Hard Times

Scored a beautiful mahogony 5 string bass from eBay. It was a gamble but my intuition was right on-- looks, plays, and sounds TIGHT.

My steer horns arrived and I hung them in the control room in between the monitors. Hail!

Got my first negative royalty check from Drag City. I've been inactive all year and I still lost money. If you're not a millionaire in 2008 you're in debt.

Blue Eyed Blondes

I was early but I quickly met up with comrade Dan Koretzky from Drag City Records. He was wearing an Indian cloak tailored on Devon Street in Chicago. An old drunk woman kept calling him Rasputin.

We held court. We laughed loudly. We lamented the failing music business. I told him what I wished-- to buy one recording with instant access to all formats.

Before I knew it I was surrounded by the Beautiful People and they were all calling me hero. I didn't protest as I normally would because I needed it. I was raw from home. Too many split open heads at home. As stupid as it sounds, I needed their attention. It made me feel good.

The drinks did flow as did the night. We hit the Nashville honky tonks and the blue-eyed blondes and the dancing geeks. I wanted it all.

Retired in the wee hours, thinking about the betrothed. Painting a picture in my mind
one color at a time, of what could have been.

Nashville Wedding

It was nearly nine hours of driving, by myself. But I'm not complaining-- I was in a sexy black sports car, blasting metal on a warm sunny day.

My host was an amazing director and an old pal. His young wife was having contractions and was due any second. I threw a Febrized sweater over my Exmortus shirt and drove to the Hermitage Hotel for the reception.

Forgot about the time change.

When I Left Town

When I left town my eyes were red and swollen. I know what it looks like but I wasn't fucking crying. Red from illness, insomnia, insults.

Insults.

The way I sleep.

The way I relax.

The way I cook.

The way I work.

Of the three generations of women, I adored the youngest and despised the oldest. The youngest loved me more in return.

I am aware of the inherent worth-- and worthlessness-- of what I do. That's why I place her above me.

These missives of love and hate are part of one package. It's not for you to cherry pick the preponderance of energy that you prefer

Love the totality or leave it, slag.

Unsuit Yourself

Unsuit yourself from the blindness in your life. I don't hold it against the little ones, too pure to understand an adult's weakness. I hold it against those that don't preserve what they own.

Cinderella's Dream

A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep. But how many decades before the dream decays? Before it is realized? How long do we wish?

Me Poser? Hell yeah, dog!

Confidence is a pose, at least mine. It's one of many weapons used to ward off the dark winged creatures of self-loathing.

When I played at ATP in LA years ago I was accompanied by a cellist and violinist. It was the anniversary of a family member's passing so I made a dedication. I didn't care about being morbid, I've never fancied myself an entertainer.

It's always been about the moment, not some pre-meditated stage show.

It was a heavy, plodding set in a large seated theater. I wallowed in the dirge, I allowed myself to indulge in his honor. The strings improvised effortlessly around my simple chord progressions.

As I walked offstage Paz was there to give me a long hug. She said all the girls in the bathroom were clucking over me.

She says those things to make me smile.

I walked backstage looking for my guitar case. I was in some other time zone. It was a circus back there, all fake mustaches and tutus.

Someone shook my hand and told me they loved the set. I recognized him as Jeff Tweedy only because he'd just recorded with my pal Jim O' Rourke. I didn't know anything about Wilco and I still don't.

If I'm a poser it's because I act like I'm not terrified.

Over the years I have honed the act. There are imperceptible clues but who cares about a twitch of the eye? Or a long bathroom break? There is no part of me that likes all those lights on me, all those eyes on me.

I stand before you to scrutinize, not because I enjoy it but because someone wants to see me. I do it for them.

And for money.

Items and Sleep

This is my second attempt to write today. The first was so long-winded and confessional that I didn't post it. It was about the items passing through my mind when I played at ATP in LA five years ago.

Maybe I'll post it later today, I'm not sure.

I love this feeling of anticipation as my studio starts to take shape. I have never had this much space to builda workspace-- it's beautiful. I have a playground, a conduit between my mind and the world's ears. This pathway is named:

GA
RG
OT

You will hear my feelings forever. Or at least until the ocean submerges our doomed planet.

I Make History

I try to scrape on these virtual walls every day. Scritch scratch scratch.

This storage bunker that documents history. My history. However miniscule that history may be in the relative scheme of a world with a population of 6 billion... To me, its massive. It's everything.

That's because I'm me, so of course I think like that. What's bigger than me? What's bigger than you, anonymous reader in the ether?

Nothing.

That's right.

NOTHING.

Gargot Recording Service

Work is slow but there are small satisfactions. Like anything overwhelming, you whittle at it daily. Imperceptible changes, tiny shavings, maybe none at all. Goals within goals within goals. The lights start flickering on, the fog descends, a mood thickens. Then, seething like a beast, you rise.

GoBama!

I have faith again.

PS Fuck You

Saw an overweight woman at the gym tonight with a t-shirt that read "If democrats had brains they would be republicans." Fancy that concept.

Considering how HATEFUL the republicans are one would think that I could relate. I never got the impression that democrats were overflowing with hate. Except for maybe things like TYRANNY and WAR.

Hospital Angels

Resilience is my lover and I hold her near to my heart. I am blessed with improvised songs before the sun rises. Tender words for a brave woman.

Stop Button Is Jammed

Events repeating over and over in your head. Events that destroy. All those good intentions colliding in a single moment. Cold metal against soft, perfect flesh. Blinding in an instant. Fluids red and salty, mixing with tears. You see it over and over

your heart opening
a little wider
with each repetition.

Halloween/Samhain

I haven't dressed up for Halloween since I was in college (except for one year where I drew spider webs all over my entire body with a marker). Despite my collection of Halloween masks and body parts, I don't really celebrate this holiday anymore.

Notes From GA RG OT

Reamping.

It's an engineering technique that I've never used and I'm going to overdo it on my next album. On everything. I feel like an idiot because I've known about it for so long but didn't understand how it related to what I do. Now I see that, as a home recordist, it's a luxury I should have been utilizing all along.

I feel confident about the guitars on this next record, I'm just worried about the drums, vocals and monitoring issues.

I have a large room to work in but it's carpeted with a low, drop ceiling, flourescent lights. A small, generic office. Terrible for drums. Awful for monitoring. It's what I have.

I haven't played drums in years so to say I'm rusty is an understatement. In addition I want to use double kick on every song. I've never played double kick in my life.

I want to use another side of my voice that I explored briefly as a teenager. But I have no idea how it sounds. This will take some practice but I've decided to leave vocals and words until the very end.

Lyrically and conceptually I'm focused. I know what I want to write about and what the theme of the record is.

I have a clear idea of the artwork and I should probably start taking pictures and painting now. I know what color combinations I want to stay within. I know how I want to present the record.

I know how I want to mix it, what template I can apply to each song. I know who I want to master the final recording. I know what the focus is for every second of every song. I know what tricks I will do to shift focus throughout the songs. I even figured out what software to track into and what software to mix out of.

The songs are 80% written. There are some grey areas that will tighten up as the project progresses.

I know what ambient recordings and movie samples to layer in, I've been compiling stuff for months. I know what secrets to place throughout the recording. I'm hoping I will be the only person who can decode them.

I have no idea what label will put it out. I have no budget. I'm doing everything myself, on my own dime.

Everything.

Unfortunately a shitty drum sound, played with Meg White skill, will destroy the album. If the vocals aren't working, that will kill it as well. If it sounds great on my speakers and really bad everywhere else, well what good is that?

The problems areas are huge and gaping. Everything around it is infinite. But if I can't resolve the problems I'll pull the plug on the whole thing. Without a second thought.

There is too much bad music in the world, I can't contribute anymore. On the hipster circuit I've met so many pretty boys and girls that had no talent and no ideas, but they looked good on stage (I'm thinking about specific interactions I had in the past that came up again recently). Especially in NY and LA, as you'd expect. But its as bad if not worse in these small midwestern scenes where they are revered. People that confuse modeling with music. The connection is forgivable but the career similarities stop where art begins.

There I said it. Now back to workee so I can buy myself a nice big casket!

You Can Teach A Monkey To Play Fast

Zakk Wylde said something to that effect, basically dissing the League Of the Ungodly Fast (LOUF)-- essentially the lead guitarist in every death metal band in the past decade. His point was the speed doth not a good guitarist make. It's about passion, note choices, feel, phrasing, blah blah blah. Yadda yadda yadda. Ho ho fuckin ho.

I don't know anything about Zakk Wylde except that I used to put his strings on my Jackson before I switched to Elixir baritones. But I found that comment weirdly inspirational.

In fact, I've been practicing every day for nearly a year now since I heard him say that. It runs through my mind every time I start to doubt if the practicing is doing me any good. When I'm setting the metronome slower instead of faster. Every time I start to think that I should've spent that hour doing something with tangible results it passes through my mind.

"Even a monkey can learn to play fast."

It's true. People dumber than I can whiz up and down a phrygian scale and follow it with a sweeping arpeggio flourish across all six strings. In the blink of a friggin eye.

Articulated speed is a learned skill. Like typing. It's not something you're born with, despite what Yngwie would lead you to believe. It's just a matter of coordinating the right and left hands in unison.

"Even a monkey can play fast."

I already know the other stuff; phrasing, feel, evocative note choices. I can do that. It's playing fast that is the most difficult and the most impressive. I respect BB King but I'd like him more if he threw in a shredding lick once a year.

Still, I find it chuckle-worthy that my source of inspiration is an insult. If I ever put out an instructional DVD, that's what I'm gonna call it.

Dirty Purple

Saw my first snow of the season, mingling with the rain. Some trees were stripped bare and receptive to winter. But most were still passing a light mauvish crimson, dirty purple, and blood orange.

Madrigal Night

The clutter of dead leaves
Knocked up by the wind
Outside the van

Gives the illusion that
There is someone
Walking out there

Scratching at the window
Behind the curtain
Peering in

madrigal: a polyphonic vocal setting, usually unaccompanied, of various kinds of verse that was extremely popular from the early 16th century to the middle.

Cheap Brushes

On my way home, after I take Behold... The Arctopus to the airport. They're European tour starts tomorrow. Cheap brushes with greatness: Good Fellas was filmed in the neighborhood I've been staying. I met Moby at a club in the West Village, then ran into Nicky Katt at a bar nearby. But the best was running into Gavin, ex-editor at Vice, in Williamsburg with two kids in tow-- he had a hilarious take on parenting.
Looking forward to going home. No plans for Lousyville. This trip was more productive than I expected. As a result my chain is pulled taut to get started on documenting these songs.

I can't drive through Strausstown PA without buying something Pat Garrett's Sheepskin Outlet. It's actually a Mobil service station. But my Xmas gift shopping starts in a few hours.

Multiple Posts

Just noticed the mess I've made of this blog-- I really need an iPhone. Haven't been on a computer in a fortnight, it's been a nice vacation. I'll clean up the clutter when I'm back at home. Taking the drive slowly.

Polaroid of the Future

I wish I could have take pics of my songwriting setup in Queens before packing it all up. You would have been amazed-- probably not for the reasons you're thinking.

Re-mixed and re-sequenced the demo. Its slowly beginning to paint a picture of the final product. I now have a very blurry polaroid of the future.

Even in this highly isolated recording environment I can hear the wind outside. There is no-time in recording studios, time is paused as soon as you lock the door. But every once in a while there is a clue from the outside world.

For a while there I thought that art was only good for comedy and horror. Then I saw Stan Brakhage's short films and decided there was always room for surrealist and experimental cinema.

I Saw It Deep

Manhattan to pillow is 20 stops on the train and a mile of walking. I was damn skinny when I lived here. Ohio creates cow-like bodies.

Today I walked through all the various Brooklyn neighborhoods, from Queens. I saw it deep. Random memories of old friends came flooding back. Some of them I actually ran into on the street.

And I gave up on those memories, I gave up.

Menegroth Songs

Burned a CD of Menegroth song ideas today-- 12 tracks, 33 minutes. I'm going to re-record all the songs, maybe combining different ideas, into a more concise, listenable demo. Right now it's all very raw. But there are definitely seeds for some seriously cool landscapes.

Also, I need to write out tab for each guitar part, on each song. Otherwise I forget this shit.

Finally settled on a name for this project. Can't share it yet, but the name has additional meaning if you read it backwards.

I'm sitting on the L train, going out for a coffee and a drink. It's 11pm and still uncaffeinated. There's a man passed out in front of me who clearly hasn't slept in a bed in months. It's freezing out. He has a cane, long fingernails. When no one else was on the car I slipped a twenty in his coat pocket.

Krallice killed it last night, absolutely destroyed. I'm glad I came out here because they're so inspiring. Good group of dudes, excellent musicians.

Also inspiring: Forest, Steve Reich, Krisiun

Explore Explode

It's like cramming for a final exam. I'm leaving NYC soon and I don't have enough finished songs. The four that I have are epic but I need at least one more bomb in order for it to slay the con artists disguised as saints.

iTunes isn't very friendly towards albums with three or four long songs-- people can purchase your entire album for three or four bucks! It's a failed system based on quantity. If you split the same three songs up into twenty snippets, people can purchase each song for .99 (totaling $19.80) or download the entire album for $9.99. Suddenly the same piece of music seems like a bargain.

The problem with putting track IDs all over your songs is that many MP3 players have a noticeable glitch if there isn't a second or two of digital silence between tracks. Not to mention that a song is meant to be heard from the beginning, not the middle!

I'm keeping all this mind as I document my ideas. Some artifacts fit together nicely, others are meant to stand on their own. I wish I didn't have to write with iTunes in the back of my mind. But as a career musician that makes non-commercial music during an economic valley, I need to make decisions carefully if I want to persevere the storm.

Vote Black America

NYC is the only city where people stop me on the street for an autograph. So strange. I wish I could be more kind when it happens but I'm genuinely surprised and unsure how to react. In the rest of the civilized world I'm still nobody. New York too actually. Someday I'll move back.

Took Myself On A Date

After dinner we went into the city to see Sex Drive. Then to Lit Lounge for shots and that awesome train home. Me myself and I!

Persevere, Preserve

Sitting on the J train, making the sticky trek home. At the party, we ignored the bright lights and posing to appreciate the innocent conversations. With diligence I will conquer-- with diligence only.

Bowery Power

Songs originate, as all things do, from the Void. But they are, as we all are, unrealized potential until given the breath of focused intent. We meet so many people with brilliant ideas. And some people with fairly cool ideas. The only thing that separates a genius from your average idea-dude is that a genius makes his ideas happen. Good or bad, they become something tangible and up for scrutiny. We respect even our enemies for this ability. But with that same breath our enemies will be disemboweled.

Today Tonight Tomorrow

I've been on songwriting trips before but didn't realize it at the time. Usually it involved driving a rental car a long distance (say from LA to KY, for example), in a $2 suit, no shoes, and living on yoghurt. Tail between my legs and no soul to speak of. I don't remember writing the songs, I barely remember recording them. It seems like they were already fully formed and I was just a documentarian.

That palm-sized digital 4-track I got in 2003 was money well spent.

This is the first time I've ever consciously traveled to write music. What a brilliant concept. I'm at Menegroth studios, home of Colin Marston (Krallice, Behold... The Arctopus, Disrhythmia) and, for lack of better expression, the future of USBM. Yes, I truly believe that.

I haven't shaved, exercised, showered, or changed clothes in three days so I'm grungy, smelly and flabby. But this time I'm catching the music instead of chasing it in circles. Having ensnared it, I'm busy trimming it into shape. I'll do the same with my beautiful body but not yet-- I came for the music and so I remain.

I finally have a lofty ambition for a record again, some shot in the dark I really have to stretch to get near. As always, a good record has a spiritual function. Without getting too far-fetched, you have to enter into its world. Records that enter your daily life are ultimately disposable. The recordings that stick around are the ones that take me inside of them. That's the kind of music I'm trying to write. Today, tonight, tomorrow.

Drunken Spree

It takes nearly two hours to get from Manhattan to the studio I'm staying at in Queens. At 4am this can be a very blurry task. Right now Krallice is working on new material, absolutely killing it. It's truly incredible-- sounds way better live than any recording could ever sound. Sorry, I can't seem to write words today, only music.

Welcome to NYC

Some crazy dude in the lower east side just told me, "If they assassinate him <Obama> I'll eat my ass. Trust me, it aint gonna happen."

Overnight Van Slumber

Holiday Inn parking lot, somewhere in Pennsylvania. Too cheap to get a hotel, I'll just open up the duvet in the back seat. I'll be sure to find a parking spot in Queens tomorrow, when everyone's at work. Can't wait to get set up in the city but it's quiet here, the air is clean and I'm cozy in the van.

In The Evening's Defense

In the evening's defense, I did have a standoff with the hyper-natural. In the front yard there were two male deer standing in the moonlight. They didn't run when I drove up so I carefully and quietly walked up to them. Over the course of about 15 minutes I got within arm's length. They were dark against the grass glowing silver. Undignified previous events were overpowered by this silence.

Lies! All lies!

We had a Dead Child meeting at a Mexican restaurant near Churchill Downs. Within 45 minutes we established what had already been established. Watched Unleashed and Obituary destroy a club I've been attending for two decades. Louisville has a vibrant, supportive metal scene. At Cahoots two mega-rednecks tried to kill me for no reason, one of them had a knife (I would say "brandished" a knife but that gives him too much credit). The cops came swooping down on them and the whole bar cheered. I'm trying to write this before I forget it, while a man vomits on the steps next to me-- sounding uncannily like early Gorgoroth.

Stickers

- Skeletonwitch sticker on guitar
- Shut Up Little Man! sticker on guitar case
- Please Don't Hit Me I'm Not 100% Sure About My Coverage on guitar case

Psychic Pugilist

Supernatural revenge is stronger than anything my enemies can throw at me. There's a new agenda, much tighter and robust than the well-intentioned strategy previous. The spiders are laying eggs on the backs of his eyes. The monkeys are plotting mutiny with smiles. Already the disease is spreading upon his malnourished soul.

How To Vote

Presidential elections aren't about voting for who you want to see running the country, but about voting for the candidate who is most likely to defeat the person you DON'T want running the country. I had to learn that the hard way-- don't make the mistake I did, friends.

Creepy #90

In 1977, at the age of 9, I stole a brand new issue of Creepy. The cover scared me so much I had nightmares every night for a week. Kept it hidden under my bed. Finally told my dad that I had a magazine that was scaring me really bad. He said I should give it to him and he would throw it away for me. That's what fathers are for.

A year earlier, in third grade, the teacher asked each kid what they wanted to be when they grew up. Everyone said the usual occupations, "Cowboy" "Doctor" "Ballerina" etc. I said, "A horror make-up artist". The teacher made me repeat it. I was very serious.

I just found a copy of Creepy #90 at a comic store--it looks exactly as I remember it.

Hard Sell

The only thing I heard when I walked past the theater was "There's only so many people in this life that's gonna love you, and you're a fool if you waste em." I was supposed to be moved the dialogue but I'm a hard sell on emotions these days. There's just so much I can't believe.

From another theater I heard "Normally I don't drink, but when I do I don't drink normally." Ah, now that's sensible!

Those Wacky Pagans! (Rotten Sound)

The Joy Of Rot

We work until sleep hurts. But we love to eliminate the unnecessary. Partial to fleeting, flighty flirts. And music that makes your head turn in on itself.

Deaf Magnetic

There is a war going on and if we're smart we'll have our first black president. Meanwhile, yours truly is signing Online Petitions to protest the production of the new Metallica album.

That's pathetic, I know. But these squashed ("loud"), modern CDs are destroying my ability to enjoy the music. Music is supposed to make you choke in its humble majesty and technology is supposed to facilitate that. Instead we have distorted MP3s coming through bluetooth headsets. You want pathetic, there you go!

In other news, there are now ex-members of Dead Child.

Harmony And Sin

Up all night organizing 2007 receipts, fun fun! Deadline coming up fast. Reward my procrastination by going to see that asshole Alexis Laiho tonight. Great guitarist though, when he's not drunk.

A three hour conference call with Slint. We are trimming ambition down to a tangible reality.

Wrinkles, Money and Dark Hearts

The saddle is rough and worn but it's mine. It never looked like much to begin with but it gets the job done.

Watching 'Iron Man' I mentioned that I'd been to Bern. A few times. She responded, "I don't even know where that is." There is a Paul Klee museum in Bern that I remember well because it had two Adolf Wolfi drawings.

Talked to some old friends yesterday about the various wrinkles in the leather. I just realized they are both millionaires. They don't mind that I'm far from that. Maybe they like me because they know I could care less about their money.

But anyway, that old saddle metaphor. It's nothing really, just another cliche from the bottom of my dark heart.

Diddly. Diddly. Nadir.

Sorting through a hump of receipts. Found an accounting statement from Touch & Go Records. Everyone asks me how much Spiderland has sold over the years. I just found out: over 100,000 in North America.

A slow burner, that one.

I've been very disciplined about practicing guitar every day, intense practice sessions. I keep making these little breakthroughs in technique. Sometimes nothing for a few months and I start to wonder if I'm wasting my time on this pebble. Then these little bumps, these little rewards, nudge me to a more advanced plateau.

An apex where I can go, "Diddly diddly" really fast.

Omens From The Mind's Menagerie

There is clutter in our minds, we want to straighten up but don't know where to start.

Distractions.
Annoyances.
Tedium.
Begging to be left alone-- Welcome back.

Words that come out of my own mouth knock the wind out of me. I've banished sleep from my pillow.

In the back of my mind I wished surrealist cinema was fashionable.

Killed a wolf spider on my way to bed. Brain feeling weak and achey. Turned on the light that hangs over the center of the bed. A striped snake motionless on my pillow. How do they get in the house? Throw him in the creek.

Wake up every half hour to check for spiders and snakes that observe the dark for movement. Sleep ist verboten. These critters are omens from the mind's menagerie. You are what you witness.

The Day of the Rat

I remembered today. The first time I ever went to Columbus. OH. 1986 and Maurice played our final show with Samhain. A skinhead slashed Samhain's tires during their set. Rat, living up to his name for the first time, told Danzig while he was onstage. It was nuts, the whole band rushed out of the bar. The whole audience did too. Rat pointed at the skinhead, "It was him!" Glenn and Eerie held the skinhead down, brandishing baseball bats as weapons. It's the Jersey-style. When the cops showed up Rat had to talk to them, as a witness. He said that, although Glenn had legally changed names, Eerie hadn't. When he told the cops his real name Eerie glared at Rat as if saying, "Don't you dare tell!"

A Positive Thing

Saw Skeletonwitch tonight. I was a fan before we played together a month or two ago. The left-handed guitar player recognized me and we rapped a bit about how our show in Albuquerque pretty much sucked without them. They totally destroyed, what a band. I bought a longsleeve tee, a sticker and a patch. They guy selling merch, Pooter, said, "For you, $10. I recoginize you and I know what you've done." For the the first time in my life that was a positive thing.

Alive and Itching

I've kept the fire going for three days now and there's still so much left to burn. My fingers have duct tape around them to hold down the band-aids on my blood blisters. I go through four sweaty t-shirts a day in an effort to keep the stink monkeys at bay. I saw a stick finger man screaming in the fire and a fat spider ran up shorts. I impaled him with the butt end of the shovel. I still manage to practice guitar while watching movies; "Inside" testing even my boundaries of extreme horror. My sympathy goes out to Martin and the Mogwai crew.

Detroit Days

It's one of those Charles Chips, Sanders and Vernors days. But unfortunately I can't accept the temptations of luxury with labor's eye staring me down like that. Instead I overlook the blisters of the morn for the evening's reward.

Power

160 hours later, the AEP deems us worthy of juice. Thanks, electric fairies!

Not That I Care

Thing is, James Iha is funny as shit. Dry as a bone, understated and quick. D'arcy is ballsy, can stand up to anybody. Preferred hanging out with the roadies more than the band-- a genuine person. Without them there is no character, no collective soul, no laughter. A band, a real band, is the sum of distinct personalities. You know, George is the quiet one, Keith is the partier, etc. Otherwise it's just a dude surrounded by faceless yes men. The human element is replaced with generic beauty and friendship is just another commodity.

Outdoor Blaze On A Hot Summer Day

The wind storm left me with a massive burn pile that went over my hat. All the neighbors are still without power and water, all you can hear are propane generators and chainsaws. All of us lamenting the size of our burn piles. My 63 year old neighbor said, "We've never had a storm like this, David. I've never seen this much wood." His house is for sale.

The flames went up so high, beyond the tops of the trees, for a good ten minutes. I couldn't get within four yards of the blaze to control it. As I type this on my phone (my new camera-challenged blackberry) I'm waiting for the flames to finish their work. There is sweat dripping down my back to my butt crack, I apologize.

The neighborhood is empty. Everyone is staying with friends or at hotels. The few people with generators only run them for their freezers and whatnot.

I will be going on a songwriting trip to NYC next month, I hope to see you around.

Still nothing

I saw an extremely obese gentleman sitting on a riding lawn mower, stuck in a ditch. I couldn't help but laugh.

I can't fight in front of innocents anymore, for their sake.

Head Splatter

My mind is oozing out of the wall outlets. Housesitting for an English girl in German Village until my power comes back on. I think I stepped in dogshit.

September Underground

Sunday night I was planning to see Motorhead, Misfits and Valient Thorr. Around 3pm the power went out. Back on 10 minutes later. Flickering off and on. Suddenly I'm out of electricity and water. A drive through the nearest village shows that its not just my neighborhood that's out. Every store and chain is blacked out, you can't even buy water.

A few hours later and the wind starts lashing the trees at 60 mph. Its raining branches and limbs. Not just the dead ones.

The power line outside my window sinks under a fallen oak. Two maples are uprooted, one takes off into the neighbor's yard. Mature trees are tackling garages everywhere.

Phonecalls later indicate that this storm wiped out the whole damn city. But I live in the middle of nowhere so I'll be damned if anyone will get to our dead end neighborhood. They're expecting it to be about a week until the power's up again.

Spent a good ten hours dividing piles of debris. At 7am there was a vivid full moon hanging out in the sky, shooting the shit.

Day three without electricity and water. Motorhead rescheduled to play last night but sadly I missed it. I was too beat to make the drive into the city. Went to the gym to take a shower before they closed. Ticketmaster charged me $40 for that ticket and I still have never seen Motorhead.

I repeat:

Paid $40 for a ticket and I still have never seen Motorhead.

Shaving By Candlelight

If you put the candles in front of the mirror you double your light.

Salad Days Are Queer Again

Holding pattern soon to be denied.

Home Is Where The Good Coffee Is

"I walked into an avalanche" a wise man once said (who, I'm happy to report, is still quite alive). There was the physical, organized avalanche that I put all my effort into. Then the onslaught of destruction began. All in the name of evolution -- I have always embraced productive destruction.

But the big news: Eddie Lee Sausage is a fan!

Braxing

Tis a good week for haircuts, receipt organization, caffeine reduction and those beloved.

Bass Color By Sharpie

Bad news is sometimes called relief. Those who adapt and change survive. We require a full restructure and I look forward to it. "Keeping it real" is only for those who can afford it, the rest of us try new ways of using what we already have.

I used to be of the belief that drumheads sounded better with age. Pictured above is my old snare head. That's an outline of my hand so I would be sure to always hit the rim shots in the exact same spot whilst recording.

Before

I made a pact with myself a long time ago, to get things done and not mess around.

After

After a few hours, you don't notice how heavy the boxes are.

The Air Is Not Easy

The power went out twice during our show and we stopped playing after I busted a string -- a .72 baritone string! My brother called the cops three times yesterday. Today my niece lost her parakeet in the dishwasher and wouldn't stop crying.

Impoverished Child

We had to cancel our video shoot today due to lack of funds. Times are tough for a metal band just starting out! Thanks to all who were planning on participating.

Patron

Somebody told me something. All I know is that which I want. Even in my drunkeness I have high standards.

Bonny And Clyde 1

Bonny And Clyde's Death Car.

Bonny And Clyde 2

One side of car.

Bonny And Clyde 3

Side of their car.

Bonny And Clyde 4

Their wheels.

Bonny And Clyde 5

Clyde's shirt.

It's 6AM And 100 Miles To Go

Dahm ran offstage to throw his insides out. Not sure if it was the omelette or the well Tequila. Once again I was treated to way more than I deserve. At this point, the stairs have handles.

Dude Humor

"I just blowed you a Hershey's kiss!"

- Tony, after passing wind

Be There Or Beware

We played two shows in Denver CO on this tour. After the first one, supporting Witchcraft at the Marquis Theater, we crashed at a filthy party house. A week later we get a message from a busking hippy that we smashed her acoustic guitar! Not only is this completely untrue but the we're all insulted at her accusations and ill-informed judgments. We're an easy target (blame the metal band with the morbid name) but that's no excuse. Our second show in Denver is way heavier and new friends are made quickly. After a breakfast plug at Pete's Kitchen we start off on the 1000 mile drive to Louisville. With the Heaven And Hell box set in tow and full Scorpions back catalog, we couldn't have more focused intent!

Seeing What It's About

Only one real set of stairs on this tour and we're very happy about that!

Haunted Mushroom 1

Spider webs on the chandelier.

Haunted Mushroom 2

Abandonded restaurant with a creek running through it.

Haunted Mushroom 3

Tony glow.

Haunted Mushroom 4

Fireplace room.

Haunted Mushroom 5

Floating chairs.

Haunted Mushroom 6

James Dean.

Haunted Mushroom 7

Mystery photo.

Dad Child

We decided to drive all day, all night, and all day again. From Santa Cruz to Denver. I'm actually fully enjoying the drive and longevity, moreso than the idea of stopping at a hotel.

Nevada Moon and Me

Saving myself for another chance to pulverize.

Come Between Us

We keep to ourselves, until you keep to us.

Forty Nine Ghosts

Played at a haunted hotel last night in the California forest. Asunder were tremendous, summoning the 49 ghosts. Witnessed some serious antics best not mentioned in public. Many caps and stems later and the realizations finally came to haunt me -- the effects of this will be evident at a later date. In the meantime, we have 1,410 miles between us and tomorrow's show. There's an insane hippy chick in Denver who claims we smashed her guitar when we played there last month (of course we did, we're metalheads right?). I'm expecting the best.

Power Windows To The Soul

Looked into the eyes of a mad woman and saw myself curling under the heat.

LArea

I really need to move to the LArea. I always live right when I'm here.

Lost Angels

Did an interview with Suicide Girls today and got a free subscription, yes! LA Weekly gave good press and we're excited to tear the roof off this crackhouse tonight.

Fred Child

We look like a rock band so we get asked what band we're in everywhere we go. Due to the offensive nature of our name we started telling curious truckstop shopkeepers that we are "Fred Child." I'm Fred, that's Ed, Ned, Ted and Bill Child.

Thirstbutter

After a while, there was two of everything -- two shots of tequila, two pints of beer, two bands. This duality was courtesy of the kind folks at Jackson Guitars.

I Wanna Go Home (To Sweden)

Witchcraft have been so amazing on this tour - last night was a chaotic blur of dive bars and tattoos. I heart the Swedes.

Bat Wings Patrol

Skeletonwitch's van broke down outside of Austin, so our late arrival in Albuquerque didn't seem to bug anybody. Played a dark, tight set and shared some laughs with Early Man and Valient Thorr. Then knocking it in a New Mexico suburb with the hummingbirds and coyotes. A beautiful morning with mountain and desert around us, we are cleaned and rested for today's uphill journey.

Locked And Loaded

Putting up with the emptiness - straining poorly towards any invitation.

A Texas Quickie

Played with Skeletonwitch, Early Man, Valient Thorr, and Golden Axe last night - a festival of bears. Skeletonwitch slayed, as predicted, and Texas' Golden Axe seemed like the seed of something great. We played our punk set, bolting in and out of the venue, leaving them sweaty and hungry.

Longing

For shelter. Bombs. Release from this typical day.

A New Witch

Had to say goodbye to Witchcraft last night but today we say hello to Skeletonwitch.

Living In Sin

Squalor doesn't even raise an eyebrow with Dead Child. We own everything.