Tiger Waves - Weekends
So, I actually do have an anecdote for you. It’s a tale told in two acts, both relating to the creative process that eventually led to the completion of the song that (hopefully) you are listening to now.
After returning from tour (the same tour where we made plans to grab a beer with you in Philly but couldn’t because our van broke down en route), our circumstances forced me to become gainfully employed. I took the first job I could and ended up washing dishes in a hippie co-op in downtown Austin. Honestly, the job was a big bummer, too much work and not enough pay, but it afforded me a rare opportunity to spend hours alone in the dish pit singing (mostly Magnetic Fields songs, thank you Stephin Merritt), but also some of our own stuff.
When SXSW rolled around I was doubly bummed. First off, because I had to work through the whole week and couldn’t join in the festivities (except when we played shows). Secondly, I was suffering from a particularly malignant case of unrequited love. Fortunately, there is a certain amount of truth in the belief that an artist’s creative output is highest when his or her mood is lowest. That week I wrote at least 10 songs, all of them with a healthy dose of despondent dejection. This song that you’re listening to was written during that period. On a lighter note, here’s a bit of Tiger Waves minutiae: this is the first song we’ve recorded with a swear word. Listen closely or you might miss it.
Act Two, Scene One:
After SXSW wrapped up, life returned to normalcy. Work took the same toll on me that it does on every hard working American: when I came home every night I was too exhausted to do anything productive. James and I would mostly go out to the bars and talk. The required energy & focus for music became harder and harder to muster. However, in the midst of these unproductive weeks, a deus ex machina, of sorts, appeared from out of the blue: I broke my foot. The story is more interesting than those four words suggest so I will devote a special scene to it’s telling (if you’re tired of my “play,” skip this scene to get to the conclusion):
Act Two, Scene Two:
The band was in Fredericksburg practicing and hanging out. After a particularly long session at my dad’s house in the countryside, where we arranged a cover of Be My Baby in a shoegazy style (you should’ve heard that drum beat all slowed down & doubled with an auxiliary kit), we went into town to hang out. It was late and we decided in favor of some stupid activities, namely, climbing roofs. A couple hours in, I was on a roof top waiting for my band mates to climb up. I heard them yell “shhhh” and point and run away. Thinking they saw a cop, or a concerned citizen, I laid down on the roof. A few minutes later I heard them yell that it was okay. Scared that the cop would come back soon, I dim-wittedly jumped off the roof in order to make a clean escape. It turns out there wasn’t even a cop or anybody there. Just a noise they heard. Regardless, I ended up in the ER the next morning and went back to Austin the next day with doctor’s orders forbidding me to work for the next 6 weeks.
Act Two, Scene Three:
This curse, like many curses, turned out to be a blessing in disguise. In French “blesse” means two things: to bless & to wound. There’s some wisdom in that, considering they so often come hand in hand. Anyway, pseudo-philosophizing aside, this all happened a little over a week ago and every day since then has been spent recording and reading. This song, Weekends, conceived in the dishpit was finally born this last week and is the first product of our “broken foot sessions;” there will be plenty more.
So, that pretty much explains everything. We, of course, would love for you to post it. But even if you don’t feel like posting, we hope you love it. Either way, I hope, at least, you enjoyed my anecdote & I hope you’re doing well.
Post Script: You can get the song here.