new work in progress: departures; simulation 1

I have returned from three days of power packed debaucherizing/mental envigoration:
Harvest of Hope Festival 2009.
For a six hour volunteer shift (during which I lazed about doggedly with friends JB and Jimmy, basked in the poisonous yet awesome rays, drank free redbulls and played football with campers)
I was allowed free 3 day admission and camping. Hanging out in the volunteer tent, I spied Tilly and the Wall getting their drink on, KRS-1 and Kool Keith making hummus and spinach sandwiches, and Jon Darnielle, who was pretty neat.

Ambling in with my skeleton crew on friday afternoon to a foreign and bustling world, rapidly developing, like the great American frontier, a bold sense of manifest destiny stirred within me, and my nose began immediately to gush forth lifeblood thick and vibrant. The cars and rickshaws whooshed by, starry-eyed hippies and lost scenesters danced blurrily before my bleary eyeballs, and my friends, my excellent and noble friends found me a tissue and saved the freaking day.

After settling my mates down, I dashed off to my distant volunteer campsite, and dropped my stuff. Now alone and disoriented. My phone began to shudder and blink noisily. It was Neal, with a where the fuck are you get over to stage 1 if you know what's good for you. I did as he commanded, and found myself herded onstage with Girl Talk and various beautiful people, apparently as some sort of impromptu dance crew. Swimming in love and raw sticky emotion, we the people who know how to party swished and swayed, pumping the air with unrestrained exhiliration, launching wind powered toilet paper rolls, and shaking our lucky butts for thousands of adoring fans. thanks Neal and JT.

Fast forward a couple of hours and I'm in what looks like some sort of refugee camp.
moss covered night shamblers are immolating themselves willy nilly in a gigantic mudswill/drum circle. Crusty punks, metal dozers, leafy hippies and hipsters alike partook in mad dash death races around growing blazes, defiantly basking in the piercing gaze of the fuzz's windup dragonfly spies hovering incessantly above us all. The air was electric and suffocating. fun was had.


I saw many great shows, but thrillingest was certainly the Mountain Goats.
Darnielle went nuts, we danced and were riveted by his musings.
When he was joined onstage by homeboy John Vanderslice, several of those around me with more sensitive dispositions shed tears of joy at this spectacle.

Vanderslice played his own solo show like some kind of heralding angel, and as usual, was sweet and kind, even humoring me with an interview for grooveshark.com... hopefully to be posted here soon.

If we're lucky, pictures from the weird voyage will be soon brought to light.
Only this one made it with me, a photograph of some friends I made at the badlands campsite.


I had a great time with my friends this weekend. Stepping up to a stage and realizing that you are standing amongst dwellers from your own village is a wondrous experience.

Happy Birthday, Dear Sister

Jamie is 16 today. My goal is to tease her twice as much as last year.
Happy Birthday Jamie!

new sufjan (or) a badass mixtape called Dark was the Night

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Pete Drake and his incredible talking guitar

P. Drake. born 1932 in Nashville Tennessee.wiki

"You play the notes on the guitar and it goes through the amplifier. I have a driver system so that you disconnect the speakers and the sound goes through the driver into a plastic tube. You put the tube in the side of your mouth then form the words with your mouth as you play them. You don't actually say a word: The guitar is your vocal cords, and your mouth is the amplifier. It's amplified by a microphone."

apparently, P. Drake picked up where a fellow named Alvino Rey left off.
warning: following video is not to be viewed by those easily creeped the heck out.
But, I guess the last video was pretty creepy too.



Stevie Wonder bonus time:



cheers to JT for the good news.

Department of Eagles

Dan Rossen, as may have been here previously declared, is very special. His buddy Fred Nicolaus is pretty cool too. Rossen (grizzly bear) whispers delicately, his voice vascillating smoothly between the lugubrious twitters of a fresh ghost, and the agitated meanderings of a forgotten poet. Nicolaus just goes nuts with loops, samples, and myriad noises. this album will hold me over until Grizzly bear finally drops that new album of vein surgers.




department of eagles on myspace

In Ear Park on amazon

my favorite la blogoteque vid:
part 1:


part 2:

breathe owl breathe

super folk three piece from Michigan. Their liltings are capable of depositing me atop the mightiest redwood with all of my birds of prey buddies. except they're nice today, and just want to hang out.

breathe owl breathe on myspace.
buy Canadian shield from amazon.