I have about 20 rows of the greenish color to do before I have to wait for that fucking khaki shade. DAMN YOU CASCAAAAAAADE! DAAAAAAMN YOUUUUUUUU
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
DW Scarf Nooz Update #2
I have about 20 rows of the greenish color to do before I have to wait for that fucking khaki shade. DAMN YOU CASCAAAAAAADE! DAAAAAAMN YOUUUUUUUU
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Important news
I've just finished the first color section of the Season 14 Doctor Who scarf. I'm using Cascade 220 in the colors mapped out by Tara.
The biggest obstacle between now and Halloween (besides the 10' of 12"-wide garter stitch) is that the tan color is on back order from the website I used to buy the yarn. They're supposed to ship it on Thursday, so I'm hopeful that I'll get it by Monday. I can still do 76 rows (9.63 percent) before I need it.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
The biggest obstacle between now and Halloween (besides the 10' of 12"-wide garter stitch) is that the tan color is on back order from the website I used to buy the yarn. They're supposed to ship it on Thursday, so I'm hopeful that I'll get it by Monday. I can still do 76 rows (9.63 percent) before I need it.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
In which I appear in the paper
The first time I was ever in a newspaper, I was 10 years old and wearing a black-and-red flannel shirt and a purple bike helmet. My similarly Angela Chase-ly-clad elementary school friends and I were walking our bikes across Six Forks Road on our way home from elementary school, probably about to go to the Taco Bell and get cups for water and then fill them with all the different horrible sodas. In the caption, my name was "Alex Taylor." Fact checking!
Fast forward 10 years and I have a sheaf of college newspaper blathering and a healthy sprinkle of my own electronic opinion strewn about the web. So it's kind of weird for me to be like "Look, I'm in the paper!" but here I am, an expert witness to tabloid feuds and contemporary ladymade music. My mom called me at the ungodly hour of 11:30 this morning to ask if I was "Philadelphia-based, feminist music writer (and former Raleigh resident) Alexandra Jones" -- "That couldn't be a coincidence, right?"
Wanna take bets on long before The Rachel Maddow Show comes callin'?
Fast forward 10 years and I have a sheaf of college newspaper blathering and a healthy sprinkle of my own electronic opinion strewn about the web. So it's kind of weird for me to be like "Look, I'm in the paper!" but here I am, a
Wanna take bets on long before The Rachel Maddow Show comes callin'?
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Young, adult.
You may have seen the recent Facebook meme sweeping the newsfeeds of the over-educated/underemployed set: 15 Books in 15 minutes. Basically, one names the first 15 books that spring to mind, with the idea that those are the most influential and important to the individual in question.
After mentally scrolling through the recently-read (like 2666, which is every bit as good as all the slavering reviews would have you believe) and the big name (Proust, Joyce, Nabokov), I realized that a lot of the books that I remember best and think about most often are the ones I read between ages 8 to 14. I know there’s a whole cult of grown-up YA enthusiasts out there, and blogger Lizzie Skurnick has a book coming out about rereading preteen girl classics. But worried that revisiting my childhood novels would ruin my foggy memories, I generally avoided the kids’ section at the Carnegie Public in favor of trying, yet again, to slog through Infinite Jest.
My particular poison was always of the historical-fantasy-adventure variety. First came the Narnia books (the Christian overtones of which totally escaped me as a child), then an intense devotion to Lloyd Alexander’s Prydain Chronicles. I didn’t just like them; I believed them. Eventually I knew I would be able to figure out some sort of spell or portal to get myself into those magical kingdoms. Life in the suburbs of Raleigh (which was all I knew existed) was just too unbearably boring. I was in a constant state of anticipation, just waiting until Aslan showed up to offer me a lift on his big golden haunches. Reading Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy last winter, I was actually glad they hadn’t been published yet when I was 12 because I know I would have been obsessed with them to the point of despair – a fated and passionate-yet-chaste romance always sealed the deal for me; I would have been in love with Will 4-eva.
After Alex posted her 15 books (which are pretty similar to mine anyway – all through middle and high school we would trade books or read them at the same time so as to have someone intelligent to discuss them with), and I became lost in my reverie of YA favorites, one title in particular drifted into my brain and wouldn’t let go until I marched into the brightly-painted children’s area of the library, checked it out, and read it nonstop that night.
I remember seeing the eerie black cover in the Douglas Elementary library and being too scared to check it out in second grade; I don’t think I worked up the nerve until probably fourth (sadly I can't find an image of the spooky original cover). I read it so many times those last two years that I considered stealing it when I left for middle school. Even though I hadn’t thought of it in ages, as soon as the idea hit me I remembered the author’s name and oddly-spelled title down to the letter: The Perilous Gard by Elizabeth Marie Pope.
Pope was of that particularly well-heeled variety of children’s authors; she was in the class of 1940 at Bryn Mawr and went on to get a Ph.D. in English Literature from Johns Hopkins. The Perilous Gard is set in 1558, just before Elizabeth I came to power, and full of the nerdy sort of historical detail only a particularly scholarly author would include. I thought I had caught an error at one point; a character refers to the “fields of corn” behind the castle. Ha, thought I, they totally did not know about maize in England until the 1600s! Of course a minimal amount of research proved me wrong; corn is a generic term for any grain in British English (our corn, maize, is called sweetcorn).
Much like Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley (whom Pope presumably knew to some extent, as they were both founding members of the Society for Creative Anachronism), The Perilous Gard concerns the conflict between Christianity and older pagan belief. Kate, the main character, is a smart and practical girl who regards the old stories as superstition at first. Unlike MZB’s hippied-out Powerful Mystic Moon Womyn vision, though, in Pope’s book the Christians are the good guys. The narrative is based on the Scottish ballad Tam Lin, and the Fairy People are scary as hell.
Not that you are going to rush out and purchase this book or anything, but I still don’t want to spoil all the plot details – suffice it to say that the main character, Kate, is trying to save her friend Christopher from the Fairy People, who are going to burn him alive as a sacrifice on All Hallow’s Eve. She ends up living among them as a servant in their lair of tunnels deep underground while scheming how to free them both.
So this is where I get to my actual point: what makes this book a kids’ book? Because it is fucking dark – literally, too, ha! When Kate first joins the other human servants, she is led to a pitch-black cave chamber and thinks the snorting and flopping sounds she hears are made by sleeping pigs. It turns out the three other women are just drugged into a complete stupor 24/7. The Green Lady (the Fairy Queen, basically) tries to get Kate to accept the narcotic potion, too, warning her ominously that it will make “the weight” easier to bear.
Later, looking up at the rock ceiling of the servants’ chamber (which “hung in great laps and folds and waves and pendulous bulges of stone”), Kate experiences her first attack of the weight:
And then suddenly all she knew of the place as it really was came rushing over her. The earth and the stone; the blind passages worming their way under the ground; the slippery paths with the slime under foot; the cold air and the darkness; and always, everywhere, pressing about pit and cavern and passage, the incalculable weight of the rock. Her breath was coming quickly now, in light shallow gasps, as if she had no room to draw it. The fear that the cave roof was bulging and collapsing had been a fear of appearances, something she could argue away. The agonized horror she felt now was of the reality of the Hill itself – the tons and tons of actual earth and stone lying above her, closing down on her, shutting her in. It was like some suffocating dream of being buried alive; or rather it was like the moment of awakening from that dream to find that it was true.
I don’t know about you but that’s one of the best descriptions of intense depression I think I’ve ever read (except instead of rock, of course, it’s Life in general that’s the weight). Her fairy-boss is somewhat sympathetic and entreats her again to let the Lady take away the weight. “ ‘It will return…at its own time.’”
Yet this book is considered appropriate for children despite its heavy themes (don’t forget that whole human sacrifice element). What then are the requirements of YA lit compared to grown up books? No sex, nothing too violent, clear language with no stylistic trickery a la our dear departed DFW. Protagonists who are children or adolescents (although certainly “real” books can have young central characters). Most importantly, perhaps, is an unambiguous moral tone, Good vs. Evil. We can’t be confusing our young ‘uns with mixed messages about right and wrong, and that sort of reductiveness is the real reason (in my view) that most kids’ books don’t qualify as Great Literature, no matter how classic.
But reading this book as an adult, I think the Good vs. Evil battle is more complex and subtle than I grasped in fourth grade, although I apparently grasped something that made me latch on to the memory of reading it for over ten years. The struggle is, on the surface, that whole pagan vs. Christian thing. But Christianity only ever helps Kate in the most practical, least spiritual ways possible. At a crucial moment, the Green Lady tries one final time to lull her into senselessness with an incantation. Kate maintains her presence of mind by squeezing a metal cross necklace so tightly that her clenched hand fills with blood. The real victory is her intelligence and logic prevailing over the mysticism and eerie beauty of the Fairy Folk. In the end, the Fairy Folk even become slightly sympathetic; there’s a sense that they are doomed to retreat further into the mythical realm and eventually die out altogether. It’s really kind of sad, especially since some of them actually had begun to show her kindness. But there’s an air of historical inevitability to the conclusion. Logic just wins out in the end.
I guess that’s sort of what happened to me, too. At some point, probably much later than is normal or healthy, I realized that no closet door was going to transport me to Narnia, and that Taran and Eilonwy were just characters invented by some old dude. Around the same time I realized that reading fantasy books was totally lame, socially speaking. After that it was all Catcher in the Rye and Catch-22 and etc (although I do have to wonder why dystopian novels like 1984 and Brave New World get a free pass instead of being tarred with the genre brush). And I’m pretty fine with that, although if I am missing out on some awesome fantasy books for grownups, by all means let me know. I kind of doubt it-- though I have recently discovered that fantasy art calendars are hilariously amazing. For some reason, fantasy stories just seem to work better when they have the streamlined language and morals (and no tacky sex, ugh) of children’s books. I’m not necessarily sure I’m any smarter now than I was at age 12 anyway. It’s hard to say whether I would have enjoyed The Perilous Gard as much if I didn’t already have that strong nostalgic pull. I do know that if I have kids, this will definitely be on their bookshelf.
After mentally scrolling through the recently-read (like 2666, which is every bit as good as all the slavering reviews would have you believe) and the big name (Proust, Joyce, Nabokov), I realized that a lot of the books that I remember best and think about most often are the ones I read between ages 8 to 14. I know there’s a whole cult of grown-up YA enthusiasts out there, and blogger Lizzie Skurnick has a book coming out about rereading preteen girl classics. But worried that revisiting my childhood novels would ruin my foggy memories, I generally avoided the kids’ section at the Carnegie Public in favor of trying, yet again, to slog through Infinite Jest.
My particular poison was always of the historical-fantasy-adventure variety. First came the Narnia books (the Christian overtones of which totally escaped me as a child), then an intense devotion to Lloyd Alexander’s Prydain Chronicles. I didn’t just like them; I believed them. Eventually I knew I would be able to figure out some sort of spell or portal to get myself into those magical kingdoms. Life in the suburbs of Raleigh (which was all I knew existed) was just too unbearably boring. I was in a constant state of anticipation, just waiting until Aslan showed up to offer me a lift on his big golden haunches. Reading Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy last winter, I was actually glad they hadn’t been published yet when I was 12 because I know I would have been obsessed with them to the point of despair – a fated and passionate-yet-chaste romance always sealed the deal for me; I would have been in love with Will 4-eva.
After Alex posted her 15 books (which are pretty similar to mine anyway – all through middle and high school we would trade books or read them at the same time so as to have someone intelligent to discuss them with), and I became lost in my reverie of YA favorites, one title in particular drifted into my brain and wouldn’t let go until I marched into the brightly-painted children’s area of the library, checked it out, and read it nonstop that night.
I remember seeing the eerie black cover in the Douglas Elementary library and being too scared to check it out in second grade; I don’t think I worked up the nerve until probably fourth (sadly I can't find an image of the spooky original cover). I read it so many times those last two years that I considered stealing it when I left for middle school. Even though I hadn’t thought of it in ages, as soon as the idea hit me I remembered the author’s name and oddly-spelled title down to the letter: The Perilous Gard by Elizabeth Marie Pope.
Pope was of that particularly well-heeled variety of children’s authors; she was in the class of 1940 at Bryn Mawr and went on to get a Ph.D. in English Literature from Johns Hopkins. The Perilous Gard is set in 1558, just before Elizabeth I came to power, and full of the nerdy sort of historical detail only a particularly scholarly author would include. I thought I had caught an error at one point; a character refers to the “fields of corn” behind the castle. Ha, thought I, they totally did not know about maize in England until the 1600s! Of course a minimal amount of research proved me wrong; corn is a generic term for any grain in British English (our corn, maize, is called sweetcorn).
Much like Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley (whom Pope presumably knew to some extent, as they were both founding members of the Society for Creative Anachronism), The Perilous Gard concerns the conflict between Christianity and older pagan belief. Kate, the main character, is a smart and practical girl who regards the old stories as superstition at first. Unlike MZB’s hippied-out Powerful Mystic Moon Womyn vision, though, in Pope’s book the Christians are the good guys. The narrative is based on the Scottish ballad Tam Lin, and the Fairy People are scary as hell.
Not that you are going to rush out and purchase this book or anything, but I still don’t want to spoil all the plot details – suffice it to say that the main character, Kate, is trying to save her friend Christopher from the Fairy People, who are going to burn him alive as a sacrifice on All Hallow’s Eve. She ends up living among them as a servant in their lair of tunnels deep underground while scheming how to free them both.
So this is where I get to my actual point: what makes this book a kids’ book? Because it is fucking dark – literally, too, ha! When Kate first joins the other human servants, she is led to a pitch-black cave chamber and thinks the snorting and flopping sounds she hears are made by sleeping pigs. It turns out the three other women are just drugged into a complete stupor 24/7. The Green Lady (the Fairy Queen, basically) tries to get Kate to accept the narcotic potion, too, warning her ominously that it will make “the weight” easier to bear.
Later, looking up at the rock ceiling of the servants’ chamber (which “hung in great laps and folds and waves and pendulous bulges of stone”), Kate experiences her first attack of the weight:
And then suddenly all she knew of the place as it really was came rushing over her. The earth and the stone; the blind passages worming their way under the ground; the slippery paths with the slime under foot; the cold air and the darkness; and always, everywhere, pressing about pit and cavern and passage, the incalculable weight of the rock. Her breath was coming quickly now, in light shallow gasps, as if she had no room to draw it. The fear that the cave roof was bulging and collapsing had been a fear of appearances, something she could argue away. The agonized horror she felt now was of the reality of the Hill itself – the tons and tons of actual earth and stone lying above her, closing down on her, shutting her in. It was like some suffocating dream of being buried alive; or rather it was like the moment of awakening from that dream to find that it was true.
I don’t know about you but that’s one of the best descriptions of intense depression I think I’ve ever read (except instead of rock, of course, it’s Life in general that’s the weight). Her fairy-boss is somewhat sympathetic and entreats her again to let the Lady take away the weight. “ ‘It will return…at its own time.’”
Yet this book is considered appropriate for children despite its heavy themes (don’t forget that whole human sacrifice element). What then are the requirements of YA lit compared to grown up books? No sex, nothing too violent, clear language with no stylistic trickery a la our dear departed DFW. Protagonists who are children or adolescents (although certainly “real” books can have young central characters). Most importantly, perhaps, is an unambiguous moral tone, Good vs. Evil. We can’t be confusing our young ‘uns with mixed messages about right and wrong, and that sort of reductiveness is the real reason (in my view) that most kids’ books don’t qualify as Great Literature, no matter how classic.
But reading this book as an adult, I think the Good vs. Evil battle is more complex and subtle than I grasped in fourth grade, although I apparently grasped something that made me latch on to the memory of reading it for over ten years. The struggle is, on the surface, that whole pagan vs. Christian thing. But Christianity only ever helps Kate in the most practical, least spiritual ways possible. At a crucial moment, the Green Lady tries one final time to lull her into senselessness with an incantation. Kate maintains her presence of mind by squeezing a metal cross necklace so tightly that her clenched hand fills with blood. The real victory is her intelligence and logic prevailing over the mysticism and eerie beauty of the Fairy Folk. In the end, the Fairy Folk even become slightly sympathetic; there’s a sense that they are doomed to retreat further into the mythical realm and eventually die out altogether. It’s really kind of sad, especially since some of them actually had begun to show her kindness. But there’s an air of historical inevitability to the conclusion. Logic just wins out in the end.
I guess that’s sort of what happened to me, too. At some point, probably much later than is normal or healthy, I realized that no closet door was going to transport me to Narnia, and that Taran and Eilonwy were just characters invented by some old dude. Around the same time I realized that reading fantasy books was totally lame, socially speaking. After that it was all Catcher in the Rye and Catch-22 and etc (although I do have to wonder why dystopian novels like 1984 and Brave New World get a free pass instead of being tarred with the genre brush). And I’m pretty fine with that, although if I am missing out on some awesome fantasy books for grownups, by all means let me know. I kind of doubt it-- though I have recently discovered that fantasy art calendars are hilariously amazing. For some reason, fantasy stories just seem to work better when they have the streamlined language and morals (and no tacky sex, ugh) of children’s books. I’m not necessarily sure I’m any smarter now than I was at age 12 anyway. It’s hard to say whether I would have enjoyed The Perilous Gard as much if I didn’t already have that strong nostalgic pull. I do know that if I have kids, this will definitely be on their bookshelf.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
EXCHANGE: A one-act
CAST
Schultz, a neurotic
Michelle, a dark pragmatist
Alex, a wizard's baker
Rich, a cheesemonger
Firestone, a firestone
Setting: Int. my living room, post beer-buying and Con Air-watching and pie-eating.
[EVERYONE discusses the question of whether one would rather be able to pause reality or fast-forward reality. MICHELLE proclaims her affinity for one or the other.]
MICHELLE: I would choose fast-forward. Then you could just skip all this bullshit in your twenties and wake up when you're 50.
[GENERAL verbal scuffle about the viability of this option; it is stated that 50 is not the new 20, probably, if I remember correctly.]
ALEX: Yeah, 50 is the prime of your life -- IF YOU'RE A TIME LORD.
[GENERAL giggles and neutral reactions to this statement.]
FIRESTONE: Yeah. If you're a GAYLORD.
[ALL PRESENT guffaw heartily at this bon mot.]
END
Schultz, a neurotic
Michelle, a dark pragmatist
Alex, a wizard's baker
Rich, a cheesemonger
Firestone, a firestone
Setting: Int. my living room, post beer-buying and Con Air-watching and pie-eating.
[EVERYONE discusses the question of whether one would rather be able to pause reality or fast-forward reality. MICHELLE proclaims her affinity for one or the other.]
MICHELLE: I would choose fast-forward. Then you could just skip all this bullshit in your twenties and wake up when you're 50.
[GENERAL verbal scuffle about the viability of this option; it is stated that 50 is not the new 20, probably, if I remember correctly.]
ALEX: Yeah, 50 is the prime of your life -- IF YOU'RE A TIME LORD.
[GENERAL giggles and neutral reactions to this statement.]
FIRESTONE: Yeah. If you're a GAYLORD.
[ALL PRESENT guffaw heartily at this bon mot.]
END
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
New Origivation Magazine feature
I wrote another feature for Philly music rag Origivation on acoustic/rock artist Kevin McQuiston. Check me out!
If you don't want to download a pdf (although there are other cool pieces in the issue too), here's the text.
Emerging
with Alexandra Jones
Kevin McQuiston is probably happier than you. Not because Sway, the first EP from his latest project, Refurb, blends slick-as- hell rock with heartrending, emotional lyrics. Not because he gives the impression of being the hardest-working musician in Philadelphia, burning out his BlackBerry to promote his projects. Not because the way he’s selling Sway is a new platform that could change how bands market their music online.
He’s happy, it seems, because he wants to be.
Among other faiths, McQuiston identifies as a Buddhist, and applies a beatific, live-and-let-live philosophy to daily life and relationships. “[Being happy]’s not easy, but it’s really pretty simple,” he explains – to passengers in the cab he drives for his day job. “You do this, you do this, and if that doesn’t work, you try that.”
As chill as he can be in person, however, McQuiston is dedicated to his art, his band and its marketing. He’s gone beyond the independent musician’s typical marketing toolkit with “Karma Currency,” an online platform that gives potential listeners a few different ways to pay for music. Would-be listeners can choose between four options to acquire digital downloads of individual tracks: Pay “market value,” the iTunes standard of 99 cents; pay what you want, à la Radiohead’s In Rainbows; accept the track for free as a gift from the artist; or pledge to do a good deed – helping others, animals or the environment, perhaps – in exchange for the download. The last option requires users to type in how they’ll pay it forward, which might seem like more of a guilt trip than it’s worth. McQuiston, of course, sees the good in the system.
“You’re not responsible for what other people think, say and do, just what you think, say and do,” he says of the honor code implicit in Karma Currency. “You can actually ask for it [as] a gift. If they’re so harried that they can’t find a kind moment, we’ll give it as a gift. We’ll do the kind moment for them.”
While McQuiston’s ostensible goal is to gain exposure for his music, the Karma Currency model fits him in particular. When his last band, acoustic-pop outfit KMB missed out on a record deal when their A&R man left his record label, McQuiston
turned away from rock ‘n’ roll fun and entered an interfaith seminary in New York City.
But hold that thought – McQuiston is no Scott Stapp. “I don’t think I’ve ever written a non-secular song,” he says. “And yet everything I write, because I write about love - love is my religion. I might wrap it in Buddhism and Taoism and Quaker Unitarianism, but to me, really, everything’s about love. Love and fear, [those are] the only two things in the universe. Everything’s based in one or the other, and I base mine in love.”
True enough - although the songs on Sway evoke the longing, bitterness, and loneliness that can accompany unrequited love more than its warm, fuzzy counterpart. Despite McQuiston’s cloud-nine disposition, his muses are lost loves, or loves that
never were.
“Somebody asked me the other day, ‘What’s the harder part, writing the words or writing the melody?’” the singer explains. “And I said the hard part is living through it. Having that thing mean enough to you that you need to express it. I have to cough this shit up on a regular basis, so, to me, it’s gotta kinda mean something.”
What made McQuiston transition from acoustic music to electrified rock? “It could have been like a midlife crisis, I suppose,” he says. “I bought a Les Paul and a Marshall [amplifier], and I’d always kinda had this sorta Ani DiFranco-meets-Chris-
Isaak-on-crack kinda [thing].”
Refurb, however, is a four-piece outfit that sets McQuiston’s songs, from cool brush-off tunes to gritty breakup missives to straightforward rock ‘n’ roll. They’re billed as “indie-tinged alt-rock,” but the music doesn’t bristle with quirky-as-hell instrumentation or sound like it was recorded in a bedroom closet. What defines Refurb is the combination of McQuiston’s deeply felt poetry and his band’s ultra-tight but soulful vibe – a solid formula that would benefit from neither bells nor whistles. “Everybody Likes You” is the badass riff-rocker of the EP, while the bittersweet “Too Much For You” boasts a vibrant, voicelike guitar melody.
The band is McQuiston’s project, but he gives even more credit to the other three members of Refurb as he does himself. Darnell Hillary plays drums, Ron Telfor (who was also involved with KMB) is on bass, and Kirk Abernathy rocks keyboards and guitar. “People just go ‘You’re so lucky,’ and I just let them be themselves,” McQuiston says of Refurb’s sweet skills. Although he has to be his own street team, the setup works for him. “On those nights when I’ve been online for like eight hours promoting a show, or sending out MySpace bulletins or flyering or press releasing or whatever, and I’m
like ‘[I wish] I had a regular band where the people help me out.’ And then I remember, these guys, they show up and they kill, and they’re so underpaid by me compared to the other people that they play for,” he says. “They play with me because they like my music, and they like what they do, and it works out pretty good.”
McQuiston has also been working with Sway’s producer, Mike McCarthy, in yet another project. “Don’t Miss You Like I Used To,” available on McQuiston’s personal MySpace, is a smoldering, “Sexy Sadie”-esque ballad boosted by McCarthy’s near-jazz flugelhorn melodies.
He’s not yet sure what will happen with Refurb – a soul project next, maybe? “I know I’m changing styles,” he says. “I’ve been listening to a lot of Amy Winehouse…”
Wherever he goes, McQuiston seems to have it – whatever “it” is – figured out.
“When I was younger, I wanted a deal,” he says. “I wanted a record deal and a limo deal and an actress girlfriend deal, and now all I want is to make a living from my craft.”
If you don't want to download a pdf (although there are other cool pieces in the issue too), here's the text.
Emerging
with Alexandra Jones
Kevin McQuiston is probably happier than you. Not because Sway, the first EP from his latest project, Refurb, blends slick-as- hell rock with heartrending, emotional lyrics. Not because he gives the impression of being the hardest-working musician in Philadelphia, burning out his BlackBerry to promote his projects. Not because the way he’s selling Sway is a new platform that could change how bands market their music online.
He’s happy, it seems, because he wants to be.
Among other faiths, McQuiston identifies as a Buddhist, and applies a beatific, live-and-let-live philosophy to daily life and relationships. “[Being happy]’s not easy, but it’s really pretty simple,” he explains – to passengers in the cab he drives for his day job. “You do this, you do this, and if that doesn’t work, you try that.”
As chill as he can be in person, however, McQuiston is dedicated to his art, his band and its marketing. He’s gone beyond the independent musician’s typical marketing toolkit with “Karma Currency,” an online platform that gives potential listeners a few different ways to pay for music. Would-be listeners can choose between four options to acquire digital downloads of individual tracks: Pay “market value,” the iTunes standard of 99 cents; pay what you want, à la Radiohead’s In Rainbows; accept the track for free as a gift from the artist; or pledge to do a good deed – helping others, animals or the environment, perhaps – in exchange for the download. The last option requires users to type in how they’ll pay it forward, which might seem like more of a guilt trip than it’s worth. McQuiston, of course, sees the good in the system.
“You’re not responsible for what other people think, say and do, just what you think, say and do,” he says of the honor code implicit in Karma Currency. “You can actually ask for it [as] a gift. If they’re so harried that they can’t find a kind moment, we’ll give it as a gift. We’ll do the kind moment for them.”
While McQuiston’s ostensible goal is to gain exposure for his music, the Karma Currency model fits him in particular. When his last band, acoustic-pop outfit KMB missed out on a record deal when their A&R man left his record label, McQuiston
turned away from rock ‘n’ roll fun and entered an interfaith seminary in New York City.
But hold that thought – McQuiston is no Scott Stapp. “I don’t think I’ve ever written a non-secular song,” he says. “And yet everything I write, because I write about love - love is my religion. I might wrap it in Buddhism and Taoism and Quaker Unitarianism, but to me, really, everything’s about love. Love and fear, [those are] the only two things in the universe. Everything’s based in one or the other, and I base mine in love.”
True enough - although the songs on Sway evoke the longing, bitterness, and loneliness that can accompany unrequited love more than its warm, fuzzy counterpart. Despite McQuiston’s cloud-nine disposition, his muses are lost loves, or loves that
never were.
“Somebody asked me the other day, ‘What’s the harder part, writing the words or writing the melody?’” the singer explains. “And I said the hard part is living through it. Having that thing mean enough to you that you need to express it. I have to cough this shit up on a regular basis, so, to me, it’s gotta kinda mean something.”
What made McQuiston transition from acoustic music to electrified rock? “It could have been like a midlife crisis, I suppose,” he says. “I bought a Les Paul and a Marshall [amplifier], and I’d always kinda had this sorta Ani DiFranco-meets-Chris-
Isaak-on-crack kinda [thing].”
Refurb, however, is a four-piece outfit that sets McQuiston’s songs, from cool brush-off tunes to gritty breakup missives to straightforward rock ‘n’ roll. They’re billed as “indie-tinged alt-rock,” but the music doesn’t bristle with quirky-as-hell instrumentation or sound like it was recorded in a bedroom closet. What defines Refurb is the combination of McQuiston’s deeply felt poetry and his band’s ultra-tight but soulful vibe – a solid formula that would benefit from neither bells nor whistles. “Everybody Likes You” is the badass riff-rocker of the EP, while the bittersweet “Too Much For You” boasts a vibrant, voicelike guitar melody.
The band is McQuiston’s project, but he gives even more credit to the other three members of Refurb as he does himself. Darnell Hillary plays drums, Ron Telfor (who was also involved with KMB) is on bass, and Kirk Abernathy rocks keyboards and guitar. “People just go ‘You’re so lucky,’ and I just let them be themselves,” McQuiston says of Refurb’s sweet skills. Although he has to be his own street team, the setup works for him. “On those nights when I’ve been online for like eight hours promoting a show, or sending out MySpace bulletins or flyering or press releasing or whatever, and I’m
like ‘[I wish] I had a regular band where the people help me out.’ And then I remember, these guys, they show up and they kill, and they’re so underpaid by me compared to the other people that they play for,” he says. “They play with me because they like my music, and they like what they do, and it works out pretty good.”
McQuiston has also been working with Sway’s producer, Mike McCarthy, in yet another project. “Don’t Miss You Like I Used To,” available on McQuiston’s personal MySpace, is a smoldering, “Sexy Sadie”-esque ballad boosted by McCarthy’s near-jazz flugelhorn melodies.
He’s not yet sure what will happen with Refurb – a soul project next, maybe? “I know I’m changing styles,” he says. “I’ve been listening to a lot of Amy Winehouse…”
Wherever he goes, McQuiston seems to have it – whatever “it” is – figured out.
“When I was younger, I wanted a deal,” he says. “I wanted a record deal and a limo deal and an actress girlfriend deal, and now all I want is to make a living from my craft.”
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