyes with a devotion that suggests that they honestly wouldn't know what they would have done without each other. they scoff and disagree, but never argue. they ride bikes together. all in all, i honestly feel as though they should be the poster children of married couples nearing their late 20's.

we're walking throughout seattle in search of the venue, me carrying my guitar and my "state of the art stool complete with GPS" [i live for inside jokes], sharing antidotes with them about how a couple of girls saw me carrying both items on my way to meet them, and were pointing at me and smiling from their car. it was sort of awkward, because i don't know exactly what they were saying. the narcissist in me would love to say that they were talking about how cute i was, but it may not have been the case. they probably were talking about how stupid i looked in my skinny jeans and keffiyeh, carrying around a guitar and a stool like i'm some big-time musician or something.

duncan has to pee, so we're seaching in vain for somewhere for him to relieve himself where noone would see. our first two attempts were thwarted, because they both were right across the street from police stations. who has two precincts within five blocks of each other? finally, we find a bush that's not very concealed, but duncan, out of desperation, decides it's a fair enough spot to urinate. as two men start to walk up as duncan's finishing, he quickly zips up, and we start and awkward brisk walk across the intersection.

as we get to the venue, we sit and have drinks, as we have an hour before i'm scheduled to perform. i met will from squall, and we have a short conversation. soon, brea and her sister brooklyn show up, and i get them acquainted with my married friends. about five minutes before i'm supposed to go on, janine and lucas show up, and my company for the show is all here.

i step onstage with the fear of God in my bones, and i do a short soundcheck, and attempt to shake some of the stage fright as i start my set. "good morning, stranger," the set-opener, went well, which is more than i can say for my first live performance of "don't mind me, i'm just unconscious" [needs a lot more practice]. as the set progressed, i felt more comfortable in front of the sparsely-attended crowd, and it showed in the songs, especially the set closer and fan-favorite "lullaby for a retired model," which i thought i was going to have the most problems performing.

the thing i noticed about my set is that i really do have an overwhelming amount of stage fright. i suppose this comes from being really introverted and so forth, but still; it's something i need to get over if i want to be considered a performer. i can also chalk it up to being and extremely green performer [two gigs and counting], but i don't like to provide excuses, even though they're valid ones. the performance wasn't my best by any means, but i enjoy the challenge of becoming a better live performer. show 3 will be better by a pretty wide margin, i have a feeling. i just need extra practice.

after the set was the fun part of the night, talking to my friends and getting to use the drink tickets i was provided. shortly after my set, brea and her sister left [quoth janine: "brea is like martin's dream girl. there are three things that he likes in his women: red hair, fair skin, and stick-skinny. brea's all three."], and the five of us had more drinks and enjoyed the other performances. after the show, jamie and a gentleman-friend showed up, which was a very pleasant surprise.

i was handed a cool $2.50 for my performance. i spent it at the vending machine at the hotel on funyuns and pepsi.

hash browns the next morning,
martin douglas martin, esquire.

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bagger’s choice.
Current mood: sleepy

heavy eyelids and sore shoulders got me through the last couple days.

last night at about 10:40pm, i stood across from her, smiling from behind a mass of buttons and screens. you know that thing that girls do [you should, as most of you reading are indeed women] when they think a guy is cute? well, i'm trying to stop myself from giggling, because the young lady standing across from me was doing exactly that: broad smiling, looking down at her shoes [presumably to make sure she was still on solid ground-- oh, that's not it?, a slight SLIGHT twinkle in her eye, etc. it was pretty adorable, because this girl was awfully cute, and i've become a moderate-to-pretty-big fan of lip rings these days. i mean, set aside the fact that she was draped in victoria secret's semi-annoying "pink" wear from head-to-toe, she was definitely the prettiest girl i've encountered in this fashion in a long, long while. for a while, i thought about this, because it sort of weirded me out: like, this girl was pretty. i don't have this sort of personal encounter with pretty girls. for a while-- who am i kidding, even right now-- i tried to convince myself that maybe it was something else, and i'm waiting for someone to tell me the same, because this sort of thing doesn't happen to me. this sort of thing doesn't happen to guys who actually sit around and think about this sort of thing happening. this sort of thing happens to the guys who think nothing of it, because it happens to them all of the time.

last night, i cheated on my months-standing "no red meat diet" during a tryst with three-quarters of a pound of steak, dressed in seasoning and red potatoes. i have no idea why or if it will happen again soon or ever, but it was tasty. i've been teetering on vegetarianism [i couldn't be a vegan-- butter and cheese are two huge staples in my life] for the past couple months, and am still uncertain if it's something i want to give an honest try. i mean, i have preternaturally high metabolism, but i do have a history of high blood pressure on both sides of my biological family.

what do you think your biggest character flaw is? i am embarrassingly sincere, almost to the point of psychological illness. all of you know this. but i was asked, and in most occasions, questions deserve answers. well, that depends on who is asking. whatever. i'm rambling.

i think i'm tired of attempting to shoehorn fresh cherries from yakima into being accepted by some sort of wider sect of the national indie music scene. i think it's time for this thing to become an island. i think it comes from rejection issues from my childhood, but when i get the rejection letter [not that i've gotten many, just one or two, and not from a label], there's a part of my heart that gets folded on the corners. i think success is a theme i discuss often in this diary, but i think it's time to change my definition of "success." i think the only way my project is going to succeed is if i turn my back on the avenues i've been driving down to make this thing an actual career, to get paid doing what i love. an island.

on the other hand, i'm being told that i should sneak fresh cherries in the back door once 5 o'clock shadowboxers is unleashed. i've never been anything if not a gatecrasher.

maybe i'm too cool for girls who don't come around very often. just a thought.

a generation of happy mistakes,
martin douglas martin, squire.

10:44 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

for lester bangs.
Current mood: electric

"he's not even twenty-one, yet?" jeff asks about forty minutes prior to our friend for the evening gets turned away from a hotel bar for being underage, with equal parts bewilderment and pride in his voice, "what a precocious motherfucker!"

exactly one week ago, i met up with my good buddy, internet friend, and favorite music writer jeff weiss, accompanying him to the EMP pop conference, an annual gathering of people who get paid to writer about music, a who's-who of nerds and geeks who ultimately are the authorative voices of.. well, music writing geekery. of course, i wasn't particularly thrilled about the actual conference itself, but the prospect of finally meeting the man behind the only mp3 blog i read religiously, and providing him with some grade-A washington marijuana [a trademark so infamous, at a wu-tang concert last september, method man, a notorious weed enthusiast, inquired the crowd, "i heard seattle got some good-ass weed!"].

when i first arrived arrived at the EMP, i call jeff to see where he is. a pretty long arm stretches towards the sky, and he says, "i see you. look to your right." i reply, "goddamn, you're tall." at this point, he had already hung up. i walk over to jeff and two of his friends, one of which has a drink in his hand. so does jeff. while the guys are talking about how terrible the new lil' wayne single is, i'm peering around the room, watching all the journalists laugh over drinks, wondering how i get myself into these situations. i notice an older woman, clearly in her forties, with a black shirt/shorts combo, and a red overcoat that ended up being longer than the shorts she's wearing. black boots stretch in length almost all the way up to her knees. if the drinks were free, i would have had a couple and went to talk to her, but oh well.

we sat through the first panel [a roundtable of sorts about latinos in rock culture] for roughly eighteen minutes. outside of the EMP [when asked about the actual museum, i replied, "it's pretty meh."], i hand jeff a ziploc bag with roughly $20 worth of weed [courtesy of reggie, venus' boyfriend], two grape swisher sweets [that was him, too], and a lighter [courtesy of tanisha, my oldest sister, who left it in the car, along with a bunch of junk that i cleaned out of my car before i went to see jeff]. due to the concentration of security guards being paid to watch over the EMP, jeff quickly put the ziploc bag in his pocket.

jeff, myself, and our underaged friend [who, at this point, hadn't gotten kicked out of the hotel bar, that's later] went over to zeek's for beer. our underaged friend had a soda. over beers, we discuss music [naturally], and jeff officially introduces me to our friend [whose name i forgot, if you hadn't guessed by now, that's why i'm referring to him as "our underaged friend"] as, "not only a punch-drunk troubadour, but one of the five best hip-hop producers in the world right now." after a slight blush on my behalf, jeff tells me that he's had "weak stomach" [one of the highlights from 5 o'clock shadowboxers, my hip-hop thing] in his head the entire day. i tell him that shadowboxers is the only thing i've ever created, fresh cherries included, that i actually thought had a chance to be successful. he then tells me, "the thing about fresh cherries is that it's sorta inaccessible. i do think pitchfork would like it, though. i think that it's sort of like deerhunter and no age in the fact that i don't think they would be as big as they are if pitchfork didn't get behind it."

about a half-hour or so later, we're joined by the rest of jeff's party, comprised of writers/editors of the L.A. weekly, former writers of the now-defunct stylus magazine [a sorely-missed online music mag, which was nearly peerless in its thoughtful criticism], and a UCLA professor named wendy [hey! that's the lady with the really short shorts and the long red jacket and the fuck-me boots! wow! i can't believe my luck!], who intellegently pointed out the failing of these sorts of conferences, "most of the speakers are reading off of the page and trying too hard to be academic instead of actually saying something that resonates with people." the three of us were scarfing down zeek's amazing breadsticks, as the rest of our party ordered a cheese pizza. we ate, talked about music, and drank beer. good times.

"isn't this something," wendy asks me, "we're leaving a pizza place to head to an italian restaurant. am i the only one who sees the irony?" i shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. jeff offered to pay for my meals for the night in exchange for the weed, so although we're leaving to get MORE food, i was suddenly craving lobster, shrimp, and kobe beef.

on the mile-plus walk to the italian place, wendy and i are talking. translation: wendy's talking, and i'm listening. the most noticeable point of hanging out with the writers [and her, the academic], is that they know how to talk. at a mountain goats show last year, i met a woman named roberta who used to be a journalist, and she was quite the talker, as well. however, this is fine with me, because i'm a pretty decent listener. during the walk, wendy talks about the amazing view of her room at the westin downtown, and how she specifically asked for that particular room, just for the view. at this point, i've had quite a few beers, so i'm interested in her hotel room for reasons other than the view [excuse me for being piggish, but i'm a man, for goodness sake]. for the sake of trying to create a conversation that wasn't one-sided, i casually point out that i'm a musician, and she asks me the genre. i reply that it's sort of a folk/experimental/shoegaze hybrid, and the last word sends her into a frenzy, and she excitedly namedrops all of my shoegaze heroes from ride and slowdive. she then begins to tell me how she was the very first employee of domino records, and at this point, i'm regretting even saying the word "shoegaze" in this woman's presence. i mean, even though she's chatting away, i'm still somewhat drunkenly intrigued, and thinking about the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

wendy doesn't know anyone from my bloody valentine.

at the dinner table, the journalists are talking about other internet music critics [including the mythical ian cohen, a man jeff has linked to in his blog on a couple occasions], and i'm seated right next to wendy, talking about the food, and wondering if i can work up the courage to invite myself to her hotel room after a couple more drinks. a couple more drinks go by, wendy's tired and about to excuse herself from the table. she notes her view once again, saying how she wants to just stare out of the huge window before she goes to sleep. someone notes, "well, that's the best way to enjoy the room before your friend gets into town."

"no," she replies, "the best is when you have some guy fucking you in the room." this should have been my cue to say, "jeff, i'll call you tomorrow," and drunkenly stumble out into the street with her, making sure i pay for the cab. however, i could only muster what the other guys did: awkwardly stare down at my plate, as alfred, the gay guy, smiles and goes, "right on!" she leaves, and we are all still silent.

later on, when i finally made it home, i stared at my ceiling in the dark, weighing out the odds of having a shot. i think i had a fairly decent chance. but i'm at home, staring at the ceiling. i do have to look on the bright side; given how chatty she was, the pillow talk probably would have been awful.

oh, i love shoegaze,
martin douglas martin, squire.

3:41 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

talent scouts, revisited.
Current mood: inspired

a comment on my last.fm page from the guy who runs my label: "Your music is a perfect blend of dirt shoegazey noise and pop. You are a rocker."

my reply: "i’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to say that."

if you didn’t catch the last diary entry before i deleted it [for means of elaboration], i’m signed, but i’m not signed. borrowdeer recordings is putting out buttons for north caroline in digital format on may 6th. however, i get to keep ownership of my recordings, and i’m welcome to go to a bigger label to re-release it, if i want. it’s the type of artist-friendly non-deal that anyone would proud of having.

this is the product of an e-mail exchange between chris, the owner, and myself, after initally turning them down. this guy was so adamant about working with me that he offered to promote my record for free. this is probably the most flattering thing that’s ever happened to fresh cherries from yakima. chris’ enthusiasm is what brought me into the fold of his record label, a gloriously unconventional DIY affair that doesn’t sell CD’s [the vinyl release, however, depends on how many copies of the download we sell]. also, it’s sort of the perfect match, because we both share the same DIY aesthetic, and DIY is punk as fuck, it automatically makes you feel cool.

over the past few days, we’ve talked about many things. business things, etc., but most importantly, music. it’s awesome to be working with a person that shares my love for no age, one of the most exciting bands to come along in a while [and quite possibly the best two-piece since the white stripes]. it’s even more awesome that someone shares a love for experimental, shoegazey noise. fresh cherries from yakima has always been a glorious mess, and now, i have someone who likes it when i play in the dirt. it’s not even a nonchalant thing, like, "i guess we could release this" or a "you’re good-looking and charismatic. artistry aside, you could move units, because you’re marketable" type of thing [even though i realize that good looks unfortunately gets you farther in this shallow, shallow world]. chris loves my music, and that’s why he’s putting out my album. this is astounding.

it’s alternately inspiring and utterly fucking baffling that this "art-punk folkie" thing is catching on.

drinking clouds out of plastic cups,
martin douglas martin, esq.

9:28 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

distortion pedal monologue.
Current mood: thirsty

seated in front of a blinking cursor, guitar in lap, red stripe in hand, ears being melted from the playback in my headphones, my eyes are burning. my cheeks are fuzzy. my mouth is agape. my nose is runny. sweet, blessed, amazing noise is blaring to the point where i don’t even know that there is an outside world, banging on my door, or pounding the ceiling of the apartment downstairs. a sneaky grin slowly spreads across my face as i close my eyes and tears from the burning drip down the sides of my cheeks. i take another swig, and listen to the playback again.

maybe this is why people consider fresh cherries from yakima "more art than music," because they feel i’m a reclusive nutcase whose biggest pleasure is creating sounds that melt my face off.

"face melting," however, is just one of the many settings on my production knob. the thrill actually comes from taking an organic instrument and blurring it unrecognizable. when katherine, probably my hip-hop side-project’s biggest fan at this point, listened to a beat i made called "stay clean," she remarked that she liked the instrument that sounded like a train. for the record, i love making guitars sound like trains. i’ve tried this trick before on my cover of wolf parade’s "you are a runner and i am my father’s son." i love making harmonicas sound like oncoming traffic. i love playing instruements i have no clue how to play and making them sound like.. non-instruments. i’ll readily admit: the "art-punk folkie" tag does hold some truth.

i’m not really sure how i feel about the "more art than music" descriptor. fresh cherries from yakima is art-damaged folk-pop, but the "pop" tag should always be buried somewhere in the sentence; i spend more time working out a vocal melody than anything when i’m writing a song. i think anyone who makes music for the right reasons should be the band they’ve always wanted to hear; and i’ve always wanted someone to try folk music with a crazy, artsy, experimental bent, but still have killer tunes that people could sing along to.

on that note, fresh cherries from yakima is kinda/sorta in talks with one or two labels. shhhhh.

on the other end of the spectrum, i’ve taken a break from writing new songs to focus on 5 o’clock shadowboxers for a little while, spending the past month and change making beats for the insanely talented zilla rocca. i’ve made ten beats for him, so, i’m sure my end of it is finished, unless inspiration drums itself into my skull and beats me senseless, which is the reason why there are ten beats and not nine.

when i was twenty, i fell in love with making hip-hop beats during my ill-fitting stint pretending to be a rapper. although i worked hard at rapping, i never could listen to a completed song. however, i could sit and listen to the beats i made for days on end. once i started making beats for zilla, i realized how arduous the process is, but how fufilling the completed product can be. the beats i made for the 5 o’clock shadowboxers EP are mostly grimy, guttural hip-hop beats, coupled with the now-trademark "douglas martin weirdness." the funny thing is, this project is the only thing i’ve ever done, fresh cherries from yakima steadfastly included, that i’ve ever felt could have a chance to be successful, but if it’s not, it wouldn’t be a failure: just a criminally slept-on hip-hop masterpiece. that’s all.

speaking of douglas martin, katherine and i were talking about the idea of me having a pseudonym, anyway. she wondered aloud if there would be anything i would create that i’d put my real name. we talked about persona and so forth, and although i don’t think it’s a persona, i do feel as though perhaps it’s to separate my artistic life from my real one. or perhaps it is a persona, but i’m sure i won’t know until years down the line, when the people who know douglas martin easily crush the number of people who know martin douglas. i can’t say that i wouldn’t try something as contrived as creating a persona, because i’m fascinated by artists who have twisted their own into artistic folklore, such as bob dylan or david bowie. maybe douglas martin is a persona; i mean, the reason why my songs are fictional narratives is because i’m not really interested in the world at large knowing anything about martin douglas.

i pretend to be a rapper and nothing happens. i pretend to be a singer/songwriter, and i’m on the cusp of having the world handed to me. i guess to find out who you really are, you must first try something that makes you realize what you’re really not.

as katherine, and many others before her said, "life is a journey. not a destination."

shoots,
martin douglas martin, esquire.

Currently listening : Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel By Atlas Sound Release date: 19 February, 2008

5:30 AM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

canned peas.
Current mood: dizzy

walking into the store, hoodie over head, bags in eyes, i buy an energy drink and a bag of potato chips. a young-ish woman walks up to me, "excuse me?" i’m in work attire, so i naturally flip the switch and prepare for work early, "how can i help you, miss?" "i was wondering where you guys keep your olive oil?" i smile, extend my hand to point in the right direction, and reply, "aisle nine, about three-quarters of the way down, on your left hand side." "thanks," she replies, after which she says, "wow. you smell really good." i wear cologne during my daytime checker shifts, because it would be ridiculous to wear it at night when i have to throw freight and get all sweaty. "thanks," i reply, "kenneth cole reaction."

the funny thing is, at work, i walk around with charm eminating from my pores, because it’s pretty much one of the few times i actually get to use it. wink and smile, i guess.

at times, i use the same lines [when older women come through my line, i usually say, "i’m going to take a chance and say you’re old enough to buy this wine," to which one lady said, "i just have good genes, i guess," which actually disappointed me, because the real payoff comes from the ladies that know i’m full of shit, because they think being full of shit is charming], and at times, i get to use my imagination, but for the most part, aside from the rare grump, i usually win them over. this makes me feel good. it’s innocent.

walking through the aisles and departments on my way to clocking in, i’m greeted by nearly everyone, "martin! what’s happenin’?" "not much, just working on my day off. you know, it’s nothing to a boss." "hi, martin! what are you doing here so early?" "well, being as though i’m the whipping boy, i suppose, they couldn’t live without seeing martin douglas come in five hours early." "well, it’s really nice to see you," followed by a cute smile. "it’s always a pleasure," i reply. most everyone at my job treats me like a rock star, but this is not totally different from any other job i’ve ever had. i call it "introverted charisma."

i joke with the customers about having beers and baking cookies and not spending all of their seventy-six cents in one place. sometimes, it’s a tough crowd, but for the most part, they chuckle and occasionally joke back. some of the older women will give me possibly the same smile they give all the cute, charming 24-year-olds that ring up their groceries or help them at the shoe store or offer to pump their gas even though it’s a self-service station. some of the younger ones blush when i say, "have a good night, sweetie." some of the older gentlemen invite me for a beer after work, or laugh aloud when i say, "wow. a twelve pack? you must be a pretty expensive date!"

as much as i complain about working outside of my set schedule, working during the day is fun, because i get to strengthen my skills as a rock star and natural-born charmer.

being full of shit is charming,
martin douglas martin, esquire.

Currently listening : Sun Giant EP By Fleet Foxes Release date: 08 April, 2008

1:28 AM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

placeholders.
Current mood: blah

good morning, friends, divorced ex-girlfriends, and published authors.

first, i must sincerely apologize for being a shitty diarist; between the writing new songs, stitching together hip-hop beats, blogging up a storm [the real blog, not this one], compiling stories for my half-finished book of memoirs, and holding a decent paying job, i've just not really found much inspiration to run through the back catalog that is my life and share any stories, and goodness knows i don't have very many new ones to share. just the tumbleweeds cascading across the grocery store floor, and making sure the blanket is still thumbtacked over my window.

suprises from all fronts are forthcoming,
martin douglas martin, esquire.

Currently listening : Pwrfl Power By Pwrfl Power

3:23 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

mushroom gravy.
Current mood: giggly

as the sunshine beat down on my nocturnal eyes on a bright saturday afternoon, i realized that this is the first moment i've actually seen sun in four days. you see, working at night and sleeping during the day forces you to get reacquainted with acts that most people take for granted, like driving on the street during daylight hours. as i squinted at the road on the freeway, two drivers got pulled over by an unmarked silver chevy malibu. i still kind of tense up when i see cop cars, because although i now am an insured driver, i still have a couple of traffic tickets that aren't completely paid off, yet.

arriving on the corner of 5th and blanchard, i checked into my place for the evening, and tried to take a short nap. however, i was thrown off by not having the comfort food of a radio next to my bed and a fan blowing in my face, so i instead attempted to watch television. the only channel working was the discovery channel. not that i have anything wrong with the discovery channel; it's just not something i'm clamoring to watch. after about fifty more minutes of attempted sleep while half-watching "some assembly required" [they were showing how "unsinkable boats" were being made], i walked over to ralph's market, right across the street from the last hotel i stayed in while being in seattle, the warwick hotel [on brittany's visit]. i bought a six pack of pyramid hefe weizen and a monster energy drink [i was looking for sparks, but this will have to do]. i went back to the hotel and ordered a pizza shortly thereafter. it arrived in a half hour.

about a half-hour after that, shanah and duncan, my married friends from vancouver, arrived, bearing gifts. they own a neat little clothing company called little houses, and they brought me two really awesome t-shirts. i gave them my gift, which was a USB stick full of fresh cherries from yakima rarities in a case shaped like a cassette. we sit in my hotel room, briefly discussing the merits of the discovery channel as we watch the construction of an umbrella [ella, ella, ay, ay-- sorry, i couldn't resist], before heading out into the city.

the first plan was to hail a cab to neumo's, but after walking a few blocks in search for an ATM, the plan changed to a nice walk, the 2.5 miles between the hotel and the venue not seeming like very much while we were footing it. we made a stop at cyber dogs for beer. i gave duncan a quarter to play ms. pac man. he noted that his 1610 point score was a far cry from the 60,000+ that sat atop of the chart. after about ten minutes, i paid for the beers and we were well on our way again.

no less than ten blocks and twenty minutes later, we arrived at moe bar. the bartender informed us that it was happy hour, as shanah and duncan stared incredulously, pointing out, "we don't really know what that is." after the owner/bartender pointed out that there were $2 microbrews and other goodies for half-price, the fact that they were thorougly impressed by happy hour wasn't hid on their faces. i asked the bartender to get me the microbrew of his choice, and he brings back an apricot weizen. situational irony is a motherfucker.

after a few more beers, i point out that i want to try the skittles shot, and so it's ordered for me, and a second, cute female bartender smiles and walks back toward the bar. after about ten minutes of searching, she comes back and regretfully informs that after a thorough search of the bar, which included the basement, they were completely out of skittles shots. "wow," i remarked, "you guys even searched the basement? i feel like a VIP right now!" she smiled and asked if there was anything else we'd like to order. i asked for her recommendation. she highly recommended a drink called the "blueberry muffin." so, i got it and took the shot. i'm no good with shots, so it took a few minutes for it to settle, but it was ultimately a good drink with a wonderful aftertaste. it was getting closer and closer to the set time for the opening band, so we hurried our drinks down our throats and went into the venue.

the original plan was to stand front-and-center, but we decided to go around to the stage entrance door, where we made friends with the bouncer guarding the door. jeffrey lewis and the jitters climbed on stage, where jeffrey opened with an acapella tune, which was met with rapturous applause. jeffrey's set was an impressive one that included a projector with his drawings illustrating some of his songs, more acapella tunes, a few awesome crass covers [jeffrey opened one of them with this: "this is a song called 'punk is dead.' it was written about twenty minutes after punk was born."], and a song [with illustrations!] called "the creeping brain," which almost stole the entire show.

after a wait between sets, the mountain goats took the stage, and the bouncer leans over towards me and says, "this is your favorite songwriter? i hate to burst your bubble, but he's a fucking prick." shanah and i were bummed about that one, but enjoyed the first tunes of the set anyway. after about the third song the bouncer turns to me and says, "you can stand over here [in front of the backstage doorway] if you want." "i'd love to," i replied.

the thing i love the most about mountain goats performances is that john darnielle is such a ham. he goes through all of the rockstar poses [little dances, pointing out into the crowd, grabbing the hair of audience members, both male and female, foot on the monitor moments], while spilling out hundreds of words during any given song. the setlist was mostly filled with the most well-received moments from their 4AD albums, with no songs from before that era played during the main set. of course, the set was filled with tunes from the new album, most notably a guitar-and-drum version of "micheal myers resplendent," rollicking versions of both first single "sax rohmer 1" and new album title-track "heretic pride," and an intimate version of "san bernadino." of course, "you or your memory" made an appearance, where, during the line "st. joseph's baby asprin," darnielle stepped away from the mic and let the crowd sing.

as i started to go nuts during the songs, i turned to the couple behind me, a cute couple that appeared as though they were meant for each other, and said, "i'm not in your way, am i?" both of them, very much polite and accomadating, said, "no, no. you're fine," gesturing their hands to emphasize their point. i look at the gentlemen, and i squint and squeal.

"holy shit," i declare as i stared incredulously, "you're BEN GIBBARD."

unable to deny his identity, he nods and confirms. he asks, "what's your name?" "douglas," i reply while extending my hand. "it's nice to meet you, douglas," he says, and i remark, "wow. this is an honor." we enjoy the rest of the mountain goats' set with me intermittenly checking up, making sure that i'm still not obstructing their view. "no, you're fine. you're fine." i told them to let me know if i need to simmer down, and they both giggle a little bit.

during the first encore, the guys play "going to georgia," probably my favorite mountain goats tune, and one i was arguably singing as loud as the band itself. for the second song, john walks towards where i'm standing, and whispers something in ben's ear, likely a request to come up and sing the next song with him, a song that i thought was going to be "the best ever death metal band in denton," because he's known to have guests come up and sing that tune with him. however, it was "palmcorder yajna," a tune that ben covered on his last solo tour. during the last song of the encore, i turn to ben and ask, "let me know if i'm pressing my luck, but can i get a picture?" he says, "no, you're not pressing your luck at all!" his girlfriend takes the camera, cropped blonde hair and thick frames [someone who definitely appears as ben gibbard's type, if he has one at all], and snap. "bethanne's not gonna like this," i thought to myself as i smiled broadly. i thank gibbard, and tell him, "i know you don't have any trouble finding someone to open your solo shows, but just in case you do. look me up. my project's called fresh cherries from yakima." perhaps just entertaining me, he goes, "yeah. i definitely will." i thank him and i thank his girlfriend for taking the picture, and turn around to enjoy the rest of the show. afterwards, the mountain goats leave the stage, and i scream, "YOU'RE MY FUCKING HERO, JOHN!" he then turns around, gives a huge smile of approval, and we pound fists.

john darnielle gave me some dap. that was the most surreal moment of my life.

during the second encore(!), the band played a slowed-down version of "this year," and i lose my shit during the choruses. at this point, the house photographer is taking pictures of me, and taking pictures of me with people that want to take pictures of me, making me feel like the in-house celebrity that night. the guy who wanted a picture with me remarked, "you're so nice!" i reply my motto, "i just try to get through my life by fucking over as few people as possible." i mingle a little bit, and by that time, the show's over.

walking back to our hotel, we stop by cyber dogs, and shanah and duncan grab some veggie hot dogs, and we shoot the breeze, talking about the northwest garden show that duncan's mom is attending this weekend, among other things that are blurry because of my drunken state. upon our arrival back to the hotel, we hang out in their room and watch infomercials until the three of us were too tired to focus, cracking jokes about juicers, free health care, and colon cleansings.

waking up at 8am, i walk over to ralph's market and grab two odwalla superfood and some hummus. upon my arrival back at the hotel, i watch the news for a little while, and then a little basketball, and shanah calls me to let me know they're ready to check out. we head over to the u-district where we meet up with their friend pj, and head over to wayward cafe, a great vegan cafe where i had the most delicious biscuits and gravy and veggie hash browns.

shortly thereafter, we're saying our goodbyes, and i promise shanah and duncan that i will visit the lovely city of vancouver over the summer, where i will share the couch with their pug. i give shanah a hug, and duncan extends his hand, and i hug him, too. he replies, "oh. this is cool, too. i like these."

as i'm driving home down the I-5 corridor, almost-spring sun burning my eyes, i realize that 2008, not even three months in, has been filled with so many highlights that i start to wonder where all this good fortune has come from. maybe it's been a long time coming. it's scary.

i went home and changed clothes,
martin douglas martin, esquire.

Currently listening : We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes By Death Cab for Cutie Release date: 21 March, 2000

1:53 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment