Continuation from wherever this was left off, leaving you hanging out
on a cliff (I wouldn't do that)-
Schemes of new album orchestrations and malfunctions are now
underway. Several tracks have now been recorded and now I (we)
are stacking tracks like Jenga and hoping it won't fall down in a
trainwreck (not Bloody likely). I'm from Oklahoma, but I'll say
"bloody" anyway. OK, not UK.
October and November are the two months of the year when I'm
alive- the rest of the year I'm dead and speaking from the grave. Don't
take that literally- In January, February, I'm stranded and freezing.
In March, I'm being born, in April, I'm learning, May, I'm loving but
running from tornadoes and other deathly gestures, June, July, August,
I'm melting but returning to my origin in a pool of cool- Sept. I'm leaving,
Oct., Nov. I'm alive, Dec. I'm indoors by a fire waiting to die and be
reborn and repeat the cycle, making plans and living and dying in the
moment.
So Falltime is recordingtime and I hope to have a new album soon-
It's already been 5 months since we put out Make Out The Sound- 5 months
is too long- forever ago! (All of the world is a joke, especially the music world,
taking itself seriously)
Why do musicians become obsessed with recording their music? There's songs
from the vaults waiting to have some light and fresh air shed on them as well as new
ones, that have never been performed with anyone or properly produced, and now
that is the motion put forth. However, no stress in the end as far as recording- Mozart,
Beethoven, Bach, all of these fellows never recorded music, did they?
I've been driving through these spread-out American cities from OKC to L.A. and
all around the west, and I'm longing for an Old World city to walk around with windy
little roads and alleys and curves and loops to go get lost. Let's start building more
American New World cities like these old time cities and walk around- at least a few
more over here this way. It can take three hours easy to go 10 miles in L.A. and most
of these cars you look at jampacked along the road have one person in them. And I
look at the Hollywood sign and I think oh it's a foggy morning then I realize no, this
is smog- the Smog of your Dreams. Smog Magic.
We got a parking ticket there, but since I'm contesting it for no extra fee (playing dumb), it has a 90 day hold on it. Before, I've called places and asked if I could have my parking ticket expunged, because there wasn't a sign you could readily read, and abracadabra it worked, a few times.
Some things come in threes, or clusters, because we were at a house party briefly and though it wasn't me, one of us saw W. Lips sitting on the back porch and thought, what a poser, trying to look like him, and as it turned out it was him. So a few blocks down, we decided that was enough, and we went back to ask him if he really was Wayne Brady? Didn't we see you on Whose Line Is It Anyway? But he was gone. Vamoose. Then we were, too, and none of us were any of us anymore exactly like we were before.
on a cliff (I wouldn't do that)-
Schemes of new album orchestrations and malfunctions are now
underway. Several tracks have now been recorded and now I (we)
are stacking tracks like Jenga and hoping it won't fall down in a
trainwreck (not Bloody likely). I'm from Oklahoma, but I'll say
"bloody" anyway. OK, not UK.
October and November are the two months of the year when I'm
alive- the rest of the year I'm dead and speaking from the grave. Don't
take that literally- In January, February, I'm stranded and freezing.
In March, I'm being born, in April, I'm learning, May, I'm loving but
running from tornadoes and other deathly gestures, June, July, August,
I'm melting but returning to my origin in a pool of cool- Sept. I'm leaving,
Oct., Nov. I'm alive, Dec. I'm indoors by a fire waiting to die and be
reborn and repeat the cycle, making plans and living and dying in the
moment.
So Falltime is recordingtime and I hope to have a new album soon-
It's already been 5 months since we put out Make Out The Sound- 5 months
is too long- forever ago! (All of the world is a joke, especially the music world,
taking itself seriously)
Why do musicians become obsessed with recording their music? There's songs
from the vaults waiting to have some light and fresh air shed on them as well as new
ones, that have never been performed with anyone or properly produced, and now
that is the motion put forth. However, no stress in the end as far as recording- Mozart,
Beethoven, Bach, all of these fellows never recorded music, did they?
I've been driving through these spread-out American cities from OKC to L.A. and
all around the west, and I'm longing for an Old World city to walk around with windy
little roads and alleys and curves and loops to go get lost. Let's start building more
American New World cities like these old time cities and walk around- at least a few
more over here this way. It can take three hours easy to go 10 miles in L.A. and most
of these cars you look at jampacked along the road have one person in them. And I
look at the Hollywood sign and I think oh it's a foggy morning then I realize no, this
is smog- the Smog of your Dreams. Smog Magic.
We got a parking ticket there, but since I'm contesting it for no extra fee (playing dumb), it has a 90 day hold on it. Before, I've called places and asked if I could have my parking ticket expunged, because there wasn't a sign you could readily read, and abracadabra it worked, a few times.
Some things come in threes, or clusters, because we were at a house party briefly and though it wasn't me, one of us saw W. Lips sitting on the back porch and thought, what a poser, trying to look like him, and as it turned out it was him. So a few blocks down, we decided that was enough, and we went back to ask him if he really was Wayne Brady? Didn't we see you on Whose Line Is It Anyway? But he was gone. Vamoose. Then we were, too, and none of us were any of us anymore exactly like we were before.
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