Newsletter #14
October 2006

Greetings from California. Just thought I'd check in and say hi. Everything's cool. I have a couple dates on my calendar and am scrambling every day to add more. It's different out here, like a game with secret rules. The only way to learn the rules is to play the game. There's no manual. So you go in blind and as you grope in the dark & bang your shins the light comes on very gradually. Everyone I talk to says it will be a year before I start to feel like a working musician again. Meanwhile I just keep chipping away.

Monday nights I've been taking my bass to an open jam at The Baked Potato in North Hollywood. There I've met many fantastic players. I've been there enough times now to be recognized and asked to play. It's a pretty far out scene with cats hanging around who just got off tour with Christina Aguilera or Pink. One night I sang Johnny Guitar Watson's Real Motherforya and this guitar player came up & said he loved the song. Turned out he TOURED with Watson. Whoa.

So, you see, as I grope through the maze I get the dawning sense that there's a lot going on around here.



Christmas is around the corner. You trying to think of something different for that special someone? You don't even have to leave the spot you're sitting in right now. Click on a CD cover, whip out the plastic, and we're in business. And don't worry about it. My CDs are good. You'll like 'em. There's two of 'em:







I've been pestered for months by a cadre of concerned citizens to open a myspace account. I have been and still am dubious. But I opened one anyway just in case it does, in fact, generate some business. Can't hurt, I guess. At least I hope not. Anyway, it's I had to put a 1 after my name because johntroy is taken. Can you believe that? Some hoser goin' around with my name. I swear there's some cosmic conspiracy whose mission it is to annoy me. At least out here no one's asking me if Michael Troy and I are brothers. THAT one really sent me around the bend. Did you know that Troy ain't even his real name? It's Flynn or something. What's wrong with Flynn? Huh? Why'd he have to change it to Troy? Well? I'm asking you.

Where was I? Oh yeah. This myspace thing is strange. One of the things you're expected to do is write to everyone you know and ask them to be your friend. I mean, how weenie is that? " 'Scuse me, would you please be my, my...(gulp) Wonchya be mah frayund? PLEEEEZ! Waaaaaa! Mommy!"

Buncha carryin' on, I swear. It goes against everything I hold dear. I want people OUT of my space not in it. But then again, you look at it now and it says "John Troy has 1 friends" which does look pathetic. And he ain't even a real friend. He's a default friend provided by myspace to answer any questions which is fine until you try to ask him a question and find he doesn't really want to hear from you. So OK, I'm asking you to (shudder) be my friend. Go to and do whatever it is you do to hook onto it. Looks like you can add to it yourself. Leave pictures and comments. That's another reason I'm not too sure about this. You may find this well nigh impossible to believe but not everyone out there loves me. My life has not been, um, friction free.

There's not much to see now but I will start exploring what there is to do and start doing it. I've uploaded a picture and started a blog.

Blog. I never liked the term. Sounds like something with tentacles that emerges from your drain. Run for your life!

Anyway, now I've got one. My own (sigh) blog. Ugh. Here, Blog! Here, boy! Slither over here! Come snargle your flesh parts! Atta boy! Good Blog!


Well, there you have it. And remember, this is an interactive deal we have here. I've written songs and made CDs and started some nightmare fad account so now it's your turn to buy my CDs and PLEEEZ BE MAH FRAYUND! (sniffle! snort!)

Oh and one more thing: any y'all back East who know people out here in Southern California who you think would get a kick out of what I do, please tell them about me and tell them to join this mailing list. It would be a great help.

Thanks and you can count on me to keep making music till I caint no' mo'.



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