Good Vibrations

A gathering of the neighborhood tribes yesterday. We invited everyone, and told them to bring something. Every one did, and there was an amazing feast. More than enough for everyone. Isn't that how it should always work?

Everyone gives. Everyone shares.

We played music. I got into a long droning jam with a banjo player. Sort of a shimmering Celtic kind of thing. It was so exhilarating. We both did an open tuning thing. The sound was really captivating.

The good vibes washed over us all as the sun set in the west. Even the nay-sayers just could not fuck with the good vibrations. It was sort of funny to watch them crumble under the blanket of good neighborly feelings. The bad vibes were just totally out-numbered and out-flanked.

Sweet!

Alien Visitor

I do think I'm comfortable cataloguing the death of a culture. And it's not a fatalistic enterprise, or maybe, it's isn't only a fatalistic enterprise, because at the same time there is new life. Our cultural life mirrors the natural world. Things are always dying and being born.

I think Dickens line is always appropriate: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

You can't be overwhelmed by either. And it's probably never as bad as you think, and maybe not as good as you think either. It's the process of life and death that can be a little mind boggling.

We're all implicated in the process. And every moment teeters on the edge. That's the nub of it all. Which is weird. And I can only ever really feel alien to the whole thing.

So as an Alien Visitor you live a life, and watch it unfold before you too. Cataloging the little deaths and births along the way.

"Consume, Be Silent, Die."

I saw the above quote written on the wall of an abandoned Blockbuster.

The urban blight is growing. Strip malls were bad enough; their cheap ugliness defacing the landscape and the people who inhabit it.

But dead strip malls are a malevolent plague, and they are multiplying like diseased zombie blood cells. Enough zombie cells and the body is transformed into a giant, supperating, beast.

A Slow Ebbing

Of course, Post Civilization is a slow motion phenomenon.

All systems break down, but I'm thinking this drift toward entropy is going to be a very slow, no, a painfully slow ebbing.

If the apocalypse comes it will be a supremely boring event. We might even sleep through it. And then one day, we wake up, and we find that the earth has moved beneath our feet.

The old world gone, a new world birthing.

Vampire Chic

I read this in the fashion section of the New York Times. So it must be true...

We are now living in...

"the kind of world in which everything is bleak; it's POST CIVILIZATION."

Stupid and Dangerous Primates!

You sometimes get the idea that we're pretty clever. We are the primates with thumbs who somehow got smart.

Then you hear about something like texting while driving. And you have a total re-think.

Plus you just know that whatever is being texted is totally inane.

Holy Freaking Shit! We have thumbs. That's about it!

A Nutty Country

Invade other countries? Yep. No problem.

Bomb civilian populations? Yep. No problem.

Detain and torture people? Yep. No problem.

Affordable Healthcare for anyone who needs it? Are you freaking kidding me?

I'm sorry, that cannot be tolerated!

Whistling Past the Graveyard?!

When does being positive in the face of doom and gloom become ridiculous?

My life will be the answer!

The Tao...

"Do something beautiful in the form that suits you best according to your own temperament." - Guy de Maupassant

Healer, Heal Thyself

We are awash in drugs. Legal and illegal. I do think that Big Pharma is a blight on the human population. Timothy Leary preached the power of psychedelics to liberate humanity, but of course there was a downside to turning on and tuning out.

I don't think Timothy envisioned the complete pharmaceuticalization of our brain-scapes. I'm pretty sure the Corporatization of drugs has helped addle our brains, and has accelerated the "pop goes the weasel" devolution of our Pop Consciousness.

Big Pharma keeps churning out new snake oil. Purported to cure all ills, real or imagined. But at the same time The Placebo Effect is getting stronger!

Taking a harmless sugar pill can cure you! If you think you are healing yourself, you are healing yourself. Freaky cool. Do you know how many dollars we could all be saving!? Bring on the Placebos!

Healer, Heal Thyself!

Don't be Denied

One of my favorite lines from Neil Young...

I mean, I guess it's my motto...

"Don't be denied."

Reason?! I Don't Think So!

Listening to the radio this morning, someone said...

"Reason will win out."

Hmmm. Nice thought.

That's not exactly how it looks to me.

For reference please see last 10,000 years of human history!

Musical Influences...

I don't know why I was thinking of this yesterday...

I inherited the Beatles, the Stones, the Who, and Bob Dylan.

But I discovered The Ramones, The New York Dolls, Television, Talking Heads and Patti Smith. The New York contingent.

Plus throw in Elvis Costello too.

They were/are totally mine.

Patti Smith...

Still thinking about "Inglourious Basterds."

I'm now thinking Q. Tarantino intentionally or not is telling us that Pop Culture trumps all.

Pop Culture kicks all ass.

History does not matter: Pop Culture will re-write the story.

Ideology does not matter: Pop Culture explodes all ideas.

Nazis? They are just Pop Culture Stooges.

Pop Culture eats everything. And regurgitates it in technicolor.

The most important thing: Is it hip? Is it cool? Is there a great soundtrack? Does it make us feel good?

Pop Culture is kind of like a really devoted dog. It gives us unconditional love.

It's love with an expiration date. The individual dogs come and go, but "dogginess" lives forever.

Pop is immortal. It's the only thing left to us.

To that Special Lying, Cheating, Little Weasel!

A special shout-out:

Once a lying, cheating, Little Weasel...

Always a lying, cheating, Little Weasel...

I do not envy your sleep patterns...

Who will call you out next?

The Truth will out.

And it burns!

Steal Your Shit.

You are cruising along, enjoying the scenery, and out of the blue, you are reminded...

The bastards want to steal your shit!

White Space

Gonna paint walls today. Really looking forward to it. Something cool about white paint in an empty room. The absence of image. The absence of things. Just a white wall, an enveloping blankness. Sort of hopeful.

Not Freaking Nazis?!

Kim Morgan interviews Quentin Tarantino.

He's one of the few directors that compel me to buy an opening night ticket. His latest is "Inglourious Basterds."

I don't want to knock it. It's well-made, well-acted. Brad Pitt doesn't channel Clark Cable, he channels George Clooney channeling Clark Gable.

It's a movie about movies. WW II movies. Tarantino re-writes history. Makes it more satisfying, I suppose. But the Nazi thing has totally been driven into the freaking ground. Talk about a well-travelled road.

I had high expectations. Tarantino has to live up to his own back catalog: Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, Jackie Brown, Kill Bill Vol. 1&2, and Death Proof. He has set a high standard. He has created his own genre with some of his innovations.

Maybe it will sit better the second time around. It didn't totally knock me out. I wanted to be knocked out!

Stand and Fight

Sometimes you have to stand and fight. This from someone who leans towards pacifism: "someone opposed to violence as a means of settling disputes."

If you always pick fights, you are an asshole.

If you always pick fights that you know you will win, you are a bully.

If you always pick fights that you know you will lose, you are a masochist.

If you try to avoid, evade, defuse, deflect, escape, deflate in the face of a fight, but find yourself in one anyway, well, then what?

If you stand down, are you a weasel? A coward?

Sometimes you can't back down. You just can't. Reasonable, or not. This from someone who has been pounded into the ground a few times.

Sometimes you have to stand and fight. You have to stand and fight.

Of the Body, Of the Spirit

I believe we are more than our bodies. It's not just a thought, it is my experience. I don't think I'm the only one. Of course, it's the standard dichotomy, body and spirit. Then again, some wise folk tell us body and spirit are one. So it might be that tricky math where one + one = one. Or something like that.

And that one is either one or none, or all of the above.

We see our bodies, and they show us the record of our days. Not just our days, but also the days and ways of our ancestors. We wear the years we walk the planet, and we wear the years of all those people who came before us. Our genes are the map and their markers are built into our flesh and blood.

Then there's this essence that seems to ride, or reside in the flesh. Sometimes it seems to be in the heart or head of us, sometimes it seems to hover above or around us. We think it floats away when the flesh and blood cease to work.

Our bodies are destined to become broken radios. No transmitting, no receiving. But our essence, the life force, the radio programming, the radio waves, they are still out there, floating in the ether. Or wherever.

It's a strange life. Of the body, of the spirit.

My Take on Music in Bars

Playing music in bars is an interesting thing too. You're competing with drug energy, primarily alcohol. If you stay sober, you can see it, feel it, it's sort of like an electric haze that smears over the room.

It's not exactly as fulfilling as performing in a theater setting, but it has it's own special kick. I actually like playing in a room of totally drunk people, it's kind of like riding this strange, electric wave.

There's a sort of buzz, a danger, and you're basically fighting for attention. Not the best place for sensitive singer-songwriter stuff. Perfect for a more garage rock sonic assault.

My Take on Theater

In the old days the Church told us that the Theater was a profane place. Filled with Hustlers and Whores.

Today, the Theater is a sacred place. The Church? Kind of profane place itself.

The Theater is now one of the Houses of the Holy. Filled with Hustlers and Whores.

They are my kind of people. Doing the Holy Work.

This Moment, This Place, Now

Abbie Fest Day Three...

We had a Sunday afternoon performance slot. The second performance of "The Drugs." It's a very odd, sort of abstract piece, featuring music and ecstatic poetry. We were totally in the moment and it all went off without a hitch. Very happy. Lots of strangers came up after the show to tell how much they liked it. Very surprised it was so well received.

Then we sat back and watched. And as always the Fest comes up with some incredible theatrical surprises.

Loved the Bald Soprano's verison of Eugene Ionesco's "Jack, Or the Submission." Soundtrack provided by the two heads - Radio and Portis. For some reason Ionesco is the perfect playwright for this time, this place. His works translate very well to our silly and tragic pop cultural melange. The Bald Soprano's do great work bringing this long gone playwright into the present moment. Ionesco absolutely sings!

And then Gary Bairos did his superb, beautiful, devastating, totally inspiring monologue, "Jimmy Gamble." What to say? One man on stage, brings a world alive. The world of a Chicago hustler. And it is just breath-takingly great. Can't say enough about it. This is what theater is all about. A human being telling a story. And everything in the world is in the telling. Riveting.

Circus Acts Performing for Circus Acts

Day two of the Abbie Fest. Lots of theater, most of it very funny. We debuted a new piece to a packed house. It seemed to fly. At the fest it seems you primarily are doing circus acts for other circus acts. Maybe the best audience you can expect.

It's good to know that there are other theater crazies out there. Some folks there last night have seen many, many Black Forest shows. Sometimes it amazes me they know us and remember us. It's a very small circle, still it is a circle.

We do it again today. Looking forward to other surprises too. The fest is one of my favorite things to do. It's one of those things that even as you are enjoying it, you marvel at how it's all slipping away too.

Marvel at the Splendor

Hey this is cool. Terry Flamm over at Broken Hearted Toy gave "This Car Available" from WhiteWolfSonicPrincess a little write-up. Plus he explains how the band evolved out of our Black Forest Theater work.

I like this: "They drift through 13 indie rock songs like a couple of hipsters."

And this: "Even when you weren’t sure what was going on in a Black Forest production, Carla and Jimmy’s engaging stage presence and clever dialogue pulled you in."

We were audience members for night one of the 21st Abbie Fest last night. Richard Cotovsky was in fine form as Abbie and he kicked it all off with his great, inspiring Abbie rant.

Plus there was some great laughs from the Plagarists and Red Ink Theater two very impressive Chicago theater companies. The Plagiarists feature some stunningly good writing, always wildly inventive.

Tonight we do our piece called "The Drugs," which is loosely inspired by David Bowie and "Low." It has never seen the light of day, it will be the first time out in the world. Plus there's lots of other interesting stuff to see. We'll spend lots of time in a little black box theater this hot summer day!

The good life.

Doing the Thing is the Thing

Some one told the Lovely Carla and I yesterday that, "You are the kind of artists who just do the work."

That is so true. And doing the work is the thing.

I've come to believe it's the whole thing. The end result is sort of anti-climatic. It's the process of doing the thing that's the thing. That's been the working method. And the method, the doing the work, transforms us.

Today the Abbie Hoffman Died for Your Sins Fest kicks off and runs throughout the weekend. We are doing it again. A new piece, strange and experimental, which is perfect for the fest. We perform Saturday and Sunday.

I love doing the fest. I love the madness of it all. I love the process and the work. That's more than enough. It's everything.

Ye Gods, "It's the Revenge of the Death Panels!?"

The Amazing Right Wing Constant Fear Machine is an awe inspiring thing to witness. They wind the thing up and unleash it on the unsuspecting Potato Eaters.

And the Potato Eaters flee and cower and wring their hands. Works every time.

Now it's Death Panels! Coming Soon to a Rec Room in your neighborhood.

Once the trembling ceases, one hopes the Potato Eaters will realize it's all so Freaking Hilarious! Once that Fear Bug turns out to be sawdust there will be another coming down the pike.

The Fear Machine just keeps on chugging!

Ages of Man

Worrying doesn't make a lot of sense.

So yes, it does seem like everyone is getting crazier. Maybe its the extra carbon dioxide in the atmosphere?

It used to be that the clinical crazy people were the crazy ones. Now it seems the crazies dominate all walks of life.

And the original crazy ones don't seem so crazy anymore. Or maybe the really crazy ones are so freaking crazy they are harmless.

It's all those other crazies, those with the levers of power in their hands, who can really fuck things up.

There was the Bronze Age, the Iron Age, etc. Maybe this is just the Crazy Fucked Up Age!

The Deaf, Dumb and Blind Watchmaker

Of course, time may be an illusion. Or our perception of it may be skewed. And we don't get to control the time.

It ticks away whether we want it to or not. And we each have our own personal clock with it's own tempo and expiration date. Our clock ticks it's last and the game is called.

We can appeal to the Blind Watchmaker for an extension or reprieve, but of course, he (or she, or it) is deaf too.

Work the Clock

Sometimes it's important to just keep the game going. Stretch the time. Work the clock.

The Black Magus and His Danelectro

How about a little Jimmy Page playing his Danelectro guitar at the Royal Albert Hall in 1970? Okay!

Quest Harder

I used to be on the quest for answers. And the answers I got were pretty unsatisfying.

This compelled me to quest harder. And the answers got even more unsatisfying. In fact they just led me to more questions.

Which didn't add up to a hill of beans.

So now I quest with no purpose. I just quest. And answers and questions don't seem very important to me.

They are just little pebbles on the road. I rearrange the pebbles just for fun.

There are Seven Circles of Hell, One of them is in Orlando!

One of my favorite bloggers is gonna give us a journal of hell. Looking forward to it.

Although, I must admit I know all about it. If you want to see it for yourself, just book a trip to Orlando, Florida! Fuck Mickey!

Dantesque!

Dogs

Some of my best friends are dogs...

Cooked!

"I like to watch." - Chauncey Gardiner

I don't know how they measure such a thing, but supposedly Americans now spend more time watching other people cook on TV cooking shows, than they do cooking their own stinking meals.

And that says something. Doesn't it?

The Royal Scam

I forgot about that record. I think it's one of Steely Dan's finest. Haven't heard it in a long, long time.

I think it's probably prophetic. Our economy has been built on the Royal Scam. And we've all been implicated in the scam in one way or another. We kind of grow cynical about it all, knowing that everyone is basically scamming everyone else. And that's how you actually accumulate stuff.

So since we're all in on the scam, we actually develop a sort of admiration for those who are good at scamming others. "Look how they swindle the rubes." Except we are the rubes. And they write books about the Royal Scammers, and give them awards, and put them on TV shows. All our pillars of society (really pillars of salt) are built on the scam: real estate, finance, insurance, health care, government, entertainment, etc...

Pick your poison.

"See the glory of the Royal Scam." - Becker & Fagan

Bean-Eaters Unite!

So what's it like living in a Plutocracy?

A very few live high on the hog. They write the rules. They call the tunes.

Most live on beans. They get shuffled around. They stand in lines.

Looking forward to the dawning of the bean-eaters!

We Can Steal Time...

We played the Open Mic in our hood last night. We did two covers. We collaborated with an extraordinary singer who lives down the block named John. We were well-rehearsed and we totally rocked the audience. We basked in the rousing applause.

First we did Soul Kitchen sort of in the Patti Smith tempo...



And then we closed with David Bowie's Heroes. Someone told me we made it sound like a Gospel Classic (three voices, an acoustic guitar and a tambourine). During the call and response, when our three voices found flight, I felt a tingle shoot up my spine - ecstasy! What an absolutely great freaking song...

Buzz in the Hood

We've been rehearsing in our new space. Making music and theater in the midst of saw dust and rusty nails, and all the clutter of a space not yet ready for prime time.

We opened the doors to keep the air flowing. It's a storefront in a busy part of town, so all kinds of folks walk by and poke their heads in while we are working. This is kind of a new phenomenon for us.

There's a buzz in the hood about this new thing happening.

We are working on a strange performance piece based on my reading "Bowie in Berlin." The Lovely Carla added an ecstatic, fever-dream monologue about a white stallion. I am creating an ambient music score to back her up.

So I had a delay pedal and a drumstick, and I was hammering the strings, and coaxing some odd sounds out of my beat up old Telecaster. The passers by seemed both attracted and perplexed.

Pure pleasure...

We are the Circus!

We are working on our funky little storefront space. Still, lots to do, cleaning up, re-configuring, then there's the plumbing, electrical stuff, painting walls and floors.

We have help - which helps.

It is amazing how much attention we have attracted in our neighborhood. I guess there's something about clearing out a new space. Everyone wants to fill it up.

We have our own plans - music, theater, art gallery.

It is really cool to have a project. I actually love working with my hands. I'm especially good with a sledge-hammer! Breaking stuff is my forte!

So it's like we're getting ready for the circus to come to town and the anticipation is building. It dawned on me yesterday that we are the circus! We are our own high-wire act, we are fire-eaters, sword-swallowers, bearded ladies!

We are the freaks! And it feels good.

Wild Horses

As Charles Bukowski once reminded us, "The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills."

And some days, you are riding that wild horse.

And some days, you are trying to get that wild beast to drink some water.

And some days, that wild horse just runs right over your sorry ass.

Fallback Position

And then after I bump my head against the wall a couple times, I remember how baffling and incomprehensible I find it all, and I fall back to a posture of Ecstatic Mysticism.

And it feels right...

Funny How it Works That Way

If you think all things come from the same source and all things go back to that source, well then, you see how everything is connected. And if you think everything is connected, you see connections everywhere you look. And if you think that everything is wrapped in meaning, well, then you are surrounded by meaningful things. And if you see connections and meaning everywhere you look, then the Universe really does seem like a magical place where amazing things happen all the time.

I guess if you don't, you don't...

The Eternal Being

Sasha Frere-Jones was writing about Sonic Youth in the New Yorker a couple of issues back, but I think he was describing my life in it's current incarnation:

"... all the dragons and feathers and firecrackers and water pistols get to run free."

It's kind of messy, but it's a life...

Satan's Band

These are cool books. So far I've read two of them (about David Bowie's Low and My Bloody Valentines' Loveless), working now on Erik Davis' take on Zeppelin's nameless masterpiece.

These books are written by music obsessives for music obsessives. I'm in!

At the moment Erik Davis has me convinced that the reason Zeppelin's fourth album didn't have their name on it (only obscure magic symbols), was because Zeppelin didn't actually write the music in the grooves.

No, a deal dark had been done at Boleskin, the estate Page took over from the Black Magus Aleister Crowley. And you ask...

Who did write the music???

That's easy!

SATAN!

For definitive proof: Watch Jimmy Page use his magic wand on his Les Paul.

Daemonic!

A Little Bit of Divinity

I played with the Telepaths last night. It's always a kick. There's something about plugging in my Telecaster, cranking up my Fender Bassman Amp (a killer 90's reissue), and letting it rip. That combo of guitar and amp is divine. And I get to ride a little bit of that divinity.

The guitar and amp were truly made for each other. And my little guitar modifications really hot-rodded the sound of my guitar* - my Telecaster employs Custom Texas Tele pickups which I installed and soldered (messily!) myself. Maybe all that excess solder gives the guitar something extra?! Who knows!?

I do love that sound!

* This is for the guitar geeks: My Telecaster is a Mexican-made Thinline, mahogany, natural finish model. Fender discontinued making it. It's super light, and it's well-built. It's not a collectible (not a Vintage, American-made axe), I bought it at Guitar Center in 2002 for about $600. It's got a fine maple neck, it always stays in tune no matter how hard I beat on it. I installed brass saddles which I think gives it a little more bite and response. I think the hollow-body not only makes the guitar comfortably light, (good for my back), it makes the guitar extra-resonant, I can creatively use the feedback! I think because it's kind of a "cheap" guitar, I play it with more abandon. Sometimes I take it for granted, kind of like a great pair of worn boots. It's got personality. A trusted friend.

Going Backwards into the Future

Okay, maybe I'm going backwards. I'm big into my iPod and everything. Still, I've been wanting to re-connect my phonograph, and play some of the old vinyl. There's a neighbor down my block who has an amazing analog system. Totally kicks ass.

I do think something gets lost when you convert to digital ones and zeros. There's something about a big, black, vinyl platter, spinning around with a little needle riding the grooves. Maybe it's the materiality of the thing. Still amazes me that moments from another time and place coming blasting out the speakers.

So I ordered up a new needle for the phonograph. Can't wait to get it, pop it in, and start spinning. And those old album covers were an amazing art form, they were the perfect vehicle for separating the seeds and stems.

What next? A rotary phone?

My Bloody Valentine in Fuji

I've been listening to My Bloody Valentine's great record "Loveless" quite a bit lately. And I picked up this little book to find out more about how it was made, and what exactly happened to the band. A fascinating story. An artistic obsession pushed to the limit. With unbelievably breath-taking results.

Kevin Shields is an amazing guitar player. He really re-thought how to play a guitar, how to make a big, oceanic sound. And Bilinda Butcher's voice is haunting, beautiful. Here's a nice clip of the band playing Fuji in 2008. Exquisite.

Fish Stories

The myth of my existence. I'm caught between two fish. Somehow in the world of business, I have always been in a "scalable" endeavor. Lots of expending of energy now, for a possible future boxcar payoff and valuable prizes later.

It's actually kind of a hopeful way to live. Not always fulfilling, but hopeful. It amazing how easily I can gear myself up for the battle even though my track record has been uneven!

I am book-ended by two fish stories. The one where a guy named Ahab finds his big fish who takes him to the depths of hell. The other an Old Man who has a great fish on the line, and the sharks come and tear it apart piece by piece before he can get it into the boat.

Neither story ends well.

I want to write a new myth. I get the fish in the boat and it's FISH STICKS for everyone!

Rare and Vital

Did you ever have one of those days where everything seemed perfect?! No guilt, doubt, worry? I mean, there might have been reason for guilt, doubt and worry, but none of that bad juju seemed to stick?

That was my yesterday.

And I wondered why it didn't happen more often: just to be happy to be alive, with being alive being more than enough.

Remember all those millions or maybe billions of years when you weren't a sentient being? And how about all those millions or billions of years after you are dead and gone?

Kind of makes each day you are alive kind of rare and vital.

The Great Evanston Flower Massacre!

My two favorite Guerilla Gardeners are getting a lot of press lately. The Lovely Carla and the equally Lovely Charlotte lead the Guerilla Gardening Group "Trowels on the Prowl."

They seed-bombed a local lot in our neighborhood. All kinds of beautiful wildflowers were beginning to bloom, and then someone mowed the lot.

I'm calling it the Great Evanston Flower Massacre. I'm thinking we need Arlo Gutherie to write a song about it sort of like:

"You can do anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant."

So then we put up signs that asked, "Who killed the Flowers?" "Please Don't Mow!" "Let the Meadow Grow!"

And then the press got involved. You can't stop the flowers. You can't stop the flower bearers! I'm expecting another seed-bombing some time soon!

Apotheosis of Pop

I remember when Walter Cronkite still had a job. He was not only the "most trusted" man in the news biz, I believe he may have been the "last trusted" man in our pop consciousness.

I haven't really thought this all through, but I do think we've become completely unmoored from any kind of reality. We have hypnotized ourselves with our pop culture and everything is faux, pseudo, etc. Kind of like in that movie "The Matrix."

I mean we know there's a hardcore reality. This ground, this tree, this dead guy. They are real enough. But we've kind of willed them to be something else. And our world of fantasy, the virtual reality of the internet and TV and movies and the dream world that we all want to live in dominates our consciousness and permeates our beings.

Cronkite wasn't really a celebrity, (or I guess he was), but a news man who happened to be multiplied on millions of screens. It seemed like he only told us the truth. But of course that was his show. He was so un-show-like, but really his trusted-ness was just another pop culture trope.

Now everyone is a celebrity. The live ones the dead ones. And since we all know that celebrity-hood is a kind of show, everyone is in show biz. Some of us have grand shows and some kind of meager. Still it's all show. And because we can't totally brainwash ourselves, we know it's all show, we are cynical about everything and everyone. It's all just for show baby! It's all about the money, the bling, the celebrity. Trust, honesty, truth, they are just props used to fool us. And if we fool ourselves really good we're sort of happy. But still, deep down, we know...

And the show isn't really real. But we don't care. We want the un-real show, not the real reality. There's a certain cynicism that goes with that, I mean we eat it breathe it, swim in it, but that's okay. It's the Apotheosis of Pop. And it sort of pops. And we know it's basically false, a lie, but that just more pop trope stuff. Throw it in the hopper. It all comes out in the wash!

Dunderheads Unite! Act Now to Save the Earth!

The Age of Stupid sounds like a movie worth seeing. Might have to pin my eyelids open like Macolm Macdowell in Clockwork Orange to actually get through it.

I just read this review of the film in the New York Times. Not sure when it will open in the heartland. As always, the film industry seems to think we're just a bunch of dunderheads (might be right!) here in the Midwest.

According to Stephen Holden the movie is a "frightening jeremiad" about Climate Change. And then there is this:

"Others may find the challenges to humanity posed by the documentary so daunting that “The Age of Stupid” (the Archivist’s sarcastic nickname for our time) may convince viewers that, practically speaking, it is already too late to act. Cynics may assume that the ethic of consumerism is too deeply instilled in us to be changed, as is the faith in capitalism, which depends on continuous growth. If so, we might as well put the coming horrors out of our minds and live for the moment, while hoping for a miracle."

Window Farms!

The Lovely Carla reminds me that I'm not actually a guerilla gardener, since she does the gardening. It's true. But at least I live with a guerilla gardener, I am friends with guerilla gardeners, and I am sympathetic to the cause.

There is a new movement brewing. People picking a piece of land, maybe the backyard of an apartment building or a parkway, or an empty lot and planting flowers and vegetables. People are doing this for aesthetic reasons (beauty) , and practical reasons (food!) and just for the hell of it too.

It may become essential that we grow our own food in urban environments. People are doing it now. How about Window Farms!? Yes, why not!?

Iggy Pop Goes French

I am so pleased that Iggy Pop exists. If he didn't, I'd have to invent him. This little trailer for his latest album, a message especially for the French is an absolute classic.

Iggy dismisses the "idiot thugs" wielding guitars, and jumps into the arms of the French-speaking peoples of the world. Love it. Plus there's a dog in the story.

Who doesn't love a dog?

Golden Orb

I had this vision. It was crystal clear, like I was really experiencing it, and if you think that psychic energy is no different than any other kind of energy, then well, I probably really was. If you know what I mean.

Remember in Woody Allen's Sleeper, when he was pretending to be a robot and he was a waiter at the party and he and all the guests started fondling the Golden Orb?

Well, in my vision, I was fondling a Golden Orb! It wasn't an orgasmic kind of thing, but sort of elevating, or enlightening. And as my great teacher over at Psychic Everyday tells me, yes, you must honor your visions. They are a gift.

And ever since all kinds of cool things have been happening. People giving me money, and gifts, and helping build our new arts space. I have lately been showered with good will and money and positive vibes. And well, I'm doing my part too. I'm accepting it all with wonder and grace.

Nice vision.

Scott Walker Speaks to Jesse Garon

I have been focusing my creative laser pretty intently on David Bowie and Brian Eno lately. Two quite interesting innovators in the pop universe. I was inspired to write a "play" based on Bowie's time with Eno in Berlin, and I also came across Scott Walker who it seems was a major influence on them.

Walker was a pop star in the late sixties, early seventies, but his band the Walker Brothers kind of imploded after a few albums - lots of personal demons and over-indulgence.

I get the impression the Walker Brothers were pretty big in England, not so much here. I totally missed them. None of them were really named Walker and they weren't really brothers anyway. They finally broke up and Scott Walker began making solo records. Walker started as a pop star and very soon he took a detour into very experimental music.

There's a really good movie just out on DVD which tells the whole Scott Walker saga called "The 30th Century Man." It's quite good. Walker comes across as a committed, avant garde artist making seriously whacked music.

I found this clip on YouTube. It's kind of a strange incantation. I think Walker is speaking to Jesse Garon Presley, Elvis' still-born twin. Now that's the kind of twisted shit I can really get behind. Listen to Walker's powerful baritone voice, you will hear a little Bowie, Bryan Ferry, Nick Cave, Antony & the Johnsons and then again, Walker is taking his vision to the outer reaches of the musical boundaries.

Totally inspiring, creepy, dark. Strangely beautiful.

Long Life

My Aunt Helen, now long gone, God bless her soul, who, I'm told when she was young was "hell on wheels," used to say:

"If you don't smoke, drink, or chase girls you will live longer. Or at least it will seem longer."

Makes me sympathize with these rhesus monkeys. They suffer with a starvation diet so we can concoct some new miracle drug that will let us stay fat, lazy and live forever.

You have to hand it to the humans. We assume not one of us could actually be disciplined enough eat less on our own.

Bring on the DRUGS! Better living through chemistry baby!

Cheney and the Assassins

Well, if it was secret it had to be a good one right? I mean I guess this one was such a good one, no one except Cheney and a few CIA operatives were in the know, and Mr. Darth Vader Cheney, well, he made sure everyone kept it on the down low.

No reason for Congress, or the American People (the great dim bystanders) to worry their fool heads about it. You just know Cheney had our best interests at heart. Sure.

Smacks of the worst kinds of abuses of power. Somehow Cheney was able to turn one of the hollowest of office jobs (Vice President - he's the guy who waits around just in case the other guy up and dies) into a little fiefdom wielding all the great dark powers known to modern man.

No sense comparing him to other masters of abuse, Cheney really is in a class by himself. He thrived in the shadows, answerable to no one, except Junior, who really didn't seem to know his ass from a hole in the ground.

We desperately need some dedicated investigative journalists to do some digging. Here's hoping. My money is on Seymour Hersh to help find the bodies and make an accounting. For those of us who still have a dim hope for our teetering democratic experiment, okay maybe it's not teetering, maybe it's already basically crashed and burned, still can't we pick up the pieces and try to re-make it?

From the ashes the Phoenix rises. Or do I mean the Phoenix Program? Such a shameful legacy. The American Karma train is packed with bad faith and dead bodies.

Arts Beat

On the arts beat, I've just finished a new theater piece, called "The Drugs," inspired by the book "Bowie in Berlin," which we will debut at the Abbie Hoffman Died for Your Sins Fest in August.

I'm pretty happy with the first stab at the script. It all just kind of came together in my head, and then when I actually got to the writing of it, well, it all came out fairly quickly and painlessly. I'm thinking it was just pure inspiration. It's actually one of my more optimistic pieces. Which was kind of a surprise.

And Bowie and his record "Low" really carried me along.

The other news, we found a new home for our little theater company. The day we moved out of the Peter Jones Gallery we had no clue where we'd end up. In short order, we found a little space, and quickly sealed the deal. It's small, really small, needs some work, but it's ours and we want it to be a multi-arts space: art gallery, theater, and music space.

Today we're going to knock a wall down. We need to do some plumbing and electrical work. We've found a circle of folks who all want to roll up their sleeves and help us. If all goes well, we'll have our first opening sometime this fall.

As Macbeth found out, sometimes the forest does walk. Black Forest one step at a time.

Morning Report

Clearly we are insane. Michael Jackson is our King Tut. And that 24 karat gold plated coffin is just such a nice tribute. I guess you couldn't really find a better symbol for the madness of our pop consciousness.

And we're gonna cook ourselves in Carbon Dioxide. Think of Carbon Dioxide as Crisco, and well, the continents on this little blue planet are french fries, and we're gonna leave the frying time up to chance. Sounds like a great recipe for charred planet.

So there's this Global Warming thing, and like a bunch of Penguins sitting on a melting ice floe we're not really gonna do a damn thing about it except tut tut.

We are not only insane we are really, really dumb. The animals we're gonna take down with us are actually smarter than us. But most of them don't have hands or thumbs and they are captive to our stupidity.

And if we thought ooo baaa mmmaaa is gonna save us all, well, maybe it's time for a re-think. Except really thinking isn't our strong suit.

So, that's the state of things this morning. Have a great day!

Duality of the Dead Fish!

Dear reader, can I actually get three posts out of the Alaskan Dingbat's comment about dead fish?!

Yes I can!

Flow, what is it good for? Well, I remember reading Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience in the 90's too. And it was one of those profound, eye-opening experiences.

And I didn't even need to take off my pants.

So anyway, back to the dead fish thing. Going with the flow, being in the flow is an optimal experience. It's what I crave. And I can heartily recommend it to all you truth-seekers out there.

So yes, let's learn the lessons of the dead fish: glassy-eyed, slack-jawed, white belly pointing up to the sky. Do not struggle - surrender, let go, give it up, ride the slipstream.

And just what does a dead fish do? RISE UP to the surface to meet a new reality!

Of course, there's also a downside - a dead fish is stinky and of course, dead! But hey, no one promised us a rose garden! Viva la dead fish!

dead fish!

As Godinla reminds me, "icebergs go with the flow too." And they are "powerful and meaningful... with potential beneath the surface."

Yes. All good points.

Still, I refuse to give up on the dead fish.

Alaskan Dingbat vs dead fish... I'll take the dead fish every time.

A game of horse? dead fish!

A game of chicken? dead fish!

A street fight? dead fish!

An IQ test? Not even close - dead fish!

I Guess I'm a Freaking Dead Fish!

Some dingbat in Alaska said "only dead fish go with the flow."

Shit, that is my whole modus operandi.

Belly up and floating in the slipstream...

Saga of Disillusion and Enlightenment

Another of my favorite bands is Chicago's very own Wilco. They've been putting out really excellent music (Yankee Foxtrot Hotel, A Ghost is Born, Summerteeth, Blue Sky Blue) for quite a few years now. They've had plenty of lineup changes, but their addition of the amazing Nels Cline on lead guitar a few years ago has propelled them to a new level.

I haven't seen them live, but I do own "Kicking Television" a live set that captured them burning down the house in Chicago. It's quite good.

Anyway, there's a nice write-up about them in Sunday's New York Times. Seems Jeff Tweedy, their front man, lead singer and songwriter is in a good place. Clean and sober and maybe sort of "happy."

He's kind of an anti-rock star - no white gloves! Or as he told his young son (a drummer in his own band): "You are not a rock star. You get to do rock star things." Susan Miller (Jeff Tweedy's wife) says about Tweedy: "I think he's very comfortable with himself now. I think it feels good to be a good guy."

And this from Jeff Tweedy himself sort of sums up my view on existence too: "It seems more romantic now to acknowledge that you're committed to a mystery. You're pledging allegiance to an ongoing saga of disillusion and enlightenment at the same time."

Amen Mr. Tweedy!

Here's a great clip of them doing "Impossible Germany" from their last album Sky Blue Sky...

A Great Vampire Squid!

Matt Taibbi's Rolling Stone article "The Great American Bubble Machine" takes on Goldman Sachs.

Matt shows that Goldman Sachs is very much like The Bavarian Illuminati as detailed by Robert Anton Wilson in his glorious The Illuminatus! Trilogy.

Matt is truly a great writer. He's looking under the covers of our corrupt Oligarchy and finds gold. The story begins...

"The first thing you need to know about Goldman Sachs is that it's everywhere. The world's most powerful investment bank is a great vampire squid wrapped around the face of humanity, relentlessly jamming its blood funnel into anything that smells like money."

Folks we've been swindled. Over and over again. The bubble machine is relentless! Takes your breath away!

King of Pain

It turns out the King of Pop really was the King of Pain. Even though he may have brought a lot of pleasure and joy to billions of music fans around the world, he seemed to reside in his own very private hell.

That's a premise for a novel, or movie, or maybe just a trashy TV mini-series. But we don't really need to see it. We all know way too much about this particular King, although, really, most of us never knew the man. Can one soul ever really know another?

This same King had way too many eyeballs on him. Way too many cameras flashed on him. There's way too much video. A universe of images. The images are not the man, not the same thing at all. The images have life of their own. And they will continue to spin out for a long time. There's money to made. Fortunes to build. Some people are worth more dead than alive.

"Authorities are investigating allegations that the 50-year-old Jackson had been consuming painkillers, sedatives and antidepressants."

And this is not a surprising development. Sometimes I think the Pharmaceutical Industry is an incredibly seductive criminal enterprise. And if you have enough money and pain, with Doctors on the payroll, well, there's a prescription for every ailment, real or imaginary.

This happened to another King too. A bloated whale of a man. So different, almost the reverse mirror image of this latest version. And it didn't turn out all that well for that guy either. Until he died. And then well, the King becomes a Deity. And we worship at the altar of fame and fortune and untimely death. We turn a sordid and sad life into pop cultural myth. It's a strange and amazing thing of necrotic beauty.

Acupunture!

Acupuncture!

How can sticking little needles in your body help you heal?

I don't know.

Ancient Chinese secret.

Let's say you have an ailment. Sore elbow. Sore tendon. Sore knee. Oh hell, let's say your complete body is just one big soreness.

Find a reputable practitioner and volunteer to be a pin cushion. Add a little electric stimulation and open those channels. Get the "chi" flowing.

Fuck pharmaceuticals. They only lead to dead celebrities.

As my Psychic Everyday Says: Healer, Heal Thy Self!

We are the Placebo!

Acupuncture! Works for me!

"The only truly heroic act is to enjoy the very simple act of being alive." - David Bowie

I have been swimming in Bowie. And finding great inspiration. Hopefully my next theater piece will emerge from sinking deep into my Bowie studies.

I have been listening to Low and "Heroes" quite obsessively. My new favorite song of all time is an old one. A towering song, now "so last century," about lovers in the shadow of a wall that no longer exists.

Last night the Lovely Carla and I tried to work out an arrangement of it to play at the upcoming open mic. Breaking the song down into parts, trying to make it fly. Sort of a daunting task.

Beautifully written, the chords are simple and flow so easily one to the next. Any interpretation really is a reduction. Still I love it and want to do it.

Here's Bowie and band making it fly live:

WWSP - Lady in the Sand

You never know what you'll find on the Internet! Yesterday I came across a video posted by the Lovely Sara, our fabulous bass player. She had uploaded a video of "Lady in the Sand" at our WhiteWolfSonicPrincess (WWSP) show at the Red Line Tap almost a year ago.

I didn't remember it as a totally successful night. I think we were having problems hearing ourselves, but the video actually sounds pretty good. The Lovely Carla is on vocals, Sanjay on drums, Sara on bass, and jimmy jammer in the funny hat!

We were trying out a new song, (why not!?) and I think we did it justice. In the foreground is the incomparable Charles, our very own interpretive dancer. He puts on quite the show. Maybe my favorite part is the empty glass in the left hand corner, sitting there clear and empty waiting to be filled with... sonic something!

Both Feet In - Eyes Closed!

Yesterday was eventful. We moved out of the Peter Jones Gallery. It's been the home for our theater company for 9 years or so. Kind of traumatic. We loaded up a van two times. Stuff, lots of stuff.

Walls, paint, musical equipment, lights, props, theater seats, speakers, cables. The stuff that makes a show. I'm very sore with lots of little cuts and bruises this morning. When I jump into something it's with "both feet in - eyes closed." Makes my life interesting. And sort of painful sometimes.

So now all this stuff is sitting in storage. Hopefully temporary. We don't have a new place yet. But we're hoping. Which is not really a plan, but it's something.

I'm of the mind that a new era starts today. Which has been a theme lately. Lots of things ending, falling by the way side. And as that great gap-toothed coach used to say (Vince Lombardi) "When the going gets tough, the tough get going." Let's go!

Mashed Potatoes!

You wonder if things are going to work out, and then they do. They work out to some unknown logic or map or maybe not. Things happen.

You sometimes think there must be some unseen hand, but then again maybe no hand is needed. What's in our noggin comes up against what's in the world. And what "works out" is the result.

It's sort of the "mashed potato" theory of existence. There's the potato. Then there's the masher of a certain reality. Result: mashed potatoes!

Machines Turning into Waterfalls

We went to the Vic Theater to see Sonic Youth last night. This was their first show of the tour and they were superb. They are arguably the finest band in the land. There's no hype with this band, it's all there on stage. This, surprisingly, (even to me), was the first time I've seen them perform live. And I think in order to appreciate them, in order to "understand" how great they are, they must be experienced live.

I've owned some of their records: EVOL, Daydream Nation, Dirty and I've wanted to, but never got around to buying some of the others. I've never been disappointed. Still, what's on vinyl and CD does not capture the full Sonic Youth experience. They make beautiful noise that must be experienced at ear-splitting volume. It's essential that their music engulfs, overwhelms, and surrounds you.

They are masters of dissonance and noise. They make strange off-kilter sounds into a sonic symphony. It's all guitar-based stuff: cheap (okay maybe not those great Fender Jazzmasters) and trashed up guitars played in alternate tunings with screwdrivers, drumsticks, violin bows, etc. Lee Ranaldo, Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon (Kim their long-time bass player plays guitar and bass on this tour) abuse their instruments with total abandon.

Their sound is wild, on the verge of chaos, massively beautiful sonic sculptures. This is the music of machines turning into waterfalls. A jet engine screaming itself into an ocean. The sound of a machine making love to itself.

Sonic Youth does something no other band does. And they been doing it for a long time. Totally inspiring. Plus Kim Gordon has to be the Koolest of the Koolest! Recommended!

Long and Short of It

I suppose there's something to be said for "longevity." Not a lot, but something. I mean, when you think: "long life", you think "OLD". But also, you think "lots of time to walk around on the planet."

At a certain age, just surviving becomes a positive thing, kind of like having wavy hair, or good digestion. Surprisingly, thoughts like "I out-lived the King of Pop," pop into your head. Weird. And then you start thinking about all the people famous and not who died at an earlier age than you. Strange.

And you know it's not really anything you have control over, it's basically pure dumb luck, possibly mixed in with a tendency to avoid high risk behaviors and "good genes." Then you think of Keith Richards and all theories go right down the freaking drain.

Wrong time, wrong place is about as close as you can get to answer. And then you think "this moment could be my last." And you don't want to scare yourself. You'd like a little more time to walk around on the planet. One step at a time!

Implausible

If you were a fiction writer and you invented a character like Michael Jackson you'd be accused of concocting a totally implausible being.

The boy, the man, the life. Totally strange and implausible.

Off the top of my head I come up with details like: child star, gazillion-selling albums, pet monkey, barometric chamber, media circus, friendship with Liz Taylor, plastic surgery, Neverland, white glove, Macaulay Culkin, Thriller, dangling baby from a balcony, marriage to Lisa Marie Presley (!), long sordid L.A. trial, more media circus, god awful plastic surgery, Billie Jean, faux military costume with epaulets, mask, nose job, Disney Character, arrested development, arrested, money and riches and fame, bankruptcy, derision, dead at 50.

I'm sure there's more. I've kind of avoided the Pop Circus Feeding Frenzy. It's just another chapter in a very odd life. Did it really all happen?!

The Zen of Dude!

One of my sidelines is walking dogs. It's actually a pretty well-paid (relatively), part-time gig. One of the dogs I walk is Dude. It seems Dude used to be Jude. And the legend goes that Jude was a "porno dog." I was told that he did work in "blue movies."

Now I'm not one to challenge the legend. No, as John Ford once said, "when the legend becomes truth, print the legend." So I believe that Dude, before he was fixed (ouch!) used to be Jude, and Jude was a canine Dirk Diggler.

This may explain Dude's air of profound power and existential sadness. There is the air of "lost paradise" about Dude. There is also a Zen-ness about Dude. He is always totally in the moment. Aware of the slightest movement or sound.

He's a big, sleek, very intimidating Doberman Pincher. He's sweet, gentle, playful and incredibly smart. His owner, who loves him dearly, calls him a "weapon of mass destruction." I do believe it's true. Did you ever see that movie "Predator?" Sort of gives you the flavor of Dude as he makes his way in the world.

My job, when I walk him, is to keep Dude away from everything and anything. He and I walk down the boulevard like the biggest, baddest Dudes in the neighborhood. I find myself totally matching my energy with Dude. I become "one with the Dude."

All of my senses go on "red alert." Anything moving is a target. Death or physical violence is implicit in every step we take. It's sort of exhilarating and kind of exhausting walking THE DUDE!

Every day, every moment is a little lesson in power and love and loss. Every moment is alive with the possibility of life and death.

"Don't you wonder sometimes 'Bout sound and vision..." - David Bowie

Yes. I do.

Visitors

Sometimes we act like we own the place.

And really we are only temporary Visitors.

It's probably good to remind ourselves of that once in a while.

And like good Visitors we should not radically re-arrange the furniture or trash the place.

There will be another Visitor coming down the line.

Street Fair

My favorite moment of the weekend had to be when the street fair was closing down Sunday night.

The sun had already scooted past the horizon line. Darkness was slowly descending. The vendors were packing up. The workers at the food stands were shoveling excess burgers and brats into big plastic bags.

The the buxom female lead singer of the alt-country band just announced "last call" from the stage and encouraged the last of the burned-out stragglers to move up towards the stage for one final dance.

And four whacked out transmediums moved front and center. They each found their spots on the pavement. Little planets in their own unique orbits. And they danced. Strange, off-kilter moves, not often seen on a dance floor. They danced with all their other-worldly energy.

They didn't notice each other. Or the other way too many cold beer victims. They danced alone. Tuned to a higher vibe.

It was sort of spooky and inspiring. This music, this very earth-bound music was lighting these folks up and they sparkled like flaming-out stars sputtering in the dark.

I stood stock still. Stone cold sober. I played the immovable post to their wild gyrations. There and not there at the same time.

It was a good show.

Partying...

Partying with the people can be a killer. Even without the distilled spirits.

Line of Obsession

So there's a line from Roxy Music, to Brian Eno, to David Bowie. I've been following that line like some kind of amateur Sherlock Holmes. Just another one of my musical obsessions. I find that my mad quests and strange obsessions help me maintain a life of fascination.

So yes, the book on Roxy led me to revisiting their first two discs, which then led me to a biography of Brian Eno (the Zelig of the rock and roll universe). Eno is an amazing character who has figured as a key instigator and collaborator in some of the greatest music ever committed to tape. For examples please check out the Eno-influenced discs from: Roxy Music, Talking Heads, Devo, David Byrne and U2.

Then there's the great three discs that Eno and David Bowie (throw in Tony Visconti too) created in Berlin, now these many years later dubbed "The Berlin Trilogy," which some regard as the best of Bowie's recorded work. Bowie is an incredibly multi-talented freak of nature who has gone through changes like a freaking chameleon: Ziggy Stardust, The Actor, The Thin White Duke, to well, just finally BOWIE.

I don't own that many Bowie discs, but I am very familiar with Young Americans, Scary Monsters, Hunky Dory, and "Heroes." All fine discs. The Berlin Trilogy is made up of Low, "Heroes" and Lodger. I recently purchased Low and have been listening obsessively. I love it. It is strange, haunting, cold, fractured, moody, intense, dark, beautiful. Filled with odd instrumental music as well as nail hard pop. Or not really pop. It really is awesome music, unlike anything else.

I'm also reading "Bowie in Berlin" at the moment. Which I think is just excellent. There's a theme here, I'm definitely stuck in some kind of time warp. It's not nostalgia that drives this obsession. I do think it's satisfying and worthwhile to dig deep in our pop cultural history. I like to plumb the depths of a subject looking for gold. It's definitely an interesting kick.

"My breath is inside you..."

Thanks to that magisterial Michael Bracewell book on Roxy Music, I have lately been delving deep into Roxy's first two albums (Roxy Music and For Your Pleasure).

And I must admit I have been greatly rewarded. Two of the best discs from the 70's. I know they were recorded a long time ago, in a land long lost, still these albums sound great - alive and relevant - to these jaded ears.

I do believe "In Every Dream Home a Heartache" has to be the finest ode to an inflatable doll ever recorded. These guys look like they dropped in from another planet. They must have looked freaky then, they look freaky now. I say "get your freak on!" It's alright.

"My breath is inside you..."

Beautiful World, Beautiful People

A good night's sleep. And the coffee is good.

Strive

"Always strive to excel, but only on the weekends." - Richard Rorty

Thanks!

Wow. Happy to report that folks are buying and streaming my new digital release, Jimmy Moliere in Paradise.

So cool. Thanks to everyone who has given it a try. You can get it on iTunes here:

Plus it can be purchased and/or streamed at places like: Rhapsody, Napster, eMusic, IMVU, Amazon, Lala, Shockhound and Amie Street.

The Camera Always Lies!

Sara set up her little video recorder on a table at the Cal's Neil Young show last Friday. It captured some of the madness - you can hear the crowd being a crowd, plus once in a while you can hear Charles our interpretive dancer sort of whoop to the music.

Here's two songs, Down by the River and Fucking Up. What I love about this video, besides being in tune, with no obvious glitches, is that the two girls are up front, because really they are the show. My brother and I lurk in the shadows. As it should be. Still, my guitar and his harmonica do the job! This was so much fun! This is a kind of circumscribed view of the proceedings, but that's how it goes.

"The camera always lies!"

Snaps

You do a show. Then the show is over. You may have video, pictures. Snapshots of a living, breathing thing. Not the same, still sometimes what's snapped is cool too. These are from Black Forest's "The Thorn and Rose." Carla (in white), Sara (with wings), jimmy jammer (with guitars).

Neil Young at Cal's!

How to beat post-show blues? Do another show. We were lucky to be invited back to Cal's for a Neil Young Tribute show last night. Friday night at Cal's is a hard rocking night. All the hard-core boozers and ecstatic good-timers were out in force.

We did a quirky batch of Neil Young songs: Needle and the Damage Done, Powderfinger, Roll Another Number, Down by the River, Fucking Up and Cowgirl in the Sand. Three voices - Sara, Carla and I, plus my acoustic guitar wired up to a little Pignose, and my brother on harmonica.

We had a nice ragged, funky edge with the two girls providing a sheen of beauty with their angel-like vocals. Wow. A very satisfying show.

Plus, Neil's songs are just so great. Those songs permeate the air and light up everything around them.

Danger Mouse Cuts Blank CD!

There's something very Zen about this story.

Plus David Lynch figures in it too.

Where's the dancing little guy?

"... but at least on the creative side it's the way it's supposed to be." - Danger Mouse

"Living is easy with eyes closed..." - J. Lennon

Miracle!

Can "miracle" be a line item in a business plan?

Days of the Week

Meltdown Monday
Tune-up Tuesday
WTF Wednesday
Thinking Cap Thursday
Fuggetabouit Friday
Satisfied Saturday
Sulky Sunday*


* Upon further reflection this will now be known as Soul-Searching Sunday

Jimmy Moliere in Paradise

Yes, it's true. I recorded a bunch of songs in my little home studio. And the result is now available on iTunes, Rhapsody, Amazon, Napster, eMusic, Shockhound and some others. Not sure how easy it is to find. It's called, "Jimmy Moliere in Paradise."

Another manifestation of my "jimmy-ness." I guess I'm ready for my all-jimmy, all-the-time channel! It's my little message in a bottle to the immense universe. Or at least internet-land!

Songs include: Indifference, Walking the Dog, I Be the Man, How Deep are the Trees?, Zombie, Thurston Howell 33 1/3, The Human Game, Giving up the Ghost, Jean Luc Godard, Too Heavy to Party, Waiting for the Alien Invasion, Bleeding is the First Step to Oblivion, and Funky Spermatoza.

It was recorded over the last couple of years. I'm pretty pleased with the final result. Only $9.99. If you're so inclined, give it a try!

Thing Thing No Block!

Some words of wisdom came to me last night at the big closing gallery event at Peter Jones via Thai Chi Master Daniel A.

"Thing, thing, no block!"

Life: The Aesthetic Experiment

Life. I've tried it out for awhile. It's kind of interesting. I've had many ideas about it. Sometimes simultaneously.

Some words that come to mind to describe it: a gift, an ordeal, a job, a test, a journey, an experience, a dream, a nightmare, a joke, a mission, a random blip, an accident, a mirage.

Lately, I think it's just an aesthetic experience or experiment. Especially in the sense of "a heightened sensitivity to beauty."

Only in this case beauty must be defined very, very expansively. Big enough to include the ugly, the deformed, the decaying.

Life can't be put in a box. It's a thing that resists boxes.

I am the Black Mamba!

So if you go with the mirror neuron concept, then watching someone who is the best at what they do, doing their best, is kind of like you doing it too.

So thanks to Kobe, and my mirror neurons, I had an absolutely phenomenal game last night!

Whew!

And if we can't predict the future that's kind of liberating isn't it?

Certainly takes a load off my mind.

Whew!

The Future

Can't predict the future.

That complicates things.

A brief humid holiday

It was briefly very sunny and humid yesterday afternoon. It didn't last, by the end of the afternoon is was windy, cold and rainy. Weather fluctuations!

Anyway, I went for a long run on the lakefront in the middle of the humidity and discovered via my IPod that Green Day's "Holiday" is an exquisitely good running song. Kind of like an additional shot of adrenaline.

Cut to the video:

Fully Realized...

We had two very good shows this weekend. Saturday was probably the better of the two. A totally packed, overflow crowd just seemed to give us a little more focus and intensity. I suppose that much concentrated attention on what we were doing onstage was a natural energizer.

Still one of our rules is to never worry about how many people are in an audience. One lonely soul is enough for a show!

We were relaxed and confident. The result of a lot of work over the last few months. It's the kind of work that doesn't really seem like work. I recorded the show and yesterday we listened to the result. We were strong. Some of our songs are so beautiful. And the imagery we filmed was hushed and haunting. Fully realized.

Where do we go from here? Not sure. One step in front of another.