Pat Freestone


June 1, 2004

While I continue my search for musical collaborators, I might as well split my focus and deal with another very important aspect of being in a Rock & Roll band--the album cover.

We all know that music is important, but what really sells a record is a compelling cover. Have you heard the expression “you can’t judge a book by its cover?” Well, you might notice that it doesn’t say anything in there about records. There’s a reason for that, you know.

So, with that in mind, I started tossing around a few ideas. Please keep in mind, this is just a prototype.

Pat Freestone

June 2, 2004

I will I will rock you.

Just a poor boy from a poor family,

Pat Freestone

June 3, 2004

What a long strange trip it's been.

Pat Freestone

June 4, 2004

I do the Rock. But FYI: I can, if need be, bring the Funk.

Have a great weekend.

Pat Freestone

June 7, 2004

I am music, and I write the songs.

As if possessed by the spirit of some long-dead composer, I woke up last night at 2AM, sat down with a pen and paper, and let the songs pour out of me until almost 2:40AM.

Here’s one I call, “Due Back by Midnight (Does Not Mean 12:05)”

You walked through the door / you looked all around
The Temple of Doom / was the one that you found
You sat down and watched it / you know that’s a fact
And now it just seems / like you ain’t coming back--

Due back by midnight
Due back by midnight
Due back by midnight
Does not mean 12:05
No, no, no!

Hey, hey hey!

More where that came from,

Pat Freestone

June 8, 2004

This one’s called “No, Mean Girls is Not Out Yet.”

I see you browsin’
Browsin’ for Mean Girls
I hear you askin’
But no, Mean Girls is not out yet

You like hot teen girls
Man, that’s okay
You like hot teen girls
You can tolerate Tina Fey

Hey, look up here, man
At the dry erase board
Do you see Mean Girls listed under “New Releases” on the dry erase board?
No, I didn’t think so

I see you browsin’
Browsin’ for Mean Girls
I hear you askin’
But no, Mean Girls is not out yet

May I recommend Jaw Breaker!
May I recommend Jaw Breaker!
Have you seen Jaw Breaker?
Yeah, yeah, yeah

(fade out)

Pat Freestone

June 9, 2004

I came up with this one last night after dinner. I don’t have a name for it yet, but I’m thinking about something along the lines of “Weed Thief.”

You’re a weed thief!
Yes, you are!
You’re a weed thief!
The worst by far!

Some like dope
Some like speed
I know what you like
You like my weed!

You can borrow my computer
You can borrow my phone
But don’t borrow my weed
Go get your own!

You’re a weed thief!

Or, maybe I could go the other way with it and call the song “Weed Police.” Like “Dream Police,” except about weed.

Yours truly,

Pat Freestone

June 10, 2004

Who says Pat Freestone can’t write a good old-fashioned love song?

“Take This Ring”

It’s time / I know
For me / to show
The love I feel
I know it’s real
Tonight, don’t tell me no

So crisp / so sweet
Yet salty / to eat
I’ve got my eyes
On your Big Grab size
Tonight, again we meet

I love you / sweet, savory Funyuns
Yes, it is true
Yes, it is true
Funyuns you and I should be together as one

Your shape / is round
Your shade / is brown
Or more like golden
So I am beholden
Because you’re the best onion snack I’ve ever found



Pat Freestone

June 11, 2004

I wrote this song specifically to keep you rockin’ thru the weekend.

“Saturday Night”

Cool girls / Cool guys
Cold beer / Hot thighs

Nice tunes / Nice clothes
Real blonde / Fake nose

Saturday night at the rockin’ bar!
And no one has insulted me or punched me so far!

Feelin’ good / Lookin’ bad
Not meetin’ girls / Gettin’ mad

Twelve pints / Eighty bucks
Can’t smoke? / What the fuck?

Saturday night at the rockin’ bar!
Here’s my nickel for your stupid tip jar!

Cut off / Asked to leave
Wet my pants / Tore my sleeve

Fell down / Twenty stairs
Hurt my knee / No one cares

Saturday night at the rockin’ bar!
And it’s only a quarter after nine so far!

Yeah, yeah, yeah!

Have a good one,

Pat Freestone

June 21, 2004

Hello again, dear and cherished web visitors.

The past week slipped by like a Teflon trout down Crisco Creek! I apologize for my unexpected absence, but I have great news--Pat Freestone has become a member of a Rock & Roll band!

Last Monday, I was strolling through New York City's once-hip East Village, where I spotted a handwritten flyer on the side of a phone booth. It read, "DEATH-METAL BAND SEEKS RHYTHM GUITAR PLAYER. SERIOUS MUSICIANS ONLY." I immediately dropped five nickels into that very same payphone and dialed the number. Within minutes, I was scheduled to audition for Merciful Casket!

The following day, I packed up my Dave Mustaine Signature Model Series DV8-R flying-V guitar and headed out to Staten Island, the homeland of Mike and Kirk DiCarmaggio, Merciful Casket's founding members. They seemed skeptical at first, but after hearing me rip through a few up-tempo bars of "Smoke on the Water," my signature song, they were sold. Of course, it didn't hurt to preface my performance by laying out a few rails of my signature homemade crystal meth for my new band brethren to sample. Pat Freestone came to play!

We jammed well into the night, running through Merciful Casket's set of original material, including "Black-Blooded Heart," "Euthanasia Nation," and "Bone Marrow of Sorrow." We also slammed out a few covers, including "American Ruse" by the MC-5, Led Zeppelin's "How Many More Times," and at my request, the 70's radio smash "Convoy."

Look out, world. The newly re-tooled Merciful Casket is coming to your town to bury you alive!

Pat Freestone

June 22, 2004

The Rock & Roll lifestyle is fitting old Pat Freestone like a hand in a velvet glove. And each day of rehearsal with Merciful Casket brings me one step closer to my dream of being able to play a bar chord.

But I worry about Mike and Kirk. Their daily satanic rituals don't seem to be bringing them any closer to a recording contract, and they just don't exude the cheerful enthusiasm they once had. Mike has given up sleeping in his coffin, and Kirk barely has the will to shave off his eyebrows anymore. Even Adam, the drummer, can't console them. Last night, Adam stuck a fishhook through his cheek, and Mike and Kirk didn't even want to pull on it.

It just makes me sad, that's all.

Pat Freestone

June 23, 2004

I have begun to notice the following subtle changes in my band mates--changes that could almost be considered warning signs of anxiety or a possible mood disorder:

--loss of appetite
--changes in sleep patterns
--attempting to hang self with jumper cables
--loss of interest in friends / Satan
--leaping in front of trains or buses
--staring blankly into space with gun in mouth
--habitual slicing or stabbing of own wrists and neck
--avoiding social situations

I’m no psychiatrist, but I think it’s time for someone to start looking into Wellbutrin.


Pat Freestone

June 24, 2004

I knew something was wrong the minute I saw the van idling next to the fridge. The four original members of Merciful Casket are dead of an apparent mass suicide.

I should have said something. I should have paid more attention to the warning signs. I should have at least asked them for their pin numbers.

I can’t believe they’re gone.

Can you imagine how much pain and hopelessness they must’ve felt to have carried their touring van up three flights of stairs, run a length of garden hose into the driver’s side window, climbed in, and then filled the van with water to drown themselves? I guess they left the van running to make it look like an accident.

Those poor, tortured, waterlogged, heavy metal bastards.

Long live Merciful Casket!

Pat Freestone

June 25, 2004

Merciful Casket
(not pictured)

Pat Freestone

June 28, 2004

After spending the entire weekend agonizing over the sudden and tragic deaths of all four members of Merciful Casket (okay, maybe it was actually just a good part of Saturday and a few hours on Sunday morning), I came to the realization that I must continue the Rock and Roll tradition that Merciful Casket so bravely clung to and eventually hung themselves from. It is my responsibility--nay, duty--to do so. Or, at least, it is my duty to appoint myself caretaker of their touring van, amplifiers and instruments and remove said items from the premises before reporting the entire incident to the local authorities.

Then--and only then--will the souls of Merciful Casket be able to find rest in the long, sleepless void of eternal damnation.


Pat Freestone

June 29, 2004

It took all day, but with the help of Clicky and Sonny, I was able to pack up all of Merciful Casket’s equipment and drive in back to Yonkers in their (my) van. Before leaving, we carefully placed the bodies of Mike, Kirk, Adam and the other guy in their beds, to make it look like they died peacefully in their sleep. The police will see it as just another typical case of four guys in their mid-30s suddenly dying in their sleep simultaneously in the same room.

It happens sometimes!

Pat Freestone

June 30, 2004

Okay--new Rock & Roll plan.

I’m thinking: Pat Freestone on guitar, Sonny the homeless ex-con on bass, Clicky the boy who was raised by termites on lead vocals, and on drums, the only percussionist I know who receives a steady paycheck--my evil co-worker Ruth Teresovich.

Who’s with me?

Pat Freestone

July 1, 2004

Like a sculptor staring at the giant block of stone which shall become his masterpiece, I am gazing across the room at Sonny and Clicky and admiring the raw potential that lies within them. I hope.

There are a few things working in our favor, even at this early stage. First, Sonny has large hands. This will make it much easier for him to play the electric bass comfortably. Plus, his fingertips are well-calloused from constantly holding a burning hot crack stem, so he shouldn’t have any blister problems. Clicky seems like he has the energy and the stage presence to make a solid front-man, and I know he can keep a beat because he constantly chatters his teeth in perfect 4/4 time.

I’m still a little uncertain about putting Ruth behind the drum kit. You know what happens when you have an attractive girl in your band--they get all the attention. But then again, after the pounding she received from her boyfriend last week, she’s not looking too easy on the eyes. You know how ex-cops get crazy when they drink.

Yours truly,

Pat Freestone

July 2, 2004

Now let’s talk about rehearsal space. My apartment, which seems like the most logical place to play, is unfortunately out of the question because of the paper thin walls. Mind you, I’m not concerned about bothering my neighbors; rather, I’m apprehensive about them stealing my songs. They’re crafty, those Dominicans.

So for now, I think the best thing to do is to turn Big Screen Video into our after-hours jam room. It’s just a simple matter of closing the store at the usual midnight hour, loading in the drums, amps, instruments, and PA system, removing all of the video and DVD boxes from the shelves and stacking them in the storeroom, unbolting the empty shelving fixtures from the floor and sliding them off to the sides, setting up the drums and other equipment, and then covering the walls and ceiling with temporary foam soundproofing to insure that we don’t wake the upstairs tenants. Easy, peasy, Jap-o-nesey.

I just have to remember to buy extension cords and one of those power strips to plug the amps into. Big Screen only has the one electrical outlet, and I’d hate to have to interrupt the charging cycle of the Dustbuster every night.

Happy Indie Day!

Pat Freestone

July 6, 2004

We’re done celebrating our nation’s birthday, and now it’s time to celebrate

Pat Freestone’s Great Forgotten Moments in Rock & Roll

April 8, 1955 - Modesto, California - O’Malley’s Social Club

During the second encore performance of the legendary “Ducky” Dillman Combo, nightclub janitor Charlie McCalister allows two teenage girls to sneak in through the service entrance in exchange for a private viewing of their naked breasts. The mutually beneficial arrangement marks the first time in Rock & Roll history that backstage access is granted to an underage female patron in exchange for a sexual favor.

Log on tomorrow for more of

Pat Freestone’s Great Forgotten Moments in Rock & Roll


Pat Freestone

July 7, 2004

Welcome to another installment of

Pat Freestone’s Great Forgotten Moments in Rock & Roll

December 20, 1976 - Hutto, Texas - The Jeske Family Rumpus Room

Thirteen-year-old KISS fan David Jeske repeatedly plays the song “Beth” in a futile attempt to prove that the group is capable of creating heartfelt love ballads, and to convince his father--the Reverend James Jeske--not to ban all KISS music and paraphernalia from the home for fear that the group is a satanic organization posing as a musical foursome.

Nice try, Dave!

Pat Freestone

July 8, 2004

Here you are, back for more of

Pat Freestone's Great Forgotten Moments in Rock & Roll

April 19, 1994 - Portland, Oregon - Whittier Elementary School

Mourning the recent death of rock legend Kurt Cobain, 7th Grade student Louise Mott submits the essay, "Kurt Cobain Was a True American" for her mid-term history paper. Unimpressed by the bulky and often meandering prose, teacher Dianne Muller gives the paper a D-minus, along with the comment, "I can confirm you copied a good part of this from the internet, Louise."

Join me tomorrow for more of

Pat Freestone's Great Forgotten Moments in Rock & Roll

Pat Freestone

July 9, 2004

Welcome back to

Pat Freestone's Great Forgotten Moments in Rock & Roll

October 25, 1965 - Dayton, Ohio - Walter P. Stanley Ballroom

An hour after ingesting a large quantity of the experimental drug LSD at a Herman's Hermits concert, twenty-year old Ohio native Gavin Peterson holds a lit cigarette lighter over his head in the darkness for seven-and-a-half minutes in an attempt to set fire to a hallucinated wicker man hovering above him. The gesture quickly gains popularity and becomes a staple of arena rock.

I hope you enjoyed

Pat Freestone's Great Forgotten Moments in Rock & Roll

Pat Freestone

July 12, 2004

Rock is not dead--it is just missing and presumed dead.

Which is why the Pat Freestone Band is up every night in our rehearsal space at Big Screen Video, fighting the good fight. It’s why Sonny straps on a bass and Clicky plugs in a microphone. It’s why Ruth sits down behind a drum kit, even when she’s suffering from terrible menstrual cramps. It’s why Big Screen’s electric bill is up 40%, and our early-morning customers are beginning to complain that the store smells like pot and belly sweat.

This weekend, we staged an impromptu concert on the roof of Big Screen. It was a high-energy, traffic-snarling event, reminiscent of U2’s famous rooftop performance captured in the video for “Where The Streets Have No Name.” Except, of course, we didn’t have the mobs of fans, or the media coverage, or the fancy video cameras and proper sound equipment. We did, however, get shut down by the police. Not so much because of the music, but because of all the bottles being thrown at us by the Puerto Rican teens in the housing project next door.

But it’s going to take a lot more than a few empty 40s to the head to stop old Pat Freestone. You can make book on that, Senor Baggy Pants.

Pat Freestone

July 13, 2004

The Creative Differences Monster has reared its ugly head!

Last night, after running through the set with the band a few times, I decided to unveil a new song I had just written entitled “The Pop Secret Popcorn is Not Returnable.” It’s your basic funk/rock/fusion jam in B, with a thirteen bar bass solo and a double-time bridge in A#7. Well, apparently some people in the band who have breasts are not happy with the count-in.

Generally, your basic rock count-in might consist of four in-tempo clicks of the drum sticks, or closed high hat, or perhaps even an open high-hat or rim tap. Or, you might even want to have the singer actually yell out, “one, two, three, four” to make for a more dramatic build-up. But not in the case of “The Pop Secret Popcorn is Not Returnable.”

For some reason, Ruth insisted on starting the song with an eight-measure snare fill. Sonny was quick to point out that we are not, say, the Clash performing “I Fought the Law,” and should never start a song with such a heavy percussion intro. Clicky became rather bent out of shape and complained that following Sonny’s advice might be--and I’m paraphrasing here--“tantamount to an anti-Clash constrictive parameter.” Then, Ruth accused them both of being insane homeless parasites who wouldn’t know a Clash song if it crawled up both their asses and set up a tent city.

As you are no doubt aware, I have little tolerance for such in-fighting. So, to keep myself from saying something I might later regret, I simply began to whistle a melody into the microphone. Before we all knew it, we were deep into a trance-jam cover of “Patience” by Guns & Roses.

Patience. Sometimes, that’s what you need in a Rock & Roll band. That, and “Dock of the Bay.”


Pat Freestone

July 14, 2004

Let’s talk about feedback for a moment.

There are three kinds of Rock & Roll feedback: the kind that starts as a dense, atonal hum and then gradually intensifies into an electromagnetic hurricane; the kind that rings at a high-pitched incremental frequency and quickly spreads outward into a wailing, sonic wall of distortion; and the kind that sucks.

I notice that Clicky’s microphone constantly produces that last kind.



Pat Freestone

July 15, 2004

I get the feeling that all this talk about my Rock & Roll band is irritating you. Yes, it is. Shut up; we both know that it is.

Look--you can fight me all day on this, but I know that deep down inside, you can’t stand the fact that I have a Rock & Roll band and you don’t, and therefore wish that I would just shut up about it already and go back to talking about topics that interest you--like me being beaten senseless by crack dealers or field testing ‘do-rags on Washington Avenue. Fine.

But I will begin to harbor deep feelings of resentment towards you and your ilk. In your presence I will turn cold and terse; you may no longer see that little pep in my step--that certain spark--that you once found endearing. I will gaze down at the floor and shuffle off, leaving you and your wretched jealousy standing there while children play carelessly and obliviously in the street. You will notice that a few sunbeams have fallen into shadows. You will smell the vague aroma of Scotch Guard. You will turn around to find an old person glaring at you. The old person is angry that a young and beautiful artist like yourself has become so profligate and overweening with Pat Freestone and his accounts of his fledgling Rock & Roll band.

And then one day, you will become that old person. You will tire of glaring at young beautiful artists, and wander down the street in search of lunch and a place to sit. You will order a hamburger in a diner that never allowed smoking, and the waitress will ask you if you would like something to drink. Her tone will be bleak. She will scoff at your ancient tattoo. You will order coffee with your burger, just like an old person would. A hamburger and black coffee for you and your smokeless afternoon of woolgathering.

Good luck with that.

Pat Freestone