Caught Up On Catching Up?

Shit.

Two weeks just fly by.

Chest Pains played our second gig.

Masotodon blew the roof off the Cat's Cradle.

Had life affirming experience at band practice when my guitar player's Mexican neighbors invited us into their practice space, played a 30 minute set of whatever it is that they play (country? sung falsetto and backed by a polka beat), the asked us to step up and play. We played one song. The Tim left and returned with his amp and Fender guitar. Played two more songs. Got greeted by chants of "uno mas! uno mas!" and "my first time hearing American heavy metal!" Then retired and let the Mexican guitar player and his brother on drums take us through a Stones-like romp of Mexican rock & roll. Epic. More on this later.

Father-in-law got menigitis. He's okay now.

Son Cole turned two.

Saw the most fucked up movie: The Saddest Music In The World.

I'm sure more happened.

Enjoy the abridged for now.

Shit, While I'm At It...

here's another gem of a poem.

inspired by the *first* Gulf War.

nothing has changed my friends:

This Ain’t Alaska

Smell of a thousand
oil changes lingers in the air.
Incessant eye sting
brings tear trail,
cutting and carving the face their way - down.

Sand clings like Bay mud
to boots, hands, lizard, and the like.
Darkness at noon
here to sway metabolism
cheating lives - away.

Soupy skin of disaster
looks straight out of hell.
This ain’t Alaska
rather modern day Mesopotamia
burning from the inside.
Eden seems some far away - now.

Laundry, Fucking Laundry

I feel like I'm always doing laundry.

Always a load or two to do.

Always a bundle of clothes to be folded.

Fucking laundry.

I hate laundry... almost as bad as I hate VH1 Movies That Rock.

But, in honor of my buddy and fellow archivilist Mike Daily,
I bring you this gem from 1988:

The Church Of For Best Results

It wasn’t gray out
but rather hot - too hot.
The gray skies seem synonymous
with doing laundry; maybe it’s all those
sunshiny-fresh detergent commercials.

Heavy air of heat was beginning
to crush down on my chest
and the faint tingle of listlessness poked his head out.
Laundry isn’t terrible only
full of inconveniences: humming dryers,
dust of detergent to tickle the nose; bleach to burn it.
And the radio, just loud enough to not be ignored,
dancing between dryer and washing machine.

Becomes religious to some; apostolic.
Same day, same time, same machine.
Alcleaning, washing souls mixing
the darks with the whites.
The Church of for Best Results
and its congregation
going soul-searching with the Tide.

Chest Pains in Chapel Hill

So the Ron Liberti flyer is for my band's second show ever at some new club in Chapel Hill called Wetlands.

Last night I was drinking and spinning records getting juiced up for the show, working off some nervous energy and generally just inspired to be making music again - punk rock no less - after a 20 year absence.

I got to thinking about how to describe the band because people aske me what we sound like and hell I've been in the business of telling people what bands sound like for many moons as a music journalist/rock critic.

Yet I find it oddly incomprehensible to describe my own band.

Last night I looked at the pile of vinyl records next to my turntable, the ones currently in rotation, and I thought that might be a good place to start for inquiring minds as to getting to the bottom of what my band may sound like from my perspective.

Here's the list:

Sacchraine Trust Paganicons
Reigning Sound Time Bomb High School
Flipper Album
The Dehumanizers End Of Time
Minor Threat Out Of Step
Mentors You Axed For It!
ZZ Top Tres Hombres
Sheer Terror Just Can't Hate Enough
Rites Of Spring self-titled debut
Die Kreuzen self-titled debut
FEAR The Record
Venom Black Metal
Thee Headcoats Elementary Headcoats
Fang Landshark!
Laughing Hyenas You Can't Pray A Lie

Progress

OK

so I figured out how to post pictures on the blog.

Intriguing yet slightly disturbing, no? 

This is the tree house my friends