Dear Sean: Have you thought about growing your hair long in the back again? I thought you looked really nice when you were on Carmen Sandiego. You just don't seem like the same Sean as then. Thanks, Beth Dear Beth: I'm not the same Sean, Beth; I'm a sleeker, sassier model with twitchier pecs, veinier biceps and walnut-crushing butt cheeks. For details on why I became the shorn Sean you should still crave, see my Seanecdote entitled "Now It Can Be Told! Why I Cut My Braids." The Official Rock'n'Roll Handbook does dictate, however, that I change my hairstyle periodically. Therefore, to simultaneously honor the good book's dictates and your respectful request, I have decided to grow my hair long in the back. Not the back of my head, though; I refer to my ass hair. I've stopped shaving back there; soon the hairs will be long enough to braid and for for any madcap fun-lover to whirl me 'round like a tether ball. Wheeeee... I'm flying! Yours, Sean Dear Sean: You are one of the best singer/songwriters that I've EVER heard! There should be some kind of compensation for having a voice from the gods. Love, Erica Dear Erica: I agree wholeheartedly. What kind a screwed-up world is this that doesn't make folks of my rare ilk famous and wealthy beyond our wildest Dreams? I don't know about you, but I, for one, don't plan to take this egregious slight lying down. Following is my irate letter to the dude whom I belive is the mastermind behind this hooliganism: God Almighty. Dear Lord: What gives, old man? You saw fit to bless me with an angelic voice, a way with words, an ear for tunes, remarkable height, prominent cheekbones and a taste for fame. Why then, have you denied me, thus far, the seemingly obvious rewards of such attributes: fame, fortune, power, a jumbo-sized penis and the wanton attention of Miss Christy Turlington? Have you been dozing for the last 20 years? Are you oblivious to your own injustices, or are you just anti-Semitic? Consider this letter proper notice that your failure to heal the above-mentioned ills will result in swift legal action. Should you wish to avoid litigation and the expense and damage to your reputation that such action would entail, I would be amenable to an out-of-court settlement as follows: I'm willing to forego fame, power and Ms. Turlington's attention, provided that the wealth and the jumbo penis are forthcoming. The jumbo penis -- length as well as girth -- is a non-negotiable point. I thank you for your prompt attention to these matters. Yours, Sean Altman (Hebrew name: Srool Moishe) PS - Hurricane Floyd ruined my recent Knitting Factory gig. Can't you control that Mother Nature bitch? Yours, Sean Hey Sean: I've had your seanDEMOnium CD for about a year, and it is so great — an aural adventure. How many of the musicians you work with use drugs — from marijuana to 'shrooms to whatever? I've been curious since I noticed a reference or two on your CD. A lone fan in Ohio, Ben Dear Ben: Busted! It's true; seanDEMOnium was written and recorded under the influence of the most sinister "old skool" drug — roast pork egg foo young with extra gravy. That shit gets me stoopid-mad fucked up, bitch! Hello... my name is Sean, and I'm a chicken-shit "drug pussy." There goes my street cred. I've tried to enjoy pot several times in my life, but I always end up coughing hysterically, looking like a loser and alienating every crack whore in the hot tub. In the decadent '80s I experimented with cocaine, but only on my nipples. Heroin can be cool, especially if you're a Viet Nam vet trying to kick methadone or a street bum hell bent on achieving incontinence. A lot of my friends do ecstasy, but I'm terrified of losing my anger and feeling all lovey- dovey; it might fuck up my songwriting. My vices are more subtle: getting (as Elton John says) about as oiled as a diesel train, the occasional lap dance from a bored chick in a thong, singing barbershop with other middle-aged male- pattern-baldness sufferers, and nightly self abuse followed by the uncontrollable ingestion of baked goods. With addictions like these, who needs recovery? Yours, Sean Dear Sean, I was in a very mature and intimate relationship with someone of another race. It was the kind of relationship in which you hope you’ll end up marrying the person. Everything was going great until one night he told me that his mother and her family didn’t approve of me, because of my race. He said he wants to have a future with someone where they can spend the holidays with his family and, obviously, that wouldn’t be possible. We miss each other terribly. What do you think of interracial relationships? Would you ever be in one if you really cared about the person? Constance Dear Constance: I think that your ex-boyfriend is a pussy and that his mom and family are narrow-minded racists. In fact, I believe you dodged a bullet; if your ex was so quick to drop you to appease his loser family, then he’s probably got deep- seeded prejudices himself. Put a smile back on your face and go find a more evolved guy who loves every part of you. Yours, Sean Dear Sean, I love you very, very much, I’m horny, and I don’t care if I get pregnant having sex with you. Sean, sweetie, can I have your baby? Love, Con4cyn Dear Con4cyn, Don't tempt me, sweetheart. It has not escaped me that my advancing years assure that I won’t enjoy fatherly bliss until I’m at least solidly middle-aged. As my drummer Bob is wont to exclaim: "Don’t talk to me about your biological clock, sister. My biological COCK is ticking even louder!" To make matters worse, I may even be shooting blanks. In high school, a bunch of us perpetually bonerific studlets tried to earn extra cash at the local sperm bank. My count didn’t make the cut and I was denied my rightful 25 bucks. Granted, the bank’s "count maximization" pre- instructions were to not ejaculate for at least seven days prior, a physical impossibility for any normal hairy-palmed, blind teenage boy. In any case, I plainly wasn’t sporting a full teenage load that morning, and the cruel sperm bankers sent me and my sorry-ass gonads packing. The rejection didn’t sit well with me; I threw a violent hissy fit when they refused to "GIVE ME BACK MY LOUSY SPOOGE, DAMN IT!" To this day I’ve never impregnated any chick, no matter how unsafe my methods. For all I know, I may own a pair of seminally-challenged nuts, a.k.a. "huevos rancidos." So, Con4cyn, if you are truly hell-bent on spawning a rock star’s child, I suggest you turn your lusty attention elsewhere...perhaps to Rockapella’s Jeff Thacher. Yours, Sean Sean, I don't know the politics of why you left Rockapella, but your website makes me think you left because of ego. What is it with this Seanworld trip? I'm disappointed... Used-to-be fan, Unsigned Dear Unsigned, You are a coward for your anonymity...and humorless to boot. I hereby decree that you are forever banned from the Seanosphere. As I write this, I’m sticking pins in a wee effigy of you. Prepare to suffer, fair-weather scum. All The Best, Sean Hey Sean! Hanukah is upon us, and I can find no wish list of presents for you. So whaddaya want, oh King of Pop? Wanda Dear Wanda: That's POWER-pop, Wanda. If I didn't already own a thousand copies, I would surely want a CD of "Hanukah With Monica" & "(It's Good To Be) A Jew at Christmas." If you or anyone you know doesn't have a copy, order now! As for my own selfish needs, I would be thrilled to receive any of these items: Any percussion instruments (shakers, bells, drums, rattles, etc.) Any pedal effects for guitar Flannel pajamas (size L) Any loud, hippie, pimpish, shiny or otherwise wacky shoes (size 11.5) An umbrella A subscription to Billboard (this is expensive, though) CDs of classic vocalists (Frank, Ella, Billie, Mel, etc.) Anything to do with the Beatles Long-sleeves black Tees (size L) Thanks, Wanda! Yours, Sean Dear Sean: All the talented musicians I love seem to all know each other. I hear that you are opening for Moxy Fruvous and that Jian is going to be on your new CD! That is soooo cool! And at the same time, it sucks because I can't afford to trek down to NYC and skip classes. Do you think you'll be performing with Fruvous again soon? Love, Lexi Dear Lexi: I'll be opening for Moxy Fruvous on Wednesday 12/1/99 @ The Westbeth Theater in NYC (info:212/741-0391). Your hasty decision to miss this gig and subordinate spiritual enlightenment to academic pursuits sets a dangerous, puritanical precedent. What's next, Miss Goody-2-Shoes: no boys in the dorm after dark? No heavy petting until the third date? No penetration without a proposal? An exclusive musical diet of Neil Sedaka? Get with it, girl! Who the hell knows when I might get to play with Moxy Fruvous again? Cut your wussy classes and join the power-pop party! And bring some drugs. Yours, Sean Sean, When I read that Shannon was "unsubscribing" from your site, I wondered why it would take so little to make her jump ship. Unless she's been living in a cave, she’s had to have heard myriad "alternatives" to gosh darnit, shoot, golly-gosh-darn, and heck. By now, shouldn't just about everyone be desensitized to choice cuss words? (Although I do suppose it's refreshing to find someone, who isn't a child, to not be numbed by it.) I don't claim to swear like a sailor, but I'm not above it either. It cannot be denied that, in certain situations, situations that leave you full of a scad of emotions and yet curiously mute, there's nothing like a good swear word to sum it all up. Like the word "no," "fuck" is universal, not needing any explanation. You drop a vial of nitroglycerin, blowing half the neighborhood to kingdom come, and the first word that springs to mind and out of your lips is "Fuck," while your friends nod their heads in sympathy. Seemingly, you use bad language as a means of eliciting a response, good or bad but a response nontheless. Hey, it worked on Shannon, she whom you deemed a prude. You displayed your child-like glee for all words naughty as you relayed your story from yesteryear, and, seemingly, this glee has stayed with you. Which is fine. And I have to admit that sometimes I just can't tell if you write that way because it's truly how you are, or, as mentioned, for kicks, which is where Shannon got tripped up. I, however, have a different sort of problem with you. I can look past all your potty-mouthed rants, and leave the things you speak of from the past in the past — to a point. I have to say that I was somewhat disturbed and more than a little disappointed when you mentioned some time ago that you wrote the tune to "Daisy Simone" whilst on your honeymoon. That saddened me. Of all times to be thinking of an exotic dancer, you chose your honeymoon. It was almost as if you had a premonition that the marriage was doomed from the start. Of course, that is not to insinuate that you should be held entirely responsible, because neither I nor anyone else knows the story. But there are different, serious character flaws that are really difficult to look past. Yes, I understand that people can change, for who's the same person now that they were at 18, or 21? On the other hand, certain characteristics stay with a person, unless he or she works extremely hard at changing it. It is, however, naive to think that a person can be changed by someone else. And it is most likely a waste of time and energy. You are who you are. And you seem like such a catch! Truly, you have a voice that is unlike anyone's before and probably after you. Heavenly, it is; smooth, full, rich, perfect. As a bonus, it comes wrapped in an exquisite package of tallness, great bone structure, and for good measure, a sense of humor. If only you could expand your taste in women to include those who are not of extreme beauty or bounty, as it seems you have a distince preference for them. I am not suggesting myself as a candidate — don't get me wrong! Just to develop a relationship based on respect, friendship, and love, not beauty, lust, and hormones. I'm sure some girls you’ve dated had a great mix of the aforementioned qualities, but probably with larger doses of the latter category. I'm not sure if that's what you want out of life, maybe somewhere deep inside you do. I sincerely hope you can find it and hold on tight. Love, Rebecca Dear Rebecca: Your letter, albeit long, touches on some important issues and is nicely written. Feel free to psychoanalyze me at your convenience; you just saved me a hundred bucks and the annoyance of having to bear my shrink's foul mug, acrid breath and undertaker's monotone. Heck, I'll even send you a stool sample if you think it's worth scrutiny. In the future, though, I'd appreciate it if you'd devote at least as much time singing my praises as denouncing me. This makes for a more enjoyable toilet read. In my defense, I only wrote the melody to "Daisy Simone" on my honeymoon; the lyric concept came later, probably while some sweaty, gyrating vixen tried to disarm me of my last twenty with her butt cheeks at 4 am. And don't be so quick to knock "lust and hormones"; these mischievous buggers perpetuate the human race, dagnamit, and enable men and women to tolerate each other’s unspeakable idiosyncrasies. A "relationship based on respect, friendship, and love?" Damn... sounds like a real snoozer, and a bona fide boner-killer to boot. Sometimes, Rebecca, the sperm's just got to fly! Plainly, chicks don’t get this concept. I guess it's comparable to when a woman passes a store window displaying the new lipstick shade she's dreamed of. Does she want to hear any blather about sensible spending and comparison shopping? Fuck, no! The bitch needs her damned lipstick and no amount of logic will assuage her clawing need. This brouhaha occurs in a man's scrotum hourly, except during certain sporting events and discussions about the Holocaust. The sooner you and the rest of womankind come to understand, respect, embrace and, yes, enforce the tenets of "Testicular Law," the sooner the sexes can co- exist peacefully and get down to some good old-fashioned bumping of uglies. Hey, Rebecca, slap on some heels and fetch me a beer with these chips! Yours, Sean Hey Sean: I think it's terrible how all these desperate females shamelessly throw themselves at your large feet (back of CD). Have they no respect?! Do they have nothing better to do with their time than to drool and wag their tongues at you? Your 45th Biggest Fan, Kenny Dear Kenny: Listen, Buster Brown... I and every other self-respecting rocker got into this business for one reason: to be the object of female desire (except, perhaps, George Michael). If not for music-loving sluts, there'd have been no Sinatra, Elvis, Beatles, Hendrix, Prince, New Kids, Rockapella or Sean Altman. We may have existed as flesh and blood, but we'd have been lawyers...or worse. Eliminate the drooling, tongue- wagging babes and you'll have another "day the music died" on your bloody hands, pal. So quit being a spoil-sport and help bolster the cause of musical genius: get your sis, your mom and your granny out onto the concert front lines, tongues a-wagging. Yeah, that's it! I feel another hit song emerging! Come on... lemme see those sluts drool! Yours, Sean Hey Sean: I got seanDEMOnium and it has been one of my favorite CDs since... Not kissing butt, its just the truth. So anyway, it was recorded on a Tascam 688, correct? Being a Tech-geek-audio-freak, I’m curious about what mics you used, how you had your home studio set up and other pertinent info....I love the whole feel of the album sonically...just trying to pick your brain. Thanks man, ? B Dear B: Occasionally I flatter myself by thinking that seanDEMOnium is an advertisement for Beatles’ engineer Geoff Emerick’s pearl of wisdom: "Great albums are made by great performances, not great equipment." I recorded everything with the work- horse live mic of all time: the Shure SM-58. I eschewed the recording rule book by recording everything "wet" and then adding more reverb on mix-down. My somewhat pathetic effects arsenal included: Alesis microverb, Alesis micro limiter, Boss digital delay pitch shifter, Boss Distortion, Electroharmonix Small Stone phase shifter and BBE Sonic Maximizer, none of which cost more than $100. On the a cappella tunes, I added a low octave to my vocal bass parts with the aforementioned Boss pitch shifter and Boss Octaver pedal (the best examples of the great extra low octave are on "Pretty Baby" and "You’re Mine"). "Are You a Man" and "My Parents’ Son" were recorded several years earlier on a Tascam 4-track; everything else was recorded onto the 8-track Tascam 688. I mixed down everything to the cheapest Sony DAT player available. Mastering was a bitch — piecing together almost 40 elements scattered over numerous DAT tapes... yikes! I give enormous credit to the mastering engineers, Andy Heermans and Phil Klum, for making the entire sonic potpourri sound like an album. Almost all the guitar work was done on my acoustic/electric Ovation Celebrity, the same instrument on which I wrote many of the songs and with which I’ve done many gigs. I intend to sell this remarkable instrument soon, so start saving up. Yours, Sean Dear Sean, I have some questions for you: 1. What is your personal definition of a cappella? 2. How do you feel about other forms of a cappella, such as Gregorian chant and barbershop? 3. What is the best purely vocal effect you’ve done or heard done? Who did it and from what group? 4. What is the biggest misconception you’ve run into about a cappella? 5. If there were one thing you would want everyone to know about this musical form, what would it be? Sincerely, Elizabeth Dear Elizabeth, 1. During early Rockapella performances (1988), I was fond of defining "a cappella" as "without clothes," or tracing its derivation to the Latin "aca," meaning "life," and "pella," meaning "party"; thus, "the life of the party." In my present capacity as an elder statesman of the community, though, I am obliged to treat the term with the utmost respect; so now I would say that "a cappella" means "without garnish... not even a damned sprig of parsley." 2. The monks’ state of celibacy so warped their minds that they took to singing in spooky octaves and creepy parallel fifths. This is evidence that tuneful music is dependant on an active sex life. When my own songwriting occasionally stagnates, I treat myself to a rash of anonymous sex, just to get back on melodic track. I learned how to harmonize in various barbershop groups, including the earliest incarnation of Rockapella, so this strain of a cappella will always be dear to me. My current foursome, The GrooveBarbers (three ex-Rockapellas and another guy) sings lots of barbershop. In spite of all this, I believe that barbershop is great fun to sing, less fun to watch, and very little fun to hear on record. In truth, it all sounds the same. If it weren’t for the obligatory cutesy hand gestures and manic grins, all barbershoppers would be assassinated and no one would miss us. It is with great pride mixed with profound fear, then, that I announce the GrooveBarbers’ forthcoming barbershop album, due some time around the New Year. 3. Rockapella’s Jeff Thacher consistently delivers the most sonically powerful vocal percussion of anyone I’ve ever heard. His work on my solo CD seanDEMOnium is especially impressive, given that he learned my songs on the spot and recorded most of them in one take on a cheap mic. M- Pact’s vocal percussionist does a wicked house-music-style lip-sputter, combining a kick drum sound with an impossibly low bass note. Rockapella does some remarkable vocal horn stabs on "Kingdom of Shy" (Vocobeat), and great vocal horns on "Secret Santa" (Out Cold). Rockapella’s Scott Leonard can recite the entire alphabet in one belch. Once I saw a mouse in my kitchen and I shreiked a full-voice high E, shattering the little fucker. Dig it. 4. The biggest misconception about a cappella is that one needs to be a schooled musician to excel. I wouldn’t know a music theory guide if it bit me in the tuchas. I would guess that my favorite vocal groups of all time — The Mills Brothers, The Golden Gate Quartet and the Persuasions — were similarly theory-challenged. Screw the technicians; Take 6 notwithstanding, this medium is for people with big voices, big hearts and good ears. 5. I hope that people (and this goes for folks within the wee pond of a cappella, too) recognize that a cappella is not a music "style"; it is simply an instrumentation. Thus, just as you would never compare Jewel to Metallica, it is absurd to compare rock a cappella groups with jazz groups or barbershoppers. Oh yeah, and people should know that my album, seanDEMOnium, has eight pioneering original a cappella cuts. Oh yeah, and that Rockapella is still the best vocal band on the planet, although not as collectively tall as in my day. Yours, Sean Sean - How can a scrawny yet endearingly hormonal, pasty-faced white boy from NJ like me gain the appreciation of the fairer and more mammarian sex, enough to have them embellish me with gluttonous praise and smear my lanky frame with gobs of fluffernutter? I defer to you, oh Sperminator. Thanks! Duane Dear Duane - Save the dirty talk for your intended targets; chicks love that shit, but it makes me want to hurt you. Don’t let the fact that you were born scrawny deter you from morphing into a beefcake. I, too, was genetically challenged, but after five years of casual weight training, my inner muscle-man has blossomed handsomely. Beware, though; as my producer Billy Straus notes: the bigger you get, the smaller your dick looks. I’ve thus concentrated on upper-body training while intentionally allowing my thighs to atrophy. You are wise to crave gluttonous praise and attention. Toward that end, I recommend your local strip joint where, with a fistful of dollars, you’ll get more love than a plump turd in a fly factory. The fluffernutter- smearing routine is another story; it’s fun in the moment but there’s hell to pay later at the dermatologist’s office. I wish you luck in elevating yourself above loserdom, friend, but please...never call me Sperminator again, lest I exterminate you. Yours, Sean Dear Sean, On my foray into cyberspace and everything Sean, I was not disappointed to discover that beneath the surface of the magnetic and gifted performer that you are lies a brilliant, tortured and miserable soul. Intrigued, I popped the crappy copy I made years ago of Spike Lee’s PBS special into the VCR so that I could watch your performance with Rockapella in a new light. This is what I noticed: throughout the entire song "Flat Tire," you held the mic with the middle finger of your left hand. What I'm wondering now is... was that a subconscious expression of your feeling for the song, the audience, the performance, your state of mind at the time? Love, Terry P.S. I ordered seanDEMOnium this morning via telephone and am thrilled at the opportunity to be reunited with your incredible voice. Dear Terry: Good theory, but not on target. Early Rockapella developed "The Claw" — our method of gripping the mic with just the middle finger — to allow us to clap along while singing. This ingenious technique leaves the palm perfectly unencumbered and thus available for whacking by the other. The band still employs "The Claw" whenever simultaneous hand-holding of the mics and clapping along becomes necessary. "Flat Tire," the great '50s song I arranged for Rockapella in 1989, will likely make a comeback with The GrooveBarbers, my current for-fun-and-profit group of ex- Rockapellas. I’m glad you enjoy seanDEMOnium. My forthcoming power- pop effort, alt.mania, will surely slap you even sillier. Yours, Sean Dear Sean: I am going to be in a band and I am the singer, but I have trouble singing in front of people. When you first started singing with Rockapella, were you nervous singing in front of people too? And if you were, how did you get over it? Please help. Thanks, Meghan Dear Meghan: Congrats on your new gig. I still get pre-gig jitters, but I use that nervous energy to deliver a better performance. Try to think of that case of near-puking butterflies as your friend; harness its awesome power and zap it back at your audience. Some deep breathing before you hit the stage will also help. If that fails, then nothing beats a shot of Jaegermeister. Then there’s always the trusty, ever-dependable orgasm, but those are sometimes hard to come by in the critical pre-show minutes. Good luck, Rock Star! Yours, Sean Dear Sean, As a discriminating male hooked on physical appearances, would you recommend plastic surgery to augment an already comely female body? I’m considering it, but my husband doesn’t want to spend the money. Sincerely, A 5’7”, green-eyed valkyrie with waist-long auburn hair and a navel ring Dear valkyrie: That fact that I had to look up "valkyrie" makes me feel stupid and, thus, predisposed to dislike you. That's lesson number one: never emasculate your man, lest he spurn you. OK... I’ve forgiven you. Although I’m no stranger to the cosmetic surgeon’s knife (LASIK eye surgery to correct nearsightedness), I consider such manufactured enhancement to be the last resort. I'd rather do bench presses 'til I puke than get metal pectoral implants. I'd rather play basketball 'til my heart implodes than get stomach liposuction. I'd rather masturbate with a pneumatic drill than take Viagra. While most super-glamourous women of note have had boob jobs, I’m a firm believer in natural, god- given sweater meat. If your cheapskate husband were smarter, he'd have said "Buttercup, you're perfect just the way you are; don't change a thing. Oh, and pop me a cold brewsky on your way back from the kitchen." Yours, Sean Dear Sean: Any news on a release date for your new album? What tracks are going to be on it? I'm hoping for: "Dick About Me," "Mindy's Mine," "Unhappy Anniversary" and "Come My Way"... all of which sound AMAZING with the full band treatment. Any chance of the above being included? Yours, bjacob Dear bjacob: You're in luck, friend. alt.mania will contain those songs and many more soon-to-be hits dredged from the fetid bowels of my angsty-yet-cheery soul. The late '99 release looks like this, in no particular order: "Dick About Me," "Mindy's Mine," "Unhappy Anniversary, "Come My Way," "Daisy Simone," "Follow Me To Heaven," "Your Town No More" (duet with Jian Ghomeshi of Moxy Früvous), "If I Knew Then," "Tryin' To Forget You," "More In Hate With You," "Dandelion," and new band versions of "Person," "Are You A Man?," and "Presto Change-o." Two other possibilities are "Unworthy" (a co-write with Andrew Chaiken, ex-vocal drummer for the House Jacks) and a new one I'm hoping to finish in time -- a Steve Miller-type rocker called "Too Old & Too Ugly." Like seanDEMOnium, alt.mania will be peppered with between-song palate-cleansers (musical and otherwise), and some not-so-hidden tracks. Prepare yourself for the new millenium's most gem-encrusted pop jewel. Yours, Sean Hey Sean: I promised my children one of two things before I die: 1) that I would win The Power Ball lotto, and 2) that Sean would do a memory/victory tour concert series with his old cronies, Rockapella, in which everyone would end up getting naked. Anything you can to do facilitate either of these requests before the inevitable I would deeply appreciate. Yours, bb Dear bb: Sadly, your kids will remember you as a bald-faced liar unless you win Lotto. It's not that a Rockapella reunion tour is an impossibility; it's just that I won't strip for anyone not committed to satisfying my hideous male needs. My body is a sacred semitic temple, not to be viewed cavalierly by just any old ogler-come-lately. Heck, I won't even do "shirts and skins" on the hoops court. Once, though, Elliott, Barry, Scott and I conducted a nude, impromptu business meeting in a Tokyo bath house. It was steamy, but through the mist it was still abundantly clear that Barry is not like other men. It's like he has his very own "mini-me," but maxi-sized. Can I win one of those in Lotto? Yours, Sean View previous SeanQueries [SeanGigs] [Seanatomy] [SeanDisks] [SeanTalk] [SeanPix] [SeanSongs] [SeanPress] [SeanStuff] [Site Map] [Subscribe] [What's New] [Email] [Home] Last updated: January 12, 2000 This site is designed by Nancy McGrath Copyright © 1998 Big Sean Music