We are going to practice all day today. Tomorrow is our first show as a three piece, so we are dialing in some last minute changes. Our set will contain a few songs that until this point have not been played in Vegas. The band is on a serious creative kick, which we are planning to ride out for the rest of our lives. The old material feels like new, and the new material is on the tip of my tongue. I feel that I have moved past From a Limb, and am ready to up the ante. This picture is from Halloween 2007. It was in the middle of my writing for From a Limb. Aww, nostalgia.

If you like Helio Sequence, we are playing with them at The Beauty Bar tomorrow, and on Friday we're having a pizza party!

The Study Band is judgmental. By which I mean, we judged a male pageant at the Shadow Ridge High School here in Vegas. Seven Seniors did their best to win our hearts for the title of Mr. Mustang. This may sound preposterous, but I assure you that it's true. Honestly, it was such a needed split from my day to day. Don't get me wrong, music is fun, but this thing was a blast in the most novel sense. As you can see, Keith(not pictured) and I were Randy, Jack was Paula, and Eric B. was riding Simon. Congratulations to Mr. Mustang, Johnny Andow. You killed it, Dawg!

We are offering up a NEW SONG for FREE....WOW! If you add one of our songs to your myspace, or facebook profile, and email us at gifts@thestudyband.com, it's all yours. The song is titled 'Angel,' and it is a candidate for our forthcoming EP, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. The recording is a demo, so this will probably be your only opportunity to get ahold of this version. If you don't have myspace or facebook, get creative. Make me smile, and I will send you the song.

Eric M.

photo by: Eric B.

I grew up in Warren, Pennsylvania, a small town in the northwest corner of the state, just shy of the New York border. News of its going ons rarely reach me, but today was quite the exception. Eric B, a fellow child of Warren, stumbled upon this article while scrolling the top page of Digg. Apparently, someone placed an ad in the local newspaper, The Warren Times Observer, expressing a desire to see President Barack Obama assassinated. It reads,"May Obama follow in the footsteps of Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, and Kennedy!"

Now, the staff may have been too apathetic to decipher the "cryptic" message (I mean, Garfield barely had enough time as president to even get shot) and whomever placed the ad is a wretched mess, but I was appalled to find such gross generalizations made of both Warren, and Pennsylvania as a whole. I could go on about what I love in Warren, and trust me there is a lot that I don't, but really it's a small town like any other. I voted for Obama, and so did Pennsylvania. Hail To The Chief!

Lighten up, and watch our man bust a move on Ellen!

Eric M.

Whenever my friends and I get together after a long separation we like to trade stories, have a few drinks, and of course, swap new YouTube videos. Here are some that make me laugh very very hard. I hope you are well.

Eric M.

Here's a good one.

Q: Why don't Philistines eat yogurt?

A: Because they just aren't that into active cultures.

I wrote that joke, and I have already told everyone I know, so now I have to tell you. It came to me on the morning of my second day of rock climbing. Josh took me out to Red Rock for two climbs. What a terrifying sport! I haven't pushed myself that hard mentally or physically in years. It seems a shame that my capacity for fear/self-preservation have gone largely untapped. Moral of the story: Go rock climbing, and eat a good breakfast, good things will come of it.... usually.

A few days ago, we were rolling dice next to some shady building, and Josh saw a loose wire dangling from above. Of course he grabbed it. Immediately, it began pulling him up toward some unknown abyss. I tried to help, I really did, but I lost my grip. If only I had brought chalk!

We are playing a show at the Wasted Space in the Hard Rock this weekend. You should come, it's what Josh would have wanted. Miss you, buddy.


Eric M.

photo by: Eric B.

I can't get enough of The Flaming Lips. They seem to always produce a smile on my face, though it really isn't that tough to do so nowadays. Happiness has become something of a constant thing here in the desert, even when it's more dry than Mohandas Karamchand's left foot, and hotter than a tiger's temper. Being a member in such a fun band helps a lot too... We make music that doesn't remind me a thing about the writing styles of Wayne Coyne and his fellow mates, but the stuff that falls out of us while being translated somehow into music sure makes my head spin in good directions.

So why The Flaming Lips. Well I was introduced to this photographer Peter Yang today. He's an artist from Texas who tries to stay away from Photoshop, and likes to point his pinhole at cowpokes. That's right, cowpokes. Naturally I was intrigued right away, with my fellow feeling for wanting to be an outlaw/gold miner/sheriff but then I searched through the archives section. I won't try to describe it.

That illustration above is my tribute to some musical idols of mine, as well as a new. Lemme go home and get my Holga...

Thank you Josh Cordner.

Jack

Illustration by: Jack

We fixed our van window this morning. Wait, let me back up. We got a rock thrown through our window! Our first or second day in Vegas, someone decided to lob a good ol' chunk of mother earth into our vehicle. The obect(or common house rock) broke the most impressive piece of stemware I own. We have been driving around with a trash bag on the side of our van ever since. Let me just say, it is uncomfortable enough having to drive a van. Add garbage to the equation, and you're looking at a thorough lesson in humility.


This was three months ago. We were well over the embarrassment, it was the whirring of a thin plastic sheet that had us batty. Jack called to have the replacement appraised. I won't give numbers, but we could have scrapped the van, sold only the windows, and bought a new van. A more appropriate temporary panel was crafted by Keith, from quite possibly the ugliest piece of wood on this or any other earth(I tried to think of something made of wood that I could compare it to, but no).

A little blood, paint, and sunburn later we had a window. Voila! The culprit was never apprehended, but a touch of humor may have them bested. And now for a word from our sponsors Respect The Van!

Eric M

photo by: Eric B.

It's not always easy looking back on the places I've been. If I get too far into my own head I will eventually find something that I don't care to remember.

"Chalk it up to experience," they say.

Hah! I suppose gaining experience from my experiences is the best I can do. It has been a long hard road to this point. So, where am I?

I am twenty three. I am living in Las Vegas. I am playing music every day. I share a van and a room with three other musicians. I go to bed at 5:00 in the morning. I am sitting on a sleeping bag. I feel good sometimes. I feel lost sometimes. I am exercising in the mornings. I eat one or two meals a day. I miss my family and friends. I still don't call them like I should. I am waiting for someone. I talk less than I used to. I am absorbing the sun and new people.

Yeah... so, where am I? Where I choose to be. Where have I been? Beats me. All I know is that our practice space used to look like this. shiver

Eric M.

Photo By: Eric B

I always wanted to be a cowboy. In fact, my great grandfather, along with his sons, constructed a log cabin in the tall mountains of a town called Story, Wyoming. My family and I seem to make our way out there at least once every summer, and it's probalby the closest one can get to touching the outer layers of atmosphere.

Let me compose a classical Story setting. Down the street, there's a store named Waldorf A'Story where it smells like leather and the jingling of spurs accompanies the stomp of boots. A bison ranch is minutes away. The people all say "Howdy," "Youbetcha," and "Garsh." Horses run in a two hundred-acre green field across the street. My Nana still lives there.

So, there's no reason for me not to be a cowboy by now... well, besides the fact that I'm not...

Regardless, when our friend Josh showed up to Easter dinner, Wyoming came with. Donned with a wide brimmed black cowboy hat, a blue bell-bottomed suit, cream colored Gucci slippers, and a mustache that Errol Flynn would be jealous of, he was nothing short of the richest man in all of Story coming to have a meal with us.

To drink a Milwaukee's Best with such a decently clad cowboy, there's nothing of higher quality.

Actually, I think that's his great grandfather who lets Morgan Lane use the pistol... hmm...

Jack

Illustration by: Jack

Video: A scene from Ray Enrights 1950 western - Montana

The smoke from the fire is making my head throb. I am sitting on a stump photoshopping a drawing of a cyborg wolf. Jackie is directly across from me. It's another beautiful night in Las Vegas. Strangely enough, we hear wolves howling somewhere to the south. I can't stop thinking about certain people. Some memories make me laugh softly to myself, others make me shutter for one reason or another. When I look up, the glare from my computer screen has turned Jack into a ghost.
"Are you still here, Jack?"
"I'm here, buddy."
We comfortably sit back into the silence. The wind is playing cruel games with the fire. It reminds of a bully in the swimming pool, only letting up when his victim is out of breath. We dug this pit ourselves, we have also failed coming up with a catch phrase for the cyborg wolf. I heard him tonight, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh Oooooooooo, perhaps.

Eric M.

Illustration by: Eric Morelli

Video by: Les Savy Fav - What Would Wolves Do?

I think the picture says it all.

Eric M.

Photo by: Eric Morelli

I went out on the strip this evening with some friends. One could assume that we were drinking scotch, smoking cigars, pulling slot levers, and harassing waitresses by asking them if they like our cowboy hats, but tonight, one would be wrong. It was an evening for trying on the finer things for size. Yes, we went shopping, or more appropriately, we went out to try on two thousand dollar blazer's we couldn't buy. From Dior to Barney's we crept, putting our grubby hands all over everything.

Thanks to my closest friends, I have developed a dangerous appreciation for high fashion(groceries? or jeans?). Each of them go to school with fashion related majors, one in San Diego the other in New York. It is an interest that often gets a bad rap. I would like to address the two most common hang-ups people seem to have with fashion. Hang-Up One: Fashion makes you gay. Address One: If you honestly believe or place importance on anything like this, you're an idiot. Hang-Up Two: Fashion makes you shallow. Address Two: It is an art form. It's when a person constantly looks to others to inform their taste that beauty is ruined. Fashion walks that line most narrowly, and most often gets crossed. It's precarious nature makes it an even more telling statement in a lot of ways. I can''t dress myself very well, it socks. Leggo My Eggo.

Eric M.

Photo by:Eric Boyd

Some days I wish the world would work exactly as I like. We played a show at the Beauty Bar last night, and it didn't go quite as planned. We went on three and a half hours later than expected. Most of our friends had to leave early. Those who did stay, sacrificed a decent nights sleep. Typically, a bad show would be the beginning of a week long rut for me. At twenty three I am finding this to be an unattractive attitude, so I made an effort to lead a productive day. It was as easy as that really. I feel great now. It has taken me nearly a quarter of a century to turn lemons into lemonade(sugar? really?), but I still hate the fact that Keith Gibbons would never wear this t-shirt, and there is nothing I can do about it.

Here is something interesting that Keith found today. It is the Killer's cover of Bright Eye's Four Winds. This was the most entertaining youtube tribute I found. I especially appreciate Brandon Flower's, David Bowie, Major Tom, M. Night's The Village outer space wear. Fancy!!!!

Eric M.

Illustration by: Eric Morelli

I love writing music. The process has such a therapeutic effect. Scribbling down my fears and desires somehow makes them seem less abstract. Since I am such a scatter-brained person, it serves to organize an otherwise disjointed head. It's a puzzle, and my skull is the box it's wrapped in. If the picture came assembled then there really wouldn't be any need for me to write, but it doesn't. The photograph above is of a re-write I did for Secondhand Affection. In the recording the song is sung from both the male and female perspective. For live purposes it needed to be reworked so that it was coming from the male side only. It may seem unfair, ladies, but I'm sorry, singing from a females perspective is so very unattractive(unless you're doing it of course).


Everything I've written looks like this, or worse. The process may not be pretty, but I believe that the end justifies the means. It also reminds me of Wes Anderson's reoccurring stationary shots, which makes me laugh and laugh. On the side note of film there is a preview up for Spike Jonze Where The Wild Things Are. By coincidence, it features an Arcade Fire song. And now for my daily Arcade Fire tribute, I really want to show you something

Eric M.

photo by: Eric Morelli

They say that home is where the heart is. Basically, home is priority, right? Well, here is an image of our practice space. It was a three car garage, in the typical sense, when we moved in. With some help from our neighbor John (more about him at a later date), it blossomed as a haven for good time fun. Other than the one noise complaint, we have had a relatively low impact on quaint little Unicorn Street. We put in carpet, sound board, sound foam, insulation, and an additional wall behind Keith's amp, but apparently Ebenezer could hear us with his TV volume all the way up to half. Yes, I live on Unicorn Street, and I promise that the irony is not lost on me.

That is me in my recording nook. Being that From a Limb was recorded in a closet, I felt compelled to recreate a similar environment here. My band mates were very accommodating, and my musical agoraphobia persists unchecked. Someday, I will post an image of our living quarters. I promise you that it pales in comparison. It would probably help in demonstrating that, "home is where the heart is" jargon, but I sleep on a floor in a sleeping bag. Nobody needs to see that. Here is something you should see. The Arcade Fire playing Neon Bible in an elevator. Amazing.

Eric M.

photo by: Eric Boyd

Here we are in Las Vegas. It is fair to say that we have made ourselves at home, and could not be happier with the move. The most difficult part of any endeavor of this nature, is that you essentially start over. In that we are starting over, I can offer only my first impression.
This town has a unique vibe. If you would offer a,"don't all towns?" Relatively speaking, no, they don't. There is an aura of darkness here that the city can't fully confirm. It is more of the impression that I get than anything. I am constantly going back and forth between the questions, "What has happened here?" and, "What hasn't?" With enough booze, sex, and gambling to make any upstanding american blush, I find myself falling in love with it, and not because I like feeling bad. I don't feel bad for precisely the same reason everyone who comes here doesn't feel bad. We are in it together. If ever you need a lesson in responsible decision making, stop in, I will buy you a drink.

Eric M.

photo by: Eric Boyd
model: Alexandria Bevilacqua

We have been living at the base of the Limerick Nuclear Power Plant. We are all Simpson's fans, so it just made the most sense for us. I tell you this at the tail end(and three eyes) of our stay here. We will be moving to Las Vegas on the sixteenth of this month. Over the past few months we have all formed pretty debilitating gambling and drinking habits. Made all the more debilitating, because we are in Royersford, Pennsylvania and not Las Vegas. The move can be chalked up to that.

There are a few more shows for us here, and then we are out. We will miss you.

Here is an art series I did called Lens Cap


Eric