Matt Griffin in Pittsburgh, PA

Hello, everyone! My activity online has shifted. Here are the places to find current content: Argus' Flickr Photostream, The Bearded Studio blog, my Facebook page, and on Twitter as @elefontpress.

MG, January 25, 2010

It has happened. Tony Blowad has performed. Sunday, April 26 at the New Hazlett Theater in Pittsburgh, Dave Bernabo, Brandon Masterman, and myself performed for the first time. No rehearsals. Brandon and I had never even met. Dave and I wrote secret song titles, and drew one from a hat before each song, to guide the performances. Here is a zip of the audio recording.

Set list:

(1) Midnight in the Garden Of (2) No Dress Code (3) I Woke Up One Day Suspended in the Air, and Have Been Like That Ever Since (4) An Equation Increasing In Complexity (5) Raindrops are Quite Small, Until They Land On Your Eyeball (6) A Bit of Air, Entering a Vacuum (7) Trading 8s, as a General Parody of Yourself (8) Arriving at the End of a Very Long Day / Quiet Specks of Trash

MG, April 27, 2009

I’ve decided, after hearing one too many blasts of bad jazzy quiet storm through my car radio speakers, that if I ever start a band in Pittsburgh it will be called Tony Blowad. Or maybe Tony Blow-wad. Confused? Blame this guy.

MG, February 10, 2009

To answer the question, “why have you been so busy lately?”, I offer up the website to my new design/web partnership, Bearded Studio. The last month of working with Michael in this new venture has been a revelation. To celebrate, here’s a quick list of my top five albums to work from home to:

Tortoise: It’s All Around You

OK, I know this is old news, but I finally got around to listening to this album last month, and it's a great big, driving, non-distracting, lush, atmospheric powerhouse of a record. I don’t care how Bonaroo they get, they’re still freaking Tortoise. What a perfect background for making creative work.

Aimee Mann: The Forgotten Arm

Call me a wuss all you want. Aimee Mann writes the hookiest songs I’ve ever heard, and her monotone voice provides a wonderful even backdrop to my design labors.

Beck: Modern Guilt

Is he mining for cred by enlisting one Mr. Danger Mouse as his producer this time out? Yes, definitely. Is it great anyway? Also yes.

Elbow: The Seldom Seen Kid

Elbow may be one of the most under-appreciated bands in alt. rock. This album proves it all over again. For an inspired use of one of these songs, check out the Matt Griffin Winner of Best Trailer of the Year (tied with Pineapple Express), Burn After Reading.

Sigur Ros: Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust

Sigur Ros gets happy? The rump-shaking polyrhythms of Gobbledigook alone are enough to shake off the brain cobwebs and return a fellow back to the track of gratifying creative production.

MG, January 2, 2008

Following is a list of phrases read, heard, or spoken that should mean absolutely nothing, but – in a baffling turn of events – do.

Paul McCartney, Youth Return As The Fireman

I found this headline on NPR to be completely incomprehensible, until I read the article which explained that former-Beatle Paul McCartney and a producer known simply as “The Youth” were making their third album under the guise: “The Fireman.”

Just let me update my Google Calendar

This is something I say that seems like it should mean nothing, even as I say it. Jane. Jane. Grover. Gro-ver. Chet. (Enjoy that one, movie buffs.)

I can’t think of another one

It’s true, the fuel for this fire just petered out. Anyway, you get the idea. In lieu of another one, go look at this kid who seems much more clever than I was at his age. Thanks to David White for indirectly Youtube-ing me to this little gem.

Thanks to David White for indirectly Youtube-ing me to this little gem.

See what I mean?

MG, November 18, 2008

I know I’m not alone in this: there are times in life when I just can’t sleep. After several hours tossing and turning, and generally being a nuisance to my bed-partner, I'll head to the other room and reach for a movie that can help derail my over-active mind and ease me into dreamland. My wife and I have carefully developed a list of Movies To Fall Asleep To (as alluded to in the previous post, Purple People Eater), and here are the top six.

1: The Secret World of Bats

A 1980’s documentary centered around the efforts of the astoundingly named Merlin Tuttle, and his group Bat Conservation International. Hosted by the incomparable Stacey Keach. Co-hosted by Stacey Keach’s mustache.

2: Donovan: There is an Ocean

Donovan and company hit some Grecian islands for some sand, sun, and the purchase of “wild herbs.” Answers the age-old question: what’s the feyest way to ride a donkey? (Answer: sidesaddle, of course!)

3: Harold & Maude

Some films make the list because they’re gloriously boring, others because I know them by heart, and there are no sudden loud noises. H&M is a magnificent film, and the meditative lessons on existence really help calm the cluttered mind.

4: The Party

The quietest slapstick comedy on my shelves. Peter Sellers’ comedic genius forces me to forgive his unabashed use of brown-face. I always stop laughing and close my eyes long before the painted elephant makes its entrance. The key with this one is to skip the opening trumpet-blowing / explosion scenes. (H&M's Director Hal Ashby and Peter Sellers also come together in an expectedly fabulous film that belongs here by association, if nothing else: Being There.)

5: Kicking & Screaming

Noah Baumbach’s 1995 quote-fest is a staple of the insomnia shelf. Nothing like droning 90’s lit-majors to help chuckle one’s way to sleep: “‘potato’ is an entree?”

6: The Darjeeling Limited

Thank you, again, Wes Anderson. Trains rank just under oceans for falling asleep to. Slow motion trains rank even higher. Toss in a good chunk of The Kinks' 1970 masterpiece Lola vs. Powerman, and you've got a winner.

MG, November 3 & 7, 2008

Something we should get out of the way first: U2 was my favorite band. When I was young enough to have favorite bands, they were, I think, my second favorite. And I mean this chronologically. The first favorite band I had was Genesis (fourth grade, beginning with Fox Trot). They were superseded in my affections by the mighty U2 in the sixth grade (my fascination with The Edge's guitar tone continues to this day – and let's not forget to mention the cojones it takes to call yourself “The Edge”). This lasted until late in freshman year of high-school, where my ear began to bend to a very different sort of group. My musical love affair with Pavement sent me down an indie rock spiral that pretty much ruined my chances of having what I think of as a normal career path. But none of that is the point here. This is just a little preamble, a disclosure I guess, before the real topic begins.

I pretty much always wrote off Rattle & Hum. During my early days of unflinching pre/adolescent U2 adoration, it was all pure gold. The preachiness, the drama, Bono’s penchant for eighth grade hyperbole. All of it. But as adolescence wore on, my musical and literary exposure increased, and I became what we might euphemistically refer to as a “more sophisticated listener.” Rattle and Hum – the quintessential bloated tour album – fell by the wayside. I came to think of it as a bit of a lame duck; the band’s egos and self-importance tipping them over the edge (no pun intended), losing their grasp on the perfect balance that existed on The Joshua Tree, and banishing them to silence and political rumination until their brilliant self-reinvention as the cheeky-yet-baleful band found on the deceptively adventurous Achtung Baby.

So it came as somewhat of a surprise when, several months after loading it onto my iPod from the (gasp) library CD I borrowed (it’s OK, music fans, I’ve bought that album before on every format possible), I decided to give it a listen with my third-decade ears, and found it to be surprisingly good. Ignoring the obvious missteps like the B.B. King duet, “Angel of Harlem,” and the whole 80’s gospel choir thing, both the original studio recordings and live covers reveal something truly incredible: the greatest band in the world at that time, at the height of their powers, turning out tremendous music on the road, simply by virtue of the relationships of the members built over the previous decade. Though songs like “Hawkwind 269” lack the hooks of a song like “With or Without You,” the band never seems so telepathic, effortlessly spinning out instrumental drama that really, frankly, hits the spot. On top of it to have a song both as artistically and commercially successful as “All I Want Is You” … sometimes memory can be deceiving. Yes, you have to pick through some duds, but there are far more moments on this disc that make a 15-year-old want to pick up a guitar for the first time, and start the quest for that divine and elusive perfect musical event – where everything aligns, the cosmic curtain is pulled back, and the world makes sense, if only for a moment.

MG, October 27, 2008

OK, this is officially the most confusing trailer I’ve ever seen. I spent the first half of the trailer waiting for the punch-line, the third quarter flabbergasted at the unexpected appearance of Mr. Belding, the seventh eighth in awe of the flaming metallic letters that whooshed onto my screen to squeely-note guitar solo accompaniment, and the final whatever desperately trying to figure out what decade I was in. Good gravy. Proud American is an astounding anomaly in the world of cinema. Despite numerous costuming, hair-styling, color cast, and soundtrack cues – as well as the After School Special plotlines – that suggest a late eighties / early nineties value system, this monstrosity was released last month. Dare I mention, the day after September 11th (or September 12th, as it was formerly known)? Frankly, I’m confused. I just don't know what else to say. If someone can figure this one out, please explain it to me, slowly.

MG, October 7, 2008

Never missing a chance to turn my website pink, matt-griffin.com is going Pink for October.

MG, October 3, 2008

I really love Donovan. And I find his sincerity just as comforting as I do ridiculous.

In a display of purple fuzziness not seen since Queen's Crown Jewels, comes Donovan's box set Try for the Sun: The Journey of Donovan. Thanks to my local library, I now have all the digital Donovan around that anyone could ever want. Which is grand. Although I'm still more likely to spin my Donovan wax at home, and I often do. I like to think Donovan wants it that way.

But the real thing worth mentioning here is the DVD included with this set. The Donovan documentary There is an Ocean plays more like an elaborate vacation movie for nouveau riche hippies, than your typical music biopic. A gloriously boring montage of sunsets and waves lapping at the sides of Grecian ships, my wife and I have joyfully jumped into this little video again and again, whenever insomnia strikes. And it has rarely failed. It's not long after Donovan appears riding side-saddle down a mountain on a flipping donkey that we're safely in dreamland. This is right up there with the Stacey Keach-hosted The Secret World of Bats, in terms of its glorious, sleep-inducing power. And I mean this in the best possible way. If you can get a hold of There is an Ocean, do.

MG, September 26, 2008

Lately I’ve been enjoying the online customizable radio station available at pandora.com. Using a system they've dubbed The Music Genome Project, these good people have tried to dissect the myriad qualities of music (not in a social/historical/geographic/personality context, but purely in terms of sound, timbre, mood, etc.), and categorize a mountain of tunes based on their musical relation to each other. The site then uses this system to recommend new music to you based on what you explicitly tell it you prefer. As you might expect it yields some surprisingly good (and sometimes bad, but quickly dismiss-able) results. And as things come up, you either give it the thumbs up or down, refining its understanding of what you like – meaning its accuracy gets better and better over time.

Pandora has surprised me again and again by hitting me with gems that I might never have thought to put in the mix. Usually artists who I may not like the majority of their output, but adore a few select cuts. Examples: though I thought I gave no indication of this, it guessed correctly that I love Michael Jackson, if it’s “Rock With You”. And I love Elton John, if it’s “Rocket Man”. These are very specific moments in the careers of brilliant men who, unfortunately, have released very big heaps of slag in their careers.

Plus, it's free. You can hear where this Music Genome and I have ended up on my station, WKRP in Cincinasty.

MG, September 19, 2008

Let’s look at the term “interactive” for a minute. We call websites interactive media, in order to present them in contrast to print. But isn’t that a little odd? Could “non-interactive” media, such as print, actually be more interactive than interactive media?

The act of moving a mouse, to move a pointer, to click on a link, is actually one step removed from its inspiration in the print world. The image that the cursor icon takes on as it hovers over a link is a dead giveaway: a grasping hand. The experience of taking your hand directly to the page content, turning the paper over and revealing new information (not to mention non-visual information, such as olfactory and tactile information) this seems, to me, to be much more interactive than a mouse click and a change on the screen.

Though at the outset, this argument may seem purely semantic, it seems to me that it directly relates to current trends in web design. This need to be as interactive as print is deeply felt, if not often directly addressed, in the web community.

This is not a revelation: people don't like to read from a screen. Reading from an illuminated source is less comfortable than from paper. So there is an initial challenge for web designers: how do you offset the added difficulty of reading on a screen, enough to get people to engage with the text and, well, read it?

A recent trend, as shown in the link above, is to borrow aged and hand-made qualities from the print/physical world, transforming what were simply artifacts and byproducts of a process into an aesthetic. This approach is a very direct one: people prefer reading a book to a screen, so make the screen look like a book.

But maybe what we should be asking is: what are the bookish aspects that are beneficial to the comfort of reading? I think what could be one of the major benefits of this style is that it is, in the process of emulating books and paper, creating a sense of depth. Giving the web page a sense of physical space gives the reader some context, brings it into the familiar world of space and distance, with the result of making reading more comfortable.

So what does this mean? It means as designers we need to get creative in our attempts to build immersive, engaging, spacial experiences for our users. There are lots of ways to give the illusion of physical space: there are shadows and gradients, layering, lighting, textures, parallax, and transparency, among other things. The fun part is deciding how we're going to use the tools we have.

Really, this isn't anything new. It’s a challenge that exists in paper “flatland” that is only intensified by moving the contents of the page beyond the fourth wall, just behind the surface of our screens.

MG, September 16, 2008

OK, so I've been thinking: does the world really need new music? I mean, yes of course there's plenty of new music made in the last ten years that I enjoy listening to. But is most of it on par with the greats of rock and roll (et al)? Not really. I like that last Shins album, for instance, but does it compare to Sticky Fingers, or The Colour of Spring, or even Who's Next? Not even remotely. And with the tidal wave of new music that’s come along with the accessibility of the the digital audio revolution / independent music culture, we’ve witnessed this problem on a gargantuan scale. Because, let's face it, most music released today doesn’t get near the Shins, even. Much less, say, Bowie at his peak.

And I say this considering the fact that I have spent considerable time producing and performing some of this not-quite-classic-status music, myself. I’m sure if you try not-too-hard, you can even turn up some of my heartfelt efforts in the bargain bins of America’s dwindling brick-and-mortar record stores (not to devalue the bargain bin residents, because you can find some real gems in there). And I've been thinking – would my time have been better spent in a cover band? And I mean this not for my sake, but for others. Would the world be any better off, if I had been pounding out the lines of Jody Stephens or Keith Moon, instead of the relative naval-gazing sessions that necessarily result from generating one’s own music?

I love creating music, and the drum parts I’ve crafted for myself are often more challenging to play than the average rock song. But when I really think about it, I think nine times out of ten, I’d rather be at the center of the swirling vortex of rock and roll sublimity that is Honaloochie Boogie.

So I guess what I'm saying is: musical youth of America, do the right thing. Set aside your egos, and play some truly great music for the world – better music than you could ever create yourselves. Pick one of the great bands, one that doesn't play anymore – or who still plays but now sucks. Play their best freaking songs, and play them well.

MG, September 9 & 11, 2008

How do I get Fred Schneider’s job? As far as I can fathom, his primary duty is to sit around and wait for one of the B-52’s bee-hived divas to wail something, and then he has the honor of repeating those words… in his speaking voice. Now I'll admit that he seems to be putting out a certain amount of effort on their debut single, Rock Lobster (“But it wasn’t a rock, it was a rock… lobster!”). But, by the time Cosmic Thing rolls around, Fred's role (barring his relatively dynamic performance on the classic Love Shack) seems fairly staid. Perfect example: Dead Beat Club. He does nothing at all through the verses, and when the otherworldly voices of Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson deliver the goods for the title-inspiring chorus lyrics in, like, the highest pre-Mariah octave imaginable, Fred steps up to the mic and does the musical equivalent of “Yeah, what they said.” Amazing. Where do I sign up?

In fact – what if the B-52’s need a third man? Someone to repeat everything Fred says, for added emphasis? Call it “call-and-response-and-response.” What I’m saying is: Maybe Fred Schneider needs a Fred Schneider.

OK, if anyone out there reading is in a position to do something about it, let me just say: that's me. I could be that guy.

MG, September 8 & 9, 2008

I’m a frequent user of AllMusic.com. It's a great place to pick up that grain of useless musical knowledge that is “momentarily eluding” you (on any other day you could surely have named Yes' 4th keyboard player off the top of your head), and the reviews are generally pretty solid. But a few years ago, while taking my 50-cent, recently Goodwill-acquired copy of Eddy Grant's Killer on the Rampage for a spin, I – as I am occasionally want to do – swung on over to see what the All Music Guide review would have to say, and found that it said this. I'll cut to the chase: the five-star (!) review culminates in this final, grandiose, reverent gesture: “…Killer on the Rampage danced on a pinhead where all genres intersected. It was a magical feat never to be repeated, but brilliant while it lasted.&rdquo

I was stunned. Now, at that point in my life, I can assure you that on multiple collegiate, and (mostly indistinguishable) post-collegiate evenings, I'd devoted dancefloor time to jerking back and forth to the undeniable body-rocking power of Electric Avenue. And, yes, the album as a whole is a fine, solid listen. But dancing on a pin? Magical feat? That praise is almost as flashy as Eddy's little gam-exposing scuba suit on the cover.

I’m tempted to ask: is this a joke? But frankly, even if given the chance, I’d never bring it up to anyone who would know. Because what if it is a joke, or a mistake? What if it came down? Isn’t this somehow a better world if someone out there holds aloft an album as the pinnacle of modern music, their holy grail, and it's by Eddy Grant?

MG, September 5, 2008

I have succumbed. My website will, after several years laying fallow, be again host to dynamic content. Enjoy.

MG, September 5, 2008