XXXmas

So I awoke this morning in a very interesting fashion:

(sound of multiple sets of galloping paws in the hallway)

(voice) FIONA!!!!

A hiss, a bark, cat on my head, a sharp pain across my ear.
OW! Blood runs down my head.

I stumble, slightly dazed into the bathroom, my ear is bleeding. A lot.

Just moments before, it seemed. I was sleeping and cuddling with Lint, my favorite cat. Now I was in pain and confused. Great Christmas.

Then I got a ukulele and a messenger bag. Sweeter Christmas. There's a German here too. That's always fun.

Dokeosphere part II

Suddenly, a voice that sounded as if it was constructed purely of static, like a box of vibrating pins and needles found its way over the radio. At first, the astronaut ignored this voice, thinking it only one of the ten radio checks he'd receive that day. But when it persisted, he began to notice an unfamiliar quality not present in his standard calls from earth: desperation. The Pins and needles voice on the other end was asking for help, crying out to anyone who would listen. The astronaut listened in with voyeuristic curiosity so common among humans. He desired to reach over and press the button in order to respond to the distress call, but something inside of him caused him to hesitate. It was his sense of duty creeping up on him, mentally reprimanding him for being so distracted by such an inconsequential happenstance. So he forced himself away from the help, and back to his makeshift laboratory in a side room on the upper deck. The only sound there was the clinking of test tubes against one another, and the gentle hum of the engines filtered out any excess noise that could possibly distract him.

Dokeosphere part I

Behold the astronaut, who's forced to leave the earth staring out the porthole at the beauty below while knowing that no matter how diligently he works, nothing will bring him back before he's due to return.

So to fill the time, he busies himself with experiments, goes through motions and tests alternatives that are ultimately meaningless. To him, he knows his time is being wasted but the voice that crackles over his radio insists that it's all important, that he has no choice but to remain apart from the things that until now made sure he stayed firmly on the ground. Sometimes the antenna picks up a songs from the radio, and the cabin is filled with the woeful sounds of an old standard, and the astronaut reminisces on the last time he heard this song, long ago.

Suddenly his mind conjures up that time when the song meant the most to him, back to when night only lasted so long, and young bodies huddled together in twin sized beds to warm chilly sheets. And how they'd cram as much excitement into those fleeting nighttime hours! When intimacy was as foreign as the deepest unexplored regions of space, when everyone played Ferdinand Magellan on an insatiable quest to understand their immediate world. And as the sun began to rise, how they'd all pretend that they didn't notice, how they'd push on until their limbs grew weary and their mouths were parched from innumerable heavy breaths. Oh, and how they'd collapse, never to rise before the sun reached its daily apex in the sky above!

And now, how' he'd kill for just ten minutes of true daylight.

Untitled self reflection

I am a waste, an addict
I am a genius.
I know nothing.
It is my acknowledgment of knowing nothing that makes me a genius.

I want to know everything.
The more I learn, the more I know
I know nothing.
I am curious.

After I eat, my body excretes what it doesn't want.
It makes the room smell.
God is laughing at his intelligent design.

I know a girl who is now chasing monkeys
We kissed once, in another country
I had just kissed her friend
She knew that, but kissed me anyway.
Then, we took all of our clothes off.

It seems that country of origin shapes bodies
I've seen anatomical Czech: awkward, strong, feminine, beautiful
anatomical Slovak: small, cautious, fallow, fleeting
anatomical Pole: bright-eyed, intelligent, mysterious, self-conscious
anatomical Finn: brazen, taut, risky
anatomical Norwegian: powerful, pale, emancipated, nordic
anatomical Romanian: shy, silent, momentous, hidden beauty
anatomical French: sensuous, breathy, slender, entwining
anatomical Irish: ironic, creamy, clumsy, guilty,
anatomical Italian: loud, laughing, tall, intimate
anatomical German: stiff, orderly, regulated, desperate
anatomical Philippine: dark, scented, sudden, decadent
anatomical Colombian: intense, amazonian, feral, exhausting

Deerhoof's Offend Maggie has two different track listings?

So being a rabid Deerhoof fan, I could not wait to get my hands on their fabulous latest release Offend Maggie, even if it meant that I would have to obtain it via *cough* potentially illegal means (sorry guys). The track listing was as follows:

01 The Tears and Music of Love
02 Chandelier Searchlight
03 Buck and Judy
04 Snoopy Waves
05 Offend Maggie
06 Basket Ball Get Your Groove Back
07 Don't Get Born
08 My Purple Past
09 Family of Others
10 Fresh Born
11 Eaguru Guru
12 This is God Speaking
13 Numina
14 Jagged Fruit

This is most likely the order than most of you are familiar with (the CD's track listing), and all things being said, it is quite a fantastic order indeed.

Once Deerhoof made their way through town two weeks later, and being the devoted fan that I am, I bought the LP at the show (my intent all along), and took it home to listen. As soon as I set the needle on the LP, however, I realized that the album was not opening with The Tears And Music of Love, as I had expected, but with Offend Maggie. Not even track 2 was the same, as I was hearing Fresh Born where I expected to be hearing Chandelier Searchlight. In fact, not a single track is in the same place on the LP as it is on the CD. The track order of the LP (and how it was listed on back) is as follows:

Side A (Act 1):

1. Offend Maggie
2. Fresh Born
3. Chandelier Searchlight
4. The Tears And Music Of Love
5. Buck And Judy
6. Don't Get Born
7. My Purple Past

Side B (Act 2):


8. Basket Ball Get Your Groove Back
9. Numina O
10. This Is God Speaking
11. Eaguru Guru
12. Snoppy Waves
13. Jagged Fruit
14. Family Of Others

WHAT?! In addition, the CD does not list the tracks as being in two Acts, whereas the LP does. This order is also quite fantastic, to the point where I'm not sure as to which I prefer.

As as result of this confusing situation, I went to the place where most people go when they need to know something as random and obscure as this: the internet. Sadly, my search revealed absolutely no explaination as to why each format had a different track listing. The only thing I found was a myspace comment on their page asking the same question I was. Beyond that, nothing. Also, most sites selling the LP have the CD tracklisting posted as the LP track order, including the record label's website, which obviously is not correct. Up until this point I have attempted to contact both the band and the label about the reasoning behind this, but with no reply.

So what's the deal, Deerhoof?

Polyphemus Creeper

So I started a new song last night. Click it to listen.


Hello you, it's me
The one who couldn't seem to want to leave you all alone
Somewhere in there I tied myself a lasso
And roped you in so blindly like a Cyclops with a cataract,
And you were just Ulysses heading home.

I could blame the wine
Or think of some excuse to blame no one for the deed
I can't believe I held another hostage unconsciously
but often monsters are just misunderstood
Exaggerated by the troubadours.

Instrument/Equipment List for Jeannette Isabella

So a few people have asked me specifically what I used to record "Bring a Torch Jeannette Isabella", so I figured I'd make a post so that I could also have the ability to remember in the future, like when I tell my grandkids.

Hardware:
Powerbook G4 1.33Ghz, 1 GB RAM Running OSX 10.5.5 (leopard)
Mackie 1202 vlz pro mixer
PreSonus Firebox

Software: Cubase LE4 (the version that comes with the interface)

Mics:
Some $100 Audio Technica Condenser I borrowed from a friend (mine's crap). This mic is worth more than you pay for it.

Instruments:
Baritone Ukulele
Banjo
Guitar
Toy Piano
Casio Pt-1
A big plastic storage drum I hit when I need a bass drum sound
Jingle Bells
Egg Shaker

Additional: Roommates who put up with me making a racket in the basement (thanks guys)

You really don't need expensive or fancy equipment to make good sounding recordings, contrary to what many believe. Especially when you're intentionally recording silly sounding christmas songs.

Finished a new song..not for the EP

So I have to finish this Christmas CD before I play this concert on Sunday, and one of the requirements was that I record a cover of "Bring A Torch, Jeannette Isabella" because it's probably the best Christmas song of all time, but we can discuss that later. So I spent about three hours on this today, and I'm pretty pleased with the results. It's just as cheezy as I wanted it to be, and the recording sounds great.

Basically if this recording were a test I'd want my mom to hang it on the fridge.

Oh, I put it on my myspace. Listen please, tell me what you think.

My new EP: It will be free. Please share it.

So the first EP I'm recording as Norwegian Arms is mostly done, and by that I mean a little bit above fifty percent complete. I'm excited for it.

I did finish the insert to be placed inside, it's black and white and pretty boring. It'll be photocopied. Here's a picture:
Pretty amazing, huh? As you can see, it'll be four tracks and features the use of languages I don't actually speak. I'll be putting them up on myspace as they reach completion.

Oh, I also forgot to mention. This CD will be free, absolutely free. So when you get one, make four hundred copies for your friends, upload it to your favorite torrent tracker, add it to your shared files on LimeWire, SoulSeek, AIM, or whatever you use to otherwise illegally transfer music. Heck, put it on a jump drive and upload it to your local public school server. I will also host it on my website for a short time (before temple kicks me out for using too much bandwidth).

Why am I doing this? Because I firmly believe music it moving in the direction where it will be mostly or completely free. The only ones who grossly benefitted from CD sales were the labels, not the artists. That's why Virgin was suing people instead of The Backstreet Boys breaking down your door. I'm also doing it because I really don't expect to make money from any of this anyway, so why prevent people from listening to/having/sharing my music at all? I have jobs, a few dollars isn't going to make a huge difference.

That's all for now. Happy day.

Te Mando Un Beso

She connects the lines, traces them in pencil.
Still they're intertwined
jamming all the signals.

Plans out her course in spite,
packs her favorite books and tools.
Winds through the mountains until her feet are worn completely through.

Bloodied limbs walk too.

She was told a lie, mimicked by the songbirds.
Now she's trapped inside
trying to find the right words

The spark was not incendiary,
it was just benign like all the scrawl
Etched into the rocks she passes echoing the black crow's caw.

Is it worth it all?

Shackhoe Girl (running backwards)

(She smiled, talked, streamed about murderous cousins)

How hard it is to hide your secret sadness behind a soft-forced smile, wanting the space to think, wanting her to want you like last night, and now she's fretting about a book, frowning at your ugly toenails, biting her nails, nervous, murmuring, and wondering what you're writing.

She hates your grammar, even knowing you put up with late-night absurdities: demands for booze or cigarettes.

Returning, with her bag, the warning sign, and you know that this writing could probably destroy you.

The Iceman

I sigh, way back
it's a rattle in the rubble
As night grips black
(it's a trip into trouble)
Shake me up cause my mind's slime
vascular motion solidified
tongue tied, blind.
I cannot blink through the bright haze
could you please just reanimate?
I'd like the sun to feel my face.

"They can have my guns, bullets first" – The Modern Doomsayer

He appears unassuming, a howling wolf surrounded in an American flag adorns his factory tie-dyed shirt, black and blue and black and blue. He wants something we don't carry anymore – long term survival gear, used mainly for camping. I tell him how the big corporations make it difficult to sell things like that anymore, and he reacts with a frown, eyes wrinkling into the template formed by all frowns previous. From the folds, I can tell this man does a lot of frowning.

He seems concerned, frowning not at the world, but for the world, saddened by the state of things, genuinely hurt by the actions of man, empathizing with those unfortunate. He no longer believes in much beyond his Bible, he keeps his guns loaded, prepared to hand them over "bullets first". The military had jaded him, speaking of the fifty year olds who would act like children, without foresight.

He is a man who takes the blows for the faults of mankind, the marks left his soul stained like his shirt, black and blue and black and bruised. The concentration camps are ready, he claims, with ovens to cook those who fight back. They'll be run by NAZIS who wear big business armbands, starred white on blue, reflecting what had become American, blind patriotism and Wal*Mart. The Wal will finally hit the mirror and turned law.

It's okay though, his bunker's ready. Six months of food and water, ammunition, and three books. He's awaiting judgement.

Conversations with a Chinese Girl

It's hard to sneak away when no one sees you run.
I was walking back to rehab, I was getting me a gun
Little clicks in metal holes make the metal ring explode
It's so simple.
Just let the fire run wild, let's burn the fucker down

And when you're looking back it's the little things that always mattered most
And it's a crying shame when the little ones end up as ghosts

Chinese girls in wedding gowns all filling up the hall.
That dress might make you legal, but it'll never make you tall.
Sneaky creeps and through-tooth lies, glasses hide their greedy eyes
Love's not money.
Lick your lips and close your eyes, and kiss his halitosis smile

Nod and watch and work and die, let it lie, those problems aren't for me
cause someone else will get it right by the next century.

To turn back eyesight.

Today I wish I could unsee.

Streetside Montgomery, she poured out from all three punctures, purging. Feet away, I twisted my head.

Handedness

Electric, overwhelming, two souls stuck in an elevator going down, nervously probing minds looking for the two points that prove circles cross. Right-sided minds cloaked in left choked your hand to write dexterously, but left you a secret sinister. I am sinister, choked musically dexterous. "How did they translate the clockwork slang?" Up again, three floors rising, nothing like a lift to force privacy.

Two heads notice their subtlety, they hash....

Two heads notice their subtlety, they hash out hazy rhythms and hope for epiphany. Eyes rolling, heads nodding, nodes throbbing. click. It bursts with vitality.

Eleven heads run for the prize sideless, put it in a box, box it. Tribal dances for the fitness king.

Three heads strut for femininity, they ask for directions. I have none, and sarcasm shocks their black coats that mean to widen shoulders, but only slouch postures.

Stories only serve to hide this irish temper.

Moritz talks to body parts

We find ourselves remember Moritz, a man who beyond our comprehension prefers to name his body parts like friends. Moritz would talk to most of his parts, bending and twisting to reach them, giggling at secret jokes and sharing secrets. Some thought Moritz to be insane, others of scientific interest.

Moritz was a dancer.

Satan's got a cell...

Satan's got a cell phone now,
why does the devil always miss his calls?

New Year

whisper it in, you hardly notice the new breath beyond the bubbles in your fuzzywine.