Chapter 6: A New Bio

Posted by admin on March 9th, 2010 | 1 Comment »

I’ve never been good at writing bio’s for myself.  I always feel slightly ridiculous doing them and never really know what to say or what’s relevent.  As part of this “real-time story” I am telling, my PR company had a pro bio writer come in and do a 45 min interview with me.  This is the bio that he drafted.  Thoughts anybody?

“Like the rest of life, music shouldn’t make you feel like you’re just punching the clock or spinning your wheels. It should be a journey. One in which the artist weaves together his or her experiences into impeccably performed songs that not only appeal to the ear with strong hooks and addictive melodies, but also resonate deeply on an emotional level. Tunes that have the power to directly move the listener to their very core, and perhaps even serve as reassuring beacons during difficult times. Such a skill is, of course, a rare gift for any artist, and one that takes most of them decades to attain, if at all. And yet it’s a skill that Zach Maxwell, still only in his mid twenties, already has—in abundance.

“I write songs to tell stories, about life, about humans and how interesting and unique they are,” says Zach, whose powerful, soul-infused, near four-octave voice and virtuosic guitar playing make his narratives impossible to ignore. “What moves people, and has always moved people, are good songs and good stories.”

Eight of those exceptionally moving story-songs make up Silent Bear, Zach’s newest release. There’s the fragile, acoustic “Unknown Roads,” a motivational reminder of the fleeting impermanence of life, and “All Over This Land,” an uplifting—but non-religious—gospel-toned celebration. And then there’s “Big Bear,” a playful, image-rich romp that the songwriter created as a humorous but sincere expression of pure, unbounded joy. His sophomore effort, the collection is a striking distillation of Zach’s mature and exquisitely crafted style, a sound that sets his woody, resonant baritone against a warm relief of modern folk guitar and contemporary pop rock.

“I started playing piano when I was three, but I didn’t become a professional singer until I was twenty-one,” says Zach, who was born and raised in New York City and began playing guitar in high school. The son of a Broadway producer, he grew up in a Fellini-esque setting of flamboyant theater folk, privileged Upper East Side well-to-dos, and colorful East Village alternative types—personalities that would do much to shape his own. He got a taste of the world beyond Gotham, however, when he attended Vermont’s Middlebury College, where he majored in composition, penning a piece that was performed by the prestigious Meridian Arts Ensemble, and performing for President Bill Clinton at his graduation. While at college, he began singing in an a capella group mentored by Grammy winner Francois Clemmons.

Zach made his first CD, On The Day I Leave The Battlefield, with acclaimed drummer Steven Wolf (Annie Lennox, Rufus Wainwright), appeared with a gospel choir on NBC’s “The Today Show,” toured Canada and played on Canadian TV, put together a kickin’ live band, and was even elected into the esteemed New York Songwriters Circle. But somehow things still weren’t quite right.

And so in the fall of 2008 he split for Colorado, where he lived the life of a ski bum, enjoying nature, gathering his thoughts, and going deep into soul-searching self-examination. When he returned to New York the following year, he was fully energized, hitting the city’s bars and clubs with a vengeance as a solo acoustic act and releasing Silent Bear to glowing accolades. What might’ve been career suicide for many artists for Zach was an enriching detour in his ever-unfolding creative quest.

“My music is a real-time story,” Zach says. “I want to give people a spiritual experience, one of cleansing awe. Writing great songs is my personal challenge to myself.” A challenge lovers of profound, heartfelt music and great, emotive singing will enjoy taking again and again.”

Stay tuned…

Chapter 3: “I Wanted to See You Smile”

Posted by admin on February 26th, 2010 | No Comments »

“I wanted to see you smile.”

That’s what my friend said to me after my gig this past Wednesday.  It was my first gig in a couple months and I was nervous for a number of reasons, and apparently I didn’t smile onstage.

Here is why I was nervous:

1) It was my first gig with my new friend Arthur, a truly remarkable bassist and music business veteran.  He said to me before the gig that we had not rehearsed enough (we had played together twice) and suggested I play the stint solo so that we could have more time to practice before getting in front of an audience.  I asked him to play anyway, saying it would be fun, loose and casual.  He is a nice guy so he acquiesced even though he knew that it would be sub-par.  He was right.  In my next post I will discuss what I learned regarding my attitude to things being “fun, loose and casual,” but more on that later.

2) I was nervous because the venue, a college dive-bar in the west village booked me on the basis that I would bring 15 people to the gig because they didn’t have a built in crowd.  Give or take, I had around that many people confirm with me beforehand, and almost all of them canceled last minute.  Showing up “empty handed” so to speak was relatively embarrassing and added to my anxiety.

So why didn’t I smile? My friend said he wanted to see me smile, he wanted to feel me more and that the few times I got into it were the best parts of the show.  I was playing music, my favorite thing to do on the planet and I didn’t allow myself to open up because I had convinced myself that in order to protect myself from “looking bad” or “being embarrassed”  by the small turnout, I had to just “play it cool.”  The bullshit I made up in my head was that if I was to really get into it for an audience of just 5 people at a dirty bar then I would look like a loser, AND I would make my 5 friends uncomfortable.  In reality, I deprived my true gifts from the people who wanted to come to see me at my best and missed an opportunity to show the strangers that were there how truly powerful my music can be, like it or not.

In the war against my Ego and my Highest Self, unfortunately my sheepish ego got the best of me this time.  This won’t last for long though.  I promise.

Zach