Photos - November 6, 2008
Two new photos are up in the photos section. I owe a thanks to Jason Stoff for taking them, and for coming over to my house and putting up with me.
John Krane: News
If You're New Here - November 2, 2008
Listen to my songs for free in "Songs," read reviews in "Press" and buy the album (please) at "Buy" or by hitting up your favorite online music website (iTunes, Rhapsody, Napster, etc.)
This front page is where I post musings and writings, like this one.
A NOIR STARRING TOM
The beer was cold, bitter, and ugly, much like Tom himself as he struggled to maintain his vice-like ass grip on the shoddy wooden surface of the bar stool.
He'd been to worse bars, but no place in the world had the smell of desperation and dog farts like Danny's on 46th street, the sort of place where you'd get into a fight every night if you weren't afraid of getting lockjaw. All around him, the ghosts of industry floated, men who'd failed at their jobs and marriages and now spent their days and nights squandering what little time they had left playing darts with pocketknives and a can of Spaghetti-Os.
"This is a cold beer," he said, waving a cigarette like a baton at the grey, bald bartender, who was smoking a cigar as his fat rolled over his belt like a tidal wave of Jelly hitting New Orleans in the middle of a hot summer day.
"Yep," said the bartender.
"I've never seen a beer served on the rocks before," Tom said, causally picking his nose.
"We mind our business here," said the bartender.
Tom nodded, a grim smile briefly dancing across his features as he expelled a gust of flatulent wind. A sharp crack! went through the bar, but the mood wasn't lifted by Tom's anal acrobatics; it was too dreary of a place for scatalogical pick-me-ups.
Suddenly, the door opened. Several of the bar patrons instinctively headed for the bathroom, thinking that this was last call, but it wasn't; no, there was plenty of time for drinking, and now, there was plenty of reason to.
She stood like an Amazon, eight feet tall and blonde hair all the way down six of 'em, hands like beartraps and eyes like a pregnant steer. Her dress clung to her body, giving her the appearance of a freshly rolled stick of Marmalade sushi, and she scanned the bar with her nose pointed toward the ceiling.
"You," she said, a low Soulja boy grumble, pointing at Tom. "What did you just do?"
"Say, there, I'd think a girl like you could take a guess," Tom said, rubbing his Spiderman handkerchief on his barstool. "I made wind, baby, and you should know that I plan to make a lot more in this here city."
"I've been looking for you," she said. "My name is Viceroy."
----TO BE CONTINUED-----------
This front page is where I post musings and writings, like this one.
A NOIR STARRING TOM
The beer was cold, bitter, and ugly, much like Tom himself as he struggled to maintain his vice-like ass grip on the shoddy wooden surface of the bar stool.
He'd been to worse bars, but no place in the world had the smell of desperation and dog farts like Danny's on 46th street, the sort of place where you'd get into a fight every night if you weren't afraid of getting lockjaw. All around him, the ghosts of industry floated, men who'd failed at their jobs and marriages and now spent their days and nights squandering what little time they had left playing darts with pocketknives and a can of Spaghetti-Os.
"This is a cold beer," he said, waving a cigarette like a baton at the grey, bald bartender, who was smoking a cigar as his fat rolled over his belt like a tidal wave of Jelly hitting New Orleans in the middle of a hot summer day.
"Yep," said the bartender.
"I've never seen a beer served on the rocks before," Tom said, causally picking his nose.
"We mind our business here," said the bartender.
Tom nodded, a grim smile briefly dancing across his features as he expelled a gust of flatulent wind. A sharp crack! went through the bar, but the mood wasn't lifted by Tom's anal acrobatics; it was too dreary of a place for scatalogical pick-me-ups.
Suddenly, the door opened. Several of the bar patrons instinctively headed for the bathroom, thinking that this was last call, but it wasn't; no, there was plenty of time for drinking, and now, there was plenty of reason to.
She stood like an Amazon, eight feet tall and blonde hair all the way down six of 'em, hands like beartraps and eyes like a pregnant steer. Her dress clung to her body, giving her the appearance of a freshly rolled stick of Marmalade sushi, and she scanned the bar with her nose pointed toward the ceiling.
"You," she said, a low Soulja boy grumble, pointing at Tom. "What did you just do?"
"Say, there, I'd think a girl like you could take a guess," Tom said, rubbing his Spiderman handkerchief on his barstool. "I made wind, baby, and you should know that I plan to make a lot more in this here city."
"I've been looking for you," she said. "My name is Viceroy."
----TO BE CONTINUED-----------
Why To Buy - October 28, 2008
It's been a while since I've plugged my CD. I will never make thirty million dollars unless I do, though. So here's what IndieUpdate said about myself and my music:
""This St. Louis-area singer and songwriter brings, first of all, a bit of The Beatles from earlier days, as well as a bit of the Gilbert O’Sullivan feel. However, there is some hidden humor here, so listen closely. In fact, those who have listened to this young artist from the beginning invoke the name of Randy Newman. Listeners new to John Krane should also be prepared for interesting electronic keyboards, sounds and background pieces. It will be fascinating to some." [buy the album]
Don't take their word for it. Especially since they said, "Some" when they meant "everybody in the world."
Here's what Willard from the Nilsson blog For The Love Of Harry said:
"Doris, Buzz & Friends should appeal to pop lovers of all kinds (Krane's vocals compare admirably to Paul Simon's)." [buy the album]
The album has well over 1,000 downloads, but not so many buys. Why? Because why pay for something you can get for free, right?
Well, right. I'm somewhat in the same camp, because I'm poor. But at the risk of sounding like a punk, I've got to make a living. And I'd love to do nothing but play shows and make music, so help me do that by buying my album or promoting it to your friends. Maybe send me an email and say hi, or burn my CD for a friend, or talk to folks who book shows at your favorite local bar. All of these things help.
I'm really happy with everyone's support, and I'm very happy with Doris, Buzz and Friends and how successful it's been so far. So thanks, and please continue to spread and support indie music.
""This St. Louis-area singer and songwriter brings, first of all, a bit of The Beatles from earlier days, as well as a bit of the Gilbert O’Sullivan feel. However, there is some hidden humor here, so listen closely. In fact, those who have listened to this young artist from the beginning invoke the name of Randy Newman. Listeners new to John Krane should also be prepared for interesting electronic keyboards, sounds and background pieces. It will be fascinating to some." [buy the album]
Don't take their word for it. Especially since they said, "Some" when they meant "everybody in the world."
Here's what Willard from the Nilsson blog For The Love Of Harry said:
"Doris, Buzz & Friends should appeal to pop lovers of all kinds (Krane's vocals compare admirably to Paul Simon's)." [buy the album]
The album has well over 1,000 downloads, but not so many buys. Why? Because why pay for something you can get for free, right?
Well, right. I'm somewhat in the same camp, because I'm poor. But at the risk of sounding like a punk, I've got to make a living. And I'd love to do nothing but play shows and make music, so help me do that by buying my album or promoting it to your friends. Maybe send me an email and say hi, or burn my CD for a friend, or talk to folks who book shows at your favorite local bar. All of these things help.
I'm really happy with everyone's support, and I'm very happy with Doris, Buzz and Friends and how successful it's been so far. So thanks, and please continue to spread and support indie music.
The Morning After - October 18, 2008
I woke from eight hours of sleep, my eyes still red from the night before. I heard a desperate groan escape my throat an mix with the sounds of tired birds singing hideously enough that they might as well have been Soundgarden.
Throwing on my robe, I opened the door to my room, knocking over an old accordion that isn't mine (gotta stop hanging out with mid-1920's era street buskers), and looked to see my house vacated. Some good Samaritan had cleaned the physical debris, but the acrid smell of stale beer pierced my nostrils like a bullet through tapioca. Also I think there was some tapioca on the floor. I hoped.
Cracking an egg into a dirty pan, my only relevant thought was, goddamn it, there's no way around it. I'm going to have to buy a mop today.
Throwing on my robe, I opened the door to my room, knocking over an old accordion that isn't mine (gotta stop hanging out with mid-1920's era street buskers), and looked to see my house vacated. Some good Samaritan had cleaned the physical debris, but the acrid smell of stale beer pierced my nostrils like a bullet through tapioca. Also I think there was some tapioca on the floor. I hoped.
Cracking an egg into a dirty pan, my only relevant thought was, goddamn it, there's no way around it. I'm going to have to buy a mop today.
A Plot Synopsis of Toto's Africa Music Video - October 9, 2008
Toto, with flying hands playing flute-synth leads, has been trapped in a library somewhere in Not Africa. Despondently, their lead singer, who almost certainly is also an English teacher, wanders the hallowed halls, wondering whether he can find a book that can adequately explain how to pick out good wrist-warmers.
Suddenly, and without warning, nothing happens. He continues wandering the library, occasionally looking at the sexless but attractive librarian who sits with crossed legs reading a book that may be about Africa. Nobody knows.
Toto, meanwhile, is playing on a book.
Finally, at his wit's end, our hero goes to pick out a book. He pulls one off the shelf, inconspicuously titled "Africa." A spear lights the whole fucking library on fire. The librarian looks slightly alarmed at this, although not really panicked. Since the library is an open '80s music video set, she will probably escape. Still, she curses herself for stacking the books in easy to spear piles.
Our hero pulls the same book off of the same shelf again. This time, other members of Toto are behind the book, singing. He pulls the same book off of the same shelf several times. These shots are cut with pictures of a not particularly high-quality globe, which shows us what the continent of Africa is shaped like.
Finally, Toto, their thirsts for Blessing Rains Down In Africa finally sated, begins to fade out. In the thrilling conclusion, we see our hero, parched from the cleansing fires that surround him, tired, ugly, and infectiously bored, pulling the same goddamn book off of the same goddamn shelf.
Wonderful, Life. - September 24, 2008
Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I've been working on new music for the folks that bought the album, and I've been trying to figure out a way to offer them exclusive content.
In the meantime, here are links to buy Doris, Buzz and Friends, which ForTheLoveofHarry says "should appeal to pop lovers of all kinds ", and which one music lover like yourself have called "one of the most fun albums I've heard in a long time," click the button below.
In the meantime, here are links to buy Doris, Buzz and Friends, which ForTheLoveofHarry says "should appeal to pop lovers of all kinds ", and which one music lover like yourself have called "one of the most fun albums I've heard in a long time," click the button below.
