Generic Interview: Part II (Rehearsal)

Sasha and Eric experiment with guitar rifts while Derek watches from the sofa. Dan has his feet kicked up on a coffee table in the corner as he sips an energy drink, Instagrams, Tweets, and is everywhere but right here. Standing steadfastly behind the control board, John, the sea-savvy captain of our ship, checks the ear pieces, the cables, making sure everything is accounted for and in its proper place. Meanwhile, Mike and I are sequestered in the sound booth, concocting lyrics like Watson and Crick.
Another typical rehearsal.
"Tell me," asks the Interviewer, "how is rehearsal coming along for your upcoming tour with Nickelback?"
"Slowly but surely," is my answer.
But there's nothing slow about eight-hour sessions in the studio. Pumping caffeine and energy drinks into your blood stream as if connected intravenously. Stopping. Starting. Starting the set all over again. Tweaking this. Cutting that. Timing it all down to the millisecond until everything ebbs and flows to perfection.
I'm asked, "What's it like to rehearse at the legendary Third Encore?"
You're in in the morning. Out by sunset. It's like time travel. Living life at a speed soaring towards light. The day disappears. You go home but you're already thinking about tomorrow's rehearsal. How to improve. Eager to give it another go. Get back to work.
I say, "You're five souls out there on stage. Five souls trying to find one sound. One heartbeat. We don't have a strong pulse yet, but every day it's getting stronger."

Nervous Energy

You work through the anxiousness. Practice. Practice. Practice. Practice some more. Until your fingers bleed and the words taste like brass. Perfecting the levels, the position of the monitors, your stage presence. Hop up on the drum kit here. Kick the mic stand there.
New band. A new set. Almost all new music. Will they still like me when I come home? Will they like the music? The performance? Will they leave wishing there was more, or wishing it had ended sooner?
It's not self-doubt. It's nervous energy. I'm like a dog at the door, wagging his tail. Can't wait. Can't wait. Knowing the whole world awaits just beyond the door.
Have to prepare for the cold weather. Russian cold. Not used to that anymore. Too much sun and beach. Too much Los Angeles. Should I pack a second coat? More thermals? Where's my wool hat? Can't remember the last time I've needed it.
You work through the anxiousness, but there's no working through this. Nervous energy never goes away, only fades, and swoons from stage to stage. It keeps you level. Never too high or too low. Always questioning. Excited. In the moment. This moment. Are you good enough? Prepared enough?
From somewhere deep inside me, I hear a voice whisper, "Yes." 

Check out my interview with Warped Magazine!

Troy Harley - End of Summer | Warped Magazine

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Generic Interview: part 1

The interviewer asks, "What's your favorite part of performing?"
I say, "That's easy -- the fans."
I like to meet with them after each show. Whether it's a club in Hollywood or an outdoor amphitheater, 10,000 in the crowd or ten, fans fuel my performance, and afterwards, I like to thank the ones I meet back stage. They all look at me wide-eyed, like some walking poster capable of enjoying a beer with them. Telling jokes. Signing autographs. Having a good time. They're amazed at how normal I am. Just one of the guys.
I try not to treat anyone like a fan. To me, they're all friends. And when you treat someone like a friend, they'll follow you anywhere. They'll truly care about your career, your music. They'll truly care about you.

In the Back of a Speeding Convertible

Sunset on Sunset Boulevard. I'm in the back of a speeding convertible letting what's left of the sunlight shower over me. Not sure where we're going. Burgers and fires, maybe? Beer? Can't seem to remember, but who really cares when the wind's whipping your hair and the smell of freshly cut palm trees tangos under your nose.
Tourists line the sidewalks leading up to Hollywood Boulevard snapping photos of their favorite celebrities' stars. Mickey Mouse. Shrek. A Japanese couple kneels on Jimmy Hendrix to pose with Godzilla. And I'm convinced -- culture's gone to hell.
My spirit's lifted at a red light, when a car full of beautiful women pulls up beside us.
"Where are you guys headed?" asks Brunette with Fedora.
"Uh --" I start. "I'm not sure."
"How can you not be sure?"
"On a day like this -- does it matter?"
She smiles at me. Winks. From inside their car, I can hear suppressed giggling mixed with urging. She says, "We were going to go see the Hollywood sign, but --"
Green light.
"Follow us," I call as the car takes off.
And they do.
Where we're going -- I still can't remember. But my friend, the driver, turns to me and says, "This is going to be fun."

Road-trip: San Francisco

The car phantoms its way down the highway, headlights piercing through the blanket of black that lies ahead. Six hours to San Francisco. Bags packed. Snacks. A full car and a full tank of gas.
The road-trip playlist includes, among other things, a collection of David Bowie, "Rock & Roll All Night" by Kiss, and several samples of new music the band and I have been tinkering with recently. Feedback is positive but we cut the music talk short. No, "Have you seen this or that movie yet?" type talk, either. Road-trips are about comradery, and reminiscing.  Laughing at ourselves just as much as at each other while swapping "Remember that time we -- " or "I can't believe I --" stories.
Within no time we reach the city and the Golden Gate, a truly marvelous sight in all the lights,where we're to meet a friend at a bar to celebrate his birthday.
Drinks are two-for-one so we decide to drink twice as much.
A group of girls join us in our booth just before last call. Another round of shots. Make it two.
Cheers. To birthdays! To road-trips! To making memories for future reminisce.
The next morning, my head pays for the discount drinks. We pull over and find a quiet park overlooking the bay. The sound of the waves crashing ashore, the breeze, whispering and green, sooth my headache. We stay a while, each of us sitting in silent contemplation trying to piece together the night before. Images of drinks sloshing. People dancing. Trips to the bathroom and laughing. Always laughing. We were happy -- but why?
And does it matter?
This snapshot of San Fran, the sense of companionship in a well-shared silence -- a fond memory of a memory I'll never really remember.

Collaboration Breeds Innovation

What if Mick Jagger and Keith Richards had never attended the same elementary school and become friends?  Would we have missed out on The Rolling Stones?

I've been plagued with this random piece of information ever since last Thursday' bar trivia at the Cat & Fiddle. Questioning coincidence, you might say.

But in today's online age, what is coincidence? Physical location means nothing. A vocalist from New York can free-style over a techno track mixed by a DJ in California.  Film directors can find their next script via Craigslist. Comic-book fans lacking artistic talent can pitch their superhero stories to an illustrator. 

I call on all artistic types, all of you, to collaborate. To create. To use this great tool -- the world wide web -- for good, and not gossip.
Don't think you're artistically talented? That's OK. Although talent can’t be taught, creativity can certainly be inspired, and shared, with a click nowadays.
Because Mick Jagger is good. The Rolling Stones are great. 

Fine Tuning

A voice. Guitar. Car engine. You name it -- everything in life requires fine tuning. Constant upkeep. Because complacency kills. Voices have an eerie tendency to go missing before a big show. Strings snap. Engines sputter out, leaving you stranded on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere past midnight.

Neglect never fares well.

So take the time to be meticulous. Take pride in your product. Your possessions. Yourself. Use your tools even when the mood doesn't strike you. They say a writer writes, so it must hold true that singers sing. Jugglers juggle. And so on and so forth. 

Professionals are constantly fine-tuning their trades to stay just that -- professional. Call the world cut-throat, call it competitive, the best stay on top for only as long as they're willing to work to stay there, willing to adapt, improve, re-string, rebuild. 

Darwinism back in action.