What's Chancellorpink sound like? Listen. Otherwise, how about like the color of a life that lets you out? How about like a hopeful but ultimately broken heart drinking coffee alone every morning, after wine alone each night?
With Chancellorpink, the real story’s in the songs.
"Literate, clever and passionate, the songs have staying power."
~ Tony Heywood, The Epoch Times (Aug 19, 2006)
"A Truly Original Voice - McLaughlin definitely has a story to tell and knows how to do it with original style."
~ Shelley, CDReviewsbyYou.com (Mar, 2007)
"An entrancing 12-track indie-pop record with the shades of early, arty Bowie."
~ Scott Mervis, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette (Jun 29, 2006)
"McLaughlin's strength is his sonic imagination, deploying a lush range of keyboard textures and spacey effects."
~ Aaron Jentzen, Pittsburgh City Paper (Jul, 2006)
Bio: From Humble Beginnings Come Humble Middles
As a boy, he wanted to be a magician and a ventriloquist. But he couldn't hide the secret or throw his voice.
So he took to music, mostly culled from mom's record club collection. Movie soundtracks like "The Graduate" and LPs from crooners like Tom Jones, Andy Williams, Noel Harrison.
Cross-legged on the sofa, he grasped his shin-bones in both hands and rocked furiously back and forth, while the wax spun under the needle. While mom ironed and dusted, he rocked and dreamed. And while the drapes danced in a breeze, his little boy mind mumbled, "Life is real, and I'm alive."
45 singles also dug their way in. Some cut from the backs of cereal boxes. Others chosen after a listen or two on the AM radio. Yes, he needed THAT song. So he sang it for the record store man: "Come on, you have to have it. I think it's new... 'Those were the days my friend, we thought they'd never end...'"
One day our failed magician was given an organ and a play-by-number songbook filled with Bacharach/David tunes. And though he drew moustaches and Satan eyes on Burt and Hal, he loved that songbook.
Eventually someone gave him a tape recorder. And this day probably seemed harmless enough.
But from humble beginnings...
He'd sing made-up words he didn't understand. Grown-up words about love, war, poverty. Stuff the AM radio and Burt Bacharach had taught him to sing. "Must be the way to go."
Mom eventually bought him a pretty-white, righty Jackson Soloist, and though he played lefty, he simply had it re-strung and played it upside down. "I am right-handed, after all, so how could mom have known?"
In his teens, he began to take more of a personal interest in his lyrics. As girls at school would peck his cheek and giggle on flower day, but walk on. "She's a slut, Ray. Why'd you buy her a flower?"
"Because she's nice," our silly flower boy said.
You know the drill. Countless mixed tapes and poems missed their mark. Maybe once or twice a flower got pressed into a book, but we'd only be speculating there. They all became songs.
He went to college. Wrote some more songs. Joined a band (Six Gun Jury) with his cousin. And they wrote lots of songs too. Even got a song ("Climb The Scene") in regular rotation on commercial radio (WXXP). They did well in Pittsburgh rock challenges, played some gigs. Got some press. Broke up.
Baseball, of course. He had to see the Pirates in the playoffs. You'd have done the same.
He married, loved it. Wrote some songs. His mom died, hated that. Wrote some songs about it. He became a daddy of triplet sons, and that was nice. So he put it in a song or two.
He tried to take some cases to trial, hated that. He tried to join a couple other bands, but it wasn't the same. Went to another firm, hated that. Law firm after law firm. He always left them hanging. Burned his bridges. Didn't care.
Day by day, song by song. He was going to find his place in this world (like "James" in that song by Huffamoose).
Finally, he went to work for the government, liked that better. Wrote more songs. But got divorced, hated that. Sad songs come easier, so songs galore. (You must have all of this in your notes somewhere already, right?)
Single life was overrated. Looking for love too often in too many bars. But it was either that or join some animal shelter or church group. And he never liked groups. Still doesn't.
No. He likes songs.
Finally, one day, or maybe it was even in the dark of night, he cried out in a loud voice, saying, "Tom?! Burt?! MOM?! How does this shit work?! I'm lonely as fuck and nobody cares!!"
"Ain't it funny...how the time slips away?..."
And he wrote a song about that too. The silence. The lost time. The loneliness. The loss.
Loss after loss, and song after song. This is what weakened your Chancellor, yet kept him strong.
And so, from humble beginnings...come humble middles. Which brings us to today.
"Well...how's it gonna end for The Chancellor?"
I cannot tell you that, my friend. But rest assured, no matter the ending, it will make one hell of a song.