skip to main |
skip to sidebar
.jpg)
Pirate Radio is based in England in 1966 at a time when the government of the UK was thoroughly unamused by the rebellious nature of that new-fangled rock n' roll music. Fearing that it would lead impressionable British youth down the slippery slope of dancing, drinking and general rock-related debauchery, the BBC refused to air such rubbish, thus opening up a market for offshore pirate radio stations to broadcast from ships anchored in international waters. Awesome premise, innit?
In another example of how the best things in life are throwing in the towel and silently receding into oblivion, the New York Times has reported that singer-Songwriter Vic Chesnutt has died in a hospital in Athens, Georgia following an overdose of muscle relaxants and lapsing into a coma. (Click here to listen to Fresh Air's Terry Gross as she interviews Chesnutt just weeks before his death and the resulting memorial program that aired on January 7th, 2010.)
The other day, I interviewed for a Jr. Designer position at a skate, snow and surf company here in Salt Lake called Primo Distribution. I talked to these fellas for a good two hours. They gave me the grand tour, we talked about art and design and photography. They showed me the collection of vintage 35mm cameras they had down in their work space and before I left, we even had a Pabst together there in the office. I suppose I felt pretty good about the interview afterward. But by the time I got home, due mostly to my predisposed tendency to second-guess myself whenever possible, I began to wonder if my portfolio had been strong enough to have sealed the deal with any real certainty.
It has been my observation that the quickest way to ruin a great record for numero uno is to momentarily let your guard down, slip up and tell someone else about it. One minute you're letting a friend in on something you stumbled across at the library and the next, some loudmouth you intentionally keep on the furthest margins of your social life is wheelin' about town with the windows down, broadcasting the album you had once secretly endorsed as the new soundtrack to their disproportionately flaccid existence.
Back in 2005, I designed some cover art for a compilation CD I had intended as a gift for family and the ever-dwindling number of people gutsy enough to have stuck around and were still willing to call me a friend. "Jesus Shuffle" was slapped together in fragmented sections over a matter of weeks and included album cuts by Gram Parsons, Iron & Wine, Uncle Tupelo and about a dozen others. I juggled the playlist for a long time as the holidays loomed closer and closer, but in the end I was unable to get it exactly right. Eventually the season of giving came and went and the aforementioned design and incongruent playlist that accompanied it were relegated to the projects folder on my hard drive where they've sat inert and all but forgotten ever since. That is until about a week ago.
.jpg)
Pirate Radio is based in England in 1966 at a time when the government of the UK was thoroughly unamused by the rebellious nature of that new-fangled rock n' roll music. Fearing that it would lead impressionable British youth down the slippery slope of dancing, drinking and general rock-related debauchery, the BBC refused to air such rubbish, thus opening up a market for offshore pirate radio stations to broadcast from ships anchored in international waters. Awesome premise, innit?
In another example of how the best things in life are throwing in the towel and silently receding into oblivion, the New York Times has reported that singer-Songwriter Vic Chesnutt has died in a hospital in Athens, Georgia following an overdose of muscle relaxants and lapsing into a coma. (Click here to listen to Fresh Air's Terry Gross as she interviews Chesnutt just weeks before his death and the resulting memorial program that aired on January 7th, 2010.)
The other day, I interviewed for a Jr. Designer position at a skate, snow and surf company here in Salt Lake called Primo Distribution. I talked to these fellas for a good two hours. They gave me the grand tour, we talked about art and design and photography. They showed me the collection of vintage 35mm cameras they had down in their work space and before I left, we even had a Pabst together there in the office. I suppose I felt pretty good about the interview afterward. But by the time I got home, due mostly to my predisposed tendency to second-guess myself whenever possible, I began to wonder if my portfolio had been strong enough to have sealed the deal with any real certainty. 
It has been my observation that the quickest way to ruin a great record for numero uno is to momentarily let your guard down, slip up and tell someone else about it. One minute you're letting a friend in on something you stumbled across at the library and the next, some loudmouth you intentionally keep on the furthest margins of your social life is wheelin' about town with the windows down, broadcasting the album you had once secretly endorsed as the new soundtrack to their disproportionately flaccid existence.
Back in 2005, I designed some cover art for a compilation CD I had intended as a gift for family and the ever-dwindling number of people gutsy enough to have stuck around and were still willing to call me a friend. "Jesus Shuffle" was slapped together in fragmented sections over a matter of weeks and included album cuts by Gram Parsons, Iron & Wine, Uncle Tupelo and about a dozen others. I juggled the playlist for a long time as the holidays loomed closer and closer, but in the end I was unable to get it exactly right. Eventually the season of giving came and went and the aforementioned design and incongruent playlist that accompanied it were relegated to the projects folder on my hard drive where they've sat inert and all but forgotten ever since. That is until about a week ago.
