Notes on the new record.

We'd been chugging away. Amassing tracks at a respectable pace. Never mind that we'd cut parts 3, 4 or 5 times invariably to use the first take, we were producing! Until the bottom fell out. In a mutiny of sorts the fellas declared that my title 'In the Ham and Beans of my Father' didn't accurately represent the new record. What then? We were at a standstill until Sven had a rare stroke of average intelligence, "Let's let the fans decide! We'll have a contest and our loyal followers can submit titles for the new album." Hurray! But how to name a record that you never actually heard? We posted this description:

"This record is the toxic bi-product of a benign suburban childhood taken way too seriously. If the last record was cowboys and indians, this record is the reality of the sister who plays along because she likes the accessories; the ribbons, boots with spurs and rhinestones. She held out for a pony but only got a purple cowboy hat. This record is the consolation for the cowgirl."

Oddly no one took part in the contest. My guess is lack of prizes. Maybe there were other factors involved but speaking it out would require abandoning all delusions that the boys and I were not yet willing to shed.

Some other interesting tidbits about the record. We have several special guest appearances including Fran Healy who not only sings backing on one track but engineered the session in his kick-ass home studio slash man cave. It's a quiet duet with Griller and I and it cost only one american strawberry pie which Griller ended up eating half of anyway. Fran is the singer of an outfit out of Scotland called Travis incase you didn't know. He is a warm and wonderful man not to mention a brilliant songwriter. So buy his new solo record which is undeservedly already on the discount rack. But back to OUR track… it doesn't have a name yet. We'll leave it at that.

Then it was off to to our 'up state' retreat where we cut drums and basic live tracks. We told our girlfriends it was a fishing trip. During a break in the recording the band shot a low budget one take video for the song "Body is Gone" which displays the beauty of the surroundings and gives a peek into the small cottage studio where the magic happened. You can almost smell the creativity. Thankfully that app hasn't been developed yet.
At one point I had the idea of updating the page regularly and dating entries so all of you fans cold keep track of our progress and see whats current and zeitgeisty and whats should be viewed more from a historical perspective. Great, huh? Here was the first post…

April 7, 2011

Last night Señor Pelle recorded maracas, spanish hand claps and castinets. He insisted on wearing a tight black wrestling suit with a bullseye on the backside, a fake Rollie Fingers mustache and, naturally, a sombrero. Sven and I didn't quite get it but he nailed it! Whatever works, right? Muy bien Pelle!

That was followed by a 3 month awkward silence and a moratorium on posts.But the time was well spent from that point on and Pelle eventually got it in the can. That is to say he finished recording his overdubs as did we all. Then we shot the whole kit and kaboodle off to my old friend Christopher Thorn (more shameless name dropping) of Blind Mellon and Awolnation, for mixing. He not only nailed the mix but also blessed us with a beautiful George Harrisonesque lap steel solo and some mandolin.

I won't lie. It wasn't always glitz and glamour. Tears were shed. Tempers flared. Hours spent trying to figure out where the annoying buzz was coming from. Flies on the overheads. Geese on the acoustic track. Nick cutting the lawn to one inch when I explicitly asked for 3/4. Sometimes he just doesn't listen. But thankfully no human lives were lost in the process and in the end we triumphed!

By the way, we'll call the record the record just what it is… Consolation for the Cowgirl.



There is no way around this one. Adrian swears it'll make us big stars. So click it, like it, befriend it and then poke it silly.


Historical Perspective:

So what's next? Let me start with what's not:  an under glamorized account of how O'HARA met on the rocky road to stardom nor an around the bush description of how fat our sound is. No sir! That is because our sound is phat with the PH! Besides, the story from here on is only partially fabricated. As for the music - be your own judge.

In the summer of 2002 Nick and I met in the dirty kitchen of a Berlin restaurant. Nick disapproved of the foie gras in my wellington. 'Typical American'. Whatever. Bits of crusty egg in his gypsy soul cat flavor saver made me queasy. But as it goes, the talk turned to music and tensions began to cool. A copious about of beer was used to subdue the stench from the open drain, quench thirst, and squelch lingering animosity. By the end of that fateful shift we were back slapping and predictably slurring our favorite lines from Spinal Tap. (can you say "squelch stench quench" 3 times really fast?- uh-uh, I doubt it)

Sven and Pelle met in a nude hot box yoga class in the late 1990's while attending the Franz Liszt Academy in Weimar. In early 2005, Sven responded to an ad in Modern Vegetarian (he eats chicken, fish and occasional grilled bratwurst in the summertime) that Nick placed seeking 'rhythm section for a Bhagavad-Gita rock opera project, OM in all the vedas!' Some of the details are a little sketchy. In fact I don’t know if any of it is true. Bottom line: they play like monsters and are probably not circumcised.

So then Hendrik shows up at the first gig. Actually the only one who showed up and he only came in to get directions to the Hellersdorf beer n' sausage jamboree. "I dig it" he says as he swoops his hair back over his left shoulder. "I'm a keyboarder and I'd really like to sit in with you guys sometime." Keyboarder he says! Pfff. Who ain't? Just what we need--casio boy with some little white plasticy toy ruining our serious retro analog vintage…thing. No chance, bub. At least thats what we were thinking. Thankfully none of us had the balls to say it out loud.

But for a clearer picture of who we really are you have to peer deeper into the O'HARA coup. Here's a quick guide to help understand us birds.

Golden-Throated Jerri:  Cousin to the wise old owl, he's one of the more prolific and handsome birds in the tree, though admittedly apt to fits of absent mindedness.  When his feathers get ruffled he retreats to the nest to lick his underbelly with his coarse sandpapery tongue.


Rose-Bottomed Nik-Nick:  Perhaps the rarest of all birds and hard to completely understand. Strong paternal instincts keep him close to the nest though he is occasionally found at sunset bathing in a puddle, chirping his tell tale song. "fri-SELL, fri-SELL!"


Sven-o-cock:   A beast of burden of the bird world. He's been known to fly on occasion but prefers to remain firmly anchored to the ground. Contrary to his conservative nature he exhibits unpredictable mating patterns. He is found exclusively on the shores of the Blue Milk Channel.


Hendriloon:   (A.k.a. Huff'n Puffin) Extremely agile talons despite their limp sausage-like appearance. He has an uncanny parrot-like ability to mimic human speech to the point where he almost seems to know what he's talking about. Side note: delicious when grilled!


Pelle-Can:  An apt name for this determined and resourceful creature who builds 3 story A-frame nests with running water and central heating. When he flies into picture windows it's usually done on purpose. Often seen with a freshly hatched chic under his wing showing his more tender side.