Andrew McGee: You Can't Sell a Song in Nashville
Sometimes, I really don't know the reason that I blog at all. Originally, it was to promote my photography, but at this point it is simply a constructive outlet for me to flesh out ideas and communicate the things which keep me awake at night. I probably do myself a disservice by writing so much about health and culture instead of specializing in marketable photographic content. But, it's my blog and I'll do what I want.
Tonight, as I continue to work obsessively over my upcoming ebook (unofficially announced several times now, the "official" word is forthcoming), I want to take a break and highlight the work of my friend and colleague, Andrew McGee. Andrew has a pretty remarkable story. After a brush with death that should have sent him on to the great hereafter, Andrew decided to quite stalling and do what he really wanted to do with his life. He moved to Nashville and has created a new life for himself as a singer and songwriter.
Andrew and I met under interesting circumstances. My creative specialty is photography, but I also moonlight as a videographer from time to time. I was most heavily involved in this line of work a few of years ago, and I was introduced to Andrew on a “friend of a friend" basis. Our association was originally pretty simple; another fellow was engaged to write and direct the video for a wonderful song Andrew wrote about the impact of the Deepwater Horizon oil spill. My job was to operate the camera.
Long story short, the other guy flaked on the project and I took up the slack from start to finish. As a result, my video and my name were incorporated into the marketing for Andrew's debut album, These Beautiful Hideous Things. That was 2009, and since that fateful day we met on Pensacola Beach, with BP oil cleanup equipment rumbling about us on all sides, Andrew and I have continued to collaborate on videos for his songs. Our greatest accomplishment so far is the weekend last year when I (along with a group of other creative and reliable people who would go on to found The Dream Factory) traveled to Nashville and shot four music videos for Andrew in four days. I don't know about the rest of the team, but that weekend still ranks as my personal best.
Most performers have a blog or social feed of some sort, but Andrew's stands out. Prior to moving to Nashville, he wasn't a stereotypical neighborhood busker; He didn't and doesn’t pass off blurry iPhone photos of random drunks as his "awesome fans" to build up a web presence. Andrew is an FSU graduate with an MBA in marketing, and his blog has some serious substance. His latest entry, You Can't Sell a Song in Nashville, is stellar. Seriously, if more people recognized the realities of whichever industries they attempted to be part of, instead of delaying their own steps toward action in hopes of “getting discovered,” more dreams would see the light of day.
Read Andrew's blog. And listen to his music. Listening to his album is like listening to a good story, and he has another one coming soon.
You Can't Sell a Song in Nashville
http://youtu.be/8bSEZmoPxvo
Annie is a graduate! - Pensacola Graduation Photography
Graduation photography is a blast, but college itself is an interesting thing. More than just an avenue for making new friends, but it also has a way of bringing old acquaintances back together. I knew Annie years ago. We went to church together, but we never talked much. Then I arrived at the University of West Florida found out that our majors were in the same department. We had quite a few classes together and became friends in the process.
We both graduated as undergrads few weeks ago, and Annie wanted to commemorate the event with some photos in her cap and gown. As the designated friend with a camera, I made sure she had some good ones. We shot photos from Pensacola Beach to UWF, covering everything from the scenic beaches to the stage where Annie performed and etched in University theatre productions.
Congrats, Annie!
A letter posted too late.
I took some time this evening and wrote a letter to a very kind, older Italian couple whom I met on a train between Faenza and Bologna two years ago. The circumstances which drove me to finally write it are unfortunate.
I took some time this evening and wrote a letter to a very kind, older Italian couple whom I met on a train between Faenza and Bologna two years ago.
I was an American kid who spoke no functional Italian; they were a retired couple in their middle sixties who shared my train compartment. "I work in the trains for twenty years," Renato told me in his scant but earnest English, "now, I rest!" He and his wife, Lena, were on their way to eat lunch at the staff commissary in Bologna where he would always eat when he worked as a train conductor. They invited me to lunch with them, and we had a wonderful couple of hours together eating lasagna and green salad before I went on to Venice and they went back home to Faenza. They saw me to the platform to make sure I boarded the correct train.
I have had their address in my journal for two years. This evening, I was informed by my father of the recent earthquake in Bologna, strong enough to be felt as far as Venice and Verona. I will post my letter tomorrow to see if my "temporary Italian grandparents" are alright.
It's times like these that I really hate my own apathy. I should have been writing to them since I returned home two years ago.
Daniel - headshots for a Pensacola actor.
Shot some headshots and portfolio stuff for a buddy of mine at UWF the other day. Daniel is a theatre student at UWF, an happens to be a world-class gamer who elevates Team Fortress 2 to a level resembling art. He also happens to be an exceptionally nice guy. I wanted to make sure that he had a nice range of shots which reflected his quirky personality as well as his emotional range as an actor. I think we succeeded.
Formative influences.
I love The Golden Girls!
I say this unashamedly and without irony. After my history of physical and intellectual pursuits and a man card validated by a shelf of karate trophies in my room, I will say it again. I love The Golden Girls!
I love telling that to people. It really throws them off and I get a good laugh. But I say it with all sincerity.
The Golden Girls was helmed by Christopher Lloyd, who is responsible for producing many, many hit TV shows over the years, Modern Family being his most recent hit. But it pales in contrast to The Golden Girls, which was perfectly cast, brilliantly written, and much less dated today than the sorely Modern Family will be in twenty years. And did you know that Bea Arthur was a truck driver for the USMC?
But it is special to me for other reasons than its comedic excellence.
Like many grandparents, mine watched a lot of television. My maternal grandmother must have seen every episode ever produced of Seinfeld, Frasier, and The Golden Girls. When I was only about seven or eight years old, I used to watch "her shows" with her for a few minutes at a time, and the only one that ever held my attention was TGG. Something about the razor-sharp delivery of cutting one-liners, whose actual meaning was far above my head at the time, struck a chord of comedic appreciation with me, even as a child, and I would laugh hysterically at Sophia's deadpan delivery of snark and insults.
I grew up with my grandparents' friends, on both sides of the family. Through holidays, dinners and sunday brunches, I was introduced from infancy to an eclectic and boisterous mix of personalities. They were a hilarious group of people; they loved nothing better than to get together and pass the time.
A Sunday brunch at my dad's old family home overlooking Woodland Bayou would begin as soon as the bell rang the close of service at my grandparents' church and would not end until the shadows grew long in the afternoon. Men and women who had known each other for thirty years or more would gather in ever-shifting clumps of conversation inside and outside the house and pass an afternoon laughing over rich food and fizzing cocktails.
As one of the younger members of the family, I was not an active part of many conversations, but the overall experience made an impression on me. Every time I attend or assist with a party, I am hoping in the back of my mind that it will be comparable to the uproarious good times had by interesting people at my grandparents' home. Sadly, such events never occur by design; they create themselves from the interaction of the people who attend. Experience has taught me that just as good food will never be truly appreciated by people whose palates have been conditioned by McDonalds, a generation (in this case, my own) raised on smart phones and online friends lists are rarely apt to take advantage of opportunities to actively engage in storytelling, joke-swapping and yarn-spinning.
And, personally, I think that what I saw in the personalities I saw on display among my grandparents and their peers is why I love The Golden Girls as much as I do. Many of those people are dead now, but when I watch the clashes of articulate personalities on TGG, I am strongly reminded of people I knew, but did not appreciate as much as I should have when I had the chance. The Golden Girls is, for me, a glimpse into the lives of fictional characters created from personalities I knew in real life. And even though I didn't know them well, I can, in retrospect, appreciate who they were, and consequently feel their absence.
It's like dark chocolate; a combination of bitterness and sweetness. A celebration of strong friendships which could survive witty, biting and stinging deliveries of insights. Friendships that were articulate, often strained, but always strong and supportive.