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Written while my roommates are out-Howling Hexing the Howling Hex…
I love Barrett (gtr) and Abe (drms) because the fact that loud, free, grooving, music calms me more than well-structured melodic pop or new age—
& I need calm right now! (it’s got a back beat
especially if you don’t believe Kelloggs breakfast propaganda)
Could it get any better than getting to write at your desk while Elvin and Coltrane are playing? Or why Jack Johnson is better than Bitches Brew, and it’s the one after Trout Mask Replica…Fuck it—-I gotta flail around a little….or alot..
(18 minute gap)
so dance with a trumpet for your figleaf in your luxury box seat
like a one-way mirror even; they don’t hear you…
sometimes Abe and Barrett are really in rhythmic sync
but even better when they’re pushing each other in different directions,
too eclectic melodic fierce tender bluesy jazz psych to be a mere jam band
and just when you’ve had enough of orgasm, or even sex
they bring it back to classic riff rock, Love Gun, Sex Pistols, Cat Scratch, Cmon (Berry)
like any master of improv, these are semi-structured improvs
(some pieces seem like suites of 5 songs strung together with seamless transitions)
and when you realize to even speak is to be “influenced”
there’s so many influences there might as well be none
(if that bugs you—it doesn’t bug them, this is not “brooding” music
but yeah free your mind and your ass will follow
or is it the other way around…
the silence is very bizarre after this concert, I mean, rehearsal…
they’re gonna get so famous so quick, i have to take a sonic picture of this view
from the luxury suite.
Peace—if it’s not now, when I mean, even if it’s under false pretenses,
or something like money, you got your foot in the door—
Fucking Parergon—well, at least if you’re into the rock and roll cathartic epiphany—
catharsis or something. Uh huh. No one’s forcing you!
A vocalist would kill it, or at least mute it (at least most you’re gonna find around these parts—Hell, maybe even “meaning” would kill it, ya know? though I think a trumpet could kinda hide behind, weaving more out than in, more on the low-end—hidden behind the curtain even, or from the audience when since I’m already dancing—and this ain’t no picnic criticism—)—you don’t need a third wheel if you got
a third leg, and you could call it “cock rock” in the best venn diagram sense of that phrase! (Hell, maybe it could have even saved Mel Gibson from the bottle, and still can!)
This ain’t no White Stripes two piece, in case you were wondering
makes me experience first hand what The Replacements were like
when Westerberg was just a sparkle in Bob Stinson’s eye…
now they’re hungry; i overhear talk of hating icecream
but being so down for tacos….you’ll hear more from them very soon..
and I didn’t mention “The Malkster” once!
and what was that Alan Watts Quote Barrett put up on facebook?
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