Paz in Miami With Mike Posner and Big Sean

This Friday December 4, I’ll be playing 2 shows in Florida.

The first in Boca Raton at FIU, and the second later that night in Miami at Ink Nightclub.

Both are opening for Mike Posner and Big Sean. Two dudes who just got signed to Kanye West’s label.

If Justin Timberlake and Macy Gray had a kid with a raspy voice, they’d probably have Mike. And if Kanye got seconds on Macy, out pops Big Sean.

I mean this all in the best possible way.

Check out Mike Posner’s song Drug Dealer Girl (right click to download). Catchiest thing you’ll hear this week.

Want tickets? Not a problem, click here.

Want a backrub? Problem.

No wait, no problem. Click here (dare you).

UPDATE: I Am The Future of A-1 Steak Sauce

I had no idea crap came in this many flavors

I had no idea crap came in this many flavors

It’s official.

The fate of the world’s preeminent steak sauce now rests squarely on the shoulders of one man.

And that man is me… I. No, that man is… yes, “I” is correct.

At 4:35pm Pacific Time, I got the call that would change the face of meaty condiments as we know them forever.

My audition, according to the casting girl on the phone, was successful and I would be cast for the part of “Steak Sauce Guy.”

There was no mention in this conversation of whether or not I actually wanted to be “Steak Sauce Guy,” or what that entails. But hey, its Hollywood. This should be a hoot.

I’ll keep everyone posted as details develop.

Here’s a link to the song I wrote — in a deep state of intoxication, mind you — for the audition (right click to download).

The Top 5 Dumbest Questions I’ve Been Asked in Hollywood

DSC03007I live on Hollywood Boulevard.

Gruman’s Chinese is a block away. The Walk of Fame is across the street. Elvis’s star is practically in my driveway.

While this makes for incomparable people watching, it also makes for being asked some of the most absurd questions I’ve ever heard in my life.

Allow me to share a few of the rarer jems.


The difference between the $5 and the $50 tour? For $50 I'll show you Paul Newman's house. For $5 you get Paulie Shore's

1. A Matter Of Common Knowledge

If I were a realtor, or a tour guide, or maybe even a souvenir salesman, this question could make sense.

But here I am, walking out of Baja Fresh — spicy chicken burrito in hand — when I’m accosted by denim culats-wearing Wanda from Nebraska.

“Young man, where is Brad Pitt’s house?”

She doesn’t even qualify it with, “Oh, you probably don’t know this,” or “This is a shot in the dark, but…”

Nope. It just comes out like “What color is mayonnaise?”

Its as though, doesn’t everyone who lives here know where Brad Pitt lives?! Don’t they just hand out maps to the stars at the DMV??

For the record, no they do not.


Gene Simmons learns the hard way he must be on a leash the next time he walks himself in public

2. A Question of Identity Crisis

The Walk of Fame is littered with guys dressed like movie stars.

For a mere five bucks, you can get your picture with Cher or Superman. Wanna splurge? There’s a dead ringer for Rick James at the corner of Highland.

Well here’s Wanda’s sister in law from North Dakota, and she’s just transfixed on this Spiderman character.

“Hey,” she leans in real close and whispers to me, “Is he the real Spiderman from the movie?”


Yes, Toby MacGuire has fallen on hard times. He now wanders the streets for nickles to feed his weekly colonic habit.

He also had to pawn the original costume. That’s why he’s walking around shoeless in this neon purple getup.

“I really think it’s him,” she says, “cause when I asked he wouldn’t tell me. That’s what the real one would do…”

Can’t beat that logic. Get his autograph. See you on eBay.


What? You thought I made her up? Oh. Wanda exists.

3. A Question of Where to Begin

Again, in context, this could make sense.

Like, if I were a life coach, or an agent, or anything but a guy standing in line for a mocha latte at Starbucks.

But I am not an agent. I am a guy in line at Starbucks, and I have no idea what to say to this otherwise congenial woman who has struck up an unsolicited conversation with me.

After the obligatory pleasantries, she dispenses with small talk and cuts right to the meat:

“Where should I take my daughter to be an actress?”

For reals?

Actually, I happen to be casting for a project this afternoon. Drop your kid at my place in the valley, and come back in 5 or 6 hours. Does she have a pretty mouth?

Yeah, I didn’t say that.

But I shoulda.


This dude is either from Iowa or a driving range

4. A Question of Final Destinations

I couldn’t make this up if I tried and tried.

I was walking past the Roosevelt Hotel when I noticed an out-of-town couple engaged in a VERY vocal argument.

“That’s ridiculous Laura, just ridiculous,” says the guy.

No, no, no, no, that’s really what they do!! I read it in a magazine on the plane,” says the lady.

Oh boy.

“Excuse me,” Laura says, addressing me as I approach.

Bring it.

“Isn’t it true the actors are buried under these stars when they die?”

I am Jack’s still-beating heart.

Yes. That’s absolutely true. The city even buries them without coffins, so their remains seep directly into the water table.

That way the avuncular genius of Ed McMahon will live forever in our hearts and faucets.


When the chips are down, just repeat after me, "If Puff Daddy can have a star on the walk of fame, I can have a star on the walk of fame."

5. A Matter of Blah Blah Blah

I started writing this one, but it dragged on longer than the ending of Lord Of The Rings, so I cut it. You’re welcome.

Why didn’t I title this “Top 4 Dumbest Questions,” you ask?

Because 5 sounds better.

Good day.

2Pac Has Sold 72 Million More Albums Than Me

One of these 3 buildings is a gold record factory

One of these 3 buildings is a gold record factory

From the outside, Atlantic’s Paramount Studio isn’t quite what I imagined.

The nondescript storefront tucked inconspicuously between California Surplus Mart and an empty parking lot doesn’t exactly scream, “I’M A MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR RECORDING STUDIO.”

But everything changes when the door opens.

Stepping inside is like stepping into an Egyptian tomb. Cool, inset lights illuminate thick stone walls dripping with history. From the lobby reaches an expansive, dimly-lit hallway tattooed with platinum records.

It turns out each record is from a band that’s recorded here. And the list is the opposite of totally unimpressive:

Zeppelin. Hendrix. Ice Cube. 2Pac. Coolio.

Yeah. Coolio, bitches.

That giant plaque in the middle is for the Dangerous Minds soundtrack. Gangsta's Paradise, indeed.

That giant plaque in the middle is for the Dangerous Minds soundtrack. Gangsta's Paradise, indeed.

A sweet receptionist called Amanda guides me down the hall. I brush shoulders with the singer from the Goo Goo Dolls as he passes.

Ain’t no thing.

When I get to Studio D, Brian is waiting for me.

Brian Killa is a chill, lanky white kid from Portland. A college basketball injury kept him laid up in his dorm for a year – just long enough to get hooked on pro tools. 48 months and countless Apple/Spacebars later, Brian landed a gig as an Atlantic sound engineer.

With ominous lighting like that, what kind of unbelievable shit must be happening behind that door? I was expecting oompa loompas to jump out and start doing the roger rabbit.

With ominous lighting like that, what kind of unbelievable shit must be happening behind that door? Anything short of oompa loompas fighting to the death would be a disappointment.

Brian asks what I’ve got for him. I whip out the 6-string and run down a quick medley of tunes – he really likes one called “So Much Trouble” – a breakup song with a crisp hip-hop beat. He plugs me in, and we’re off to the races.

By “off to the races,” I mean we’ve got 8 hours including lunch to get shit done. Atlantic’s footing the bill, (huge thanks to Alex Barefoot, who followed through on his offer to get me some studio time), so I’m hardly complaining. But 8 hours means no time for warm-ups, pitch-correcting, or channeling your inner zen shokra. It means plug it in, and make it happen.

So we waste little time in getting down to bidness.

Welcome to Atlantic Studio D -- B.Killa mans the controls

B.Killa mans the controls

Step 1 is to play a scratch of the song to a metronome (click-click-click-click). Then we go back and rebuild the song piece by piece – Intro, Verse, Pre-Chorus, Chorus, Bridge, Outro.

It’s a lot like building a house. Foundation, pipes, electricity, pipes, stairs.

Actually, that’s probably not how you build a house unless you’re retarded. But you get the idea.

6 hours and 22 track layers later, we’ve built some decent music. But there’s still a wide open stretch of the song with no vocals.

“What goes there?” asks Brian.

I explain that’s where the rap interlude is supposed to be.

“And who’s doing that?”

We stare at each other for 10 full seconds before I realize Lil Wayne is not going to materialize out of thin air to do 16 bars.

That means I get to do it.

When times get hard, repeat this mantra: If Dr. Doolittle can go platinum, I can go platinum.

When times get tough, repeat this mantra: If Dr. Dolittle can go platinum, I can go platinum.

I’m on the clock, but I’m not too worried. Rap is fun to write – whenever you can’t think of a rhyme, it’s totally acceptable – even encouraged – to substitute a four-letter word.

So I do. Often.

In 20 minutes, I’ve got something passable. And with the clock ticking, passable will do nicely.

I step up to the mic, and Brian drops the beat.

When my mouth opens, I’m surprised at what comes out: a syllogistic hybrid of Mickey Avalon, G.Love, and that guy from Rehab.

More surprising is that it actually works… somehow. Brian is bobbing his head in the control room. He likes it.

We wrap the track with 6 minutes to spare. After a final listen, it seems like this could be a legitimate song.

I pack up and head back down the hallway towards the exit. A 2Pac plaque catches my eye.

2Pac has sold 72 million more albums than me.

I’ve actually known that for quite some time, but seeing a nicely framed plaque proclaiming this fact in 12-inch platinum letters really drives the point home.

Note to self: when I sell 72 albums, I’m getting a plaque.

One Track: Runner Runner and Search The City

Who is the tallest member of Search The City? Optical illusion: they're all the SAME SIZE!

Who is the tallest member of Search The City? Optical illusion: they're all the SAME SIZE!

I declare this to be emo week. The pants are tight, the eyes are linered, and the songs are about girls, girls, girls.

Oh, and angst.

Track 1: So Obvious
Artist: Runner Runner
Genre: Emo
Sounds Like: Metro Station, Amber Pacific, Yellowcard
More: Saw these guys opening for Fall Out Boy a couple months ago — all the high school girls in trucker caps were singing this at the top of their lungs… I only said that so you’d feel self-conscious when you catch yourself singing along. You’re welcome.

Track 2: Detroit Was Built On Secrets (pro tip: wait for the chorus)
Artist: Search The City
Genre: Emo
Sounds Like: Anberlin, We The Kings, All Time Low
More: Even when an emo song sounds like its not about a girl, it’s about a girl. Remember that. It’s really one of the only immutable laws of emo: Thy music shalt be about girls and girls alone… and the snugness of thy jeans shalt be inversely proportional to the depth of thy voice.

Halo 3 Theme + Kanye West Mashup = Win?

Someone challenged us during last week’s webshow to play the Halo theme song (that’s a popular video game, mom).

I figured out that if we mixed up the Halo track a little and played it at the right speed, it fit pretty well with the tempo of Golddigger.

Had fun playing it in the bedroom, may try to work it into the live show somehow.

Would you buy this track for $0.99?

That’s a loaded question — I’d limewire it myself :)

Two Tracks: K’Naan and Cage The Elephant

K'Naan is a rapping Somalian. English is his third language and you will never rhyme as well in your native tongue as he can. Have a nice day.

K'Naan is a rapping Somalian. English is his third language and you will never rhyme as well in your native tongue as he can. Have a nice day.

It turns out writing blog posts on a regular basis is really hard. The more you actually do during the day, the less time there is for writing (who knew?).

Blogging without a bull-whipping editor behind you requires serious motivation — or readers who IM you a few times an hour asking what the hell happened to the updates (thanks Mike-O) :)

I have sudden newfound respect for bloggers everywhere — except you Matt Drudge. Your giant headlines still suck, even if you do update them 6,000 times daily.

But enough talk, more rock:

Track 1: Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked
Artist: Cage The Elephant
Sounds Like:
Citizen King, Rehab, and Jason Mraz jamming in an Austin juke-joint.
More: Remember that song “Curbside Prophet” by Jason Mraz? Blend it with Citizen King’s classic “Better Days” and the White Stripes “You Don’t Know What Love Is” and give it a gutsy blusey catchy slide-guitary sweetness. And clocking in at just under 3 minutes, these guys know radio-friendly.

Track 2: Wavin’ Flag
Artist: K’Naan
Sounds Like: Wyclef Jean and Bob Marley sharing a spliff with that guy who sang the chorus in Shaggy’s “Angel” (girl you’re my angel, you’re my dar-ling an-gel — who was that dude??).
More: I’m a big fan of this guy — not too many dudes rapping about Somali pirates these days. At least 3 solid singles on his album Troubador — super fresh sound.