in oak, in elm

wanna sleep for weeks like a dog at her feet

2006-04-06T09:38:00.000-08:00

The Guardian searches for "books that move men." (via)

Troopers seize "$89,000 in cash, 5 ounces of cocaine, six handguns, two rifles, scales, drug packaging equipment, cell phones and a computer," along with 42 pounds of grass during one of western Alaska's largest drug busts. I'm not too sure what they mean by "drug packing equipment," though. Ziplock sandwich bags?

Recently received issue #3 of the Mike McGonigal's Yeti, a collection of no-brow art/music writing, comics, photos and manifestos. This one's got, among other things, interviews with Neko Case, Naomi Yang and William S. Burroughs, an essay by Henry Flynt on C.C. Hennix's "Electric Harpsichord," an essay on "anonymous crime scene reporting in African-American Los Angeles in the 1940's" and a 27 track CD with songs from the likes of Washington Phillips, Jolie Holland, Devendra Banhart, Henry Flynt, Birdbrain, Iron and Wine, Blues Goblins, Steffen Basho-Junghans and more. Highly recommended.

Recent heavy rotation:

Moondog--The Viking of Sixth Avenue
Man Man--Six Demon Bag
SJBB3P
Deerhoof-The Runner's Four

2006-04-03T12:31:00.000-08:00

2006-04-03T12:30:00.000-08:00

this is gonna be the shit

2006-03-31T09:12:00.000-09:00

Five bucks gets you in the door. Another five will send you home with a copy of the film.

2006-03-11T09:38:00.000-09:00

Berman interviews at Flagpole and Athensmusic.com.

I'll have the furry lobster, please.

2006-03-08T17:20:00.000-09:00

Weird

they-ah from he-ya

2006-03-02T10:04:00.000-09:00

Like a lost Beefheart-inspired music clip from How's Your News? : Bill brings his BIG FOOT down on a small, uptight New England town.

2006-03-01T10:38:00.000-09:00

i'm going to be there. are you?

2006-01-23T15:05:00.000-09:00

2006-01-07T04:15:00.000-09:00

off to dominican republic, poland, ukraine, bulagria and russia for the next few weeks. don't expect to see much here as my days will be spent recruiting college students and my nights consuming gross amounts of vodka. cheers . . .

2005-12-28T15:04:00.000-09:00

10:23 am by jl

Alaska to lose aurora?

***

If you're free this Friday, come watch los gran torinos and Chicago 8 rock the fuck out of the Lion's Den in Eagle River. It's the day before New Year's Eve, mind you, so there should be no excuses. Doors at 8. I think it's 5 bucks to get in.

And thanks to all those that braved the shitty weather to come see torinos/eu Vusahm/DJAB/DJmickey last Friday. That shit was fun.

suck it, ted

2005-12-22T08:58:00.000-09:00

Uncle Ted's attempt at opening ANWR by attaching it on a military spending bill gets the gas face. I can only hope that he meant what I think he meant when he said: ""I say goodbye to the Senate tonight. Thank you very much." A Steven's resignation would be quite the Christmas gift.

And as for daddy's little Lisa with her "commitments from congressional leaders" and vows to continue the fight . . . here's a little love for you too, honey:

***

Todd Lincoln's video for those "damn dirty" Silver Jews' "Punks in the Beerlight" is rad.

***

If you're lookin for something to do on Friday night (and possibly Saturday), come down to Girdwood to catch this show at the Sitzmark:

DJ AB

DJ Mickey

eu Vusahm

los gran torinos

doors at 9pm. 5 bucks gets you in.

we'll be spending the night and riding the next day. bring your board.

2005-12-21T11:17:00.000-09:00

karluk in the morning by jl

today is the solstice. hallelujah! let there be (more) light.

lord i know, lord i know my time ain't long

2005-12-20T07:21:00.000-09:00

from R. Crumb's Patton

For those unfamiliar with the raw-ass country blues of Patton, Yazoo's 'Charley Patton: Founder of the Delta Blues' is a great place to start. They've got a few audio clips up. Check 'em out.

And here's A Spoonful Blues from "Screamin' and Hollerin' the Blues: The Worlds of Charley Patton" a stunningly beautiful yet staggeringly priced boxed set put out by the folks of Revenant Records.

"If I made records for my own pleasure, I would only record Charley Patton songs." - Bob Dylan

2005-12-09T07:43:00.000-09:00

verbenaoverman by jl

Epithalamion for Tyler
James Tate

I thought I knew something
about loneliness but
you go to the stockyards

buy a pig's ear and sew
it on your couch. That, you
said, is my best friend--we

have spirited talks. Even
then I thought: a man of
such exquisite emptiness

(and you cultivated it so)
is ground for fine flowers.

***

two songs from Deathvessel:

deep in the horchata
mandan dink

***

los gran torinos have finally broken down and joined the orgy that is myspace. go have a taste.

and for chrissake, put your dern shoes on

2005-12-01T08:07:00.000-09:00

William Eggleston from his book Wedgewood Blue

***

State troopers believe they have identified the perps behind the bus vandalism that caused many Valley schools to close on Tuesday. In a sorry testament to the times we live in, the boys' inspiration is being attributed to MTV. Can't wait to see what this turns into.

***

To you and I it's obvious, of course, but yet another alaskan goes outside without shoes and freezes to death.

***

Ranking high among the many highlights from the first Terrastock festival in Providence many years ago was watching Jeremy Barnes behind a kit. In addition to playing with Neutral Milk Hotel that weekend, he sat in on the Supreme Dicks' set when their drummer couldn't make it and killed it. I've been a convert ever since--listening to Bablicon sometimes borders on the spiritual for me. If you've never seen him perform, you should check out this footage Brainwashed has from Barnes' latest project, A Hawk and a Hacksaw. You too, may see the light.

fucking brilliant . . .

Why did God let John Denver die?

2005-11-29T06:19:00.000-09:00

Neil Hamburger (still from Left For Dead In Malaysia)

"What do you call a senior citizen who can't refrain from exposing their genetalia in public?

. . .Madonna"

from Neil Hamburger on Jimmy Kimmel

***

a couple of pretty cool videos:

The spastic sounds of Need New Body as animated by John Dunn ("Pen")

"Wolves and Wolverines" by Old Time Relijun

***

Make your very own $1.50 contact mic.

the people all call her alaska

2005-11-17T09:35:00.000-09:00

This is a sad and somewhat strange story. This one is just plain sad.

***

UAA's Loussac library has been culling the stacks lately and selling unwanted books for 50 cents. Mostly it's a bunch of garbage but in the last 2 weeks I've picked up a '55 edition of this Mencken book and a collection called "The Age of Rock: Sounds of the American Cultural Revolution." Among the expected pieces on the Stones, the Beatles, Dylan and (gag) Morrison, there is a Robert Christgau piece on poetaster rock stars, a good Zappa interview with Frank Kofsky, photos I've never seen of the Fugs, Incredible String Band, Rob Tyner, and two great Doon Arbus pieces: "James Brown Is Out Of Sight" and "In Person: The Mothers Of Invention"--the latter of which had me going back to this BBC video of "King Kong" to see how spot on Arbus' descriptions of some of these cats really are.

***

Bedazzled has some MC5 footage from a '67 television performance: Black to Comm. Hell yeah! (via Screenhead)

A/V Day

2005-11-14T09:23:00.000-09:00

Well, for starters, here's Hearts off of the Bonnie 'Prince' Billy live album due out tomorrow. Harkens me back to the days of Viva Last Blues and the metrowest's WDJM.

***

A few tracks from Souled American.

***

Gorillasuit's video for Need New Body.

***

Drum solo by a 12 year old. (thanks to shane-bob of the mighty eu Vusahm )

***

and lastly, a brief summary of a time between Friday and Saturday depicted in photographs by other people(*):

(*) obvious I would hope, still from Rashomon, found at Found

screw the soft rock and the salad bars

2005-11-11T09:20:00.000-09:00

!Los Gran Torinos!

Wilda Marston Theater

21 October 2005

***

"Remember: information is not knowledge; knowledge is not wisdom; wisdom is not truth;truth is not beauty; beauty is not love; love is not music; music is the best." -- Frank Zappa

let's not let them wear us down

2005-11-03T15:10:00.000-09:00

Yesterday the Senate voted 52-47 on a budget bill that includes ANWR drilling. (Boo, hiss.)Daddy's girl and all around scrawny republican cunt, Lisa Murkowski claims that yesterday's vote was "a big one for Alaskans, but it's a huge one for the country." How exactly is that? I'd say it's the other way around but mostly it's Conoco, BP et al. that are the ones with the biggest hard ons.

***

Old friend, prophet, baking-whiz and truly wonderful guy Adam Brilla is taking his show on the road with some friends soon. Be sure to check 'em out. Here is the low down:

The Broken River Prophet (Adam and Ryan from Lockgroove with mems of Koalas,
Animal Hospital etc.) spreads doomed love to several cities next week.
We are joined by the Rabbit Ears (members of Smoke and Smoke/Murder City Devils)
and by our friend Mr. Kevin Micka who will perform as Animal Hospital as well as
the BRP drummer.
http://animalhospitalmusic.com/

----Saturday Nov. 5th
Rudy's
New Haven, CT
Broken River Prophet
Rabbit Ears
Animal Hospital
http://www.rudysnewhaven.com/home/index.php

----Sunday Nov. 6th
the Abbey Lounge
Somerville, Ma
joined by NYC's The Fame
we kick things off at 9pm sharp
http://the-fame.com/main.html
http://www.abbeylounge.com/index.shtml

----Monday Night Nov. 7th
The Trash Bar
Williamsburg Brooklyn
again we play 1st. 8PM
$6 (open bar 9-10pm)
w/ The Rabbit Ears
Bedouin Thieves
Apothecary Hymns
Animal Hospital
http://www.bedouinthieves.com/
http://www.thetrashbar.com/?next=11

----Tuesday Night Nov. 8th
2500 Club
2500 Park (corner of Park & Henry)
Detroit, Mi. 48226
bar phone # is : 313.962-9077
9pm
with
The Rabbit Ears
Animal Hospital
the Whiskey Diaries
--
www.lockgroove.com
www.sharkattackmusic.com

"your music scene is for pussies"

2005-10-27T10:49:00.000-08:00

The lastest episode of Channel 101's Yacht Rock, a great mock series covering the "smooth rock" movement of the early 80's (ie. Michael McDonald & the Doobies, Kenny Loggins, Steely Dan et al), is a bust. Catch all four of them here. Be warned: You'll be humming 'Rosanna' for the rest of the day.

Other great Channel 101 shows include:

Time Belt
Laser Fart
Utopia
A couple of Batman spoofs. here and here.

"if he is smoking, taking or licking them."

2005-10-26T10:13:00.000-08:00

wabbit or habit? habit or . . .

2005-10-24T06:31:00.000-08:00

Check out this fucking amazing footage of some of the guys from the Animal Collective performing 'Winter's Love' at a Fat Cat showcase in Brighton last May. I think I watched it like six or seven times last night.

smile is brighter when you drink

2005-10-13T06:54:00.000-08:00

'When She Dropped the Flower' by Don Van Vliet

Some great Beefheart footage, particularly the 'I'm Gonna Booglarize Ya Baby' clip from German TV in '72, can be found here. Also, while you're there, be sure to check out all 10 minutes of 'King Kong' by Mothers of Invention. Killer.

***

The almighty Revenant Records has released another volume of American Primative entitled Pre-War Revenants (1897-1939). As always, beautiful packaging and great liner notes and essays accompany the two discs of this truly raw music. This is apparently the last work Fahey curated before his death. Revenant has put a few MP3s up, go have a listen.

***

Los Gran Torinos at Cuddy Park 6 August 05

(photo from AKInk)

Some upcoming Torinos shows:

Sunday 16 Oct.

'Bourbon St. Brunch' w/ Stubby's Crack Co., Spitshine & Chicago 8.

A vegan friendly brunch to be served at noon followed by music at 2pm. $8 suggested donation, $5 after 2pm (no food). All proceeds go to the Louisiana ASPCA.

Friday 21 Oct

w/ Born Losers (Portland, OR), Stubby's Crack Co. and Stuck at the Wilda Marston Theater (Loussac Library). Show starts at 8pm, admission is $7.

Saturday 22 Oct

w/ Fats Tunamelt, the Affected, and Theory of Hate at Sis's Deli on Old Seward. $5 will get you in.

Saturday 29 Oct.

w/ Fats Tunamelt at some dude's Halloween party. More info later.

i am the four horsemen

2005-10-05T09:52:00.000-08:00

poster from Mariano Gonzalez's exhibition at Anchorage's Out North Contemporary Art House

A somewhat dated but interesting quote from Bill Maher. These are the closing words from his show last Friday(passed along by shy gun willie):

"Mr. President, this job can't be fun for you any more. There's no moremoney to spend--you used up all of that. You can't start another warbecause you used up the army. And now, darn the luck, the rest of yourterm has become the Bush family nightmare: helping poor people. Listento your Mom. The cupboard's bare; the credit cards maxed out. No one'sspeaking to you. Mission accomplished.

"Now it's time to do what you've always done best: lose interest andwalk away. Like you did with your military service and the oil companyand the baseball team. It's time. Time to move on and try the nextfantasy job. How about cowboy or space man? Now I know what you'resaying: there's so many other things that you as President could involveyourself in. Please don't. I know, I know. There's a lot left to do.There's a war with Venezuela. Eliminating the sales tax on yachts.Turning the space program over to the church. And Social Security toFannie Mae. Giving embryos the vote.

"But, Sir, none of that is going to happen now. Why? Because you governlike Billy Joel drives. You've performed so poorly I'm surprised thatyou haven't given yourself a medal. You're a catastrophe that walks likea man. Herbert Hoover was a shitty president, but even he never concededan entire city to rising water and snakes. On your watch, we've lostalmost all of our allies, the surplus, four airliners, two tradecenters, a piece of the Pentagon and the City of New Orleans. Maybeyou're just not lucky. I'm not saying you don't love this country. I'mjust wondering how much worse it could be if you were on the other side.

"So, yes, God does speak to you. What he is saying is: 'Take a hint.' "

***

The second issue of I49 hits the streets today. Be sure to pick one up. It's even got a crossword puzzle this time.

***

Not too sure how things are in the lower48 but the metal kids up here sure do love their Manowar. I've heard the name kicked around quite a bit, seen the albums (here's a sampling of titles: Sign of the Hammer, Into Glory Ride, Battle Hymns, Return of the Warlord, Hell On Wheels, Hell On Stage Live, etc), and seen terrible promo photos of the men of Manowar shirtless in leather vests. Yes, all of them, look:

I hadn't actually heard anything from these guys until i watched this. Whoa.

that's agri-tainment

2005-10-04T09:29:00.000-08:00

don't waste your time here, go read the berman interview at Dusted.

like a brown bird nesting in a texaco sign

2005-09-22T07:38:00.000-08:00

on my way over to drag city to get a link to some recent red krayola footage, i found this:

silver jews

The leaked version of 'Tanglewood Numbers' that was passed on to me is fucking fantastic. I'm very excited for the official release next month (18 oct, i believe). For an interesting review, check out soi disantra's Tangled Up in Jews: The Genius of the Silver Jews' Tanglewood Numbers Parts 1 & 2 (via)

News of a tour could seriously affect my plans for a trip to the lower 48.

***

Now, about those red krayola videos . . .

'wives in orbit' and 'war sucks' from a recent performance at the Empty Bottle with John McEntire, George Hurley, and Tom Watson. Damn how i would love to witness McEntire and Hurley playing drums together! Anyway, go here to check them out. (video was shot by Scott McGaughey)

***

For those folks in AK looking for something to do on Friday (hell, even if you've got plans, change 'em), Stubby's Crack Co. and Los Gran Torinos will be closing out the first evening of this weekend's Seward Music and Arts Festival. It's being held at the Alaska Railroad Cruise Ship Terminal Building. Admission is $8. Proceeds go to the struggling music and arts programs in Seward's school system.

here is the weekend's roster:

Friday

Pretty Damn Close Band: 6:00-6:45(Folk/Bluegrass rock)

Caine’s Head: 7:00-7:45(Orig./classic/modern rock)

Culture Cousins: 8:00-8:45 (Afro/latin rhythmsW/The ’05 Kick-off Parade of performance artists

Woodrow: 9:00-10:00(Modern Alternative rock)

Stubby’s Crack Co.: 10:15-11:15(Punk)

Los Gran Torinos: 11:30-12:30(Punk)

Saturday

_________: 12:00-12:30TBA

Terry Holder: 12:45-1:30(Soloist Singer/Songwriter)

Homespun: 1:45-2:30(Orig. Bluegrass duet)

Mike Campbell: 2:45-3:30(Singer/Songwriter)

McCleod Bluegrass: 3:45-4:30(Bluegrass)

Double Helix: 4:45-5:30(Insturmental Duet)

Something Else: 5:45-6:45(Original Folk Rock)

Luv Puppets: 7:00-8:00(Orig./Modern/Classic Rock)

1Enemy3: 8:15-9:15(Orig./Modern Rock)

(Nervis Rex: 9:30-11:00(SKA)

Arctic Flow/DJ Solo/ Todd The Terrible: 11:15-12:30(Hip Hop)

Sunday

Lanice Drake: 12:00-12:45(Solo Singer/Songwriter)

Mike Ronan: 1:00-1:45(Solo Singer/Songwriter)

Terry Kelly: 2:00-2:45(Solo Singer/Songwriter)

Randy Altermatt: 3:00-3:45(Orig. Rock)

Paul Hettwer: 4:00-4:45(Christian Rock)

Melissa Bledsoe Fischer: 5:00-6:00(Jazz Quartet)

Andy Mullen: 6:00-7:00(Funk Rock)

i'm a student of human nature, and all the lessons i have learned are free

2005-09-09T07:45:00.000-08:00

Very grumpy right now after having lost an hour's worth of writing I, like a dipshit, forgot to save before I left to go grab a coffee. It was a brief summary of the bike ride/war protest I rode on Labor Day weekend. Three days of riding and camping sandwiched by shows in Anchorage (Friday at Bitoz) and Seward (Monday at the Yukon--and, yes, another well lubricated evening there of dollar drinks for bands). I just don't have it in me right now to re-write all that I had. Know that it was a great time. I don't think anyone had a better weekend than us. At times, with support vehicles and all, we numbered around 25 or so. And when I say support vehicles, I mean that these folks prepped our campsites with firewood and set up tarps for the kitchen, fixed flats, purcahsed beer and whisky, and, of course, hauled all the dogs). Although Saturday, at times, saw 40 mph (at least that's what the radio said) headwinds and Sunday mostly rain and the formidable climb through Turnagain Pass, spirits were high. Just look at the face on Johnny-Too-Bad (pictured above) after he and Randi encoutered a momma bear and two cubs. Motorist's responses were, for the most part, positive. Lots of "hell's yeah" and folks throwing thumbs up and peace signs. Only after we gathered just outside of Seward and approached town in critical mass style (taking over the inbound traffic lane and keeping folks lined up deep behind us), did we receive any real aggresion. And that was just two crusty dudes in a very stereotypical late 70's chevy pickup (beat up and rusty, gunrack, missing tailgate, noisy exhaust, etc) that shouted predictable cusses in a very unimaginative redneck fashion. "Get out of the road you goddamn stupid motherfucking assholes" was the only discernable comment, the rest was just a bunch of unintelligible bud lite fueled aggresion. Oh well, at least they had something to talk about when nascar broke to commercial, right? Anyways, there's more to that story but as I said I don't have it in me right now to type it all out. I am, however, trying to assemble something about the trip for Insurgent 49 . You should go see what the good folks there are up to. Their first issue hit the streets of Anchorage on 1 Sept. Big ups!

***

Interesting article in Newsweek: How Bush Blew It (via)

***

"For a while we were actually a five piece, with Cunningham's friend Bonnie Emerson and this guy, Danny Schact. He was something else. When we decided for sanity's sake to make the group a trio, we called a meeting and broke it to Emerson and Schact. Schact's response was great, he just said, "It's OK, man, your music is ontologically unsound anyway."

-Mayo Thompson (Red Krayola, Art & Language, Pere Ubu, Saddlesore and creator of the one of my all time favorite records, Corky's Debt To His Father ) from an interview in the August issue of The Wire.

***

A new one from the Dirty Three: "Doris"

***

Currently enjoying Bablicon's "A Flat Inside a Fog. The Cat That Was a Dog."

vast, like ruined buildings

2005-07-28T23:26:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday John Ashbery(1927-). Here's one of his poems found in Conjunctions 19 Fall 1992:

It Must Be Sophistacted

There are attics in old houses
where doubt lingers as to the corrosive
effect of night-blindness: namely
are its victims directly linkable to a chain
of events happening elsewhere? If so,
we should shrug off resemblances

to our line of work. What was said around
the house had undue influence on one of several
shapely witnesses. And, as dames do,
she started talking to any and every
interlocutor out of harm's way. One day
you wake up and they've skipped. Or was it

always empty like this? It's hard
to remember a time when it wasn't. Maybe
your memory's playing tricks on you? Maybe
there never was such a person as Lisa Martins?
Maybe it's all over when you stand up
to walk the last mile in Enna Jettick shoes,

and they draw the blind quickly to forget you.
Once forgotten you're as good as dead,
anyway. And who would help you now?
You might as well be trapped at the bottom of a well
in the Sahara. They don't know you're alive,
or that your life was anything but exemplary

when it came time for you to live.
The fashionable present keeps queening it
over the slightly dishonorable past. Your
bridesmaids are scattered on the wind.
You don't feel like having lunch. Maybe
a walk, and a cup of tea later?

We'll see you at the end of the month!
they cried. Now it keeps ticking,
there must be a mystery down there,
darn it. I'll find it if it takes all night
and then some other sleuth can solve it.
I was only hired as a go-between. My tour is ended,
and if I've a piece of advice for you, it's
check out the rafters, the moldings.
You can't tell who might have bargained
for clemency in your absence, leaving you holding
the bag when you got back, restless,
ready to start school, but the vagrant air's black,

what with the negative promise of spring.
The boys are still rehearsing their parts
they haven't been over, and really
it's none of my business. Said the table to the chair.
I was confined here. That's all I know,
truthfully. During the amnesty I walked

out through the open gate. The streets were full of people,
running back and forth, talking disjointedly. I was
supposed to be somewhere else, but no one knew it.
In the confusion I returned home.
Now the newshounds pester us daily.
What was I born for? More experiments?

Why are they fighting over a fuse? It doesn't
seem to be harmless like those people are listening to over there;
at the same time, everyone's a suspect in the new
climate and country. The wind turns a page
of the old tome, then another and another; soon
it's riffling through them too fast to stop.

There's nothing in it anyway. Time to move on
to another frontier beyond the transparent frieze
of foliage, guns, barges, to where he began.
Sure, dem days is gone forever, but it's the attention span
that's really gone. Back when they'd send for you
once they got a house built, it was clever

to hedge your bets and produce a fraternal twin
made of bedclothes with a mop for a wig
while you scaled the wall on a rope ladder
to be the next new thing that thinks
and cautions others not to. Far from the
inner city cry of conflicting attitudes, one fled with one's

holy illusions intact, one's misconceptions too, until the whole
mindset took on a largely symbolic
look, an indifferent jewel, toy
of the weather, of successive washes of light,
I can hardly believe I'm here
in this tiny republic carved out of several conflicting

principalities. It's enough, perhaps, that I was questioned
at the edge of my performance. That now I'm safe
from my own sang-froid and scores of others,
that mere forgetfulness can save up to fifty-three lives,
that they can share your power and go on glancing
upward. Because after all we were the three

original ones, the president, vice-president and treasurer
of our class. And were formed to repay
what obscure debt and be summarily
taken out of school and handed over to our parents.
It's what matters then, and after. No one
says you have to live up to principles; indeed, what are they?

What difference does it make which one came too close
in the richly darkened theater, if all
they were after was to coax you into the light,
watch you blink a minute, and then pass on, they too,
to the larger arenas, each in the wind,
in the sand, the reeds, growing? Because even if it doesn't

punish you exactly, the thing has been
lived through, the experience sealed.
O what book shall I read
now? for they are all of them new, and used,
when I write my name on the flyleaf. Look,
here is another one unread, not written. Time for you to choose.

hey there fuckface

2005-07-16T20:46:00.000-08:00

feeling terribly snide today and had the snarly chant found in the post title bouncing around my head for a bit. so, without further ado, here are the rest of the words to The Classical by the Fall:

THE CLASSICAL

There is no culture is my brag,
Your taste for bullshit reveals a lust for a home of office
THIS IS THE HOME OF THE VAIN!
THIS IS THE HOME OF THE VAIN!
Where are the obligatory niggers?
HEY THERE FUCKFACE!!
HEY THERE FUCKFACE!!
There are twelve people in the world
The rest are paste
THIS IS THE HOME OF THE VAIN!
THIS IS THE HOME OF THE VAIN!
I just left the Hotel Amnesia, I had to go there
Where it is I can't remember,
But now I can remember...now I can remember
HAFTA! HAFTA!
MESSAGE FOR YER! MESSAGE FOR YER!
Too much reliance on girl here
On girls here, behind every shell-actor
Snobbier Snobbier
Too much romantic here
I destroy romantics, actors,
Kill it!
Kill it!
KILL IT A !
KILL IT!
KILL IT A !
You won't find anything more ridiculous, than this new profile
razor unit, made with the highest British attention to the
wrong detail, become obsolete units surrounded by hail.
THE CLASSICAL!
THE CLASSICAL!
THE CLASSICAL!
HOTEL AGGRO!
MESSAGE FOR YER!
MESSAGE FOR YER!
THE CLASSICAL!
POLEAXE A!..........one of the millenium of conspiracy,
Forever,I know it means a lot of stomach gas,
I K N O W I T M E A N S A L O T O F S T O M A C H G A SSSSSS
I've never felt better in my life
I've never felt better in my life
POLEAXE A!
THE CLASSICAL!
Stomach gas
I've never felt better in my life
I've never felt better in my life
POLEAXE A!
Millenium of conspiracy
Play out Classical
I've never felt better in my life
Better in my life.... . . . . . . . . .

apparently, this song, specifically the fifth line, cost the Fall a deal with Motown Records.

for more Mark E. Smith go here.

i don't sleep, i drink coffee instead . . .

2005-07-06T17:57:00.000-08:00

los gran torinos at the yukon bar in seward, ak
st. patricks day 2005

so, out here in the bay, the fourth is a day generally despised by yours truly(it's no holiday for me, so suck it all you white collared lower 48ers). i've never been one to waste a bunch of cash on fireworks and don't really see the excitement--well, shooting bottle rockets and roman candles at cars as a kid was always fun. i especially can't relate to the drunk fishermen that do away with shimmering wows of ariel rocket flowering-type displays for the caveman kaboom of a seal bomb, 1/4 stick of dynamite or, in this year's case, a homemade powder keg bomb. it's just loud and obnoxious. ugh. me like firebox go big boom! doesn't help that the half-wits lit the black powder as i was trying to get a couple of hours of sleep in. the ground trembled, windows rattled, things fell of the wall. america-fuck yeah!

yesterday, wild salmon proponent and best selling author, Andrew Weil was visiting with my boss and came through for a little tour of our operation. he wore one of those cheesy alaska wildlife t-shirts, had a good handshake and introduced himself as Andy. first time i've met someone with a mushroom (psilocybe weilii) named after them.

dana sent me a link to this frightening website belonging to the "world's most photographed squirrel" and it's caretaker(?) the quite possibly taxidermied Kelly Foxton. scary shit. one has to wonder how much time is put into the sets and costumes for sugarbush's photo shoots. that and what kind of tranquilizers the two of them are on . . .

the torinos (above is a photo from our first show) have been invited to play some shows in talkeetna and fairbanks by our friends in stubby's crack co. i think eu vusahm may be in tow as well. look for dates soon . . .

in hopeless effort to drown out the chaos outside my door, i'm digging on Ethiopiques Vol. 1: golden years of modern Ethiopian music (1969-1975). particularly, the instrumental track (#15)Heywete. dope.

in the grove . . .

2005-06-23T22:59:00.000-08:00

spent the better part of the day yesterday feeling like the judge from Rashomon as I heard testimony from victim, perp and witnesses in a sexual assualt claim. it's not very often that one actually attempts to sort out the truth of a situation through 4 different and greatly varying perspectives, all of them somehow self-serving. and when i say sort, i mean really pick apart and revisit specific events in an attempt to find fault in accounts--asking questions in different ways, jumping around on the timeline of events, etc. i felt like a rookie detective--except i didn't get into that whole leading questions side investigatory work. it was very frustrating as noone involved speaks very good english and my tagolog doesn't go much further than basics like good morning (mangadang umaga) and thank you (salaamat). this kinda shit is draining . . .

on a much lighter note, check out the new look (and name?) for twinkle twinkle blah blah blah etc

current background = Pharoah Sanders' Summun, Bukmun, Umyun (Deaf Dumb Blind) mixed with the blanketing din of ammonia compressor units . . .

From Jameelah Ali's liner notes: "This album is predicated on spiritual truths and to the future enlightenment of El Kafirun or The Rejectors of Faith (non believers).... Deaf, dumb and blind as used here does not refer to the physical state, but, instead, to the spiritually handicapped... Deaf--To the pleas of fellow creatures to harken, Dumb--To spiritual enlightenment and Blind--To the essence of Beauty and Truth."

it's suntory time

2005-06-11T21:11:00.000-08:00

last week's Anchorage Festival of Unpopular Music was a quite a good time. there was all day barbeque-ing, a dozen or so homemade hulahoops (with plenty of hips to match), stubby's free zine library, little kids air-guitaring on stage, cheap beer in the beds of pickups and weather ranging from all-out sunshine and temps in the whopping 70's to heavy overcast with a clipping breeze but nary a shower. sounds were provided by: the vienna boys sausage choir (their 'coming out' show), flying falcons, los gran torinos, double fines, spitshine, eu vusahm and fats tunamelt. more people showed up than i had been expecting and stage fright kicked me square in the teeth and sat on my chest (right next to the guilt for playing without sax-a-mo Joe). nerves got the best of me and the thing seemed to be more stressful than fun for some of the day. more and more i feel kin to David Berman's "anti-showmanship, anti-showanship, anti-showmanship" aesthetic*. it was great to hang out and catch some live music after being heavily pinned to the plant for the last few weeks. thanks to everyone for coming out (Ted--what's up, man? i was hoping you and meghan would show. you suckers shoulda come. you were missed) oh, and big ups to tree-dan for making it all come together. his support for anchorage's outsider music community is unwavering and noble.

this weekend brought the return of our roe technicians from Japan and my annual gift of Suntory from the duty free. i get a bottle every year and never seem to finish it. last year was a 15 year old bottle, this year's a 12--guess i wasn't as nice last year. no matter, the shit is just awful. anyway, their arrival marks the unofficial start of the season-- by the end of next weekend we'll have around 200 employees on hand, a fresh mosquito hatch and all the headaches that they bring. i need to go out and re-up on my scotch soon. the suntory will park right next to last year's bottle until i'm really desperate**.

finally started in on Drop City by TC Boyle. i've been asked often enough about how i think it portrays AK that i feel almost obligated to read it now. i really dig Boyle's short stories and Water Music is one of my favorite books so i'm interested to see his take on late 60's commune life in northern california and AK.

picked up the current issue of the Believer when i was back in town. it's some special music issue that comes with a cd of folks covering what they've "been listening to latley." the track by Josephine Foster and Vetiver's live version of Michael Hurley' s "be kind to me" (with Hurley apparently sitting in on "snock trumpet") are damn good. the Moutain Goats' cover of the Silver Jews' "Pet Politics" is fucking fantastic. plus, there is a very informative, well researched, carefully drawn out and down-right funny tree giving the heirarchy of the world of singing drummers.

* you should read here that i'm just a pussy when it comes to performing in front of folks.

** i'm not usually one to dwell in the mouth of a gift horse but i sure would rather have a bottle of that canadian whisky that always seems to be kicking around their place. they're like college sophmores in their first apartment: it's filthy (one guy actually had to be shown how to step on the foot pedal of a vacuum to release the handle from it's locked upright position), sparsly furnished, and littered with dirty dishes, empty beer and whisky bottles, and porn.

spaced out and stout-mouthed

2005-05-30T23:41:00.000-08:00

played accessory to a crime the other day when our neighbor "dinky" came by with a baby seal in the back of his pickup and was looking for some herring to feed it. i couldn't really say no even though i thought he was kinda fucked up for taking it. it had apparently been stranded past the tide line at a fairly substantial low and, although it was almost certainly a goner, he decided to take it home as a "pet" and now it's surely a goner. poor thing was scared as hell in the scratched up bed beside a spare tire, some old line, and a handful of rusty bolts. and aggresive too. those little fuckers have some burly claws. it seemed as though it should still be feeding on momma's milk so i'm not too sure that the fish i donated did any good. probably for the best.

on another (and final work related) note, i fired the chump carpenter. think i'm stuck with the crazy cook, however.

if you're looking for something to do in Anchorage this sunday(5 June), swing by Cuddy park for what has apparently been dubbed the Anchorage Festival of Unpopular Music. don't know the complete line up but los gran torinos will appear (unfortunately, without our sax player) along with eu vusahm, fats tunamelt, spitshine, chicago 8, flying falcons, and more. also, Food Not Bombs will be there to provide, well, food. i think stubby's crack company's mobile zine library will be there as well. the whole thing is free, outside and (somewhat) family friendly. yeah, i get a vacation and now i get to stress out over this show. . .

so, i had no idea that colorado springs is the "evangelical vatican" . . . a very interesting article in Harper's about a christian wacko that speaks with W. once a week. came upon this one via (worth scrolling down for the commentary)

be sure to watch the trailer for The Guatemalan Handshake. yeah, that's bonnie will oldham there.

listening to:

mornings: skinner pilot-this parking lot is being videotaped, minutemen-ballot results
evenings w/ headphones and nips from the flask: the foreign press-demos and sketches
to lull me to sleep: lau nau-kuutarha

tastes like chicken

2005-05-20T21:49:00.000-08:00

7 or so years before I would eventually meet her, Kara Simon was somewhere in the Richmond area of Virginia patiently folding over xeroxed pages to create volume 2 of 'Tastes Like Chicken', a collection of her poems. As the two of us became closer, and started pushing books and music onto one another (some of my Blake and my third or so copy of Actual Air will remain within her collection), we eventually got around to sharing some of our own writings. Well, actually, it was me that had to do the getting around--Kara had a performer's streak to her and had no qualms about sharing her creative side, whereas I'm a chickenshit and lack the type of confidence that she had an abundance of. Anyways, at some point, I was handed 5 unstapled, folded over pages of her words with her name and an 804 area code phone number on back.

Kara took her own life on 29 April 2005. Aside from an old note from last fall left under a wiper blade and then found again on the floorboards of my old pick-up on the evening of her memorial telling me that I was living in a weird buiding and why couldn't I hear her knocking on my windows, these are the only words I have left from Kara.

This is the first poem from 'Tastes Like Chicken' II:

we were young
and we were all taught to swallow shame and pretend pride.
and we would spend time
walking around and looking for satisfaction:
something easy, a quick trick
a distraction
something to spare us.
how can you answer when you don't know the question.
silly?
an empty mind is what you get for an empty life.
waiting for the next explosion of insignificance.
whose life is deeper. yours or mine?
it is foolish to have pride.
be truthful.

--Kara Simon

Love to you, girl.

the dust blows in

2005-05-19T21:06:00.000-08:00

I've heard neither Manitoba nor Caribou but judging from helmsman Dan Snaith's contribution(see below) to Dusted Magazine's 'Listed' column, I ought to. The guy is so right on about some of my favorite records (specifically In the Aeroplane and Black Unity) and his list, aside from Nistromsaand and Bisombes (whom I'll now be sure to check out), reads like a weekend's playlist in my old apartment.

1.Albert Ayler - Love Cry
It's tough to choose between Ayler's albums because they're all that good and he cycles through the same half dozen songs most of the time but the addition of a harpsichord on this one takes his already transcendent music to a higher level of heaviness.

2. Lightning Bolt - Wonderful Rainbow
No amount of hyperbole is too much for this band. Set all their imitators aside - their thundering is a call from on high.

3. Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
Mozart eat your heart out. Some scraggly motherfuckers from Georgia/New Mexico just blew you a new asshole.

4. Phillipe Besombes - Libra OST
Avant-garde French composer Besombes has been largely forgotten since his heyday in the 1970s but this will be his year. Moogs, phasers, drums, sheepskin coats and pipes... this will serve as an adequate introduction to the man until he returns to storm the charts.

5. Madvillain - Madvillainy
An album that surpassed all my unreasonably high expectations for it. Madlib is seen here in his finest, rawest, maddest form with Doom at is peak matching him every step of the way.

6. Pharoah Sanders - Black Unity
Listening to this makes me wonder why no one makes records as heavy as this these days. The idea of this many ridiculously talented musicians pulling together something this momentous ever again seems laughable.

7. Faust - The BBC Sessions
When I think about this record I imagine it being recorded by a colony of rock giants dressed in sabre-toothed snugglies.

8. Animal Collective - Sung Tongs
Another album that has already been heaped with praise but deservedly so. An album that focuses all their best ideas and marks them as the truly important band that they are.

9. Lars Nistromsaand - The Molten Core of the Cosmos
People tend to associate progressive rock quite correctly with endless organ solos and wizard costumes but this classic album from 1982 recorded on one microphone captures the sound of three drum kits and three singing saws getting as conceptual as you like before Nistromsaand's career was cut unmercifully short by libellous allegations of paedophilia.

10. The Zombies - Odyssey and Oracle
Perfect pop, perfectly arranged and performed. Guaranteed to raise a smile from even the greatest misery Muppet.

*** *** ***
Woke up at 3 am last night and laid around for about an hour listening to an owl that was right outside my cabin. I believe it was one of these guys on it's way to Barrow. Sometimes it takes moments like these to remind me that my life out here in bush AK
. . . well, let's just say that sometimes it takes moments like these to remind me.

while someone else is eating or opening a window or walking dully along . . .

2005-05-15T18:47:00.000-08:00

It's hard to think of things to say when someone you love takes their own life. . .

shit, sometimes it's just hard to think. . .

Instead, I'll share this poem by W.H. Auden. I vividly remember reading it in high school. It was one of the first poems (along with Whitman, Tennyson, et al.) to really affect me and it's lesson has stayed with me always.

Musee Des Beaux Arts

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

--W.H. Auden

To see the poem alongside Breughel's painting, go here.

Much love to you, Kara.

november.alpha.kilo.november.echo.kilo

2005-04-07T16:13:00.000-08:00

well, it's been a while since my last post and i'm afraid to say that this will probably be a typical pace for updates here for a while. apologies to anyone out there that actually dug any of this.

it's all because of my return to the tundra and the ridiculous workdays i'll be putting in here for the next few weeks. i'll try to carve out some time to relay some of the shit that happens here but, as it stands right now, i look to be busy as fuck. things like rerunning power lines to my cabin, waking up in the middle of the night to work on our barge at low tide, mending all that the winter wrecked, etc. will be consuming most of my time and energy. check back on me though--i don't plan on giving up.

in the meantime, go check out what karl is doing. (big ups, karl, and thanks for the kind words)

you should also head over to locust music and pick something up. these guys are doing some really great things. send them some of your expendable income in exchange for some damn fine sounds from the likes of henry flynt(this guy is dope), michael hurley (just picked up this and am digging the hell out of it), the sun city girl's sir richard bishop, and my favorite opera school drop-out.

much love from the booming metropolis of naknek,
squirrel

on the edge of sleeping

2005-04-06T16:53:00.000-08:00

Califone video from Cambridge's Middle East. It's 20 minutes of live footage interrupted by snippets of an interview with Tim Rutilli. Not so sure that I'm down with the edit work on it but, having very slim chances of ever catching these fellas live, I'll take what I can get. The encore of "There's a Star Above the Manger Tonight" (an old Red Red Meat song) is pretty cool.

Chester Brown is rereleasing 'Ed the Happy Clown' in serialized reprinting for Drawn & Quarterly Publications.

Close and getting ever closer to buying a cabin from some friends in Houston, Alaska. It's been over 10 years since I've kept anything resembling a stable address so the thought of purchasing this land scares the shit outta me. Yes, I have problems with commitment.

not sure what to say

2005-04-02T10:04:00.000-09:00

this is so fucking awesome.

The Delicacy of Rock-and-Roll

2005-03-29T06:53:00.000-09:00

--from Dave Hickey's essay 'The Delicacy of Rock-and-Roll'

"Jazz presumes that it would be nice if the four of us--simpatico dudes that we are--while playing this complicated song together, might somehow be free and autonomous as well. Tragically, this never quite works out. At best, we can only be free one or two at a time--while the other dudes hold onto the wire. Which is not to say that no one has tried to dispense with wires. Many have, and sometimes it works--but it doesn't feel like jazz when it does. The music simply drifts away into the stratosphere of formal dialectic, beyond our social concerns.

Rock-and-roll, on the other hand, presumes that the four of us--as damaged and anti-social as we are--might possibly get it to-fucking-gether, man, and play this simple song. And play it right, okay? Just this once, in tune and on the beat. But we can't. The song's too simple, and we're too damn complicated and excited. We try like hell, but the guitars distort, the intonation bends, and the beat just moves, imperceptibly, against our formal expectations, wether we want it to or not. Just because we're breathing, man. Thus, in the process of trying to play this very simple song together, we create this hurricane of noise, this infinitely complicated, fractal filigree of delicate distinctions.

And you can thank the wanking eighties, if you wish, and digital sequencers, too, for proving to everyone that technologically "perfect" rock--like "free" jazz--sucks rockets. Because order sucks. I mean, look at the Stones. Keith Richards is always on top of the beat, and Bill Wyman, until he quit, was always behind it, because Richards is leading the band and Charlie Watts is listening to him and Wyman is listening to Watts. So the beat is sliding on those tiny neural lapses, not so you can tell, of course, but so you can feel it in your stomach. And the intonation is wavering, too, with the pulse in the finger on the amplified string. This is the delicacy of rock-and-roll, the bodily rhetoric of tiny incriments, necessary imperfections, and contingent community. And it has it's virtues, because jazz only works if we're trying to be free and are, infact, together. Rock-and-roll works because we're all a bunch of flakes. That's something you can depend on, and a good thing too, because in the twentieth century, that's all there is: jazz and rock-and-roll. The rest is term papers and advertising."

march on the peninsula

2005-03-22T08:45:00.000-09:00

Well, the Spenardcore Collective's recent maneuvers on the Kenai Peninsula were a great success. Stubby's Crack Co., Fats Tunamelt, Wang Gang, and los Gran Torinos' relentless missionary work made many converts to Spenardcore's round church ("so the devil can't corner me" -OD) in Seward and Homer. On St. Pat's day, los Gran Torinos played their first show to a crowd well over 100 at the Yukon Bar in Seward. Drinks (yes, this included Jameson rocks!!) for band members were $1. We were payed $200 to play--that's 200 drinks, folks!!! Best St. Pat's ever. The Homer show was great as well. Standing room only at Amped Cafe. We must have sold about 20 Spenardcore Records t-shirts and we ran out of torinos stickers.

big ups to:

*Bjorn and Amy for letting us crash at their cabin in Moose Pass playing fiddle, guitar, washboards, etc around the fire until the wee hours of the morning, cooking up a badass vegan breakfast, and then traveling to Homer to catch our last show.

*Chris in Homer for taking all 20 or so of us (he only knew one of us) back to his dome. Yeah, dome. It has one section that is all windows facing out across Kachemak Bay. The windows are configured in such a way that you feel like you're looking out of the Millenium Falcon. Chris served us up stuffed french toast, potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn bread and good strong coffee in the a.m. and his neighbor came by and rolled about 8 cones. Damn fine people!!!

I still haven't fully recovered. At some point, I'll get a few stories from the trip up here. Just don't have it in me now.

rough outline:
4 bands, 4 days, 3 shows, 5 rigs, several fifths, a few friends, a coupla ounces, countless beers . . .

dogs:
Monkey, Survey, Rizzo, Lilith, Scout, Noah, Esa

<<<>>> <<<>>> <<<>>>

In other news, I'm really digging 'too much love' by Harlan T Bobo right now.

Here's a video of Harlan aiding Tim Prudehomme in a clown-clad version of Tim's song "George W Hitler."

"Your pigtails are starting to crumble"

2005-03-15T17:48:00.000-09:00

An excerpt from 'What It Is', a short story by James Tate:

She stood there frowning. And then, uninvited, she sat down on a little rug. That rug had always been a mystery to me. No one knew where it came from and yet it had always been there. We never talked of moving it or throwing it out. I don't think it had ever been washed. Someone should at least shake it from time to time, expose it to some air.

"You're not even curious," she said.

"About what?" The coin was burning a hole in my hand. And the rug was begining to move, impeceptibly, but I was fairly sure it was begining to move, or at least thinking of moving.

"The package," she said. "You probably ordered something late at nightlike you always do and now you've forgotten. It'll be a suprise. I like it when you do that because you always order the most useless things."

"Your pigtails are starting to crumble," I said. "Is there anywhere in the world you would rather live?" I inquired. It was a sincere question, the last one I had in stock.

--Damn good shit, I tell ya. You can find 'Dreams of a Robot Dancing Bee: 44 stories by James Tate' at Verse Press.

<<<>>> <<<>>> <<<>>>

After Reading Tu Fu, I Go Outside to the Dwarf Orchard

East of me, west of me, full summer.
How deeper than elsewhere the dusk is in your own yard.
Birds fly back and forth across the lawn
looking for home
As night drifts up like a little boat.

Day after day, I become of less use to myself.
Like this mockingbird,
I flit from one thing to the next.
What do I have to look forward to at fifty-four?
Tomorrow is dark.
Day-after-tomorrow is darker still.

The sky dogs are whimpering.
Fireflies are dragging the hush of evening
up from the damp grass.
Into the world's tumult, into the chaos of every day,
Go quietly, quietly.

--Charles Wright

<<<>>> <<<>>> <<<>>>

On a comedy tip, ifilm shows us what Metallica fans do in there spare time.

get your oars back in the water kid . . .

2005-03-14T13:35:00.000-09:00

"After all, judgement of others never really gets anywhere. It's been going on for thousands of years. The names change but the mechanism of blaming remains the same. Our distrust of others stems from the compulsion to defend our identity as a kind of private property, whereas true revolution is courageous because it involves surrender of ego. "

--from 'Killing the Madman' an interesting essay by poet Michael Brownstein in the latest edition of Arthur, in which Brownstein relates the awareness acheived in meditation to the awareness needed as an activist. You know, compassionate detachment and all that jazz.

<<<>>> <<<>>> <<<>>>

I found a used copy of Frederick Barthelme's Moon Deluxe the other day and am digging him quite a bit. This younger brother of Donald has not only written a number of books and had his art on display at MoMA, he was also the drummer on 'Parable of Arable Land,' the debut record by Texas psych pioneers The Red Krayola.

<<<>>> <<<>>> <<<>>>

recent heavy rotation:

Albert Ayler-- Spirits Rejoice
Quixotic--Mortal Mirror
M. Ward--Transistor Radio
Battles--EP C
James Brown--Black Caesar
Sun City Girls--Torch of the Mystics (thanks again to hackmuth for hooking a copy up. it's been a revelatory listen.)

<<<>>> <<<>>> <<<>>>

Stop by and check out the new shirts at Slow Loris. Globe, snorklehead, beer can, ram . . . I can't decide.

slackmotherfucker

2005-03-08T14:06:00.000-09:00

yeah yeah. it's been a while.

since my last post:

turned 31 on 25 feb. sophomore year of 30's has been good so far.
was invited (along w/ my band-- iLos Gran Torinos!) on my first tour. a march on the Kenai Peninsula.
purchased this laptop.

if you're kicking around the Kenai, come check us out:

Stubby's Crack Co.--(hawaiian lapsteel, sax, bass, drums, trumpet) will perform selections from their upcoming release that follows the ups and downs of Matt Dorman, a boy found in a dumpster who grows up to ride with the Spenard Satans, the baddest-assed bicycle gang you ever done seen.

Fats Tunamelt--schizophrenic rock songs about Bob Ross, PBR, Cavity Creeps and being your own dentist. one of the sickest drummers you'll see in these parts.

Wang Gang--fresh from the trainyard, stranded hobos making raw assed bluegrass fueled by cheap beer. banjo, fiddle, mandolin, guitar, washboard, spoons, jugs, etc. wang gang is jimmy jazz and johnnie too-bad joined by various members of the other bands belting out everything from soldier's joy to the clash's straight to hell.

iLos Gran Torinos!--(guitar, baritone guitar, sax, bass, drums) a friend who just heard us said we reminded him of the Minutemen meets a surf rock Motorhead. not too sure that's an apt description but i sure do like it.

so far, we'll be at:

Yukon Bar in Seward on St. Pats day.
Elks Club in Seward on the 18th(this one's all ages, kids)
Amped Cafe in Homer on the 19th
possible show in soldotna on the 20th.
a pox on Maxine's in Girdwood for cancelling on us.

*** *** ***

In other news, Mayo Thompson, creator of one of my favorite records, is interviewed at Dusted.

Latest read is Tate's Dreams of a Robot Dancing Bee and I must say, the shit is dope!

back home i'm lagged and lazy

2005-02-19T12:30:00.000-09:00

Denied Areas

Some zones you have to walk around.
We have no idea what goes on inside them,
we just give them a wide berth and look
around for the friendlier zones.Sometimes
you have to take running leaps to get to
them. We keep moving, not always in straight
lines but we keep moving. And we can chat
"How's the weather?" "I don't have a
mother." It can be stressful, though
sometimes we break into song without
warning, and then someome always starts
to remember another life, and then one by
one we all begin to weep and anything
seems possible like a glistening rainy
pavement, or a lodging house, or a toothpick.

--James Tate

apples crackers and roast beef

2005-02-15T01:13:00.000-09:00

Comfort food given to Townes Van Zandt by his 3rd wife after she busted him out of the hospital because because his DT's were putting him in a shitty way. He was in the hospital for surgery on the hip he broke and ignored for 8 days. EIGHT DAYS! And to top it off, he had traveled to Memphis to record with Steve Shelley and Tim Foljhan at Easley. The recordings, apparently, went awful.

Anyway, the documentary on Townes, 'Be Here To Love Me', played at a country music festival I caught at the Paradiso. It's a damn good film. There is some great footage of Van Zandt singing 'Waiting Around To Die' that sets some old-timer to crying and some funny stuff shot in the backyard with a fifth, a pellet gun and some cans of Coke. Oh and Guy Clark is a fucking bust.

The Meat Purveyors were to play the festival but cancelled. Kind of a drag, their show in Fairbanks was a blast. I stuck around for a bit drinking 'small beers'--little 8 oz. fuckers that were a pain in the ass because to make things worth while, you really had to buy two at a time and then you were stuck with your hands full. Really, what's the point of a drink that small? (I also hate the juice glasses at hotel continental breakfasts--I usually stand in front of the pitcher and down a few before sitting). Plus, it's difficult to watch a film about Van Zandt when drinking from glasses that make you feel as though you should be sticking out your pinky.

Then came the Dutch-Canadian all the middle agers (you know the joos song i was living, dontcha?) were there to see: Fred Eaglesmith. I tried to give the guy a chance, even after opening with a song that's chorus went: 'I ain't never givin' in, I ain't never givin' in', (dramatic pause, then kicks in with a mighty down-strum) 'anytime soon!' That doesn't even make any sense!!! He then went on to spend more time playing out a half-assed 'i just a plain ole simple country boy' comedy routine than playing any songs and his schtick was more than I could handle. Closest I've ever come to heckling. Instead, I just headed out to the cobbles and found myself at the Rokery with it's killer White Widow.

Elsewhere, Barry Hannah is interviewed in The Paris Review # 172. Here's a poem from the same issue:

Out of the Way Bungalow-Style Areas
Charlie Smith

Sometimes love's vagrancy (whatever you call it)
overwhelms all but the most robust subscriber's,
and, dishonest as it may sound, the whole cramped enterprise
is given only a few minutes to clear out of town.

We were touchy that year, all year,
at least until the old lady died. Perhaps a singularity
enraptured you, caused the sell-off
and the false positive. Compare your notes

with the sample addresses, the ones
the boss started to give, but then just couldn't.
Outside the metropolis
you hardly find any restaurants worth eating in. Yet

the places are always full. Little families, conversation groups,
a sense of the fell and distracted nature of humankind,
the displaced circular reasoning one gets into after a gambling loss,
these show up, disperse among the tables

and fade into the background.
It appears we'll be here just long enough. For whatever
the thing is that knows no human reason to have its say. Or something
other, she explained, and passed the biscuits around.

rain wash the dust from the aesculus

2005-02-12T00:49:00.000-09:00

a windy, rainy a.m. inspired another lift from dutch flowers (so far, the coolest coffeeshop i've found), a trip past the flower markets as they set out their goods, and a short respite in this internet cafe. visited the Anne Frank House yesterday and decided that i will listen to Neutral Milk Hotel's 'In the Aeroplane Over the Sea' as soon as i return home. something in that girl's smile is far more mesmerizing than the bloated Mona Lisa. weather pending, this could be another day of aimless wandering (following random alleyways in unpointed directions--by far the best way to be in this city) or a day of strategically mapped out museum stops so as to stay on the dry side (the museum stops interspirsed with even more strategically mapped out coffeeshop stops, of course).

Silkworm's version of Shellac's 'Prayer to God' on this just fucking kills me.

if it ain't dutch, it ain't much

2005-02-10T08:40:00.000-09:00

or so my dutch buddy steve used to proclaim. i'm begining to understand. last night found me lost on the cobbles of Jordaan and Medieval Centre in the blue haze of Dutch Bizarre, the dark, hairy pride of Dutch Flowers coffeeshop. found a cool record shop and picked up Fahey (Yellow Princess), Sun Ra (It's After the End of the World), Sticks and Stones (Shed Grace), and a Silkworm ep (You Are Dignified) on which they perform acoustic (guitar, mandolin) covers of: Shellac, Pavemant, Bedhead or The New Year (cant remember which at the moment), Robbie Fulks, and Nina Nastasia. at the counter i found fliers for this and a four fucking day Harry Smith festival (24 Feb-27 Feb) which also happens to be the weekend of my birthday. i was digging this city with it's bakeries, canals, coffeeshops, buildings leaning to and fro,and cyclists (there is nothing more sexy to me right now than a girl on a european-style cruiser) and now i see they have a goddam Harry Smith festival going on! have i found my Eden? tell me, what better gift could i give myself than an extended stay in Amsteradam that culminates in a tribute to this guy?

expatriotism never smelt so good . . . .

hazy days where lenin lays

2005-02-01T20:10:00.000-09:00

there'll be infrequent posting here for a bit as i am on a tour of russia and eastern europe for the next few weeks.

highlight so far:

clients taking me out for dinner in red square with many beers and 3 bottles of vodka followed by the cute office assistants taking us out for russian karoake with many more beers and 2 bottles of vodka. blacking out the rest of the evening, though i was apparently quite the charming conversationalist. waking up the next morning fully clothed with no recollection of how i got home. passing out on the flight to chelyabinsk. being held by a giant polish man as i violently threw up out of the sliding door of a passenger van downtown (lots of pedestrian traffic) and literally minutes later speaking to an assembly of 100 or so russian college students followed by a series of personal interviews and a short stint in front of the camera of a local news station. then being treated to dinner at a joint that had belly dancing and a strange and very bacchanalian show put on by young aspiring russian models in skimpy underwear, somehow mustering the strength/courage/stupidity(?) to suck down the hair of the dog and sharing numerous "big beers" and 4 more bottles of vodka.

ahhh, russia . . .

much love,
squirrelski

questioning what the delta dealt ya?

2005-01-19T11:25:00.000-09:00

As a fan of southern musics from the 20's and 30's, this article, which investigates the possibility that Robert Johnson's recordings were sped up, is of real interest. Will the mp3's of slowed down Johnson tunes be the equivalent of those moon landing photos with the fucked up inconsistent shadows?

(via TMFTML)

And I laid my head in a barroom door

2005-01-17T13:26:00.000-09:00

Whisk(e)y by Dennis DiClaudio is a damn funny read.

an excerpt:

"—while the Canadians, who are totally up the English's ass, even after centuries of occupation, leave the e out of their whisky, but what more can you expect from a country that actually allows the French to fuck their women? "

and nobody prays like Willie McTell

2005-01-15T11:21:00.000-09:00

"I started writing this song in '29 tho' I didn't finish it - I didn't finish it 'till 1932. Mister Williams is the name - Jesse Williams. See he got shot here on Corner Street. And after getting shot, I'd taken him home. Then he was sick about three weeks after I'd taken him home, sick from the shot, and so he give me this request. He said that he wanted me to play this over his grave. That I did. See I had to steal music from every which way you could get it to get it to fit. But I - I messed it up in a way, somehow or other just to suit him; I finally played what he wanted but he got everything he wanted but the women from Atlanta. He didn't get no women from Atlanta. Cause they say it was too far for 'em to come. He was buried in New York. I'd taken him there in an ambulance. Cost me 200 - I think it was 282 dollars I think and 85 cents the men charged him to take him home. But he was able. His father give him anything he wanted. Give him everything he wanted but the women in Atlanta. He didn't have the 16 women - the 22 women out of the Hampton Hotel - he didn't have that. He didn't have the 29 out of North Atlanta. And he didn't have the 26 off of South Bell, that which might have - we call Hill Street. That way he hung out there you know, doin' his - doin' his women-lovin' time you know. After getting shot, I carried him home. I sat by the bedside every day, and he would tell me what he wanted. And I would tell his dad. So after he died, daddy said "Well, everything he wanted he will get". So he got everything he wanted but the women from Atlanta. So I had to play him the Dyin' Crapshooter's Blues. That's what I was supposed to name 'em. "

The Dyin' Crapshooter's Blues--Blind Willie Mctell

Little Jesse was a gambler, night and day
He used crooked cards and dice.
Sinful guy, good hearted but had no soul
Heart was hard and cold like ice

Jesse was a wild reckless gambler
Won a gang of change
Altho' a many gambler's heart he led in pain
Began to spend a-loose his money
Began to be blue, sad and all alone
His heart had even turned to stone.

What broke Jesse's heart while he was blue and all alone
Sweet Lorena packed up and gone
Police walked up and shot my friend Jesse down
Boys i got to die today
He had a gang of crapshooters and gamblers at his bedside
Here are the words he had to say:

Guess I ought to know
Exactly how I wants to go
(How you wanna go, Jesse?)

Eight crapshooters to be my pallbearers
Let 'em be veiled down in black
I want nine men going to the graveyard, bubba
And eight men comin back

I want a gang of gamblers gathered 'round my coffin-side
Crooked card printed on my hearse
Don't say the crapshooters'll never grieve over me
My life been a doggone curse

Send poker players to the graveyard
Dig my grave with the ace of spades
I want twelve polices in my funeral march
High sheriff playin' blackjack, lead the parade

I want the judge and solic'ter who jailed me 14 times
Put a pair of dice in my shoes (then what?)
Let a deck of cards be my tombstone
I got the dyin' crapshooter's blues

Sixteen real good crapshooters
Sixteen bootleggers to sing a song
Sixteen racket men gamblin'
Couple tend bar while i'm rollin' along

He wanted 22 womens outta the Hampton Hotel
26 off-a South Bell
29 women outta North Atlanta
Know little Jesse didn't pass out so swell

His head was achin', heart was thumpin'
Little Jesse went to hell bouncin' and jumpin'
Folks, don't be standin' around ole Jesse cryin'
He wants everybody to do the charleston whilst he dyin'

One foot up, a toenail dragging
Throw my buddy Jesse in the hoodoo wagon
Come here mama with that can of booze

The dyin crapshooter's - leavin' the world
The dyin' crapshooter's - goin' down slow
With the dyin' crapshooter's blues

"Why did you do that for?"

2005-01-14T13:01:00.000-09:00

--GW admits to recently learning the hard way that speaking from the heart is not always a good idea: "I can remember getting back to the White House, and Laura said, 'Why did you do that for?' I said, 'Well, it was just an expression that came out. I didn't rehearse it.'

And here's his rebuttal to questions regarding the monstrous pricetag of the inauguration:

"The inauguration is a great festival of democracy," he said. "People are going to come from all over the country who are celebrating democracy and celebrating my victory, and I'm glad to celebrate with them."

-- The Fall's "50,000 Fall Fans Can't Be Wrong"--worth every cent.

a Lakota prayer was sung first, then everyone danced to "Y.M.C.A."

2005-01-13T09:34:00.000-09:00

"There are only so many ceramic pots, war bonnets and kachina dolls that people can stand to look at, and so when the day comes that someone asks, Hey, what about the Indian dude from the Village People? the Smithsonian, as ever, will be ready. "

you say he's just a friend

2005-01-13T08:47:00.000-09:00

The inimitable Biz Markie hits Anchorage this Friday for a show with locals Strictly Stereo and AKMC's at the Sandlewood Warehouse.

i'm just a boy with a new haircut

2005-01-12T09:59:00.000-09:00

i'm fucked.

i smoke grass and have a hairy ass.

let gentle jesus bless your dynamite

2005-01-11T09:53:00.000-09:00

Christians At War (John F Kendrick. 1916)
(sung to the tune "Onward, Christian Soldiers")

Onward, Christian soldiers! Duty's way is plain;
Slay your Christian neighbors, or by them be slain,
Pulpiteers are spouting effervescent swill,
God above is calling you to rob and rape and kill,
All your acts are sanctified by the Lamb on high;
If you love the Holy Ghost, go murder, pray and die.

Onward, Christian soldiers! Rip and tear and smite!
Let the gentle Jesus bless your dynamite.
Splinter skulls with shrapnel, fertilize the sod;
Folks who do not speak your tongue deserve the curse of God.
Smash the doors of every home, pretty maidens seize;
Use your might and sacred right to treat them as you please.

Onward, Christian soldiers! Eat and drink your fill;
Rob with bloody fingers, Christ okays the bill,
Steal the farmers' savings, take their grain and meat;
Even though the children starve, the Savior's bums must eat,
Burn the peasants' cottages, orphans leave bereft;
In Jehovah's holy name, wreak ruin right and left.

Onward, Christian soldiers! Drench the land with gore;
Mercy is a weakness all the gods abhor.
Bayonet the babies, jab the mothers, too;
Hoist the cross of Calvary to hallow all you do.
File your bullets' noses flat, poison every well;
God decrees your enemies must all go plumb to hell.

Onward, Christian soldiers! Blight all that you meet;
Trample human freedom under pious feet.
Praise the Lord whose dollar sign dupes his favored race!
Make the foreign trash respect your bullion brand of grace.
Trust in mock salvation, serve as tyrant's tools;
History will say of you: "That pack of goddamn fools."

spilling myself out to all the wrong tongues

2005-01-06T09:14:00.000-09:00

--Here's that word "rendition" again.

--A really good piece on Wes Anderson and hipsters that I did not find myself. Thanks TTBBB...

--The animated shorts here are fucking hilarious. Summer's Day from the miscellaneous films section is a bust as well.

--Found used record shopping yesterday: Parlour's Octopus Off-Broadway. Missed this when it came out in '02. Good instrumental sounds from a guy associated with Crain, Ariel M, and The For Carnation. Fans of Tortoise, Dianogah, or any band from the late 90's described by critics with the term "krautrock" will dig. Turn it on, hit the above link, and watch the pretty dots. . .

bear it like a bounce upon the beak

2005-01-05T11:14:00.000-09:00

--Touching down in Moscow on 25 Jan, folks, then on to Poland, Bulgaria, etc. More importantly, I talked the organization I'll be working with into booking me a return ticket to the states a week or so after my work there is done so i can kick around Europe for a bit. Amsterdam?

--The track "The Tropics of Cancer" by Currituck Co. on The Golden Apples of the Sun comp. is killing me right now. It's a Fahey-style raga on solo acoustic. Hypnotizing.

--The High Numbers by David Berman

I liked to fall asleep to the sound of the dishwasher pounding itself
as I was into a certain amount of Andrew Jackson worship at that age
and knew I needed time alone to unschool the rainbow dumbness
in my heart if I was ever to gain possession over my own storyline
and perish in the badass world-historical death that I dreamed of.

Like other young men I dreamed of perfect fighting on leagues of clover,
of hunting naked and terrified schoolteachers on the mesas
of western states that looked like empty calendar squares
in the beatup road atlas where I sketched my pitiless campaigns.

My bedroom drapes were like two mathematicians at work
on the same problem and I remember lying beneath them,
counting to one hundred for the first time. I imagined that
as an adult I would count into the very high numbers
leaving the rest of civilization behind to socialize with bankers
and bitch about traffic as if they were not a part of it.

I wanted to snarl something like "I'd rather be right than alive"
at the point of a redcoat's bayonet, storm the beaches of Waikiki
with my hardbitten legion of Hawaiian seccessionists, or,
if nothing else, control horrible CIA lions from a remote location
with a joystick.

Each Christmas my grandmother gave me a set of gloves and a ski mask
as if to suggest that I begin robbing convenience stores.
Not only that, but I was repeatedly served bad meals,
the eating of which was like pushing against a wall.

I would have nothing to do with nuts, which were clearly baby wood,
and shddered at the sight of the cornucopias in Thanksgiving illustrations
that reminded me of the tunnels in space
from where I was certain stepfathers emerged.

I tried to regard most of these procedures with equanimity.
That the adults who preceded me had placed confusion on a pedestal,
screwed themselves by worshiping the impenetrable
and then lamely tried to broker a love and loyalty clause into the deal
as a gesture of further abdication was no business of mine.

I know what you're thinking, people should file their childhood
under "W" for "Who Cares?," but the mind must attend to the things
it is just begining to understand, like how after all that fierce planning
I could grow up to be the soft ineffectual synthesis
of untold compromises that I am today.

I rarely get out of bed before noon. This afternoon I thought
I might head over to the women's prison and apply for a job.
Instead I went out for a walk beneath the high-built clouds,
avoiding the gaze of overweight pets in my neighbor's picture windows.

I passed a parked car with New Hampshire plates and its motto,
"Live Free or Die" suddenly struck me as a lurid overstatement,
something I could only understand as a line from an antique play
or as a bumper sticker fixed to the hind of a stagecoach.

A horrble terrible overstatement of the worst kind.

awww sookie sookie now

2005-01-04T13:14:00.000-09:00

--Gave two weeks notice on my current office gig yesterday and received a message today with a tentative schedule for a recruiting trip at universities in Russia, Poland, Slovakia, the Czech Republic, and Bulgaria I'll be on for the end of January/begining of February. If it's anything like last year's trip, it'll be a couple of weeks of Vodka and apple juice (the poles call it apple pie), beautiful eastern european college students, hung-over train rides, frightening meat dishes, and lots of good beer. Anyone looking for a summer job in Alaska?

--Can't seem to stop listening to The Mountain Goat's "Against Pollution" today. (thanks for the hook up, Hackmuth)

--In addition to a pretty cool DVD featuring a short on skater/artist Ed Templeton, a Lambchop video, and a brilliant short narrated by John Lurie, the latest issue of The Believer has a great piece on the stir David Hockney created in the art world with his book Secret Knowledge. Apparently, folks aren't too keen to the idea of "the masters" having used cameras obscura and simple lens technology to aid them in their creation. Watch clips from the BBC program on Hockney here.

--Finished issue 12 (the conclusion) of Charles Burns' series Black Hole last night. Genius.

over the turnstiles and out in the traffic . . .

2005-01-03T11:23:00.000-09:00

--Ted Kim, one of the coolest motherfuckers I've had the pleasure of knowing, is interviewed in local punk rag AK Ink about the art he creates with pen, ink, decks, trucks, and DV. Not exactly sure why that photo is there but that's me drunk in last year's beard.

look mama, there's an aeroplane up in the sky . .

2004-12-30T11:04:00.000-09:00

--So, what do you remember about the situation at the Pentagon on 9/11? Never did hear many specifics, did ya?

Here's an interesting short posted by the Freedom Underground addressing many unanswered questions about that day.

(thanks to Shy Gun Willie for pointing me to this)

--Dig deep, folks. The Red Cross can always use help or check out Give.org for a list of other organizations involved in tsunami relief.

eat them up, yumm!

2004-12-27T13:11:00.000-09:00

--Thanks to Anjela for sending me this story on the current situation of ocean critters and the potential harm our love of dipping them in melted butter can have. An excerpt:

"Stop by the seafood section of a typical supermarket these days, and you'll see a vivid testimony to the bounty of the oceans: piles of snowy white North Atlantic cod, glistening red snapper, and thick swordfish, halibut, and sea bass. But beneath this display of abundance lurks the reality that many popular fish will soon be missing from fish markets because large numbers of them are already missing from the oceans.

Last month the National Marine Fisheries Service and ocean conservation group Oceana listed species that have declined as much as 90 percent from their estimated original populations. And earlier in the fall, the U.S. Commission on Ocean Policy, a blue-ribbon panel appointed by President Bush, released a study warning that too many marine species are being extracted from the oceans faster than they can reproduce.

While there is growing consensus about an impending underwater crisis, there is less agreement regarding what to do about it – particularly as it concerns the behavior of consumers, whose appetite for seafood seems to be growing with each passing year.

Americans ate a record 16.3 pounds of fish and shellfish per person in 2003, up from 15.6 pounds in 2002, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Now, say ocean activists, these seafood lovers will also have to learn to be stewards of the seas' bounty – or risk seeing their favorite fish disappear forever."

The fishing industry is odd in that it is one of the few sources of food that is reaped without being sowed. Just recently have folks started to realize that we need to play a larger part in regulating our wild harvests. Alaska has been particularly progressive in this respect but no system has proven to be perfect.

Fish farming has proven itself to be a pretty horrible idea--especially in nations like Chile that have set up the slimmest of standards (warning: steer clear of salmon purchased at Costco, as it is generally raised in Chilean farms. Shit, steer clear of any salmon not bearing a wild catch logo of some kind.)

*** *** ***

--Strange story of a corporate jet (a Gulfsteam V turbojet) owned by folks who seem to exist only on paper that has been used by the US to transport "hooded and handcuffed passengers" since 2001. This is from today's Washington Post article on the subject:

" . . . the agency is flying captured terrorist suspects from one country to another for detention and interrogation.

The CIA calls this activity "rendition." Premier Executive's Gulfstream helps make it possible. According to civilian aircraft landing permits, the jet has permission to use U.S. military airfields worldwide.

Since Sept. 11, 2001, secret renditions have become a principal weapon in the CIA's arsenal against suspected al Qaeda terrorists, according to congressional testimony by CIA officials. But as the practice has grown, the agency has had significantly more difficulty keeping it secret.

According to airport officials, public documents and hobbyist plane spotters, the Gulfstream V, with tail number N379P, has been used to whisk detainees into or out of Jakarta, Indonesia; Pakistan; Egypt; and Sweden, usually at night, and has landed at well-known U.S. government refueling stops.

As the outlines of the rendition system have been revealed, criticism of the practice has grown. Human rights groups are working on legal challenges to renditions, said Morton Sklar, executive director of the World Organization for Human Rights USA, because one of their purposes is to transfer captives to countries that use harsh interrogation methods outlawed in the United States. That, he said, is prohibited by the U.N. Convention on Torture. "

Kind of weird. The term "rendition" scares me.

in the marble of your animals eyes

2004-12-23T08:39:00.000-09:00

From a Washington Post article breaking down new rules and regs for our national forests:

"The new rules give economic activity equal priority with preserving the ecological health of the forests in making management decisions and in potentially liberalizing caps on how much timber can be taken from a forest."
*** *** ***
"The government will no longer require that its managers prepare an environmental impact analysis with each forest's management plan, or use numerical counts to ensure there are "viable populations" of fish and wildlife. The changes will reduce the number of required scientific reports and ask federal officials to focus on a forest's overall health, rather than the fate of individual species, when evaluating how best to protect local plants and animals. "

In all honesty, this comes as no suprise. This is what we expect from the current regime, right? Still, i went slack-jawwed as i read the article. Forests to be managed in the style of corporations, profit margins given equal footing with preservation? I am amazed that folks can actually believe this is a GOOD idea. Sadly, however, the real truth is that most folks don't even realize this is happening or are indifferent to it. Hasn't the Columbia River saga taught us anything?

New Mexico's Rep. Tom Udall (D) makes an interesting point:

"With Bush's anti-environmental forest policy, you can't blame him for trying to hide behind other news, but not even Scrooge would unveil these regulations," Udall said. "These regulations, being offered two days before Christmas, cut the public out of the forest planning process, will inspire many more lawsuits and provide less protection for wildlife. It's a radical overhaul of forest policy."

sees the world spinning 'round

2004-12-20T09:21:00.000-09:00

--Big ups to Ricky Williams! Last night's interview on 60 minutes was great. Mike Wallace was a pissy finger-pointing cunt as he carried on with his "no-holds-barred interviewing techniques." It was cool to watch the unruffled Williams laugh off Wallace's attempts at "biting" journalism.

--Digging on Josephine Foster and the Supposed this weekend. Check out the MP3's for her and while you're there check out the Henry Flynt stuff. Locust has some cool shit going on.

--Painter Joe Sorren has a cool spread in the Jan/Feb issue of Juxtapoz.

--If you've got a hankering for some super 8 of hippies in make-up and feathers, check out the video for Banhart's "Little Yellow Spider" found at Neumu.

--So maybe i'm a heartless bastard, but i'm having a hard time feeling bad for anyone involved in this mess.

cold on the shoulders of giants

2004-12-17T13:25:00.000-09:00

--some damn good bobby bare jr. live appearances on kexp can be found here in their archives.

--excerpt from Barry Hannah's essay "Christ In the Room" from the new Oxford American:

" My goods, by Christ's direction, derive from Satan, kicked out of heaveh for Pride. I am a blithe conformist. Episcopalians do not give up comfort for Christ. Neither do Baptists, Catholics, or Church of Christers. A good enough symbol of American Christians would be a Lexus parked in front of a church. It wouldn't take much of a cynic to add an Abrahms tank.

But I am relishing our guilt, my shame, now. Rolling in that good, good mud. Chiefest of sinners, never to be forgiven, etc. Though who among us with any conscience has not wondered if we're even worth saving? I have never heard a description of heaven that suffices for this human heart. I don't want to sing praises in a host of angels, and "streets paved with gold" just sounds like the last touch to Las Vegas.

On the other hand, most of us have prayed for a return to blissful ignorance and wonder. Our minds do nothing but define our worries and hatreds. This may be Hell itself. We already know it thoroughly.

We have all worked in the foyer of the lunatic asylum. Release and deliverance by work is all we know. But we pray and beg for something else across the river and into the shade of the trees. For me, that is where Christ stands."

these are the opening words to Hannah's short novel Hey Jack!:

"I go back to Korea. Do I ever. Sometimes I stand on a corner with a book in my overcoat looking up at the sky and begging it to snow. I stand there in my undefended face, no weapons on me, knowing so much it is an agony not to write it down, and thus iI have gone home, over and over, and written this down, so as to distinguish my life, which has not been so much lately, and to share the tales of our little town. In that way the sands of time will perhaps not cover us up.

You will find me changing voices as I slip into the --let us say--mode of the closer participant. Otherwise I am sane, except for once in my life, and do not speak in tongues or hear voices as they do in certain churches. My eyes get bigger than ever over the situation of this town and my passing through it. I have settled here because of the university library and the distinguished bookstore, and also the old gentlemen who sit on the chairs around the square to reminisce. These old men have not been treated well in other fictions by the authors in other states in others times. But you cannot ignore the fact that it takes a certain strength to sit out in such a hot shade in the summers and watch the cars and young scoundrels."

persecution of my brothers

2004-12-15T13:06:00.000-09:00

these fucking bastards will pay for this. though we do prefer Clusters brand cereal over the taste of bored teenage boys of suburbia, we're not averse to exacting our own particular brand of revenge: plucking the short hairs one by one and using them in nest construction, inserting offenders own nuts into their cheeks and leaving the hairless eunich to have it's eyes plucked by the ravens and crows (eyes = bird candy).

[footage via screenhead]

testing. one, two. one, two.

2004-12-08T10:08:00.000-09:00

testing. one, two. one, two.

just finished this. here's an excerpt:

"Having ideas or beliefs that others do not share?
Breathing into a plastic bag changes the humidity in a room. A carpet knife can be useful in the removal of ingrown toenails. Not all bad people are French, but all French people are bad. Select meats, when buried for six months or longer in fertile soil, can be used as medicinal poultice. My brother's arms are kept in a jar at the county medical examiner's office downtown. Two nails in a board will weaken its integrity, but not three or seven. The earth is bulging over Cananda. When the light hit him just right, my father looked like an outboard motor--pull the cord and off he'd go. People's breath is almost always more important than what they say. Lifting weights will get you nowhere. When rain falls, something else is always going up. Shoes are for the weak.

Blaming yourself for things?
There were holes in our basement walls where the enemy soldiers were shot during War H. We dug around the foundation of the house, but our search for their remains was fruitless. We had more luck with the arrowheads. Scott earned a merit badge with his collection. The rest of us couldn't make it further than Tenderfoot. I learned to masturbate in a tent with two other boys and when I came, the lights went out. I saw visions -- what I thought then to be the devil's palm pressing my face into the sleeping bag. The other two had done it before, and only nodded when I recounted what had happened. Later my dick grew to twice its normal size. I panicked but the others reassured me. "Rest it up awhile," they said, kneeling by the fire."

it's a collection of shorts thread together by the fact that they all take place in Derby's version of the future. (a dubliners for the sci-fi set?) clouds have become solid, all food is made of meat, inanimate objects tell a history when listened to at the right frequency. fans of George Saunders' CivilWarLand in Bad Decline and Adam Johnson's Emporium will certainly dig this.