I don’t listen to my own music.
Once it’s done, I don’t fondly go over old songs like worn pictures in a vintage scrapbook. Honestly, I’m more interested in creating something new than reliving the past. That coupled with my overly active creativity makes me a rather prolific songwriter. Hence my sixth full length studio release titled “California Kid”.

On this record I tried, for the love of baby jesus, to stick with one style, call it Roots Rock or Americana if you will. I used to call my style “Cowboy Jazz” and that worked when I had an upright bass player and a Bettie Page pencil skirt, but now it’s anyone’s guess.
I’m not sure if any of you out there agree, but my genre hopping may have limited my “marketability” so I have been told by some industry wigs. Alas, I have yet to come up with a catchy sound bite moniker for the new sound, but rest assured it keeps me up at night…..

The tones, style and approach for this record were along the lines of The Band, Tom Petty, and Derek Trucks and a little Sheryl Crow. Throw my vocal into the mix with some lovely harmonies and hear the results for yourself. Additionally, this record introduces my reformatted band now called ‘Circe Link and The Discount Candy Family Band‘ and includes the stellar bass playing of Jason Chesney from the Los Angeles local buzz band Old Californio, backing vocals by session singer Laura Drew and singer songwriter Debra Tala.

The band name came from conversational scraps that stuck in my flypaper mind, my love of 1970′s cheesy family bands, and the lack of pretension a name like that suggests. We “play” music after all right?
And the name fits pretty darn well if I do say so myself as folks feel a family atmosphere at both our rehearsals and shows.

Fun facts on this record include:
Christian Nesmith on the left speaker and Bart Ryan on the right in all mixes except California Kid so one can hear the wonderful character of each player. Just like on a Judas Priest record. (Yes, I love them still)
Laura Drew’s riotous squeak going into the bridge of Gettin’ High.
Deb Tala’s lilting Texan accent peeking through on Tiger Swami.
Michael Sherwood pondering about 1970′s Legend Barry Gibb.
Christopher “Peanut-butter” Allis and “Chocolate” Jason Chesney’s killing rhythm on every bleeding track.
Oh, and I’m naked on the inside artwork.

The record release will be at The Grand Ole Echo at The Echo on July 25th.
The show will be all ages and FREE!
Please come down and join us for some down home family style fun in a wild west of a town we like to call Los Angeles.

1822 Sunset Blvd. Los Angeles, CA 90026 in downtown Echo Park. Enter through the alley at 1154 Glendale Blvd. Los Angeles CA 90026

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Tipping Sacred Cows

IS TOM WAITS THE HIPSTERS ED HARDY?

At the risk of tipping someone’s scared musical cow, I’m telling you now, Tom Waits is becoming the Ed Hardy of songwriting hipsters across Los Angeles. I can’t speak for other cities, but my guess is the franchise is booming elsewhere as well.

Don Ed Hardy, for those of you who don’t know, is a legendary old school tattoo artist who sold his name, and his flash (that’s tattoo speak for art), to “FUTURE LANDFILL PRODUCT” manufacturers thus making him a household name in every landfill.
The mass marketing of his brand has made tepid the “cool” that was once there.
That mass marketing thing has also made it possible for you and me to drink Ed Hardy wine in our Ed Hardy Sneakers while burning Ed Hardy apparel with our Ed Hardy lighters.

Enter Tom Waits.
Now, don’t freak, I know Tom Waits is a genius and deserves all the adulation and acclaim he has achieved.
From “Pasties and a G-Sting” to “Bend Down the Branches”, that guy is about as innovative and cool as you can get. Not to mention his incredibly underrated co-writing wife Kathleen Brennan to whom many of you are negligently ignorant.
Kathleen, so says the dubious Wikipedia, is rumored to have hipped ‘ol Tom to the wonders of Captain Beefheart, which may or may not be true, but you can’t help notice some similarities between the two masters.
And if you don’t know who Captain Beefheart is, you flunked out of cool class before the bell even rang.

However, eavesdrop at just about any songwriter circle and you’re likely to hear people copping Mr. Waits so much that you wonder if they’re paying royalties.
Is some of the fascination with the sound of Tom Waits a ruse for those of us who need a little more practice on our instruments? (Me included) Or could it be a subconscious acquiescence to the outdated and damaging concept that artists have to suffer in order to be real artists – with Tom as the self-made poster boy for smoked-and-drank-one-too-many? Or is it that fallacy dictating all artists have to be “edgy” in order to be authentic? All I know is the beautifully raw, occasionally out of tune, and organic outsider mystique is not something you can put on like a jacket even if you try.

To be sure, I have borrowed a color or two from Tom’s hobo pallet. On pre-production for my record Vonnegut’s Wife, for instance, I asked Lee Ferris for a guitar approach like Marc Ribot on Rain Dogs for certain songs.
But if I hear another artist say they’re going for a Tom Waits vibe on their entire record I’m gonna scream.
A vibe, by the way, that can include chasing down first rate players and then ironically asking them to sound like a junk band for a whole lot ‘o money – true story! As a session player once was heard to say, “It’s your record man.”

So to my songwriting brethren, I implore you, let’s start to explore some other musical and lyrical phenoms so that Tom Waits doesn’t become a brand that shows up across the velour running suit asses of America. Oh wait, Scarlett Johansson already did her Tom Waits record so I guess we’re too late for that. Interestingly, that record made me feel like I did too much cough syrup. And, just like in middle school, it did not really get me high. Go figure.

Here are some suggestions for those of you caught in the Watis-ian whirlpool to consider:

How about Leonard Cohen? – songwriter of “Stories Of The Street” from Songs Of Leonard Cohen

The stories of the street are mine, the Spanish voices laugh.
The Cadillacs go creeping now through the night and the poison gas,
and I lean from my window sill in this old hotel I chose,
yes one hand on my suicide, one hand on the rose.

Oh everybody knows him already? You want to be a little more outside and “edgy”?

Ok then, how about this from Valley Road by James McMurtry on Saint Mary of The Woods

Short tables – no slop eight ball
line of crank off his gold top Les Paul
Woke you up. Set you right.
Kept you talkin’ to the middle
of the next night
He had the stance. Major attitude.
Vibrato you could o’ thrown a cat through
A little much
A little heavy
I guess the world just wasn’t ready
Just a ghost from back a long time ago,
Blue-eyed shadow
You never mention anymore
Nothin’ ventured
Nothin’ saved
You poured it out like bourbon on a fresh grave
And learned your lesson well
And learned your lesson well

If that doesn’t make you want to slit your wrists and jump from the peak of envy, I don’t know what will.
Now, I get why it’s passe to site Joni Mitchell as an influence.
It’s because after Joni came a wave of weepy writers who confused diary entries for lyrics. And diary entries may be a good source for inspiration, I suppose, but unless you’re Jack Kerouac your stream of consciousness may need some editing. And sonically she’s not as dramatic or cinematic in that James Ellroy kind of way you anti heros are looking for. Additionally, while anyone can site the influence of the Great Canadian Goddess of Song, few have the goods to prove it.
Even Elvis Costello to a small degree has been caught in the cross hairs of this social lens – a lens that takes what is unique and beats it to death, packages it in rhinestones and sells it to “HOUSEWIVES OF SUBURBAN CITY TO BE NAMED” so we can all enjoy the musings of an inner soul in small sanitized servings. Yum!

I admit, I suffer from the “I wouldn’t want to be a member of any club that would have me” syndrome. Perhaps some of this rant stems from that. Heck,I still haven’t listened to the first Norah Jones record (clearly not counter culture) that garnered her a few Grammys because of my condition. This stupid phenomena, by the way, backlashes in so many odd ways I need a pie chart and stinky markers to keep track of my own counter culture spin out. But honestly, I’m improving. And now I’m able to enjoy things my previous full throttle snobbery would have scoffed at years ago – such as society in general. Who me kid? But this rant isn’t just about enjoying the outside perspective, it’s about bravery.

So, as cool Tom Waits is, I want to tell my fellow writers, you can be just as interesting in your own way if you try. I’m not saying you’ll start your own cult following. But it’s often the differences that make us all so beautiful to behold. It’s the oddball bravery of marching to your own beat that, likewise, made Tom Waits the artist we love and aspire to be like.

The popularization of art doesn’t make it invalid unless the purchasers don’t really get why it’s so compelling in the first place. Otherwise, for me, it’s just another T-Shirt to match that new tattoo.

So get onstage and get off the band wagon. Fall on your face on the road less traveled and you’ll get my respect every time.

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With the size of my band growing and costs rising to feed and house those wild animals, don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind to cash in on some of that back-wash bliss a tribute band can offer. I’ve been told that I do a mean Karen Carpenter and I wouldn’t mind losing a few pounds in order to make an extra dollar every now and then… ahh but if I only played the drums.

I’ve met a tribute band or two, some just paying homage to great music and some who are flying around the world making wild amounts of money. Oddly, those acts often assume the personae and art of other people, who, in some instances are actually still alive and playing!

A tribute band, for those of you who do not know, is a band that plays, pretty much exclusively, the material of another band.

Usually, these bands catalogs are the ones that stroll you right down memory lane in your baby blue Angel Flight slacks or banana yellow Ditto jeans. They take you right back to your first hard on at the school dance or the raspy bong load in your cousins garage that made you cough for ten minutes like a newbie. And if you were not alive back then rent “Dazed and Confused” for your anthropological homework. 500 words by Monday double-spaced.

For some recapturing old glory days through musical nostalgia is the whole point of seeing a tribute band. It’s seems I am on the outside, again, with this one. For me the very idea of reliving any high school moments is abhorrent. Not being chased by bullies is nice these days.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll never forget the first time I was given a Black Sabbath record by my cousin, sans the pot. He was trying to walk the straight and narrow and lucky for me Black Sabbath was on his shit list of evils to be avoided at all costs. That record was the gift that kept on giving but that doesn’t mean I’ll pony up to see some kid bite the heads off plastic bats just to relive my occult past.

If someone finds an article suggesting why people calcify musically at a certain age I’d like to read it. My guess is it may have something to do with changing diapers, acquiring jobs and getting thrown head first into the existential muck of real life. Thus limiting one’s musical day dreaming to the soundtrack of the moment from some “edgy” cable TV show spoon-feeding America a culture of pabulum. More diapers please.
And suspiciously the tribute band is right there with its well-worn memories like your favorite jeans – which no longer fit by the way.
The overall quality of music since that golden hey day of rock n roll royalty is arguable at best, makes us wonder if the current music we hear on most radio is getting the job done.

The side effect of the tribute band phenomena that pisses me off most is that some venues are closing their doors to original acts. No really. Why book a band no one knows, with songs that might not make people drink, when you can have a hot, all girl band called “INSERT CLEVER SUGGESTIVE LESBIAN NAME HERE” cranking out the classics? As the wise and super talented, oft curmudgeonly singer songwriter James McMurtry says, “I used to think I was an artist. Come to find out I’m a beer salesman”. Is the future of live music like the recent past of food, a national homogenization of sound where in every town you can see the same band playing the same songs? McMusic comes in three tasty flavors…horrific.

Now there’s nothing wrong with those of us who just want to sing along with a good song to someone sweet by our side. There’s nothing wrong with folks wanting to keep the doors open to their clubs. But next time you look in the local calendar to see where you’re gonna spend your hard earned bucks, consider supporting some unknown band every once in awhile, why don’t cha?

I mean, where would we be if no one gave a chance to the greats who inspired tribute musicians to get up there and copy cat in the first place?
And don’t worry I’m not getting all goofy and romantic about artists and our duty to support some kid who just wants to ditch school and get laid ‘cause he can play three chords. Although that is often how it starts ….

This is not some happy ending story. Some, if not many of the bands you may see out there will indeed suck the holy living life out the room with their out of tune guitars and juvenile rhyme schemes. But better that then sitting at home watching “INSERT IQ INSULTING SHOW HERE”. Think of seeing live bands as reality TV with a bartender. Or think of the moment you hear something real that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, or the lyric that makes you feel awake for the first time in a day full of hamster wheel repetitions or the wild abandon of doing something new and different for a change because you have a choice to do so, for now.

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Tonight will be the last night of the residency I have held at Genghis Cohen for over a year now on the first Saturday of every month.

It’s hard to explain to those of you who are not in Los Angeles, or are not musicians, the incredible challenges there are to gigging in this dark and beautiful city.
The traffic, the parking, the weather, the parades, the protests, and the all around torpor of “I could do that” upon the faces of a crossed armed audience so many bands face. Given all that hullabaloo, we’re pretty to lucky to have had such a good run at Genghis and had pretty much none of that, thanks to the baby cheesus.
But we have outgrown our old digs and like Roy said, “We’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

Our wonderful First Saturday’s with me at 8:30pm, Danny Peck at the 9:30 slot and Fren Askin & Frens holding down the 10:30 has allowed us to build up our following and finely hone the band.
Unfortunately, the stage was never big enough to house all our players and often we had to choose between having Bart Ryan, or Michael Sherwood join us. Leaving me with that “Mom, can’t we keep them all?” feeling.

So, we are on to larger rooms and new venues to share this gift, hokey I know, with as many folks as possible.
And while making money with this music doesn’t suck it was never what this project was about.
So we will be trying to do as many free shows as possible and hope that you will all continue to join us for the love and for some love.

So far our next show is the record release party for California Kid at the Grand Ole Echo on July 25th 2010 at 5:30pm Free and all ages!
We hope to see you there!

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The new record will be called California Kid.
And I could tell you more about how Christopher Allis would’a made Levon Helm proud, Michael Sherwood was channeling Leon Russell, Jason Chesney was just his amazing self with no comparison, Bart Ryan was greasy and dirty just like we knew he would be, and how Christian Nesmith not only produced but played like Wiley Coyote if he were a rock n roll octopus, but I think you just gotta listen to this one.

Notes about the wet and wild background overdubs with Debra Tala and Laura Drew to come…..

The folks at Stagg Street Studios were lovely to work with. And the homey atmosphere, pooches and all, only enhanced the great sounding room and gear.

Feel free to show them some love by visiting them here:

http://www.staggstreetstudio.com

Join us for the FREE record release show on

Sunday July 25th at
The Grand Ole Echo
1822 Sunset Blvd. Los Angeles, CA 90026

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Next week I am headed to the studio for a pre production rehearsal with my wonderful band.
That’s right kiddies yet another album from the mind of this odd and prolific, if nothing else, artist.

We are hoping to track eleven songs in two days. Heck The Beatles did “Please Please Me” in a day, so all I need is two right?

Now, as many of you know who have seen me over the last year, I have been unveiling these new songs at shows and doing the cooking live.
Trying out different parts, arrangements and soloists just to see what works and what doesn’t. And I thank you all for your patience….an occasional ear plug was needed.

All of my previous albums were thrown right into the deep end of the pool by recording them almost as soon as the songs had been written. And subsequently there are a few things I would have done differently to be sure.

Sometimes like a great recipe a song often needs a few tries to find that perfect blend between what is possible and what is good.
Between what is obvious, once you put it in your mouth and chew on it, and what is the unexpected delight of context and execution, aka getting out of the way and letting go. Sorry if that’s too absurdist Jazz talk for you, but I think you get the point.

Stay tuned as I plan to keep the process of this madcap endeavor at your disposal with videos, song clips and the like…..

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Happy Valentine’s Day lovely people!

Once upon a time I made a record that for me was very unusual in many ways. First I had no deadline. Being the typically overachieving goal oriented kind of person this was a challenge for me. I wanted the record to unfold, allow it to come into the world on it’s own time. I hired some amazing musicians, and changed my line up, changed my approach to the sonics of the session and dove into the morass.

I wrote the songs, did a co-write or two, did a few pre production meetings, took a few days to make the record…and then things got strange.

As some of you may have heard, artists are a mercurial bunch of people, and I include myself in that description. So, when the drama hit the fan I shelved the record. I needed the dust to settle and the final curing, melding, maturing process to happen while it did so in it’s digital womb for what seems like many years.

So finally here it is in all it’s odd artistic style. The songwriting is dark and sarcastic, angry and sad, and looking back I guess I just needed to get a few things off my chest. The sounds are dark and ugly, cryptic and lovely, and this will not be the record for those of you looking for another Bluebird Tattoo. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

As my gift to you when you leave a comment on this post I will send you a link to download the record for free, for some arbitrary time until I decide otherwise. Mercurial see?

And so I release my sixth record Vonnegut’s Wife on Valentine’s Day wishing you all love.

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K-town Sunshine

There are a few days a year like this one

The sun is shining and the air is cool and moving

One of those days where everything looks clean

Even dirty streets and bus stops

Broken windows and stone doorways

Antique buildings that line the streets of Korea town

Where everyone looks sad even when they are smiling

Where happiness is present

In the firm grim acceptance of one’s lot in life

And to merely notice the moving

Setting sun is a triumph of will

One of those rare days of urban clarity

Where everything is good and right

And everyone is too tired to fight anymore

Written by Circe Link

Copyright 2010

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What is it about Folkies?

If Folkies had saying it would be “If you love it set it free, if it plugs in hunt it down and kill it.”

Kidding. But not, kind of.

These seemingly sweet natured banjo picking, mando wielding aficionados of the unplugged seem to have serious issues about the growth of an artist.

Take, for instance Bob Dylan, when Bob, Lord and King to many a Folkie and Rocker alike, decided to expand his palette of sounds his former zealots wanted him hanged. Turing rabid his flipped out fanatics bleary eyed and booing became hateful and violent at shows they paid good money to get into! All because Bob wanted to say more, and in return they gave him death threats.

I have a friend who has had the hardest time with me developing as an artist. And that is what provoked my tiny but sweet natured rant about Folkies, as he is indeed one.

He tells me my first record was my best, and that I was so pure, so real and that my lyrics were so much more about me and therefore resonated with the listener on a deeper level.

So let me fill all of you in, that record, “More Songs from Circe Link”, really only has one song whose lyrics apply to me in truth. And that song is called “I Like Knowing You Miss Me”, it’s a love song. Kidding.

Other than that song, in my neophyte stages of writing I found it more fun to write about others, still do actually. Rather than writing about myself I chose archetypical metaphors as homage to a specific style with which I was flirting, savvy?

Had I ever had a blue bird tattoo?

Had I ever been a ghost?

Had I ever had my husband die?

Take a wild guess.

And by the way, that song is not about dead babies. I say this because once a squeaky fan after a show excitedly told me she loved my dead baby song! (Lift eyebrow here.)

The last record “Moody Girl” and the new record “Vonnegut’s Wife” hold more intimate details and inner musings than I have ever cared or dared to express in song form. Which, one day I will probably regret, as will any of you that the songs are written about, C’est la vie.

Now don’t get me wrong I love a good old-fashioned folk song. I love my 501’s, waving golden meadows and a bare foot home down hoe down hootenannies but sheesh guys it seems someone’s got a problem with change.

So to my Folkie friend who sits in his wooded solitude, shunning the evolving world, almost a musical Luddite, I say with love and affection the poem is not the poet.

I say trying to tell this storm not to shift is bad for the crops. Trying to fight the waves will get you a lunch of sand and saltwater. I choose impressionism and realism, I choose cola and un-cola, I choose yes and no and everything in between. And if you don’t like it then keep your symbolic chocolate out of my lyrical peanut butter.

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Ok so the mind of this obsessive artist is always on and ready for an opportunity to catch something good. Like fishing or surfing sometime it’s a matter of being present.

So the other day I am getting on the freeway, traffic is heavy, the sun is climbing to it’s tower top to yell about the climate change all day long, and he works a long shift in the summer don’t cha ya know.

And then there it is, off to the side of the road, in the shade but there, tiny and unassuming. I wonder if anyone else sees, but then of course someone must. I am sure I can not be alone in this beauty. Off to the side of the road one single yellow petaled daisy stands alone.

Such a reward to see, that I will not attempt to speak of its impact on me here. But there it was, alone and great, small and silent. One single, standing, reaching growing proud little daisy along the freeway on ramp.

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