Ryan McMahon's blog

Nov / Dec 2006

Thu, 14 Dec 2006 13:33:29 -0800

I've waited to post another journal online - I think there's been about 5 rough drafts that just didn't ever see the light of day that I ended up tossing away in the trash.
Not that this will be particularly profound; I just have a Friday night to kill, some things on my mind, and dinner's still frozen, so there's at least an hours' worth of thawing to do yet... I might as well spend it clicking and clacking and completing this day: Friday, November 3rd 2006.

SUPER AWESOME SHOW --- this THURSDAY @ THE MEDIA CLUB

Mon, 23 Oct 2006 17:21:47 -0700

Hello to the Opus;

I haven't been on here as much as I should have been... between the cocaine, hookers and MySpace and writing songs and watching Jeopardy, I've been kind of out of the loop in Opus Land. So, for that, I'm sorry.

Anyway; there's a show that you need to come to if you live in Vancouver - or, fuck it - if you live in Montreal, you should still fly here and come to this show. It's the SUPER AWESOME SHOW dammit, and it's this Thursday.

A Broken Guitar, A Wakeup Call, A Shitty Shoe, and a Milk Bone

Wed, 09 Aug 2006 12:08:49 -0700

Wednesday, August 2 2006
A Broken Guitar, A Wakeup Call, A Shitty Shoe, and a Milk Bone

What a couple of months. I broke my "A" guitar during a soundcheck - the culmination of a strange, and sometimes disasterous trip lately.

So I'm standing there, waiting for Geoff Hicks, our sometimes drummer to show up, and wthout the necassary strap-locks in place, I remove my hands from my axe. I adjust the mic stand to 'little man-size,' so it's ready for me to holler into later for the show, and just as I'm finished, the guitar comes loose from the strap, and hits the edge of the Media Club stage at such an angle, that not only the neck, but the headstock busts completely off the body of the guitar. Mike stopped playing, Dustin didn't move, and Shaun, the soundman came over to me, and tried to say some kind words to make me feel better about the situation. Here we were, a couple hours away from showtime, and I had broken my favorite guitar in 3 different pieces. I walked offstage, still saying nothing, paced the room three different times, and finally felt the need to belt out a ear-pinching "FUCK!" Half an hour later, on my way to pick up a rental guitar from Long & McQuade, our opening band, Fiction Like Candy, from San Francisco, calls me with the news that I was really expecting from the beginning: "We're stuck at the border, and they won't let us bring our instruments across." Shitty balls. More bad luck. "Karma Police, arrest this man he talks in maths..." I suppose I was just getting my due for any (all) wrong-doings I've ever done.

Home Team! Home Team!

Wed, 14 Jun 2006 16:57:26 -0700

Home Team! Home Team!

My Zulu Records t-shirt is getting faded. It used to be jet black; black like the formula my Grandpa uses in his hair. I've worn it too much; and if it's clean - shit - even if it's dirty - it's the only thing I ever want to put on. It's not that Zulu is the only record store I like getting my music at. There's Red Cat Records on Main Street, and there's obviously your iTunes, and your HMV's and all of that as well, but there's something to be said about being able to go into an indie store where they know your name. Even if it is more expensive. This t-shirt smells today; it smells like last night - I slept in it, and I just couldn't find anything else that looked as cool to put on today. I suppose that makes me a dirty double crosser, but I'm dirty like that. Just ask my friend, and fellow Vancouver musician Kent McAlister, who joined me for pints last night. He took the liberty of signing me up to an open mic list at the 5 Point on Main Street. He didn't just fill in 'Ryan McMahon;' he put "Ryan 'I like it from behind' McMahon" on the page. Anyone who wants to hear more of Kent McAlister's humor should check out his music. That bastard is a genius - absolutely. There's quite a few musicians in this fair city that I'm proud to be acquainted with; Vancouver has more to offer than the 'new rock' sound that it's been taqgged with. Ridley Bent has been blazing trails with his 'hick-hop' sounds for the past few years, and it's starting to pay off. He shares a house with Aaron Grant, Cameron Latimer, and Dustin Bentall, who I all admire. These guys are all wicked writers and story-tellers, and deserve to be checked out. It's song-writers like them that make me happy to be part of the Home Team. I feel a bit left of center these days because I can't really decide which direction to go in at times. I just like writing in many different formats; Danny Michel s kind of like this in the way that he tends to write all over the map as well. I can't ever see myself deciding to go all the way country - or all the way rock n' roll; there's just so many things about so many different genres that I like so much. My favorite artists don't necessarily sit down and say "I'm going to write a metal song" or "I'm going to write a country song" but it just arrives - ideas just simply arrive. I've got to use them when they come; even if that means not being able to compartmentalize the music for the masses. The rant about the industry grows near; can't go there on the journal - that's reserved for musician pillow-talk. Hmm... what else to talk about - Oh yeah - much thanks to Erin Kinghorn at Nettwerk Records for recommending two amazing songwriters: Mike Doughty - formerly of the band Soul Coughing, and Ray LaMontagne. They're both brilliant and worth checking out if you like good music. I'm going to go home, take 2 Tylenol and think about writing a song about rising gas prices. These North American Governments have us on all fours.

A Ton of Crack Smoking and Internet for Everybody

Mon, 05 Jun 2006 16:48:25 -0700

Monday, June 5 2006
A Ton of Crack Smoking and Internet for Everybody

Upon arriving at the day job this morning at 7:00 a.m., I was met with two tall, skinny 40-somethings smoking rocks at the offices’ front door. I had to step in between the newest version of the Breakfast Club to get my key in the lock. Heart beating fast, I’m met not with conversation, but with stone cold silent stares from both guys. My key gets stuck in the door halfway, and now I’m stuck in between two of Vancouver’s finest wiggling my key crazy-like as the air between the three of us grows thicker and thicker. They’re both starting to smile and snicker a bit, and I give them an uncomfortable smile back. I felt like Alan Thicke might have felt if he ran into Robin Williams in an elevator during the cocaine years. Out of his league.