Trust me

This website is something that you have to check out.

please, I beg of you.

http://www.youhavebadtasteinmusic.com/

-p

50 Cent fans

Man...

there's been a lot of funny shit

coming out of that Youtube comments page,

but this new one is one of my favorites:

"What a dwarf tossing faggot, i think somebody should shoot him 9 times in the head and see how many people would miss him, all they are is a rejected white stripes, faggot and was that a man playing the drums or a girl couldn't tell."

A dwarf tossing faggot,

that is a good one.

And then...

the almost compulsive repeat

of the word faggot at the end,

he just has to stick it in there again.

Not to mention,

he actually suggests that

I get shot 9 times in the head,

what the hell is the matter with people?

It's fascinating to me,

I wonder if any other rapper

can illicit this kind of violent, passionate response.

"Big Daddy Kane is a pussy....."

-p

Bethesda

I ask Kristen, the drummer,
for a lot of favors.

She is always very nice
about helping me out,
playing gigs, carrying equipment,
attending incredibly frustrating
recording sessions where I
hover over her drums like
a crazy person.

So, when she asked me for a favor,
to play a set with her at the
Bethesda Norwegian Lutheran Retirement Home,
I agreed.

That's right,
this morning,
after waking up at 7 am,
Nice Peter played a set of music
at the Bethesda Retirement Home.

Many records were set
for this milestone of a performance.

average age for an audience: 84 years
start time for a show: 10:30 am
repeats of You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine: 7

My favorite part of the show was the beginning.

I should explain,
Kristen has been working
part time during our break from touring
at this home, as a life enrichment coordinator
on the weekends.

She goes in, brings movies,
sings songs, does knitting,
tells stories, and generally
makes an attempt to enrich
some lives, some very long lived lives.

She's a real angel, that Kristen.

We arrived early,
and I was to finish setting up
while Kristen went to gather
the residents.

She explained to me
that some folks would
start wheeling as early as 9:45.

Wheeling?

oh.... wheeling... I get it.

I was tuning my guitar,
and strumming a little bit,
when the first lady was wheeled
in by one of the other assistants.

I said, "hello" and smiled,
and she stared into my soul.

umm...

well, I might as well
keep strumming.

So I strummed.
I was making up
little chord progressions
for a time while other residents
began coming in.

The audience was filling
up with 10 to 15 relatively
unresponsive, very old people.

I just kept strumming,
and smiling,
and strumming,
eventually I ran
out of new guitar ditties
and I started into instrumental
versions of standard Nice Peter songs.

I started to sing Red Line Train at one point,
but then I backed off and just kept strumming and smiling.

All the while singing the lyrics in my
head and trying to grasp the ridiculousness
of the entire situation.

I wondered, for a moment,
if the sudden shock of hearing
what I was actually playing might
jolt some of these folks into cognition.

Some sort of fantasy developed in my head,
I put Richard Prior into the movie Awakenings,
using the power of profanity to bring people
back into consciousness.

Then I punished myself for having such thoughts,
and started playing Somewhere Out There.

After ten or fifteen minutes
of strumming and daydreaming,
I looked out and noticed that every
single person in the audience was asleep.

Every single one.

I've always had a knack
for following what the audience wants.

Adapting my humor and delivery
to suit the needs of the particular crowd,
so I can do my best to make sure
that every show is somewhat successful.

In this case, my audience wanted to sleep.

I found myself under the new pressure
to keep my playing smooth and constant,
transitioning from I Quit You Fat Mother Fucker
to Smoke That Weed without missing a beat.

Any sudden musical movements would
cause a head to jerk up with eyes wide,
and to be honest, it was a little easier
to handle while they were all sleeping.

After about a half an hour of this,
Kristen finally came in with some of the more active
residents, and we began our show.

Kristen on the drumset,
me on the guitar and microphone,
which wasn't really turned on.

As she tapped on the drums
like they were babies being baptized,
I strummed out a slowed down version
of our opening number.

It's Time to Be Gay.

No lyrics, of course,
but they were in my head,
and they were hilarious.

We finished that number
and moved on to sing alongs.

At least, Kristen assured me they would be.

"Beatles!" she said.

"They'll love any Beatles song!"

I doubted that,
but I gave it a shot.

Hey Jude drew some faint smiles,
but I think that's just because its a nice melody.

"You Are My Sunshine..!"
Kristen urged me from behind...

"they'll love it!"

And they did.

Almost every single
person in that room started
singing, automatically,
some without any other
sign of response, just lips
moving and soft sounds coming out.

Somewhere deep in these minds,
You Are My Sunshine was permanently
etched, and no amount of age,
delirium, confusion, angst,
or Norwegian Lutheranism
could possibly dampen it's joyful refrain.

It was incredible.

I was Richard Prior,
and Robert Deniro had just
caught the ball.

I played You Are My Sunshine seven times.
Just the refrain, because I don't know the rest.

"louder"

"faster!"

"quieter, now"

"really fast!"

"really slow!"

It was one of the most
beautiful experiences of my life.

The show picked up from there,
we struggled through such classics
as Singin' in the Rain and How Much is that Doggy in the Window?

I'll have to remember those at the next Nice Peter show.

If playing "I Quit" instrumental
in a chapel at a retirement home is strange,
I can't wait to play How Much is that Doggy in the Window
at a frat bar in Bloomington Indiana.

All in all,
a lovely experience.
Human beings are funny,
and having played for five year
olds and 92 year olds, I've learned
that an audience is an audience,
it's a living breathing animal
that can show incredible love
or frightening hate,
or in this case,
it can go to sleep.

-p

A nice quote from Ethan

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN ONCE SAID,

"Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for dinner."

"Liberty," he said, "is a well-armed lamb, contesting the vote."

the foibles.

Ah...
the wonderful world
of the Chicago music scene.

The Backstory:

I was asked by my booking agent, (Bryan)
who was asked by a local musician, (MER)
if I would play two short sets at his
residency at a local sports bar (Cubby Bear)

I am on vacation, you know that,
but I like MER, and I wanted to help
make his show as good and fun as possible.

I was very happy to play my songs
and do some short sets, loosen up
the crowd, bring some laughter to the evening.

Cool, I'll do the gig.

The Pre-Drama:

I didn't post the show on nicepeter.com or myspace.
It wasn't that kind of show, it was a simple
thursday night gig, I wanted to try out a few
new songs, I didn't want the pressure
of drawing a crowd or performing for fans
who have seen me before.

In my mind, it was MER's show,
and I was helping my friend by
doing my best to make it a good show.

The Drama:

MER is furious that I did not advertise the show.
He was counting on me to draw a crowd,
to help fill such an enormous room on a weekday.

He wrote Bryan and email asking why I didn't advertise,
and another email soon after, kicking me off the show.

I took off work tonight to play,
to help my fellow musician,
who is a cool guy, no matter
what this story allows you to think.

The Emails:

Bryan,

I'm sorry to inform you that I've decided to take Pete
off the bill for tonight. I understand that this
action might be in bad form, but due to the
circumstances, I cannot justify paying someone and
buying them dinner for just showing up and playing.
I'm sure you understand.

I'm given a budget at the CB to bring out acts that
can help draw and fill that big ass room on weekdays.
I was confident that Pete would help and that's why I
invited him. Unfortunately, the lack of promotion has
prompted me to take action.

Please send forward this message to him and please
send him my apologies. If he has any questions, have
him call me.

Thanks for your help and sorry for the trouble!

MER

----------------------------
Dear Mer,

dude.

I like you, always have,
still do,
let me get out there first.

I took off work tonight
to play because I wanted to
help you out.

I don't need the gig,
I'm not looking for gigs right now,
I was scheduled to work.

I was hired by you for $75
to be your special guest
at your show.

My job was to show up,
play hard, get the crowd
feeling great, laughing,
and ready to enjoy your music.

I was happy to do that for you
because I like you and your music.

$75 was a fine deal for that.

you never said one word
about promoting the show
or drawing a crowd to Bryan.

any promotion or draw
is your fucking responsibility.
it is your residency.
"with special guest, Nice Peter"

you and I know both know
what I would have done,
I would have played,
people would have laughed,
and they would have been all
the more happy to rock out with you.

instead, I fucked my evening
trying to do a favor for you,
and you made the choice
to send some cocky bullshit
email to Bryan and
"take me off the bill"

it wasn't a "bill", holmes,
and the only thing you
took me off of was
the list of people who
are excited to help you out.

I'm not going to fret about this,
I'll put it behind me,
I still like you,
but it was a real cocksucker thing to do.

much love and have a good show.

-pete

---------------
The Conclusion:

some things are just stupid.

-p

Home

Gosh darn it,

I'm back, guys.

I'm not sure where I went,
but for a few weeks or months there,
I really didn't give a shit about playing.

It was sad, I was worried
that the feeling wouldn't leave.

But it did.

It left a taste in my mouth
like falling asleep drunk
after eating nachos,
but at least I'm waking up.

I'm writing again.

I've songs in my head
that I actually like,
instead of the crap I was
trying to force out.

I had this crap song about
blowjobs, it was terrible.

I'm writing to this blog post,
I feel implored to write to it.

I'm getting emails from fans
and I'm writing them back,
instead of drinking more
and wishing they would
leave me alone.

I'm returning phone calls,
actually, that's not true,
I haven't answered my phone
or checked my voice mail
in seven days, it's very liberating.

Hey... let's check it right now.

holy shit.

seventeen new messages.

.......

wow, I gotta call that dude back.

so, anyway, the point is,
if you've been checking here
only to find the same crap,
thanks for your patience.

if you've been listening to
the same mp3s, I hope you still
like them, and I hope I have more for you soon.

if you've been coming to shows,
and seeing the same bits,
well, tough, I'll probably still do them,
but I will have some new songs,
and Kristen will be singing a little bit.

and we have a kick ass new cover song.

and I'm very excited to get back on the road in April.

and i love this computer,
and this wine.

-p

Fuckers

RCN can lick my fucking balls.

So can George Bush, and Senator Bill Frist.

And here is why.

RCN can lick my balls because they have twice
now sent me to collections for a charge of $77.

The first time, I got eight phone calls a day
from some obnoxious prick with a Long Island accent.

I wrote him a very lengthy, respectful, well documented letter,
disputing my charge, explaining that RCN had been fucking
me in the ass for several months now, and I had no intentions
of paying them for it.

I didn't put it that way, but you know what I mean.

Here's the deal,
I signed up with RCN for high speed internet.

Now, I don't know about you,
but when I think of High Speed internet,
I'm imagining the internet, delivered to my computer,
at a high speed.

That was not what I got.

I got the internet, trickling into my computer,
like an old man, peeing information.

I didn't discover the truth until a technician
came to my house for something else.

"Man... your connection out at the box is really wired wrong,
what kind of download speeds are you getting here?"

um....

He showed me the speedtest website,
which showed me the size of the highspeed penis
that RCN was shoving in my ass for $60 a month.

I was getting just above dial-up speed.

That's not cool.

That may have been cool when my parents
had Compuserve, but it's not cool anymore.

I called RCN,
I emailed RCN,
I talked to their billing,
their technicians, their ignorant secretaries,
their unintelligible operators in India,
their sales pricks when I was sick of being put on hold.

(have you ever noticed that when you call a company
to order new service, you're never on hold?)

So, fuck RCN.

I wrote my letter,
I had my evidence,
the names of the technicians,
the bills, the records, the credits
they gave my account when I
wanted to cancel and they promised to fix the problem.

I stopped getting phone calls.

I assumed the matter was resolved.

Such an idiot, was I.

I remember being very satisfied with myself.

When the phone calls stopped coming,
I was very proud of my business letter skills.

"that showed them to fuck with me..."
thought me.

Little did I know that it didn't go away,
it got sent somewhere else.

And that somewhere else,
two prick lawyers named Goodwin and Bryan,
sent me a letter today.

I had a very nice phone call with the lady at their office.

I tried to remain calm,
I know it wasn't her fault,
but man, was I pissed.

She asked, "we're you getting service?"

I said, "not the high speed service I was paying for"

she said, "but you WERE getting some service?"

I said, "yes, but if you went into a Wendy's, and you
ordered a large fries, and you got a small fries,
wouldn't you be pissed?"

she didn't chuckle, I thought she would.

She suggested I just pay them their $77.

I suggest they go fuck themselves while
I spend my $77 gambling online.

Oh... wait...
shit, I can't fucking gamble online.

Because out president is a douche,
and Senator Bill Frist is a walking menstruation.

On Friday, Oct 13, President George W Dickface
signed the SAFE Port Act into law.

cool, a law that protects us from port dangers.
that's cool, I get it. Keep our borders safe,
inspect cargo for bombs and nuclear devices,
make sure no one is sneaking across borders,
into ports, keep us protected from terrorism,
and most of all, make sure Pete can't play poker
online from the safety of his bedroom in Chicago,
very far from any fucking ports.

what?

On page 213 of the most boring thing I have ever tried
to read, their is a stipulation of the bill that gives
new enforcement powers to anti-gambling laws.

This part of the law was snuck onto the SAFE Port
Act by Senator Bill Frist, a Republican wiener.

He is winning points with his conservative
base by working to eliminate the "threat"
of online gambling.

When I picture an online gambler,
I imagine a dorky, smart guy at a computer.

That's not my kind of threat.

Bill Frist is expected to run for president in 2008.

George W Bush is expected to say something stupid soon,
and ruin the world.

RCN is expected to be a pain in my ass.

And I'm expected to be pissed off about it.

-p

tee hee hee

Dear NICE PETER,

it sounds like you yourself have had
some bad experiences with
Guitar Center. It makes me kind of ill to hear your song because as
good as it is haha I would sell you strings and not trip on your area
code or zip. You are so right about one kid playing three strings and
some other guy playing a bass he can't afford but that's the fun of
guitar center. We have a place in our town that is right next to our
store called the Lesson Factory. LESSONS FOR NEWBEES. I think my
guitar center has more wankers than any other. People are curious
about music and really just want to play around. I hope one day that
you make it to my store in Eugene Oregon store number 241 and see
that not all guitar centers treat people like cheap hores when they
want to get a little something. We are the friendliest, coolest
people around to shop with.

-Blake Schwab AM at Guitar Center 241 Eugene Oregon