swan dive

Monday, May 05, 2008


I've always thought it would be fun to be a "cowgirl"
and when I was younger my family lived for a couple of
years on a dairy farm in Texas. We helped milk the
cows and feed them in the morning and afternoon. My
sister Laura and I would run around the pasture
making the bulls mad, climbing under a fence just in
time before they could get us. We put on lots of
shows, singing and dancing, in a giant haybarn.

We always had lots of dogs and cats and even a baby
possum that we kept in a house slipper to keep him
warm. We could hear wolves howling at night back
beyond the field. It was all very exciting.

Lately, I've been having fun being a cowgirl again,
only working with horses this time around. Some
friends of mine that live down the street have seven
horses and when they go out of town they call me to
take care of them.

I give the horses feed, water and alfalfa two times a
day and clean out their stalls. Sometimes I go out
into the middle of the pasture and sing at the top of
my lungs. There's no one around but me and the horses
and dogs. It's a good place to practice and they
don't seem to mind.

Here are a couple of pics of me with the horses.
That's all for now. Molly

Friday, April 18, 2008

“Did anybody ever tell you that you look like . . .?”

This is a line that people often use when they’re struck by some physical resemblance between an ordinary person and a famous person. I’ve only used it a handful of times in my life. I remember once I saw a girl who looked a lot like the actress Jean Seberg. I told her. But the girl had never heard of Jean Seberg. Another time I had a teacher who bore a striking similarity to Judd Hirsch, the star of Taxi. He didn’t need to be told. I think he knew it, and even cultivated the Hirsch-ness by wearing long sideburns and belted sweaters.

As for me, I’ve had this line directed at me a few times over the years. I heard it yesterday, when the guy who came to clean my carpets said, “Dude, don’t take this the wrong way, but did anybody ever tell you that you look like Mr. Bean.”

Given that preface, I expected that it was going to be some grossly unflattering person. And maybe the carpet guy thought it was. But I happen to love Rowan Atkinson, aka Mr. Bean, and think he’s a cool looking guy. Odd, a little. But much more interesting than say Brad Pitt or George Clooney.

Though I don’t really see the resemblance (besides being thin, having short dark hair and slighty big schnozz), I’ve heard the Mr. Bean comparison before.

About ten years ago, when Swan Dive was touring Japan, I was on a bullet train from Tokyo to Nagoya. For about half an hour, I watched two cute teenage girls a few rows ahead of me repeatedly turn in their seats, look at me and giggle. I thought, cool, they must recognize me from Swan Dive. We had a video on MTV at that time. It was a pop star moment. Finally, one of them walked up shyly and said, “Hello, can I please have your autograph?” Before I could even get pen to paper, she said, “You are Mr. Bean, right?”

Monday, April 14, 2008

"Rising Pollen Levels Irritate Nashvillians."

That's today's headline on the front page of our local newspaper,
the Tennessean. I'm definitely one of those irritated Nashvillians. Ever since I was a kid, I've had problems with
allergies and asthma. Little did I know when I moved to Nashville some years ago, that I had selected one of the
ten worst cities in the country for allergy sufferers.

I'm highly sensitive to ash, birch, oak, sycamore, pigweed, poplar . . . name your tree really. Dust and molds too. And
dogs and cats. A future candidate for life in a bubble.

With the help of some prescription drugs, I've been able to keep my problems in check.
But every April, I brace myself. April is my arch-nemesis, my Green Goblin. And green goblins are what are currently
residing in my chest. Ugh. I think the combination of heavy rains and high winds has stirred up some serious pollen in
Nashville, and even though I had been taking my preventive medicines, it just overwhelmed me. The last few days
have been quite unpleasant. Let's just say, around my house, I'm single-handedly bringing the spittoon back in style.

So I went to the allergist today. The doctor I'd been seeing for years retired last year. His practice
was taken over by two physicians who had worked with him. First, they gave me a test to measure lung
capacity. Basically, you exhale with all your might into a tube, which is attached to machine. You keep blowing for six seconds. It's harder than it sounds. Especially on days like today. My score was the same as Erno, the one-lunged man. No, not really. But it wasn't good. So that means the usual round of drugs and inhalers (which I should be taking with more diligence anyway). And a suggestion that maybe it's time I start taking allergy shots. If only I didn't dread needles so much. But I might
consider it.

I was thinking that asthma has kind of defined my singing style (if I could say that I have a style, or that I'm even a singer).
The breathy sound, you know. Sometimes I wish I had endless lung capacity, so I could hold notes for hours.

Oh well, I'm just rambling. I hope that all you allergy and asthma sufferers are weathering the pollen count okay, wherever
you are. Here's to breathing easier soon.

Thursday, April 03, 2008

The first time I busked in the London Underground, I was terrified. It was Oxford Street station, about ten in the morning. I opened my case just up the stairs from the train platform, strapped on my guitar, hit an A chord, then waited. A minute later, I heard the screech and hiss of a train coming in, felt the warm whoosh of air flooding up the stairs, followed by the stampede of footsteps. This was my cue. I started singing the chorus of “Karma Chameleon” by Culture Club.

It was January 1984, and I’d dropped out of college for the second time. The plan was to move to England, form a band and become hugely successful. Like Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders, or the Stray Cats, I thought it was my destiny to be discovered by the Brits.

I went over with a musician friend of mine. But after two weeks, he decided that London wasn’t for him and he moved back to New Jersey. Though I didn’t know a soul, I decided to stay on. There was really nothing for me at home. I’d left school, quit my job, sold my record collection and all my instruments. To go back would be to admit I'd made a mistake. I had to at least ride out the four months on my visa, if only to prove to myself, my parents and my friends that I'd tried to make it in the big city.

I rented a tiny room above a pub on the south bank of the Thames, near the Vauxhall tube station. Really tiny. And really cold. London cold is wet and it penetrates into your bones. Befitting its size, my room had a tiny heater. It was coin-operated. 25 pence gave me about twenty minutes of warmth from a gas flame. Because it was gas (and because I couldn’t really afford to keep feeding the coins in), I went without heat during the hours I slept. To achieve some semblance of warmth, I’d layer myself in shirts and sweaters, zipping it all under a green army issue jumpsuit I’d bought before the move. I was Sgt. Michelin Man. Then I’d crawl under a heap of sheets and blankets and shiver myself to sleep.

The one beautiful feature of my room was the window, which looked out across the Thames on the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. At sunrise, I had my very own Monet, in purple and orange and gray.

For breakfast, I’d eat a bowl of muesli with hot milk, then plan my day. For the first month, I mostly just walked around the city, feeling free, writing in my journal, trying to work up the courage to start busking. Though I’d been playing guitar for a few years, I’d never really sung much before. At least not in front of people.

So, “Karma Chameleon.” It was a pretty easy one to sing, and I felt halfway confident with it. The first time I heard the clink of a coin hitting the felt bottom of my guitar case was a thrill. I’d made money playing music before, but there was something about the till ringing while I was performing that was special. It gave me more confidence to sing out. So did the reverb in the tubes, which was cavernous and could make even a small voice like mine sound full and rich.

I learned that there was a system behind busking (today in London, you have to apply for a busking license). For the prime, money-earning spots, you had to arrive early in the morning and sign up for your half-hour. Some spots you could have for an hour. It was very competitive, and if you missed the sign-up, you’d have to settle for a less-coveted spot, like in the underground sidewalk at Warwick Avenue, or outside in Piccadilly. It was winter and both of those spots were guaranteed to leave you with frozen fingers. Believe me, I played them more than once.

I busked on my own for about a month, singing hits of the day by Howard Jones, Thompson Twins, Spandau Ballet, plus some oldies by Elvis and Buddy Holly. I got to be friends with some of the other buskers. I even teamed up with a guy named Nick to form a duo. We learned that we could make a lot more money by harmonizing on Beatles and Everly Bros tunes.

It was about this time that I started to make my first attempts at writing songs. Nothing has really survived from that time, which is just as well, because I’m sure it would be embarrassing now. But I loved the whole experience in London. Living on my own in that tiny room, walking around the city, riding the trains, writing in my journal, busking, making enough money each day to buy groceries, then cooking myself a little meal in the shared kitchen at the pub, sleeping in that cold room – all that was integral to me becoming a songwriter and musician, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Monday, March 17, 2008

I got my first job when I was thirteen years old, working Saturdays at a local record shop called Looney Tunes. This was in the mid-1970s, and the shop sold new and used vinyl, along with what was euphemistically called “paraphernalia.” Rolling papers, roach clips, bongs. I was so naïve at that age that I didn’t even know what a bong was for.

Not that I had to know.

My duties at Looney Tunes included opening boxes of new records, keeping the bathroom clean, running out for sandwiches at the Greek deli around the corner and most importantly, making sure the album racks were in alphabetical order. That’s how I got the job, actually.

As a customer, I was in there every Saturday. As I’d browse, I’d be alphabetizing, almost unconsciously. A Blue Oyster Cult record mistakenly put in the Blues Magoos section? Back it would go. Gentle Giant fraternizing with Genesis? Not for long.

The part of my personality that craves order and logic was in place at an early age, and I had a natural aptitude for filing.

Also, I had a little crush on the young woman who worked at the store. Since I was shy around the opposite sex, I would ask her questions about albums while I browsed, without really looking at her. “Which Strawbs album would you recommend?” “Have you heard the latest David Bowie record?” Over time, I think she took a liking to me, as did the two guys who managed the shop. When one of the managers noticed me straightening out the racks, he made a joke about needing to hire someone like me. And that’s how it began.

Since I was too young to be legally on the payroll, I was paid in records. Which was fine by me. Mostly, I’d take home arm fulls of used discs, because I could try them first. If I didn’t like what I heard, I’d bring them back the following Saturday. This is how I learned about music. It was an ongoing study program.

In time, as I became more comfortable at Looney Tunes, I’d answer customers’ questions and make recommendations. I can remember how great I’d feel when someone came in and asked, “Who sings that song with the line that goes “Let them eat cake she said, just like Marie Antoinette . . .” and before anyone had a chance to reply, I’d be marching a copy of Queen’s Sheer Heart Attack to the customer. Or better yet, someone would be trying to decide between the Allman Brothers’ Eat a Peach and Live at the Fillmore East, and I’d steer them toward the latter, which is a better album.

A few blocks down the street from Looney Tunes was another record store called Graymat. We were hip, they were square. I would only go into Graymat as a last resort, if Looney Tunes was out of stock of some album that I had to have right that minute. The clerks there were snooty and didn’t know Steely Dan from Steeleye Span. Their prices were also about a dollar higher on albums. It became a matter of pride to know that I was working at the cool record store, and when occasionally, one of the Graymat clerks stopped in Looney Tunes, I gave them an equally snooty, “Can I help you?”

For two years, I spent my Saturdays at Looney Tunes (toward the end, it was renamed The Record Exchange), listening to music, keeping the racks in order, and building up a huge record collection. The shop eventually went out of business. I never really understood why, though I think it had something to do with the managers not paying their bills.

For me, it was a completely wonderful experience, and one that shaped my love of music and record collecting. Even now, certain records can take me right back to those Saturdays at the shop. Crime of the Century by Supertramp. Court and Spark by Joni Mitchell. Selling England by the Pound by Genesis . . . suddenly I feel the urge to reorganize my CD collection.

Friday, March 07, 2008

What I'm Listening To:

The Feeling - Join With Us
David Bowie - Bowie at the Beeb
Shirley Horn - Travelin' Light
Harry Nilsson - Nilsson Sings Newman
Peggy Lee - The Best of the Singles Collection
The Everly Brothers - Heartaches & Harmonies box set
Luiz Claudio - Intimidade
Paul Simon - Paul Simon

What I'm Watching:

Look Around You Season 2 DVD

What I'm Reading:

The Thirteenth Tale - Diane Setterfield

Friday, February 08, 2008

It's a long flight from Nashville to Seoul. About fifteen hours each way. When you're in economy class, that can be pretty grueling. One of the ways I've found to keep my sanity on the plane is to have the right book. This time the right book for me was Richard Zoglin's Comedy At The Edge. It's an in-depth look at how the major stand-up comedians of the 1970s changed not only comedy, but attitudes, in America.

George Carlin is first up. It's fascinating to see how Carlin began as a kind of old-fashioned joke-telling Borscht Belt style comic, then threw away a safe career to explore his darker, more adventurous social commentary. The same for Richard Pryor. Zoglin interviews almost all of the comedians covered in the book, including Steve Martin, Robert Klein, Robin Williams and Albert Brooks. I was ecstatic to find a whole chapter on Brooks. Even reading about a few of his stand-up routines made me laugh out loud.

The shows in Seoul were a blast. Once again, Molly and I were touched by how sweet and enthusiastic our fans are. We taped an hour-long TV special, kind of a Korean Austin City Limits, which will air over there in March. We're hoping to get a DVD copy, so we can share it with our friends stateside.

Since I've been back, I've been working on an article for Classic Rock about the making of David Bowie's Hunky Dory. What a tour de force of songwriting, arranging and production that is. Everyone always singles out Ziggy Stardust, but I think Hunky Dory is Bowie's masterpiece. Or at least one of his masterpieces.

Also, doing some co-writing with my pal David Mead.

Hope everyone out there in Swan Dive blogland is doing well!

BD

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

In the MOJO Blog, I have a piece about David Bowie's line of clothing at Target:

Bowie blog

Friday, January 25, 2008
Thanks to Matthew Campagna for taking these pics at our show last night in Seoul:

Swan Dive in Seoul, first night

Monday, January 21, 2008


In the new issue of Bark Magazine, I have a feature about the history of the dog in popular music. Read it
here:

Pop Goes The Dog

Monday, January 14, 2008

Sorry it's been a while since my last entry. Hope the new year is off to a good start for everyone. I've been working on magazine articles for Mental Floss, Bark and Nashville Lifestyles.

Molly and I are rehearsing for our upcoming shows in Korea, adding a few new songs into the set. And also trying to master
a few new Korean phrases for the trip.

My favorite book of late is one I reread over the holidays - Timbuktu by Paul Auster. It's the story of a dog who belongs to
a homeless guy. What's beautiful is how Auster takes you inside the dog's mind. It's both plausible and enlightening. If you read this book, you'll never think of dogs in the same way again.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Here I am in Chicago at my favorite record store Dusty Groove, holding up a copy of Until. It's been
selling like hotcakes . . .

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Acting Alert! In the new video for the song "Let Go" by Edison Glass, Bill plays the part of a disillusioned businessman. See it here:

Edison Glass video

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

A funny sign I saw in Chicago last weekend. "I see a Cold Cut Combo in your future . . ."

Monday, November 19, 2007

Thanks to our friends at the Nashville Public Library for having us play on Saturday. We hope to come back again soon!

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

I've written a blog on the song "Gloomy Sunday" for the MOJO Blog:

Gloomy Sunday

Monday, November 05, 2007

I've been listening a lot lately to Nat King Cole's "Nature Boy." To me, it's one of the most beautiful and haunting songs ever written. And as many times I've heard it, I can't quite get to the bottom of it. First, there's the unusual form. It' s basically two long, ribbon-like verses. The title never actually appears in the song, which was almost unheard of for pop songs in the pre-rock era. Then there's the language in the lyric, which is simple, yet oddly formal, like something from an old folk tale ("A little shy and sad of eye / But very wise was he"). To look at the lyric on its own, which is a mere thirteen lines, you might not suspect the depth of emotion it can produce. Read aloud, the song's final couplet - "The greatest thing you'll ever learn / Is just to love and be loved in return" - may sound like a Hallmark card sentiment. But married to the minor key melody, and sung by Cole, it is one of the most profound moments I've ever heard in a popular song.

The writer behind this song is equally mysterious. Eden Ahbez was a hippie fifteen years before the word was even invented. In the early 1950s, he lived under the stars in LA's Griffith Park, existing on three dollars a week. He ate fruit and raw vegetables, wore long hair and a beard, practiced yoga, lectured on street corners about Oriental mysticism and wrote offbeat poems and songs. Legend has it that he left a lead sheet of "Nature Boy" at the backstage door of a venue in LA where Nat King Cole was performing. It was a few months before Cole looked at the piece of music. But as soon as he did, he knew it was something very special. Before he could record it, he had to verify that this man with the odd name was indeed the author. Ahbez didn't have an address, so Capitol Records employees were dispatched to locate him, which took days. After "Nature Boy" topped the charts, Ahbez (who was actually Brooklyn-born Alex Aberle) made two albums of exotica/ spoken word for Capitol. He resurfaced in the '60s as a sometimes pal of Brian Wilson.

Ahbez died in 1995 at the age of 87, after being struck by a car. Of the many songs he wrote, "Nature Boy" was the only one which ever became a hit.

Friday, November 02, 2007
Todd Rundgren meets Brian Wilson in the South Sea Islands?

On our myspace page, I've posted an mp3 of Swan Dive's collaboration with Aqua Velvet, a way cool
exotica band. The arrangement is by Jim Hoke and Randy Leago, with Molly and I singing a collision of
"Hello It's Me" and "Caroline, No" over top. It's crazy but it works!

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

I was listening to Randy Newman's Little Criminals this morning. One of my favorite Newman albums.

It struck me that "Short People," which went all the way to #2 on the Billboard chart thirty years ago, could never be a hit today. Mainly, because the pop charts have lost their sense of humor, and so have most of us in America. I remember at the time that there were a few groups who spoke out against Newman's song, missing the humor in it. Today, I'm sure those same groups would be demanding a televised apology from him and that the song be banned from the airwaves. Musically, the song
would sound out of place too, as the Top 40 is no longer catholic in its acceptance of different styles, but narrow as the eye of a needle.

Friday, October 26, 2007
Here are my favorite records of the moment:

Justin Currie - What Is Love For
Richard Hawley - Lady's Bridge
Stacey Kent - Breakfast on the Morning Tram
Elton John - Don't Shoot Me I'm Only The Piano Player
Andy Partridge - Fuzzy Warbles
The Bird and the Bee - Clap Your Hands
Blossom Dearie - May I Come In?
Van Hunt - Popular
Phoebe Snow - Best of
Bill Evans - Explorations

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

I've written a piece about the Best Buy dancing guy for MOJO Magazine's new blog. You can read it here:

MOJOblog

Monday, October 08, 2007

Our friend Elvert de la Cruz Bañares, an award-winning director in the Philippines, is busy wrapping up
a video for our song "Until." Here's a link to some of the costume designs for the video:

Until costumes

Sunday, October 07, 2007

We're almost done with the video for "Tender Love." Here are a few Polaroids from the set . . .

Monday, September 24, 2007

Lost Beatles Tape Found in Maharishi's Beard

In news that's shaking up the music world, a tape of a lost recording by The Beatles has been found in the beard of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.

The Fab Four had a brief association with the TM guru in early 1968. The tape is thought to be from a portable reel-to-reel that George Harrison had with him when the group visited Maharishi at his retreat in Rishikesh, India.

The startling discovery was made last week when the diminutive holy man, age 90, visited a barber shop in New Delhi.

"I believe it had been a very long time since the Maharishi had had a trim or a shave," said barber R.W. “Raj” Gupti. "Maybe thirty-five, forty years. Before I trimmed his beard, I noticed certain strands that had a shiny reflective surface. I gently pulled on one and goodness gracious me, suddenly it unraveled into a great spool of tape."

The Maharishi was in a deep meditative trance at the time and apparently has not noticed the absence of the tape that was entwined in his scraggly beard. Freshly shorn after his barber shop visit, he reportedly told followers, "A beard is like a small child. It should be allowed to run free."

The question of how the tape found its way into his facial hair has Beatles experts stumped. One theory states that Maharishi was trying to “decorate” himself in order to woo Mia Farrow’s sister, Prudence. An early draft of John Lennon’s lyric on “Dear Prudence” seems to bear this out, with the cryptic couplet: “The sun is up, the sky is blue / My beard will now rewind for you.”

As for the tape’s contents, it’s thought to capture the Fabs jamming at Rishikesh on a lost Harrison song, with the curiously prophetic title of “Dundreary Day.”

Though the lost tape is grabbing the headlines, there were apparently other intriguing objects retrieved from the Maharishi’s beard. They include a box of raisins, two sticks of incense, a 10p coin, a scrap of paper labeled “Mantras for Ringo?,” three of Donovan’s tortoise shell fingerpicks and a white sailor’s cap belonging to Mike Love.

The Beach Boy singer has expressed an interest in having his hat returned. It’s also rumored that he discreetly inquired about the possibility of a toupée fashioned from Maharishi’s clipped beard hairs.

Meanwhile, Gupti has shared his audio treasure with Apple Records Limited. Company spokesman Ian Sheehan says, "We are ecstatic about the recovery of this long-missing tape. Especially after the Aussie suitcase affair and other hoaxes, this appears to be legitimate. But because of the tape's long residence in the Maharishi's beard, there will be a lot of clean-up work required before Beatle fans get to hear the music.”

Thursday, September 13, 2007
Our friend David McClister is having an exhibit of his photographs here in Nashville. David
shot the pictures for our self-titled album back in 2000. For more info, check out this site:

Transfer Of Light.

Oh, and that photo of the mean Deadwood-looking guy is me!

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Coulrophobia - An abnormal fear of clowns.

There are a lot of people out there who hate clowns, who find them weird and scary and nightmarish.

While I may not be a full-blown coulrophobic, I must admit that clowns have always given me the creeps.

Last year, I went to Ringling Bros. circus, and noticed that there are no longer any white-faced clowns (ie, scary clowns). Instead, there are character clowns - Raggedy Ann clowns, puppy and kitten clowns, policeman clowns, etc. The lead clown was a kind of new wave clown, with a shock of red jet-moussed hair and baggy trousers. I think the circus has become careful not to scare the kids in the audience.

But in other parts of the world, the scary clown lives on. I took the above photo from a bus in Sicily this spring. The torn edges of the poster give the clown an even more menacing look.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

I've been using iTunes for years to make my own mix CDs. But the tracks have been loaded in and assembled from my own record collection. This week, I joined the modern world by opening an account at the iTunes Store. For my first purchase, I picked up ten tracks by Bill Evans. I absolutely love the recordings that Evans did with his trio in the 50s and 60s, especially the ballads. Rather than buy just one album though, I decided to make my own Bill Evans mood album. The tracks:

For Heaven's Sake
Haunted Heart
Danny Boy
How Deep Is the Ocean?
When I Fall In Love
Blue In Green (Take 2)
A Sleepin' Bee
'Round Midnight
Spring Is Here
If You Could See Me Now

While I miss having a Tower Records in Nashville, I can tell that I'll be doing a lot of late night browsing at the iTunes store.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007
We shot the first part of a video for "Tender Love" with director Kip Kubin this weekend. The location is the labyrinth in New Harmony, IN. Here are a few pics:





Thursday, August 16, 2007

My latest songwriter discovery is Dave Frishberg. I came to his songs through Blossom Dearie, who covers "I'm Hip" and "My Attorney Bernie." Like Blossom, Frishberg is a jazz pianist with a deft touch and a small, charming singing voice. His songs are a collision of Matt Dennis and Tom Lehrer - urbane, harmonically sophisticated, funny, touching and smart as hell. Check out these lines from "I'm Hip" -

Like dig
I'm in step
When it was hip to be hep I was hep
I don't blow, but I'm a fan
Look at me swing, ring-a-ding-ding!
I even call my girlfriend "man"
Cause I'm hip

I love that line about calling my girlfriend "man."

Frishberg's most famous song is "Peel Me A Grape," which has been covered by Anita O'Day, Diana Krall and a few other discerning chanteuses. On the disc I bought, called Classics, every song is a small masterpiece of ingenuity. There's a ballad called "Van Lingle Mungo," whose lyric takes the unlikely tack of stringing together the names of great baseball players from the past - Augie Bergamo, Barney McCosky, Stan Hack, etc. Frishberg invests this line-up with emotion and a melody that I find curiously moving. There's another baseball-related song called "Dodger Blue" that's also a beauty.

I feel like I'm going to have to collect everything Frishberg now. Why don't more people know about this guy?

Monday, August 13, 2007

There were a lot of people taking pictures at our shows in Korea. Here's a nice one I found online . . .

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

In this week’s Entertainment Weekly, Stephen King has a backpage piece about finding joy in the “humble art produced by pop culture.” King was delighted after seeing a clip on YouTube of a middle-aged guy dancing to a Smokey Robinson tune in the aisles of Best Buy. As he lists some things that cause the “sudden burst of happy emotion” for him, I thought of my own joy buzzers. Here are a few, in no particular order:

5 Neat Guys on SCTV
“Tuesday Heartbreak” by Stevie Wonder
Stephen Fry impersonating Michael Jackson
“Cathy’s Clown” by the Everly Brothers
Peter Sellers in The Party
“Oh Marie” by Louis Prima
“Rock ‘n’ Roll Band” by Boston
Martin Short as Jerry Lewis
“We Were Made For Each Other” by Buck Owens
The Ministry of Silly Walks sketch on Monty Python
The Change For A Dollar sketch on Mr. Show
The song David Bowie sings to Ricky Gervais on Extras
Kevin Pollak’s impersonation of William Shatner
Serge Gainsbourg’s video for “Comic Strip”

And how about yours?

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

From the archives: a few pictures from the video shoot we did in Tokyo for "Circle" . . .

Friday, July 27, 2007

Back in 1954, when the Wonderful World of Disney was in its first season on televsion, they'd get thousands of letters a week, asking the identity of the singer who sang their theme song, "When You Wish Upon A Star."

The voice belonged to Cliff "Ukulele Ike" Edwards. He was the original Jiminy Cricket, from Pinocchio.

More than that, Edwards was once a huge star, rivalling the likes of Al Jolson and Bing Crosby. Between 1923-33, he recorded over 150 sides and sold nearly 40 million records. He appeared on Broadway and in Hollywood musicals. He had his own radio show.

Edwards went from rags to riches to rags, many times over in his life. He ran away from his Hannibal, Missouri home before he ever finished grammar school and was making a living strumming his uke and singing in saloons by age fourteen. He was a lovable, but reckless guy. Broken marriages, excessive drinking and drugging (coke and heroin), a serious gambling addiction - they pulled him down.

But what a voice. When I was in LA last week, I went on a little shopping spree at Amoeba. One of the CDs I picked up was by Cliff Edwards. It's called "Singin' In The Rain." Long before Gene Kelly splashed through the street, Edwards introduced the song and had a hit with it. There are some bawdy old Vaudeville tunes on the disc, like "Hard Hearted Hannah" and "Paddlin' Madeleine Home," mixed with sentimental ballads. It ends with "When You Wish Upon A Star." Maybe it was the mess of his own life contrasted to the optimisitic lyric (written by Ned Washington) that makes his performance so poignant. Listen to the final bars of the song. The way he breathes out the word "star," then lets his falsetto resolve upwards on "dreams come true." Goose pimple city.

Edwards lived out his final years in a home for indigent actors. He would often hang around the Walt Disney Studios, hoping to pick up some voiceover work. Animators would take him out to lunch, just to hear his stories of the old Vaudeville days.

When he died in 1971, his body went unclaimed and was donated to the University of California Medical School. When Walt Disney Corporation found out, they purchased the body and gave Edwards a proper burial.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

I'm in Los Angeles, playing guitar on my friend Julianna Raye's new project. She and I co-wrote "Until" and "Slowly" from the new Swan Dive album, and she's recording both of these songs for her album.

Day one of the sessions was amazing. We have an ace producer in Ethan Johns, and a wonderful group of musicians. I feel fortunate to be part of it. Best of all, we're recording the old-fashioned way, all playing together live in a room, and sending it directly to analog tape. Everything sounds really warm and intimate.

I'm staying near the studio in a Best Western hotel, where the decor is gung ho Hollywood. Above my bed is a huge portrait of John Wayne. He seems to be chastizing me for not wearing my Stetson.

Happy trails . . .

Tuesday, July 10, 2007



I've lived in Nashville for many years, but have never worn a cowboy hat. Until now.

Maybe it's my budding interest in writing country songs, or some hidden desire to be a wild west hero. In downtown Nashville, on lower Broadway, there are a bunch of cool Western Wear shops. I went down there a few weekends ago and tried on about fifty hats. I have a lot of fedoras and porkpies, so I'm no stranger to hats. But what struck me right away with the cowboy hats was how big the brims are. I mean, like aeronautical big. Most of them looked completely laughable and ridiculous on me. I wish you could've seen me in the Toby Keith model. But then, just as I was about to give up, I found this modest Stetson - the "Open Road" model, it's called - which seemed to fit.

Interesting. I've worn it out a few times, and I've made this sociological observation. Guys who would normally never say a word to me are suddenly like, "Hey man" and "What's up?" I guess I now seem like the kind of guy who they could have a beer with.

Wait until I start wearing a boater.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

I've been on a Buck Owens kick lately. I love that Bakersfield swing kind of country music. Probably my favorite Buck song is "We Were Made For Each Other." It wasn't even one of his big hits, but it just has such a good feeling to it, and is a perfect example of that twin sons of different mothers harmony sound that Buck had with Don Rich.

Other stuff I've been listening to:

Mandy Barnett - I've Got A Right To Cry
Miranda Lambert - Kerosene
Kim Richey - Chinese Boxes
Frank Sinatra - Point Of No Return
Temptations & Supremes - Best Of
Jeremy Fisher - Goodbye Blue Monday (a new guy who sounds like Paul Simon in the 70s)

Thursday, June 21, 2007

This is the promotional poster for our new album in Thailand . . . .

Saturday, June 16, 2007

I recently got the new deluxe edition of Prefab Sprout - Steve McQueen (aka Two Wheels Good), one of my all-time favorite albums. I've been listening to this record since it came out in the mid-80s, and I never get tired of it. There are very few albums I can say that about. Especially from the 80s. As much as I loved The Smiths, Aztec Camera, Sade, etc. I don't find myself pulling out their albums much anymore. But Paddy McAloon's songs are just so deep and mysterious. I think he is touched with the same kind of idiosyncratic genius as Brian Wilson and Jimmy Webb. His songs have compelling non-linear shapes. His chords seem to have some extra shimmery note in them. His phrasing is parsed in the oddest places, but it makes perfect sense. His lyrics are full of surprising words and phrases ("I'm turkey hungry, I'm chicken free") that invite your interpretation. Prefab Sprout made some other great albums, but this one stands as their masterpiece. If you don't have it, you should check it out...

Sunday, June 10, 2007

I've owned a lot of guitars in my life. There've been a few that I've had to sell, mostly for reasons that are now lost to time. I guess I really needed money when I let go of my 1966 Epiphone Riviera 12-string, or my 1962 Gibson ES-345, or my 1973 Guild jumbo acoustic. Those are all guitars that I loved and that I wish I still owned.

But the one that I long for the most is a 1961 Fender Jazzmaster. I bought the guitar off my high school English teacher, Mr. Kimmerle, for $80. It was a little beat-up, but it played like a dream. I remember how the top of the neck, between the first and fifth frets had been worn smooth, bevelled from years of use, and it created these comfortable little grooves in the wood. I remember the clean, snappy sound of the single coil pickups. I remember the cool out of phase sounds you could get with the six position switches. But most of all I remember how good it felt to hold. The analogies between guitars and girls are probably a little overstated, but there is something to having a guitar that you just love to hold. And the Jazzmaster was a dream girl.

In the 80s, when I got into heavy metal, I tried to modify the guitar with DiMarzio humbucker pickups, and trick out the whammy bar so it was less Ventures and more Van Halen. The modifications didn't go so well, and in frustration, I sold the guitar. It could've been restored to its former glory, but by then I was lusting after more ostentatious instruments.

A few years later, when I'd grown tired of metal, I realized that I'd made a mistake selling the Jazzmaster. The thing is, I'd sold it to a friend who told me, "If you ever decide you want to back, I'll be glad to sell it to you for what I'm paying." I tried to track this guy down, but he'd moved away. It became a quest. Finally, after months of dead ends, I found him. Sadly, he'd sold the guitar a few months before. The trail went cold.

In the years since, I've played some nice vintage Jazzmasters, at Gruhn's and other high end shops, but none have come close to the '61. Maybe someday I'll find another.

Here I am with the guitar in hand . . . .

Friday, June 01, 2007

SEND US POSTCARDS!!!!!

Molly and I have noticed that we've been getting website visits from all over the world, from Seoul to Tokyo to Glasgow to Rome. So we'd like to invite you to send us a postcard from your hometown, and then we'll send you one back from ours! The funnier and weirder the postcard, the better. Write us a little message. Draw us a picture. And we'll do the same for you.

We'll also post our favorite postcards on the site.

So send those cards to:

Swan Dive
c/o 3901 Whitland Ave. #27
Nashville, TN 37205
USA

Thursday, May 31, 2007
The past few days, I've been back in bossa mode, writing songs with my friend Julianna Raye for her next album. Together, we wrote the first two songs on the new Swan Dive album - "Until" and "Slowly." She's someone I met through my friend and sometimes co-writer, Gary Clark. Gary's sent a lot of great writers my way over the years.

The songs we're writing are what I think of as French-a-Nova. They have a bossa groove married to that kind of deeply romantic but melancholic French music of the '60s. A touch of Jobim, a touch of Legrand. We'd both done a little homework ahead of our sessions, so there were song fragments, melodies, lyrics, grooves in front of us. I prefer to work this way, rather than starting with nothing and saying, "So . . . what should we write about?" The first song we wrote is called "White Bicycle." A few years ago, I visited Amsterdam, and the thing that impressed me most was the presence of the bicycle in the city. People of all stripes were riding bikes everywhere. The streets had zones for automobiles, cable cars and bicycles. I remember sitting in a cafe and seeing this one particular girl on a white bicycle. She was beautiful, with the breeze blowing back her hair, like a '50s movie starlet.

So I wrote a lyric, a series of little vignettes about bicycles. I gave it to Julianna, and she came up with a gorgeous melody. We played around with the chords and the arrangement, and voila, there it was - a lovely song. She's got a terrific voice, which captures a mood that's part whimsical, part wistful.

Over the next three days, we wrote four more songs, all of them with interesting lyrics and melodies, and very much in the French-a-Nova mood. I'm pretty excited to hear how these songs take shape on a record.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007


Our friend Matthew Campagna sent us some wonderful photos from our show at the Apgujeong Club in Seoul. Thanks, Matthew!!

Wednesday, May 23, 2007
I looooove fruit shakes. Here's the recipe for my favorite one:

1 banana sliced
3/4 cup of soy milk
3 ice cubes
2 cubes of pineapple
2 strawberries
1 tbsp honey

Mix in blender. Enjoy!

-Bill

Monday, May 21, 2007
I've put up three of our song videos on YouTube. Enjoy!

The Day That I Went Home.

Groovy Tuesday.

Circle.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Here's the digipak cover for the new album . . .

Saturday, May 12, 2007


If there's a downside to Seoul, it's the traffic. New York City, London, Los Angeles - these cities all have major traffic problems, but nothing like what I've seen in Seoul. The difference is that the drivers seem kind of resigned to being stuck in bumper to bumper hell. No one's laying on their horn or giving you the finger. It's just sit, wait, talk on your cell, creep along.

On Saturday morning, we drove from Seoul to Jeonju, a city approximately 150 miles to the south. You'd think that would take about a two and a half hours. It took us over six hours. Most of that time was spent just getting out of the Seoul city limits. I asked the driver if there was something going on - an accident or a sports event. He said no, it was like this most weekends. And this was a holiday weekend, apparently. Everyone was trying to get away.

On the highway, vendors were weaving their way through the stopped cars, selling snacks and drinks. One guy was selling dried octopus. It was completely flattened, like a Looney Tunes cartoon character after being hit by an anvil. It was a pretty hot day and man, you could smell the octopus. I was secretly glad no one in our car wanted one of those.

At one point, we stopped at a truck stop kind of place to use the bathrooms and get something to drink. Outside, there were these glass bubble vending machines, the kind where you put in a quarter (or Korean equivalent) and get some little toy. Molly and I were taken by this one machine, which was selling these "Tofu Superheroes." Little guys with white blockheads, like cubes of tofu, in different heroic poses. I wish I'd had some change with me.

The Film Festival was in its second day when we arrived. I wish we'd had time to see some of the movies. The program looked really interesting, with directors from all over Asia and Europe premiering their latest work. But since we were late in arriving, we had to soundcheck, grab dinner, then wait to play. At one point, we went into one of the movie theaters to get some popcorn. As we sat in the lobby, these really cute girls recognized us and said how much they loved Swan Dive and asked if we would we pose for pictures with them? Another parallel universe moment.

We played outdoors and by 10:30 pm, the time we went on, it was chilly. I don't like to play guitar when it's cold. Years ago, I lived in London and busked in the underground sidewalks during the winter. The icy winds would whistle through and freeze my fingers. I even tried wearing those Fagin-style fingerless gloves, but it didn't help. The weather in Jeonju wasn't quite that cold, but it was a challenge to fingerpick.

None of that mattered though, because the audience was competely over the top, probably the wildest we've ever played for. There must've been a thousand people there, cheering and whistling from the moment we walked on stage. They were shouting out, "We love you!" and waving and giving us the peace sign. As soon as we started in our first song, "Breezeway," there was a whoop of recognition. It was like that for every song. And when our friends from the Melody joined us, things reached Madison Square Garden proportions. On "Saturday, Sunday, Monday," we let the audience take over on vocals. Molly and I were smiling at each other, laughing at how weird and wonderful this all was. During one song, when she started to dance, the crowd went nuts. Someone yelled, "Will you marry me, Molly?" Of course, she accepted.

Afterwards, we did another signing, with lots of posing for photos. It was wonderful, but by the end we were feeling exhausted. Remember too that Seoul is fifteen hours ahead of Nashville, so our body clocks were all kablooey.

Back to the hotel. And the next morning, back to Nashville.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007


Molly and I at the Jeonju International Film Festival. . . .

Monday, May 07, 2007




Ninety-eight percent of the gigs we play begin the same way. We walk on stage without fanfare, plug in, check the mics and start our first song. Sometimes there’s a smattering of applause beforehand, but usually, it’s the typical thing of trying to win the audience’s attention away from their conversation and drinks.

So imagine how bracing and exciting it feels for Molly and I to step into a parallel universe where we walk on stage and hear screaming and applauding, as if we’re pop stars. That’s what happened in Seoul. After two short sets by Korean bands, we came on to a kind of heroes’ welcome. It certainly puts you in a relaxed and confident state of mind to play.

A quick word about the Apgujeong Club, where we did our first show. It was a clean, comfortable room. Not a black wall beer and piss kind of place. What a welcome change. Speaking of drinks, we were told that everyone coming to our show would be receiving a free cup of coffee. How civilized is that?

We had a luxurious soundcheck (another thing we’re not accustomed to), so everything was clear and well-mixed. The soundmen (and soundwomen) were all courteous and helpful. The equipment was new, with those nice Shure Beta mics.

A Korean band called The Melody backed us up on six songs in our set. They were a little nervous during that afternoon rehearsal, as we were, but we worked out a few snags and it all came together by showtime. They were sweet and funny young guys. We called them by their English nicknames, which were basically letters – J on keyboards, JK on drums, H.E. on guitar and Goo on bass.

Our set consisted mostly of older songs, as the new album won’t be released until June, and almost every one we played got a whoop of recognition. I learned to introduce songs in Korean, and also to say a few random phrases. I apologized for my pronunciation, but the audience seemed to love it whenever I spoke their native language. Afterwards, several people told me my pronunciation was great. I think they were being polite.

Maybe our most popular song in Korea is one we never play back home. It’s called “Saturday, Sunday, Monday.” I wrote it as a little homage to Italian movie soundtracks of the ‘60s. It’s a fun ba-da–da kind of tune. But as soon as we started it, the whole audience was singing along. We even did that stadium rock thing of letting the crowd take over on vocals. To hear a melody I wrote coming back at me from hundreds of voices is overwhelming. Ba-da–da is a kind of esperanto, I guess.

During our closer, “Truly, Madly, Deeply,” I did some E Street Band style moves with H.E. and Goo. More wild cheering. We encored with “Circle” and “Gentle Rain,” which I wrote with a cool Korean band called Clazziquai.

Afterwards, we signed autographs and posed for photos for about two hours. Our fans are the best – sweet, funny and enthusiastic about music. Someone from the label told me that I was “too nice,” because I spent too long with each fan, chatting and drawing them a picture. But I don't know. It means so much to me that these kids are coming to see us, I want to let them know that I appreciate them.

To view some photos of us on stage, check out these links:

Swanperf

Swanperf2

After you view the first three pics at each link, make sure you click on the "u wanna more" button at the bottom of the page. It brings up about ten more photos.

- Bill

Saturday, May 05, 2007

As seen in Jeonju, Korea.

As long as you're going to eat pork, it should be well-educated.

Thursday, May 03, 2007


The TV in Molly's room at the hotel gets the full array of seventy-five satellite cable channels. She tells me that she's watching one of the Spiderman movies.

I'm a little jealous. For some reason, I get only eight stations, all of them Korean. In the morning, I watch a few minutes of what seems to be a continuous infomercial for a product called Lil' Critters Gummy Vites. These are multi-vitamins for kids, which offer a full array of nutrients counteracted by the teeth decaying sugar of gummy bears. The infomercial is hosted by a man and woman who are probably in their thirties, both of them seated behind a desk. He is dressed in a yellow shirt and a white cardigan, and has lots of gel in his hair. She is wearing what looks to be a silky robe. They are both extremely happy and animated. I don't understand Korean, but I know they are singing the praises of Gummy Vites. Behind the couple there's a screen upon which is projected a grainy clip of American blond-headed children, circa 1970. They look like the Brady kids, and they're washing down vitamins with tall glasses of orange juice. They show this clip over and over while the couple smile and talk about Gummy Vites.

Finally, I have to switch it off.

Our hotel pickup is at 10am. The taxi driver's nametag says Jum Bo. I can't figure out if that's his name or the taxi company's. We load in at the Apgujeong Club, then go for lunch at Freshness Burger. Their slogan is "Hello, we're slow! Everything is homemade." We have chicken sandwiches and raspberry lemonade. Afterwards, we walk over to Caribou Coffee for coffee. We have an hour before soundcheck, so we browse around the shops . It's a very stylish, hip neighborhood, with lots of interesting clothing boutiques. We find a stationery store called MMMG that sells all kinds of cool notebooks, pens, stickers and magnets. I buy myself a notebook for songwriting. On the front is says, "Winner Forever: Owl and Wrestler." The idea of the design, I think, is a match between a masked Mexican wrestler and a barn owl. The wrestler is in position. The owl says, "I will fly to the moon." It's so wonderfully absurd, in that Asian way, that I have to have it. I think it'll be a lucky notebook for songwriting.

Coming soon: soundcheck and the first gig

- Bill

Monday, April 30, 2007
This is the first of a few dispatches from our trip to Seoul . . .

There's an old expression that goes, "I just love a man in a uniform." I guess I'm afflicted with the sexual inverse of that, because I seem to go for women in uniforms. More specifically, stewardesses is '60s space-age style uniforms.

Sadly, in America, the well-dressed stewardess has gone the way of the rotary phone and the baseball player who stays with one team. Now we have stewardesses - or flight attendants, to be PC - in khakis and polos, or navy blue skirts and white shirts. It's like nurses in oversized scrubs.

But elsewhere around the globe, the stewardess as fashion icon in the sky is alive and well and ready to welcome you into the air with an inviting smile.

Air travel used to be exclusive and thrilling and glamorous. And stewardesses were the ultimate reflection of the experience. Now, flying from place to place is routine, and with all the security stuff and endless waiting around, kind of a hassle.

I was thinking about all of this as Molly and I were sitting in the departure lounge at the Atlanta Airport, waiting to board a flight to Seoul. Sitting nearby, there was a group of Korean Air stewardesses. Our stewardesses. I couldn't take my eyes off them. They were wearing cream-colored fitted jackets and skirts, with blue stockings and blue neck scarves, tied off to the side. Their shiny black hairdos were tied in buns, across which blue ribbons described the shape of an aeronautic whoosh. They were all stunningly beautiful and poised, with perfect posture and a kind of beneficent glow around them (sorry, I told you I was a sucker for stewardesses).

Suddenly, the thought of fourteen hours on a plane didn't seem so bad.

During the flight, the stewardesses changed outfits, swapping the skirts for slacks and the jackets for blue silk sleeveless tops. The neck scarves and ribbons remained. Aside from being so easy on the eyes, these ladies were cheerful, patient, helpful and seemed to genuinely enjoy their work. What a change from the typically cranky stews on our domestic flights, for whom a request for a second bag of honey-roasted peanuts is often an affront.

At the back of the plane, I spoke to one of the stewardesses - a Ms. Choi - for a moment, and she helped me with the pronunciation of a Korean phrase I was trying to learn. The phrase was not, "Will you marry me?"

But more about matrimonial offers in the next dispatch from the trip . . .

- Bill

Saturday, April 21, 2007
One of my resolutions this spring is to add bolder colors to my wardrobe. My everyday tastes tend to run to three of the more neutral spokes on the color wheel - blue, brown and gray. So why not live a little and add some scarlet and gold into the mix? Orange and lavender maybe. Green and magenta might be cool. While I don't want to look like a country club pro (I'll draw the line at pink polos), it could be an interesting experiment to see how new colors affect my mood and self-image.

The upcoming shows in Korea seemed like a reasonable excuse to buy some new clothes. Actually, I can't afford NEW clothes. A decent designer suit goes for about $5-600 these days. So I hit my favorite vintage stores around town and found:

1 Hart, Schaffner & Marx tan suit - $40
1 Trevero red & white checked shirt - $18
1 Bill Blass Neo tie - $30 (okay, I bought this new, because most thrift store ties tend to have soup stains, etc)

I'm never sure about my eye for clothes, but I felt pretty good about this outfit.

The suit was a little baggy, so I took it to my friends at Kim's Alterations. They're Korean, so I used my visit as an excuse for a quick language lesson. I'd bought a book called Korean Made Easy. That's an optimistic title. As far as languages go, Korean is up there with Chinese and Welsh for difficulty. There are no Latin roots and many of the multiple consonant sounds seem to emanate and ricochet from muscles in the back of the throat that I - and most westerners - do not possess. After Mrs. Kim took my fitting and marked up my suit with chalk, she helped me with pronunciation on a few phrases. I wanted to learn how to say "Welcome to the show," but there was a word that sounded like "goatzylll" that I just couldn't wrap my tonsils around. Finally, I recorded Mrs. Kim with my dictaphone, enunciating the phrase slowly. Maybe with a little luck, I'll be able to surprise our Korean fans when we hit the stage next weekend!

- Bill

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