www.myspace.com/pedromusic
Discography
Last Man on the Planet |
Pedro Pereira
A writer by trade, it didn't take me long after getting serious about the guitar to start trying to write songs. It is fair to say that if it weren't for writing songs, the guitar I bought in 1996 probably would still be sitting on some forgotten corner of the house. In fact, that is exactly what happened with the guitars I owned in my teenage years. None of them were very playable. The action on my first guitar was about a foot off the fretboard. Then I committed the ultimate sin - replacing the nylon strings with steel. And you may guess what happened: The added tension of the steel pulled the neck off.
We're nobody but let's not tell
Or we might cause envy
And they'll want to be nobody as well
And then where would we be
Then who would we be
- "Nobody"
In 1996, after misplacing my previous guitar in a move, I decided to give the vexing instrument another go. A couple of hundred bucks and a trip to Sam Ash, and I was ready to go. But still I wasn't taking it too seriously. I thought I'd brush up on the three chords I had learned when I was 14 - G, C and D. But then it happened. I took a real interest, and before long, words started to pop into my head with the instrument on my lap.
Some of my favorite songwriters: Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, John Lennon, David Lowery (Camper Van Beethoven, Cracker), Leonard Cohen, Lindsey Buckingham (Fleetwood Mac), Sheryl Crow, Rodney Crowell, Lucinda Williams, Steve Earle
Admittedly, my first songs weren't very good. And I don't play them out. Ever. I figure there isn't much of an audience for songs about mashed potatoes. But soon I started to draw on life experience and observations of the world around me to come up with salvageable songs. These days I draw inspiration from just about anything, be it a sign hanging on the brick facade of a warehouse, a political event, a poem I just read, or my little girl scrunching up her face in one of her irresistible toddler grins. But inspiration is a cruel mistress; it shows up only when it wants and leaves without regrets.
These feelings don't belong to me
So why do I feel them
These thoughts, they don't mean a thing to me
So why did I steal them
- "I Need a Hand"
In 2001, I joined the ISS and about six months later became editor of the group's monthly newsletter. The organization has put me in touch with many other songwriters, with whom I've shared a stage or two, and has proven quite valuable in my growth as a songwriter and, ultimately, as a performer. If I hadn't joined I never would have been able to decide if any of my songs were worth playing for an audience.
Now I have. But whether audiences agree with me is entirely another matter. For my performances, I quite enjoy drawing from my bag of standards, such as the mildly apocalyptic "Last Man on the Planet," the Emily Dickinson-inspired "Nobody," and the vicarious sarcastic sorrow of my take on celebrity, "I Need a Hand." Occasionally, I might unload on an unsuspecting audience a cover or a song I'd forgotten I'd written, such as my escapist romp "Freedom."
All these ghosts in the fog
How do they ever find their step
And everybody looks like someone I've already met
They amble eternally and they've got no time to listen
There's nothing I can do to ever get their attention
- "Last Man on the Planet
These days you may find me in the open mic circles around Long Island or an occasional feature spot at one of the venues that promotes local talent. If you want to know where I will be playing soon, drop me an e-mail at peddi@optonline.net.
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