“Tumbling Down a Staircase: A Scene from My Writing Life.”
Thanks to the University of Malta for publishing my short work of Creative Nonfiction in the current issue of Antae: A Journal of Creative Writing.
Check out the full journal here.
Another review is in for Rock-n-Roll Oasis: Live at Tiny Telephone. I think the writer (Matt Jensen) does a great job of capturing the essence of the night and our performance, with quotes like this:
“The album carries the spirit of MTV’s Unplugged sessions, recreating that same sense of closeness, as if the listener is tucked into the corner of a dimly lit studio, watching the trio lock into their set. Across 18 tracks, the record plays best when experienced as a whole—one of those albums you can let spin from start to finish…”
And this:
“The applause, the stripped-down instrumentation, and the room’s natural acoustics give Rock-n-Roll Oasis: Live at Tiny Telephone a warmth that feels immediate and present. Roensch leans into the rawness of a live setting, allowing for small imperfections that make the album feel human and unaffected by studio gloss. It’s a direct, unfiltered snapshot of a songwriter in his element, fully engaged with the moment.”
Thanks to Matt Jensen and Pitch Perfect for their attention to the music and their insightful words.
You can read the full review here.
Athens in April anyone? Thanks to the International Video Poetry Festival for making “How Much Filipino” an Official Selection.
Other recent selections include the Home Is Distant Shores Film Festival in Cary, North Carolina, the Monologues & Poetry International Film Festival in Vallejo, California, and the Dreamanila International Film Festival.
All in all, the film has been selected for eight festivals so far. Let’s see what’s next.
Thanks to We Write About Music for the awesome review of “Rock-n-Roll Oasis: Live at Tiny Telephone.” It’s humbling to read such complimentary and spot-on words.
Like this…
“Roensch, accompanied by the virtuosic guitarist Jules Leyhe and the ethereal harmonies of Elisa Wendell, creates a sonic atmosphere that feels warm and deeply personal, like a late-night jam session among close friends. The stripped-back arrangements allow every note and lyric to breathe, making it easy to get lost in Roensch’s poetic storytelling.”
And this…
“…what makes Rock-n-Roll Oasis truly special isn’t just the musicianship; it’s the sheer heart poured into every moment. The recording captures the energy of the night and that magic translates into every track. Roensch’s lyricism, shaped by his background in flash fiction and poetry, is vivid and evocative, turning each song into a story that lingers long after the music fades. You hinge on every single word, all the while being more than impressed by the pure artistry that’s flowing out.”
You can check out the full review here.
Album available now on Bandcamp, with all of my proceeds of sales in February going to MusiCares to help support their relief efforts for LA music professionals affected by the wildfires.
Photo: Dwayne Jarrell
It was a cold and rainy November night when Greg Roensch, Jules Leyhe, and Elisa Wendell performed two sets of original music (plus a handful of covers) at Tiny Telephone recording studio in Oakland, California. Here’s your chance to listen to a show that audience members referred to as magical, unique, and fun – which is exactly what you’d expect when entering the rock-n-roll oasis. Welcome in.
Rock-n-Roll Oasis: Live at Tiny Telephone
Feel free to listen for free, but please note I’m donating 100% of my proceeds from all sales in February to MusiCares for fire relief support for music professionals impacted by the Los Angeles wildfires.
Thank you.
Jules Leyhe: guitar
Elisa Wendell: vocals
Danielle Goldsmith: audio engineer
Amar Lal (Macro Sound): mastering
Sammy Braxton-Haney: photography
Aimee Stevland Design: album art
Thanks most of all to the folks who braved the storm to attend the show.
Recorded at Tiny Telephone, Oakland, CA. Nov. 21, 2024.
Dedicated to Uncle Tony Roensch (1945 – 2024).
Aloha, mahalo, and rest in peaceful ocean waves to our legendary Uncle Tony.
How lucky was I to spend an entire summer in the early 80s with him and Aunt Corinne. We explored Big Island backroads in his shaky-ass heap of a jeep. We did water things (he surfed; I waded by the shore). And, as we laughed about a million times over the years, we sipped martinis (my first ever!) during a special night out at a posh French bistro, even though I wasn’t quite the legal drinking age just yet.
A few days after Uncle Tony passed, I shared a few words at the start of my concert in at Tiny Telelphone recording studio in Oakland. He didn’t want a big send-off, and I can respect that, but I needed to pay tribute in my own way… and I know others will too.
Here’s to you uncle.
OUT NOW. “Howling at the Moons of Saturn” – a spoken-word collection featuring original music by an all-world contingent of composers and musicians.
Huge thanks to everyone who played a part during the seven or so years it took to complete this project.
Theresa Calpotura
John Vanderslice
Jules Leyhe
Robert Shelton
Carly Bond
Andrew Dixon
Ryan Ross Smith
Crystal Pascucci
Mark Clifford
James Riotto
Jason Slota
Danielle Goldsmith
Jacob Winik
Cover art: Aimee Stevland Design
What happens when an entrepreneurial descendent of Count Dracula decides to operate his castle as a vacation rental property? Find out in my new short story “The Thirst,” now available in “Monsterthology 3,” an all-new anthology featuring classic horror monsters.
Available now from Zombie Works Publications in paperback and on Kindle.
Happy Halloween.
A car in the distance – on a gravel road. A cow. A rooster. A dog barks. Birds chirp. And I think back to yesterday at twilight, when hundreds of chicks clamored for food in the trees by the dining hall. Hungry. And alive.
The embers from last night’s fire still smolder in the firepit outside my room, where late-night revelers performed musical gems while sharing the last 10 cans of beer in the world. I exaggerate, but that’s how it felt when I learned the bar was closed for the night. Like the world ended and I missed out on my chance to stock up on reposado.
No, I wouldn’t do well in the zombie apocalypse.
Staring out at the lake, I feel the sting of smoke in my eyes. My clothes smell of char. And my beanie reeks like it fell into a bin of campfire ash.
I’m ready for breakfast, but I want to finish these notes first. What’ll I eat anyway? A bowl of fruit. A handful of raisins. Five sausages rolling around my plate like severed fingers. Now I’m thinking about and humming St. Vincent’s song “Severed Crossed Fingers.” I love that title. But we all know I have a dark streak, don’t we?
Anyway, back to breakfast. I wonder if we’ll be joined today by the army of kids. With their troop leader hollering on her megaphone.
“Raccoon girls, your turn for breakfast.”
“Squirrel boys, you’re up next.”
I never attended camp as a child, though there was that time on a high-school trip when I dropped acid in Yosemite. Somehow, I got locked out of my cabin and found myself wandering on a snow-covered path that transformed into a river of talking snakes – all under the shadows of El Capitan and Half Dome. Eagle Peak and Cathedral Rock.
Do you think Ansel Adams ever dropped acid while capturing his masterpieces?
A shooting star darts through the morning sky. Or a comet. Or an intercontinental ballistic missile. I’d like to reach out and catch it. I’d also like to sing and dance in the sea of Tranquility. And to use one of Saturn’s rings as an interstellar hula-hoop.
Here’s a bit of trivia I learned recently; Saturn has 146 moons!
Speaking of Saturn’s moons, come a little closer and I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m releasing a new spoken-word collection soon called “Howling at the Moons of Saturn” that features a group of amazing musical collaborators. Sssshhh, that’s just between us for now. More coming soon, but I hope you’ll give it a listen.
I spin the ring on my finger, remembering when we said “til death do us part” under City Hall’s Beaux-Arts dome. Near the Elvis groom and the others sharing their nuptial vows. We’re not dead yet, I think, but you’re working in Europe for a few weeks, while I’m humming about severed fingers, lamenting a missed a tequila run, and musing on the way of the world at a songwriting camp somewhere on the road between Yosemite and Fresno.
Somewhere in a Valley called Wonder.
