Well folks, we're halfway there. Of the original one hundred copies of That Satisfying Crunch!'s first disc, only fifty remain up for adoption, either at CD Baby or here at Crunchquarters. To those who've treated themselves to a copy of my latest opus, a million thanks. Or fifty thanks at least. Anyhoo, after these remaining fifty are gone, this little project will substantially reduce its carbon footprint to almost zero by being available in MP3 form only.
Speaking of which, the album in question, entitled (cleverly enough) "Album #1", is now available at iTunes. It'll be interesting to see where iTunes sells the first downloads, although my money's already on Spain. I say that because a powerpop themed radio show in Madrid has played both "The Age Of Nefarious" AND "Someone Once Said" over the past couple of weeks. The show is called Plastico Elastico and it airs on FM station Onda Madrid, which is sort of like their version of Q107... I think... Anyway, the show's host, Pacopepe Gil, has become a fan of "the Crunch". On the off chance that I ever end up touring over there (hey, ya never know), I already picked up an English-Spanish dictionary for 99 cents at Canadian Tire, although since it claims the word "prostituta" is Spanish for "nurse", I think I may donate it to Goodwill.
Even setting aside such little victories as the airplay in Spain, I have to say I'm really digging this instro powerpop band thing more and more. In hindsight, I think I needed a break from stuffing myself under the already over-crowded umbrella of singer-songwriters. The term "singer-songwriter" itself is kinda getting on my nerves anyway. It's beginning to feel like there's some big cookie cutter in the sky that cranks out white males armed with beat up acoustics, dressed in battered jeans and gingham shirts, all of whom end up on CBC's Sunday Report, earnestly strumming away while the end credits roll. Some of them are good, but it seems there's an unquestioning, narrow minded market developing for the majority of second rate Neil Youngs (or fourth rate Dylans) among their ranks, a market which I've noticed is largely comprised of urban dwellers who are infatuated with the notion of the rural "salt of the Earth" stereotype, the God-fearing, hard working farmers, truck drivers and Marlboro Men, out on the lonesome prairie with only their moustaches for company. Yeah, well I've lived in small towns, and for the most part they're like Scarberia without the LRT, and I got the hell out as fast as my Converse high tops would carry me, because one thing that I realized about the salt of the Earth is that it can leave a bad after taste.
Hmm, it would seem that just because I'm not writing lyrics doesn't mean I'll stop ranting. Funny that.