2012 has come and gone and we’re still not dead yet. You can log into the 24/7 smiling face, pictures of your friends drunk and/or naked, click “like”. The gray-faced man in a suit who hates you is still alive too, but now he isn’t always wearing a suit, and he’s smiling, 24/7. He likes what you like, sees what you see, hears what you hear. So where does punk go when the underground’s all tidily arranged on a shared screen? Does it roll over and play dead? Shrug? Smile? There’s another man, this one with a microphone jammed halfway down his throat, cord coiled carotid-tight around his neck, dangling his body off the edge of the stage, screaming words that ache. Another is methodically destroying his guitar with his hands while his feet twist tail-ends of the signal into electro-rubber-echo nightmares. Two others are so precisely abusing a bass guitar and a drum kit at such a frenetic pace it’s hard to believe these sorry objects will last more than a few more seconds, but then you realize it’s over. A minute or so, tops. They stare out at you, maybe say thanks. Spit. Breathe. And then they begin again. This will happen for maybe fifteen minutes, altogether. You are not alone. The gray-faced man is not here. There’s the screen, but then there’s this. 2013, and punk is not dead. No more dead than the rest of us.

Front porch of producer John Alagia's house on the Chesapeake Bay.

I've just woken up from another end of the world dream where Bon Jovi was an alien planting explosive devices in cupboards that eventually cause massive flooding when I decide I need to do a morning coffee run (ok, I need cigarettes) so I grab my keys and head to town. E-Rob (Eric Robinson), our engineer, is just going to bed after working late on a vox comp for 'You Won't Let Me' and it occurs to me how I've truly lucked out with the people involved in "Chesapeake."

I am in the studio. And when I say studio, I mean Alagia's house that we've spent weeks converting into a studio. We shipped gear, borrowed microphones, amps, guitars, and a grand piano that's living in his bedroom (because that's where we get the best sound). We housed vox mics in his shower for some natural reverb and of course the porch where I write this -- a past scene of pre production jams complete with drums made out of cardboard beer cases and recycling bins -- cellos stuck in wads of duck tape so as not to slip on the floor, a wurly set up by the table of receipts I'm calling 'my office' etc.

I packed my car what seems like months ago chock full of air mattresses, giant breakfast skillets, keyboards, snow boots (unusable) and of course my diva tent -- an 8 person banana yellow monstrosity that I've been sleeping in for some time now to carve out a little private space for moi as well as leave room for the house full of amazing musicians that have come to play. There have been rounds of plumbers and air conditioner technicians, trips to Target for the inflatable pool that has since garnered a crop circle impression on the lawn for a mere $79.95, and thank you dad for the grill donation -- let there be burgers.

The players are my dream team, the kinds that have taken years to find and make history with. We've been saying 'there's a lot of love in the room' and there must be because schedules have been routed, carpools arranged -- anything to help a girl now financing her own career full throttle. Victor Indrizzo has a week off from Sheryl Crow's tour and when he's not doing the dishes has laid down some of the most bad-ass drum tracks that I've ever heard. Mike Viola (Candy Butchers, Walk Hard, Get Him To The Greek) has already tracked harmonies to rival The Beach Boys and The Carpenters and truth be told, wears sunglasses while in his pajamas. Michael Chaves (John Mayer, Five For Fighting) is the guru of vibe on guitar, only wears black and insists on sleeping on the couch as if it's the best room in the house. Kevin Salem (Dumptruck, Yo La Tengo) is still doing additional tracks he dreams up between producing underground Pakistani superstars as well as shuttling English cellist Oli Kraus (Sia, Duffy) down from NYC -- the same cellist I once leaned over to my friend at a Beth Orton concert 8 years ago saying 'someday I'll have strings like that', but that's another story... And of course Tom Freund who will forever be known as Starfish for the way he spreads out in a bed -- not that grown men are sharing beds here or anything. He can make you cry when he plays upright.

There is no label -- only my own -- and I'm pretty sure the artwork for this record will come down to Camera+, the iPhone app that works wonders on pictures. The stash of cash that Dad put away for my wedding has been put to use here along with whatever frequent flyer miles I knew I'd use someday. I launched my PledgeMusic campaign, which a psychic recently told me was karmic. I quickly reached my goal thanks to my incredible fans, and formed my own independent team of folks to get this record out. I must say it is all going along swimmingly.

The reunion with Alagia and the people in the room have been on instinct the best contribution I've made to this entire process. Viola, Kevin and Chaves have all been in the driver's seat for some of my recordings and who knew you could get multiple producers in the room with no trace of ego whatsoever. It is 'Big Pink' and the drums are set up in the kitchen, it fulfills every idea of 'camp' and when the band decides one track out of ten didn't feel at the right tempo they will recut it 3 hours before their morning flight because they care so much. I am in a constant state of verklempt and the looseness of this whole shebang made a perfect transition into creative spontaneity that I think is going to surprise many.

The songs are deep but not sorrowful and there is a sense of humor in some that can only come out when you are sleeping in a tent and considering the name 'Frankenfish' for the album title, but "Chesapeake" won out and Frankenfish became the name of my label. Midway through recording the album, we had a listening party bbq tonight where one person said to me that the songs sound like I'm in control of my own life now and I think she is right. "Chesapeake" has been made with a lot of love in the room (and tequila) and like the Franken fish that can swim and walk on land is surprising the hell outta me.

And when I say studio, I mean Alagia's house that we've spent weeks converting into a studio.

When you think of “grassroots” and “down to Earth,” you don’t normally think of a movie star. You especially don't think of a movie star the caliber of Jeff Daniels. Yet that is exactly what Jeff has accomplished with his second CD Grandfather’s Hat. With the follow-up album to Live and Unplugged, Daniels has proven that he is not an actor who sings, but an accomplished singer/songwriter who’s musical talent does not require the support of his acting.

Houshphandzadeh wrote:

When you think of “grassroots” and “down to Earth,” you don’t normally think of a movie star. You especially don't think of a movie star the caliber of Jeff Daniels. Yet that is exactly what Jeff has accomplished with his second CD Grandfather’s Hat. With the follow-up album to Live and Unplugged, Daniels has proven that he is not an actor who sings, but an accomplished singer/songwriter who’s musical talent does not require the support of his acting.