Automatically when the air thins and the nights get cooler, I get excited. Partly because it reminds me of being a kid and my mom reading me “The Pumpkin Smasher” by Anita Benarde. Partly because it reminds me of recording the Dark Regard ep with my friend Mike years back….and partly because I made it through another summer without shaving my head.
On the House of Fools camp:
In the meantime between recording and my odd jobs I’ve been playing a ton of shows by myself that aren’t nearly as fun but they pay my bills. They also keep me from becoming rusty as a player.
Matt’s been recording like crazy. Both working on our album and some friends of ours in Pacifico. I believe he’s investing in some new studio monitors.
Jordan’s tackling the task of selling the Far-Less van.
Jack’s working off and on with our friend Ross from Holy Ghost Tent Revival on website ideas. I think we’re FINALLY going to launch one soon. Officially that is.
Josh is writing/recording vocals with Matt on the songs that have loose ends. And wearing out the town.
Joel hates pickles. Please bring them to him. Oooooh better yet, dress up as pickles for our Halloween show coming up Oct. 29th at the Blind Tiger!! He’d love that. Course I can’t talk too much. He’ll just get on here and say I hate mayonnaise and then everyone would come as pickles and mayonnaise and we’d both be in hell.
We’ve got a few shows coming up, but main focus is still the album. Slow moving it may be, but we’re getting there. Stay tuned for more.
I read this in Stephen King’s THE STAND, which is quickly becoming my favorite book, and thought I would share.
“…Thinking of something Barry Grieg had once said to him about a rhythm guitar player from L.A., a guy named Jory Baker who was always on time, never missed a practice session, or fucked up an audition. Not the kind of guitar player that caught your eye, no showboat like Angus Young or Eddie Van Halen, but competent. Once, Barry had said, Jory Baker had been the driving wheel of a group called Sparx, a group everybody seemed to think that year’s Most Likely To Succeed. They had a sounded something like early Creedence: hard solid guitar rock and roll. Jory Baker had done most of the writing and all of the vocals. Then a car accident, broken bones, lots of dope in the hospital. He had come out, as the John Prine song says, with a steel plate in his head and a monkey on his back. He progressed from Demerol to heroin. Got busted a couple of times. After a while he was just another street-druggie with fumble fingers, spare-changing down at the Greyhound station and hanging out on the strip. Then, somehow, over a period of eighteen months, he had gotten clean, and stayed clean. A lot of him was gone. He was no longer the driving wheel of any group, Most Likely to Succeed or otherwise, but he was always on time, never missed a practice session, or fucked up an audition. He didn’t talk much, but the needle highway on his left arm had disappeared. And Barry Grieg had said: He’s come out the other side. That was all. No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just…come out on the other side.”
