| Listen: | Track list: | More: | Make It Mine (2006) | Buy Online: | |||||||||||||||
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Make It Mine Every Thanksgiving my mother had the family write out the things they were thankful for from that year. She called them our “Thank you’s”. These “Thank you’s” ranged from letters, to scribbles on scraps of paper, to bullet-point presentations. Before the 22lb turkey with all the trimmings would be savagely torn into, Mom would have each member go around the table and read their “Thank you’s” out loud. This was usually done with a grumble from our mouths, and stomachs (since the turkey teased us from the table), but deep down we were all glad she did it. It was a good tradition because we’d get to say what was on our hearts about our siblings, our accomplishments, our disappointments and triumphs without sounding prideful, blubbery or cheesy. My mom always wanted us to be aware of the things that brought us through that year and to acknowledge them as things and/or events to be thankful for. We always had a good time hearing them. This is not to say no tears were shed. On the contrary, rarely was a “thank you” read without at least one trickle of salt water sliding down someone’s cheek. It was an emotional time with tons of laughter, warm embraces as you heard your name lovingly mentioned, solemnly sitting as someone accounted a tragedy or sorrow, but, all in all, very reaffirming for the Thanksgiving spirit. One year, as we were all in our respective “thank you” writing areas, I was hit by the overwhelming desire to put my “thank you’s” in a song. I had been writing and playing for over a year and was eager for any reason to capture my thoughts and put them to music. This was also a great year to do it. I had a ton to be thankful for… After 5 years of college, a HUGE student loan debt, several failed relationships, a college degree that had taken a backseat to a fulltime waitressing position at a Denny’s, a stint of living in my fully plush Dodge Dynasty only to land me, at 23, living and paying rent at my parent’s house, and a music “career” that consisted of a sparsely-attended, Wednesday night gig at a local restaurant, my step-dad finally asked me, “What do you really want?” I replied, “I want to play my music. I want to give this singer/songwriter thing a shot. I have a lot to say that I want everyone to hear.” He looked at me, “Then you have to do one thing every day to get you closer to that goal. You have to give 110% of all that you are to this dream and never look back. When I was young I wanted to be a baseball player. I was so good. I gave that dream up and not one day goes by that I don’t regret it. Don’t do that. Don’t ever have regret.” This was the crux of my Thanksgiving thought, “If you don’t like where you’re going, you can change your direction!” I felt like I was given a gift and a great opportunity, and to not use it would be like slapping God in the face. It was the revelation that I could take back ME. Not live tied to my past or in fear of the future. Not forgetting about all that my mother sacrificed for my brother and me to be able to be whoever we wanted. Not giving a damn about what anyone else thought about it. That Thanksgiving was the beginning of an ideal that became a mantra, first for me, then for our band, then for our fans, “…I’m thankful for all life brings. I’m gonna take it by the wings, and MAKE IT MINE!”
Pretty Boy Pretty Boy took a long time for me to fully flesh-out. I'd written the verses back in high school, but with different words, and I wasn't playing guitar back then, so I hadn't put anything behind it. It was just this melody. Then in college, I was playing a lot more guitar and was able put the rest of it together musically. The riff was sort of my version of Hendrix's "Foxy Lady", which I felt was this wonderfully arrogant song. It took another couple years for it to make it to a live performance for one reason or another (I had moved to California by that point, which puts it at about 2003), then a few more after that to be put on an album. Altogether, the song had about a ten year gestation period. The words came from meeting a whole slew of people (especially in college) that had a false sense of self. For whatever reason -- usually something superficial -- they'd lost touch with reality. A lot of them were obsessed with money, influence, appearances, and a bunch of crap that turns decent people into assholes. I sold vacuum cleaners door to door for a bit and worked for and with some really shady people. On a smaller scale, they were doing the kinds of things that got our economy and the housing market in the tank, so I quit. I think that's why I lump merchants and thieves together in the song. On some levels, we all become the Pretty Boy sometimes. And that's okay. I know I do it. But I like the song because it helps keep me in check. There's times when I'm listening to it or singing it, and it reminds me "Hey, that's you. You're being an asshole. Knock it off." Produced by Champagne Sunday Recorded at Castaway 7 Studios, Ventura, CA Engineered by J.P. Hesser All songs copyright 2006 Champagne Sunday ASCAP Faraca Rocks My Socks Off, Ventura, CA Photography by Breanne Von Thompson Album Layout & Design by Jared Fredeen and Jessi Reems-Terrell Jessi Reems-Terrell - Vocals, acoustic, tamborine Jared Fredeen - Vocals, guitars, keyboards, harmonica Tom Stanton- Guitars Thom Thomas - Bass, backing vocals Art Tipp - Drums, percussion |
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| Listen: | Track list: | More: | North (2008) | Buy Online: | |||||||||||||||
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Bound I wrote “Bound” immediately following a track that was recorded for, but never made it to “North”, called “Little Lie”. I had woken up with the feeling like I was about to be sick. Sick in the way that writers get when there’s too much cerebral build-up and you have to puke it all up onto a piece of paper, a napkin, the side of a wall, and then pick out the chunks that are prevalent in order to form and actual shape…or perhaps it was just bad shrimp. Either way, it was the deepest part of middle-of-the-night and I was living with my current boyfriend who was fast asleep and snoring behind the sliding glass doors that I was leaning against. I had to get out of the room so I could breathe and think. “Little Lie” came out in huge heaves and was over before I knew it. An obvious confession of disappointment in myself and the people surrounding me; It was a moodier piece than I was used to writing and I was pleased with the sense of strength I had afterwards. I was on the back porch of our place, with the paper that was left over from writing the first song still clutched in my hand. I had absolutely no intention of going back to bed but was exhausted from the inside out. I felt an energy that encouraged me to keep going and then the sense of sick came back. As a woman I have never been particularly “woman’s lib” one way or the other. I have always felt that we should be more “human lib” than anything else. I’m much more pro-“who-you-are” and “what-are-your-own-strengths”, than one particular gender supporter. I suppose this stems from the generation I grew up in where all of the battles had already been fought on my behalf, and in some cases, died for, in order for me to be at liberty to feel this way in the first place. This is just to say that I hinge a great deal of the song “Bound” on a line in the chorus that states, “I will let no man hold me down.” But I mean that as no gender accusation, more as a general “man”, like hu-“man”. I digress. So, I was all fired up from my first “release” and ready to march forward into the next tune. I sat staring at the orange tree in the yard (strangely enough, the same orange tree that produced the very orange from the tune, “What A Day”) and I felt a sort of “Eve” persona take over. This sense of wanting to expose all of my “truth” came over me and I started the outpouring onto the remainder of paper. I believe I finished the song quickly from a mixture of getting all the “sick” out and just being cold. Haven’t changed a word since. In the final cut and the version we perform live, a verse is missing. Maybe it will resurface someday in a rare, self-indulgent performance. I believe that songs are like hair, some are just too long, some need a bit more color, some should be left alone, some are beautiful the more grey they become, and some should be removed altogether. However you cut it, it should be true to who you are. Produced by Marc Doten Recorded by Jeff Evans and Ken Eros at Zircon Skye Studios (Ojai, CA) Mixed and overdubs recorded by Marc Doten at Trend Coma Bootlegs (Pasadena, CA) Mastered by Chris Landen (Hollywood, CA) All songs © 2008 Faraca Rocks My Socks Off ASCAP Ventura, CA
Artwork: Concept and Design by James Graca, GracaDesignGroup.com
Champagne Sunday is:
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| Listen: | Track list: | More: | Random Acts of Blindness EP (2009) | Buy Online: | |||||||||||||||
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Pity There are only so many times you can hear the phrase, “I could’ve done…(insert unobtainable goal here)”, without wanting to slap somebody in the face…hard. For most of my adult life I have had the curse of the sympathetic listener. Don’t get me wrong, those who know me would all agree that I also have the curse of the incessant talker as well. But that’s a different story. As long as I can remember I have been an ear for those who have felt as though they have been wronged, abused by the system, betrayed by their loved ones, and many other injustices. This is something I take very seriously, since I also love to give advice and offer my, sometimes un-asked-for opinion about all said incidences. It’s sort of a give-and-take communion with people I meet. Usually harmless and pleasant for both parties, leaving each relieved and fulfilled. This quality came in very handy in my 15+ year waitressing occupation. For those of you who have never served the public, you may wonder how the two would complement each other so nicely. Well, it is for the simple fact that when you are in any kind of service industry, whether it be food, retail, non-profit or nearly anything dealing with the public, you are in the position to have to listen to people. I think this is because you are stuck in one place and they get to come to you for your services, unload a heap of their daily problems onto you, pay for their goods, then be on their way, leaving you with a head full of verbal mess to sort through once they’re gone. The quicker you accept that this is the way of things, the quicker you can adapt, and begin honing your skills. In the food service industry this is almost as expected as the fact that your “guest “ will be hungry when they enter your establishment. There is a very strange phenomenon that takes place within the 30-45 minute (average) amount of time that one usually spends in your presence. It is the unbelievable amount of trust that one will so freely give up to a complete stranger. My theory is this: you essentially control what they are about to consume and they want to feel some semblance of a relationship to you. One of the quickest ways to do this is to establish trust. In turn, one of the most sure fire ways to establish trust is to spill your guts to the one who controls your food. Thus, showing your vulnerability and expressing in a very subtle way the thought, “See, I have shown you my weakness. Take pity on me and don’t spit on my food or poison my beer.” In most cases, this works fine and the gentle ebb and flow of the server/eater relationship goes on without a hitch and you convince another satisfied sob to make it a 25% tip instead of 15%. Beautiful. However, the ever-present, unfailing, comes-with-every-restaurant-or-maybe-it’s-just-me, cog in the wheel is, the “Regular”. That one, lovely customer that has decided that this is their home-away-from home, or, in some cases, just “home”, and you’re their personal shrink, mother, bouncer, and beer wench all rolled into one package. They usually have been around through several incarnations of the establishment and feel some sense of “ownership” to the joint. They know the history of the last few owners and all the reasons each one failed as well as the juicy details of their personal lives. These they will share with you to establish a bond that seems to be an orientation of some sort, bringing you into the fold of the “team” (of which they are NOT part, regardless of how long they’ve been there). This wily minx has stealthily wormed their way into your heart by being on their best behavior for the first few weeks of your employment and making you feel as though you’re the only one they can confide in because everyone else is “tainted”. Now, this “guest” comes in every day, sometimes staying for hours. There is a “usual spot” that’s theirs, and only theirs, and an unspoken order that’s to be started on the grill before they sit down. Things can get bad long before the food even comes if their seat is taken, we’re out of their usual, or if the toothpicks have been moved to the opposite side of the counter. Any tip is almost out of the question from most of them because they feel as if they already give you enough of their hard-earned and you charge too much anyway. Old so-an-so down the road is 10 cents cheaper and makes theirs fresh, also uses less oil…well, go there then. But, nope, gotta come here because you’re here, and you’re their favorite. Plus, why would you expect a tip from them when you’re such close friends now? See how fun this is? Neat. These “regulars” are, for the most part, harmless. Some help around the place, some bring thoughtful gifts for birthdays, some don’t come around anymore and you actually begin to worry, and then some threaten to “shoot you in the face with a gun the next time I see you!”- which will most likely be tomorrow so maybe I’ll call in sick- and ruin the illusion that people are, deep down, really good inside. This last sort is the type I wanna chat about. When I say “I won’t wrap my pity around you”, I mean in the hug and acceptance kind of way. However, if pity were a 15-foot roll of duct-tape and a 30-foot kerosene-soaked rope, then sure, I’ll wrap you up in it, strike a “light-anywhere” match, and walk away laughing. I’m really not violent. I cry at damn near everything and am highly emotional, especially about love, am generally a high-spirited, pleasant-smelling, lover-of-life. And, as I said previously, I am a listener. But everyone has a breaking point. For years and years I have stared understandingly with furrowed brow, my poor ears unwillingly choking down meals of useless blathering and sickly sweet high fructose fabrications. “I should have blankity-blank with my life.” And, “Well, I was going to do blah, blah, blah, but my ex took all my money.” Or, “If the government wasn’t so stupid, I could’ve been a, ‘fill-in-occupation’.” And, my personal favorite, “Oh yeah, I used to be in a band. We would’ve made it if it weren’t for, ’insert a plethora of lame-ass excuses here’.” For Christ’s sake!!! Will not anyone take responsibility for their own actions! One can only take so much whining, complaining, and bold-faced LYING every day. It is a sad time when you’re watching someone’s mouth move, carefully trying to look concerned, and all you can see are thousands of black spiders crawling out with each foul breath and carefully crafted line of BS. Who let this happen? When did we become enablers to a bunch of cry babies and spineless you-owe-me’s? Why do we feel sorry for those who gorge themselves on our sympathy, getting lazy from hand-outs and fat off human kindness. There comes a point in every waitresses career where, “Would you like fries with that” could (and should, if I had anything to say about it) be replaced with a good Chuck Norris sized round-house kick to the jaw. “Pity” is my version of the round-house kick.
The Day Miss Alice Went Insane Jessi came to me and said "I've got this song. It's got a ragtime kind of feel to it, and I think you should play it on piano." I stared blankly at her, looked at the keyboard, and said, "But I've never played ragtime in my life. I have no idea what you're after." "Well, here, I'll sing it, and you just play what comes naturally to you, but do it with your version of a ragtime feel." Okay. After figuring out the key, and working the song a bit, I knocked out something that we agreed felt right. Then she said "Okay, I think the intro should go like this: ba da da daa da da, ba da da daa da da, da dum dum dum ba daa dum." That's how Jessi will work new songs a lot of the time. When she knows what she wants, she's meticulously clear. When she has even a vague idea, she's very good at zeroing in on what the song wants or needs. When it sucks, it sucks, and we all know it. Occasionally, we have to really fight for a weird idea, but it seldom comes to that. After collaborating on the middle section, we finally had a finished song. We enjoy it mostly because the crowd digs it, but also because every new member that we've presented it to says we're on crack (self included), but then ends up loving it. Bassists have a hell of a time with this one. Lyrically, it's a metaphorical character sketch of someone that Jessi and I were close friends with. As Jessi says: "Sometimes, the best way to tell someone to fuck off is to write a Broadway-style show tune about them." Sometimes, you're in a relationship with someone, and there are problems. You do everything in your power to try to make things work out and help the situation, but when every path you take ends in a brick wall, it eventually drives you crazy. Such was the case with this friend. "Miss Alice" refers to Jessi's alter ego. When she was a hell-raising kid and being such to her grandfather, he used to teasingly call her "Gertrude Alice" because he said it was "the ugliest name he could think of". Ever since, Gertrude Alice has represented the hell-raiser in Jessi. Recorded and Engineered by Ross Stein at Mega Sound Studio in Ventura, CA on Sunday, July 19th, 2009 Produced and Mixed by Ross Stein and Champagne Sunday All songs copyright 2009 except Ventura Sky, copyright 2007 All songs published by Faraca Rocks My Socks Off Music (ASCAP) Artwork by Jared Fredeen Photo by Angela Izzo www.izzoimages.com
Jessi Reems-Terrell - Vocals, guitars, keys |
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Welcome to the Vault.
This is where you'll find some of our unreleased recordings; live tracks, outtakes, and "b-sides". Enjoy!
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