Cravenomena

I used to despise MySpace.

I mercilessly ridiculed the popular social network’s cluttered, butt-fugly profile pages. I couldn’t imagine a bigger waste of time than playing comment tag or shooting out bulletins to announce to the world when I’m ready to go to bed. (Of course, this was before I was exposed to Facebook’s cretinous apps — or, as I like to abbreviate them, “crapps” — or the institutionalized Tourettes cyber-tic called Twitter.)

But when I started my Notes Blog and Podcast for KAFM, I was persuaded that MySpace might prove a useful venue from which to promote the blog, so I took the plunge.

I found myself surprised by many aspects of the MySpace experience, not the least being my growing enjoyment of it. But perhaps the most satisfying consequence of my time on MySpace has been the opportunities it has provided to interface with some of my favorite musicians.

I’ve had generous and funny (if usually brief) correspondences with: Deni Bonet, the sassy, super-talented rock n’ roll violinist who I used to see walking by Jackson Square Park in Greenwich Village with her fiddle and who played with Robyn Hitchcock practically every time he made it to Manhattan in the ’90s; Mickey Jupp, the British pub rock legend who wrote “Switchboard Susan” and many other great songs but who is criminally underappreciated nowadays; and Cindy Lee Berryhill, the super-talented and idiosyncratic anti-folkie whose sporadic albums always reward in-depth exploration.

But the first musician to bowl me over by taking the time to write me a fairly long, friendly message was Adam Marsland, a Los Angeles singer-songwriter whose work I first became acquainted with about 13 years ago. I was still living then with my pit bull Buddy in a tiny apartment on 14th Street in NYC. One day, at one of the many record stores I haunted, I picked up a power pop compilation album entitled POP MATTERS. I hadn’t heard of any of the bands on the CD, but the credits included one or two names I recognized from Jordan Oakes’ YELLOW PILLS power pop compilations, and it was executive produced by Paul Collins of the Beat and released on his Wagon Wheel Records label, so I decided to give it a shot.

Like many such power pop albums, I found much of the music a bit twee for my tastes, but one track stood out: a herky-jerky punk pop rocker called “Dirty Bastard” by a Los Angeles band called Cockeyed Ghost. I liked the song a lot — charmed by its multiple melodic hooks and an energy I can only compare to someone almost falling down a staircase but catching himself in the nick of time and landing on his feet — and played it over and over until I could sing along with its impassioned, slightly angry chorus.

One day about a year later, on a lunch break from an editing job on Fifth Avenue, I was once again rifling through compact discs in a record store — this time, one of those hole-in-the-wall outfits which specialize in cut-outs and used discs.

As usual, there was mostly dreck in the racks. But then, amidst the jewel cases, I found a jewel — KEEP YOURSELF AMUSED, the first album by Cockeyed Ghost. Not only did it include “Dirty Bastard” but I saw that it was co-produced by the great Earle Mankey, who had worked with damn near everyone, including: the Beach Boys, Sparks, Walter Egan, the Dickies, Possum Dixon, Concrete Blonde, Elton John, Mr. Encrypto, the Three O’Clock, the Cramps, 20/20, David Gray, the Runaways, the Solipsistics, et al. I happily snatched it.

And what do you know? The whole album lived up to the standard set by “Dirty Bastard,” but with unexpected textural depth and pop flourishes. It was immediately obvious that someone in the band was a Beach Boys fan, and I was guessing that someone was the singer and guitarist Adam Marsland who was credited with having written all the songs on the album save two which he co-wrote with bass player Rob Cassell.

Thereafter, I kept my eyes open for Cockeyed Ghost wherever I went. Soon, I stumbled upon their second album, the cleverly titled NEVEREST, which included a great “tribute” to Marsland’s home town of Binghamton, New York, as well as a moving punk epic about a loveless wedding called “Koreatown,” which found the band venturing into heavier, angsty Bob Mould territory. It showed a band which was still growing.

Then in 1999, shortly before I moved back to Grand Junction, I picked up Cockeyed Ghost’s third album, THE SCAPEGOAT FACTORY. Marsland’s songs had continued to bloom both lyrically and musically, and I thought for sure the band was headed for bigger things. Unfortunately, shortly after the release of THE SCAPEGOAT FACTORY, Big Deal — Cockeyed Ghost’s label — disintegrated, leaving the band floundering.

There was one more release from Cockeyed Ghost called LUDLOW 6:18 which I missed, having moved back to Colorado. I caught up again with Adam’s work when I found his first solo album, YOU DON’T KNOW ME, on eMusic. He won me over right away again with that album’s “Other Than Me,” with its hooky melody and clever lyrical evocations of Aimee Mann, Liz Phair and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Flash forward to 2007: Upon becoming friends with Adam on MySpace, the artist sent me a very charming note, which was both unexpected and exciting. Then, about a year later, he wrote me again out of the blue to tell me he was sending me a copy of his new “greatest hits” package, DAYLIGHT KISSING NIGHT.

To say I was flabbergasted would be an understatement. And I was even more so when I got the CD in the mail and had the opportunity to hear Adam’s re-recordings of old Cockeyed Ghost favorites like “At the Bookstore” and “Married Yet,” as well as a couple C.G. songs I was previously unfamiliar with, like the autobiographical “Burning Me Out (of the Record Store)” and — especially! — “Ginna Ling.” Great stuff.

Soon thereafter, I wrote a brief profile of Adam for my weekly music column in the GRAND JUNCTION FREE PRESS, and Adam queried me about the local music scene, since he was in the early planning stages for a tour to support the new album. I told him what I knew — not much — and didn’t hear any more until a few weeks ago, when Adam announced his tour schedule on his MySpace page. Nestled between Salt Lake City and Denver gigs was an August 8th performance at Coffee Muggers in downtown Grand Junction, Colorado.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I had never been in Coffee Muggers until the night of the 8th, when I walked in and shook hands with the fellow whose music I had been enjoying for more than a decade. Adam was sleepy-eyed and smiling sardonically, and I was afraid he was already ruing taking on such a piddling gig, but thanks to my friend, Courtney Borden, a number of enthusiastic young folks showed up, as well as a few other buddies of mine and a few folks I had never seen before. According to Adam’s very entertaining tour diaries (you can read ‘em at his website, adammarsland.com), about 25 people showed up, and I can’t say whether that count is accurate or not, because I kept my eyes on Adam, who had the audience in stitches with his between-song patter and woeful tales of Utah when he wasn’t rocking them with high-energy numbers like “Cut and Run.”

After the show, my friend Emily and I helped Adam load his gear into his car (an astonishing process Adam has mastered), then he came by my place to take a shower. After he was cleaned up, we talked for awhile about the L.A. power pop scene from whence he emerged, as well as some of his experiences working with living legends like Jerry Cole and Hal Blaine. Eventually, he took off to party with Vanessa from Coffee Muggers and some of her friends, and I bid him good luck on the rest of his D.I.Y. tour. I’m very happy to have made Adam’s acquaintance, and can now forgive the cluttered, butt-fugly profile pages of MySpace, owing as how it provided me the opportunity.