Statement of Intent

I would like to announce that I will no longer be performing live with Interpol on their upcoming campaign. I’ll be taking a break from touring to focus on family. There are no personal, artistic or health reasons—it’s really as simple as that!

I would like to thank Paul, Daniel, Sam, Brandon, everyone in the crew, and all of the Interpol fans for the remarkable support and patronage they have shown me during my time with them. I feel a tremendous amount of love and respect for everyone involved and will genuinely miss them.

I will continue to record and perform music, with bands as well as solo, I just won’t be touring as much. I am truly grateful for the experience and look forward to enjoying Interpol in the future, as a fan and friend.

Walk in light, walk in darkness.

February 20, 2011


Anasazi: The Making Of A Walking (Part Two)

I made it to a little town in Arizona. Got the cheapest hotel and went to meet the group the next morning. One of the first people I met as part of the course was a skinny dude with a long beard. He's older than me-- I was 19 at the time. I overhear him telling a woman, also on the course, that he has vowed not to cut his hair unless he can make the tools himself. He said the last time he cut his hair and beard he had to tie it off at the length he wanted and burn the remainder.

I met the author of the survival book and he seemed genuinely surprised that I was there.

The first day of the course they drove us out to a remote area and they mapped out a route. Neither of the instructors had ever been to the area before but they arranged pick up at a destination-- we just had to be there on the right day. They made us empty our pockets, we couldn't have anything. All I had was some money, a pack of Luck Strikes, and a lighter. It all went into the truck that was to meet us at the end of the course.

They gave us a can of beans or something, a tin cup, and a thin, canvas sleeping bag. I keep referring to it as a "thin, canvas sleeping bag" because when it got cold at night, you fucking froze.

On the very first day of the trip, the youngest and most athletic instructor fell and broke his ankle. They fashioned crutches from tree limbs for him and he hobbled on that for the next week. He went from being the fastest and strongest to the slowest and most cumbersome.

There were a couple families. An obese family that only complained. A God-fearing nuclear family. A few couples, a few older adults. Everyone except the instructors were painfully slow at hiking.

They really didn't teach us too much. The instructors started the fires without matches but no one paid attention. They would point out leaves and berries that were edible and I'd always eat them, but I didn't remember the names. There was one tree that was supposed to have minty leaves-- good for rubbing on your teeth and chewing to freshen breath. I tried it and didn't seem to work.

The first thing I noticed was that I really craved junk food. For the first few days I could only think about all the different foods I was going to eat when I got back to civilization. I would go through every craving and try to put them in a hierarchy. In the end I decided my first meal on my return would be a Wendy's cheeseburger. That's right.

There was a girl about 16 who was really cute, she became my best friend on the course. We would walk together and talk about anything and nothing.

One day we were sitting under a tree and she said, "So are you LDS?" I assumed she was asking if I'd ever done LSD so I answered, "Yeah, a couple times." She seemed confused. "Are you Latter Day Saints? You know... Mormon?" I didn't know anything about Mormons. The others gathered around. Apparently this was a survival course as part of a Mormon church. And I was the only heathen in the platoon. I wasn't even from Utah.


Anasazi: The Making Of A Walking (Part One)

As a teenager I did a survival course in Arizona. I had several books on survival in the wild and I wrote the author of one of the books. He told me about a course he taught. I sent off for a brochure and prices. The longest course was a week in the mountains with nothing but a thin canvas sleeping bag. I signed up for that one and sent off my money. Cash in an envelope.

I took a Greyhound bus from Louisville to Arizona. Three days and two nights on The Dog. I don't know what it's like now but in the late 80s the only people riding The Dog were homeless, runaways, thieves, convicts, and other transients. I remember listening to Philip Glass on a cassette Walkman and watching the sunrise.

At one point during the journey I sat next to an old-timer who started on a rant. I was listening at first, hearing about his life as a truck driver, and then he started raising his voice-- screaming some of the most racist things I ever heard. He said I was okay because I'm American Indian, an original American. Which of course is totally wrong but I was glad to be okay with the psychopath.

The bus was 80% black. The dude in the aisle seat next to me took out the Autobiography of Malcom X and started reading it. The trucker was screaming about shooting every one of them in the head. I was sinking in my seat.

It was a full bus and nowhere to go. People started yelling stuff back at him which only got him more excited.

Finally the bus driver pulled over and told him he had to shut up or he was kicked off. This quieted him down for a bit. But his mutterings would rage again into ferocious epithets, with generous use of a particularly offensive word-- especially if you're an old white guy.

They left his ass at McDonald's somewhere.

Considering how long and grueling the trip was I don't recall much of it. There was the homeless dude who did something so disgusting in the bathroom that entire bus dry heaved in unison at the stench.


U2 Catering In Paris

My Dad is 76 and is in great health. He has never bought filtered water. He drinks tap water.


Doors Must Close

We will be jubilant to observe certain bands as they plummet into obscurity (and bands like Obscurity will get the credit they deserve). The only dilemma is that certain rival, vainglorious, and opportunistic has-beens will view this as a triumph-- still denying that all their ingenuity putrefied when they started the treasure hunt.