I was determined to write a entry about my amazing “Wicked” experience this week, but instead I procrastinated horribly and messed around with the layout of “The Key of Kels”. I don’t regret it, because I think this site is … Continue reading
Sarah always reminds me that when we first met, I was a certified (well, in my mind) pop star. I am still in her phone as Kelly Bylsmarockstar – even though I am technically Kelly Mathewsrockstar now.
We always end up drunkenly watching the video of me in bright red, plastic pants singing “Come On Over” by Christina Aguilera at my high school talent show, Showcase. I had back up singers. I had back up dancers. I had choreography. I had boy dancers. I even had Alex Wolniak.
Most importantly, I had red plastic pants. And absolutely no shame.
Why am I not a star right now??
Back when I met Sarah in 2007, I was living in Orlando. I had just graduated with a Vocal Performance degree from Rollins College. I had a record deal. I was always in the studio. I was working with Otis Redding’s son to co-write and produce my very own debut album… It was super exciting. I told everyone and anyone who would listen about my life and my career and exactly how famous I’d be in just a few years doing exactly what I wanted to do.
This was me. Still, no shame. I’m wearing a shirt as a dress.
Seriously, I’ve been listening to “Kelly Bylsmarockstar” songs all day. Here’s a club banger. And there are many more where this came from.
Meow.
But somewhere along the way the record deal dissolved, the label disappeared, and I was left with a whole lot of fun recordings that will always remind me that I would have been a killer pop princess if only I’d been working with the right people.
Since then, I’ve taken songwriting courses, I’ve learned a few chords on the guitar, I moved to Los Angeles, I’ve sung with a cover band that wasn’t quite my style, I’ve written and I’ve written, I’ve gotten into new music, and I still haven’t found a great way to get singing again in this giant city.
It’s literally driving me insane.
Lately I’ve been reevaluating my path in life and what I want to be doing. A small identity crisis maybe? I think most people go through this a lot earlier in their 20s, but I just always knew exactly what I was and had a word for it. I was a rock star. I was going to be a rock star. No doubt about it.
Now I feel like I have a million little projects going on. I am working on starting a social media company and working FOR a social media company, I’m infusing liquors and making bitters, I’m working full time as a bartender, I am learning all I can to open a restaurant one day with Brad, I am learning about wine and studying to become a sommelier, I am making sure all of the bills get paid, I am writing this curious little blog that I adore and people are actually reading it (thank you!!)…
But I freaking miss music.
Seeing the amount of creativity and love that Brad has for and puts into his cooking and his path on the way to becoming a chef and a restaurant owner kills me. Seeing all of my friends pursuing acting careers and going on auditions and going to classes kills me.
This is why I came out to LA. What the heck am I doing just putting singing on the back burner?
So today, I made it my goal to find myself a voice teacher. And I am not in my “pop princess” place anymore, but I still have a killer set of pipes and, obviously, a lot to say.
I’ve put in a few calls. One I’m especially excited about. But for now, I’m going into work as Kelly Mathews Rockstar tonight.
Too bad I don’t have those red plastic pants anymore. R+D has never seen anything like those before…
In my fifth grade memory book, I wrote that in twenty years I would be as good at basketball as Joe Smith and as good at baseball as Cal Ripken Jr.
Well I guess I still have 4 years…
I was a baseball nut when I was a kid. My next door neighbors had season tickets to the Orioles games and we would go to a few games every season. I had a strict uniform for all games. An Orioles jersey (about 18 times too big), a baseball glove (in case a foul ball came our way), and a book about Cal Ripken, Jr (for autographs). And nearly every game I would either spill Hawiian punch or ketchup on my white jersey. My mother is a laundry genius.
I used to make my family stay after as many games as I could get them to agree to and we would wait for the players to leave so I could hopefully get an autograph. I wanted Cal’s or Brady Anderson’s, but the only signature I ever got was from Doug Jones. Remember him? I don’t really either. I just remember being so disappointed that I got Doug Jones’ autograph. Wasn’t he the worst closer ever or something?
I actually met Cal Ripken, Jr once. It was Mother’s Day and players were at all of the gates welcoming Mothers to the game with carnations. We just happened to go to the main gate that day and there he was, all dressed for the game and ready to go. I approached him like I imagine I’d approach a god of some kind. Everything else went blurry. I forgot how to talk. He was SO tall! He saw the Cal Ripken book in my hand and made a joke about me reading during the game. I didn’t even think to hand it over to him, and then he turned to my little sister Nicki.
“And how old are you? 4?” (or something like that, I was still in lala land)
Um, Nicki was not 4, she was 6. And she was mad at Cal Ripken for the rest of the night because he dared to think she was 4 years old! I, however, was mad at myself for the rest of the night. All of those times waiting out front after the games and my autograph opportunity was pretty much handed to me – and I still had a blank book? Really?!?
Anyway. A lot has changed since then. I have a lot of fantastic Orioles memories and I still consider myself a fan, but they are just not fun to watch anymore. And because life gets really busy after 5th grade, I’ve started paying attention to baseball less and less.
But last Friday, with Nicki in town, we wanted to do something very L.A. I looked through all of my touristy books and did a few Google searches, but we were kind of hungover and didn’t really want to exert a lot of energy into anything.
And then I thought of the Dodgers. Another team that’s really not doing so hot right now, therefore tickets are easy to come by. We went online for tickets and then headed downtown to check this stadium out.
Best idea ever.
Turns out, 45 years ago this weekend was the Beatles 2nd to last show ever, and it just happened to be at Dodger field. The entire night was Beatles themed. And oh, have you met my family? We are Beatle-maniacs. We play Beatles RockBand together and involve Beatles music in our weddings and know every word to every song. We converted Brad when I started dating him, and now he’s come over to the dark side. Him and a few friends back in Ithaca called themselves “The Yokos” and had listening nights for the re-mastered albums when they came out. Oh yea, he’s one of us now.
So everything was Beatles all night long. The font all around the stadium was Beatles font. The organist played Beatles songs throughout the game. There were videos of the concert and interviews from people who were there. Did you know the Hell’s Angels rescued the Beatles that night from the swarms of fans? Thanks, Dodger Stadium, for your Beatles trivia.
We realized early on that we hadn’t heard of a single player on either team, but the Beatles made it all better. We ate a Dodger dog and did all the baseball game stuff you have to do (even got frozen yogurt in a Dodger helmet). A foul ball even came within a few rows of us. But we were mostly just waiting for the little Beatles moments. And we were mostly waiting for the after-game.
Beatles Fireworks.
So the Dodgers won. It was a great and exciting 7th inning, blah, blah, blah… But once the game ended, the real show began. And what’s even better than Beatles fireworks? How about Dodger stadium letting everyone and anyone onto the outfield to sit and watch the show?? Seriously. Please come down to trample and sit on our perfectly manicured grass.
Don’t mind if I do.
It was the coolest thing I’ve done in L.A. so far. We sat on the left field grass in the darkened stadium and watched fireworks to a Beatles playlist. Little kids, grandparents, and every age in between knew all the words and turned it into a huge sing-a-long. My mom did make the point later that they should have included the song “Lucy In The Sky with Diamonds”, but other than that obvious omission, it was perfection.
Here’s the finale to “All You Need Is Love”. You know, if your nostalgic for the 4th of July or something…
Baseball is still great, but the Beatles make everything better.
Oh, and mom? I spilled frozen yogurt on my white shirt. Had to keep the tradition alive…
I have discovered in the past week that I am more of a gangster than I give myself credit for.
Hear me out, Cali friends.
I was driving to my business meeting yesterday in my cargo pants and flip-flops – pretty Cali of me – down the PCH with my windows down. The ocean was to my left, mountains to my right, and a little bit of a fog hung on to the blue sky you could see peeking out every now and then. And as the salty wind whipped through my blonde California hair, “Watch the Throne” was bumping on my stereo. I am hooked on Kanye and Jay-Z’s new album. It’s smart, it’s powerful, and I bet it was just a whole lot of fun for those two to get together for an entire album. I’m a music chick, I think about the recording process…
But driving through Malibu yesterday, I realized this was not the ideal soundtrack for this occasion.
On the East Coast, back in Ocean City or even up into Rehoboth, this would have been perfectly acceptable. I never would have thought twice about it. I bet if you were in OCMD this weekend you heard it blasting from most of the cars driving up Rt 1, stuck at red lights.
But something about the songs with those heavy beats and dark lyrics about all the murder in the world, fathers leaving sons and past lives as a dope dealer… It just seems a little out of place in Malibu.
It’s the same way that out here in Santa Monica I’ve had to read the Washington Post to get any real updates and information on what is going on with our government right now. Sure, the LA Times covers it. And some of their articles are very well written on the topic. But as soon as Lindsay Lohan breaks a nail, the budget ceiling is bumped down to a tiny headline in the newsfeed. I call home sometimes and my family talks about the pending government shut-downs like we talk about Carmageddon. I mean, the government shut-down could have probably been like DC’s 405 being closed on a weekday.
People here get angry when Obama comes to town. And its not about political parties or budget reform. It’s about rush hour traffic and street closures. We are 3000 miles from DC and Angeleno’s like to keep it that way. We have an entertainment industry to run. Keep the traffic moving.
I just looked to see if I was being outrageously cynical, and the big story on the LA Times website right now is about a man who has 19 naked David statues (think Michelangelo). Apparently, he is selling his house and his 19 statues because they have overshadowed his singing career.
Really.
So anyway, I didn’t turn down the WTT as I was driving. I let my senses get confused. I thought about what music those groups of surfers listened to as they cruised here this morning. I thought about all of the differenet genres of music I have on my iPod right now. I thought about the Dead Weather creepy rock show Brad and I went to a couple of months ago and then the Ellie Goulding British pop we just saw last week with Deva. I bet sometimes those Malibu surfers like a little Kanye and Jay-Z, also. I mean, “Watch the Throne” broke the record for most first week sales on iTunes this past week. Somebody’s buying it.
But Katy Perry just seems a little more Malibu to me. Or MGMT. Or just anything upbeat and breezy. But maybe that’s the prejudice of the East Coast in me.
I decided, so what? I’m a little Bmore gangster. I’m also a little pop, a lot of dance, a bit of indy, a little bit rock and roll, a tad musical theatre, a bit of jazz, a little bit West Coast and a whole lot of East Coast all rolled into one. And I will give my new West Coaster’s view of Malibu whatever soundtrack I’m feeling that day.
THE KEY OF KELS 