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A petite 4″ x 6″, this little metal tip tray was a promotional item given away in the 1950’s by the AMI corporation to celebrate their massive line of  exclusive multi-Horn, high fidelity sound system jukeboxes. It’s  been sitting in my recording studio collecting guitar picks for as long as I can remember after originally being brought in as a drink coaster after I ruined several keyboards with an avalanche of Diet Coke, Yoo-hoos and decaf.

Sunday night I was in Sonoma, CA. writing with Pomplamoose. We were shooting to finish three songs in four days. The work never stopped even when we went out to dinner as is evidenced by my little digital recorder that was on for four solid days capturing every thought and breath we had.

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But when it came time to pay the check I reached out to lay the tip down and knocked over a bowl of lentils, dousing the recorder with a river of Indian goo. So every time I went to record after that I had to push down extra hard on the buttons to break through the crust that seeped into and dried in the recorder. If only the AMI JukeBox Tip Tray had been there so there was a nice designated and protected area to deposit the gratuity I would still have a recorder that didn’t smell like Bombay.

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Without question, these are by far my favorites of the 50 or 60 pairs of headphones that I own. Although of no use whatsoever in my recording studio as their sole purpose is to wear them to listen to the radio they still are the best looking set of phones I’ve ever seen.headphones-music-muffs_6724

I oftentimes wear these two-speaker-but-not-really-stereo Music Muffs when a collaborator is working on something that I either don’t view as crucial to the record or something I know it’s better to just let them run with without any kind of censoring from a collaborator. So rather than sit there and get annoyed or bored I just tune them out and listen to AM radio.

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I didn’t bring my Music Muffs with me on my trip up north to work with Pomplamoose where I am right now racing to finish three SMASH songs as the voluminous amount of percussion instruments that I stuffed into my suitcase didn’t allow room for the precious radio headphones cargo.

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Pomplamoose has their own headphones but there’s not enough inputs into their audio interface so only two people have the luxury of listening to what they’re harmonizing to.  The other person steers blind.

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Most people couldnt work this way.  But this group, just like me, thrives on spontaneity and working within insane limits, all of which adds life to the music.  This always happens when one must rely on their imagination to create great sounds as opposed to their pocketbook or massive array of equipment.

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Though I do wish my Music Muffs had made the trip as the hard drive that I tripped over that all the video was being directly recorded to is being rushed to the hard drive doctor as we speak. In the meantime, I’m writing this post and trying to stay calmmmmmmmmmmm without the aid and distraction of beautiful mono sound.

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And we just keep on singing…

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This “For A Great Guy” cup is large enough to hold enough steaming brew for Dad to sip and ponder the wonderfulness of fatherhood as exhibited on these astounding LP covers featuring families all fluffed and coiffed for their musical debuts.  I thank the following families for looking and dressing so good as to commemorate Dad’s magnificent power to pop out the little ones who support their fathers no matter how misguided their appearance decisions may be.

On this LP cover Dad can feel like it’s Christmas all year round when he wears his new robins egg blue polyester jacket and whatever’s in that box. My only wish is that he had more hair so he could have the same flat-as-a-landing-strip haircut his son does.

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I’m happy to see the lavender-tinged Gill family celebrating Dad by wearing matching napkins around their neck. Dad’s haircut seems to have inspired all the male Gills except Junior down on the right.  I give him til he’s 12.

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Wow, Dad’s growth hormones definitely worked on the vertical plane.  And mom spent all her afternoons studying the Kennedy women in Life Magazine.

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The entire Einert family has excellent head shapes for the follicular style that atops them.  Mommy’s hair looks like Jiffy Pop and Bill and Jim’s ties look like they’re made from a tablecloth. I’m serious. Where’s the knot? And why are the Einerts so happy if, in fact, God is slipping away?

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Not at all sure what happened to Daddy here other than he had the good sense to be photographed in front of a fake brick wall.

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Happy Father’s Day to all the sharp dressed men with matching families out there and may you all be sipping something special out of a ginormous Great Guy cup.

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These 1950’s bongos with pearlized crushed ice wrap and heavy chrome hardware have been beaten on just about every song I ever wrote.  If it weren’t for their bone crushing girth they would be in my suitcase right now as I’m on my way up to northern CA. to finish six songs with Pomplamoose.

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Despite having sold over 50 million records I still have never learned how to play, which always makes for a very interesting experiment when I collaborate. It’s rare that I leave my own studio and the over 500 percussion instruments that are in there because the easiest thing for me to do when I hear a melody in my head or some kind of repetitive lyric is to walk over to something like these bongos and start filling in rhythm.

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I was drawn to Pomplamoose when I heard them do my song “September”.

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I’ve seen trillions of versions of this song and no one gets within a continent of Earth Wind & Fire. But Pomplamoose dissected that thing like a frog and reconstructed something inventive and fun so I did what I never do, I tracked them down and asked if they wanted to make records together.

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We got together for four days in December and got great starts on six songs, filming for the videos as we went.

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I’m completely spontaneous. I don’t really plan anything when it comes to music or art. I just go with the first thing in my head or under my fingers which are usually these bongos and songs start to build from there.

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I video everything and Pomplamoose videos every final take. Between all of us we had 40 hours of footage at the end of the four days.

I’m only taking one of my three HD cameras this trip but there’s also tripods to lug, plus enough tapes to let the camera roll for three days,  3 still cameras, my MacBook, iPad, 2 mobile phones,  6 travel drives, three digital tape recorders, cords for every conceivable configuration, not to mention my clothes –  I’m not the type who can wear one outfit for three days despite the fact that I’ll never be leaving the studio. My one regret is that there’s no room for the sacred bongos to come along.

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No one loves socks, the most over looked fashion item in the clothing arsenal, more than me. I have hundreds of pairs and they change with every outfit. Easily the cheapest but what should be the best smelling socks in the drawer are these two pairs that are supposed to wreak of Sugar Daddies. But short of stuffing these socks up my nostrils I haven’t detected any such smell or I’d be running out to buy matching pairs of Tootsie Rolls, Blow Pops, Junior Mints, Charms and Dots foot coverings.

I can’t imagine that it would take foot sweat to activate the olfactory function so I’m going to have to assume that these were ill-conceived from the jump as I plucked them straight outta the unopened packages where not a scintilla lot of candy smell remained either.

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Made in 2004 for Designs by Skaffles, Inc. of New York, these 65% Acrylic, 30% Polyester, 4% Spandex, 1% rubber and 0% smelling socks are supposed to retain their scent for 4-5 washings.

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I swear I would love to walk around smelling like a Sugar Daddy but unless these were pre-washed 4-5 times before they were packaged in China the only hint of candy is on the way-too-light-to-read-without-squinting pink label.

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So the socks don’t smell and the label is hard to read.  All of which makes for excellence in Kitsch but, unfortunately, not in socks.

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As you can tell from the photo, this “Lucky Penny” souvenir of Los Angeles is substantially larger than the real thing. It’s also so incredibly heavy that I suspect if I melted down it could pay for someone’s college education.   Although it’s dated 1920 it was made in the 1960’s. I’m not quite sure what the tie in was between a penny and Los Angeles but I’ve always felt incredibly lucky to live in LA so I maybe it’s just as simple as that.

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The front of this card looks conservative enough that you wouldn’t know it was sold in the decade when greeting cards went bonkers and beatniks and sputniks and all other kinds of alternative living spaces and lifestyles expressed themselves via them. But when he opened it up Dad would have seen that this card was very much of its era given that the choice that the saccharine sweet angel tot offers her dad inside is one between TV dinners.

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Dad’s choices most likely would have been Swanson’s chicken and turkey or beef, all with vegetables swimming in a butter sea.

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Here I am with my father Father’s Day, 1957, whipping back to shore to get ready for dinner.

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My mom cooked that night but I’m pretty sure my dad would have chosen the Salisbury Steak with gravy, whipped  potatoes, peas in seasoned sauce and peach cake cobbler.  After dinner, I’m pretty sure I used the aluminum tray to organize my marbles into teams for some sport I made up to play with my dad on his big day.

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I can’t tell you how many of these little sewing gadgets I bought throughout my teenage and young adult years. The ads in the back of magazines for these always made it look like you’d be sewing like a fiend in no time. In actuality, all I did was constantly poke holes in my fingers and make incredibly messy seams and hemlines in all the clothes that I ended up ruining trying to use one of these things.

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Just getting the thread in was trouble enough let alone attempting to do the fancy stitches it promised to magically do.

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I had no idea what  most of these were supposed to look like in the first place but I’m sure they weren’t supposed to make the fabric pucker and snag the way my projects always ended up looking.

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I actually never minded the mistakes because I always loved what these Magic Stitchers looked like –  part fishing lure,  part rocket  and part medical device –  so I ended up saving all of them and eventually used them in some kind of sculpture or art assemblage.

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This one was bought from the J.L. Hudson Co., THE department store in Detroit when I was growing up.

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Although this wasn’t one of mine but, rather, was acquired more recently on eBay, I remember this box well as Hudson’s is exactly where I used to purchase the multitude of Magic Stitchers that tore up my fingers and had me almost flunking Home Ec.

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I used to actively collect figurative sculptures made out of plastic fruits and vegetables. Largely crafts projects, I loved them because most of them were so completely stupid looking but you could always tell a lot of love went into making them. I eventually stopped collecting these anthropomorphic fruit and vegetable people because in order to stand up straight most of them were made out of really light, cheap plastic food that would crack after a couple of  years leaving them looking like accident victims. Much like what happens to actual vegetables that I periodically have a conscience to buy only to end up jamming them down the disposal when they start curdling and smelling up the frig because they’ve gotten too old to eat. But as with anything, I love when things have dual purposes like plastic fruit for display/plastic fruit for body parts. Like what a great shape an apple makes for a head or how natural the sprouts on the top of an onion look for hair.  And until now, that’s how I prefered to experience vegetables.

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But a few nights ago I ended up staying up most of the night after stumbling on this guy on YouTube who also makes excellent use of vegetables for purposes other than which they were grown. Here he is playing a cucumber trumpet:
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I’ve never heard a carrot used as a pan-flute before:

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This would definitely be a way to get me to pay attention to broccoli:

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Cabbage is one vegetable I actually like though I prefer it as cole slaw or with corn beef at a good deli. I’ve never experienced it in concert as a  flute.

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Both apples and “Mary Had a Little Lamb” annoyed me as a kid. They still do.

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I’m used to radishes being little round red things that I actually like but I guess if I knew they could be used as musical instruments I could wrap my mouth around this one too:

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I have no idea what a butterbur is but it’s leafy and would probably taste good on top of a hamburger.

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I’ve never had trouble with scallions as I love them in tuna fish salad.

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I may have a Grammy and songs I’ve written may have sold over 50 million records but I can’t blow a watermelon and make it sound like a clarinet no matter how strong my musical proclivities are.  I suppose there’s nothing to stop me from trying but in the meantime I’m doing fine without adding this skill to my repertoire and I’m just going to enjoy my fruits and vegetables as really cute plastic people.

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On days such as today when it’s sweltering in LA the decision as to what to do over the weekend is always a big deal – sweat to death doing something fairly healthy outside or park yourself in front of a big tub of popcorn and watch a bloated, big budget movie that ultimately leaves you disappointed but you got to chill like an ice cube in front of a big screen. This bottle of  Avon Tai Winds, appropriately subtitled the Weekend Decision Maker, confronts the problem head-on.

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The heavy-as-a-bowling-ball green glass bottle has twelve alternate weekend activities printed on it. And when you spin the clunky plastic lounging man who looks more like a cross between a frog and a leprechaun top it makes the decision for you. Ideally, the alternatives would be cheesier then the largely sedentary ones named here but it does take a lot of the guesswork out of it for you.

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Five years earlier in 1973, Avon apparently made the decision that you should go fishing.

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But it’s sooooo hot today and I have so much work to catch up on and I feel so lazy now I can’t quite make a decision…

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…. Which means I’ll probably take the path of least resistance and ride the wave of coffee induced enthusiasm and knock out a little work until I get hungry and have to make a decision about where to order in from and 45 minutes later open the door to let a burst of hot air rush into my house along with the pizza, burger or Egg Foo Young that’s handed to me and decide it’s too hot to do anything…

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… At which point I’ll pray the little Avon leprechaun frog man gives me his blessing to do this:

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