Super Blogging

So I got that blogging app in an attempt to blog more... I know, I know most folks are on the edge of your seats wondering what I'm thinking and whether or not I'll update you...

Last night I saw the original wailers at rams head in Annapolis. Not very good... The original wailer was Al Anderson who played on the natty dread sessions and the Live! album... Don't go thinking that I'm some sort of Rasta scholar... I got my info from Wikipedia. So there.

Anyhow, there only about 75 people there... Maybe more... But, watching the band I couldn't help but wonder why it is that reggae bands have such broke down keyboard horn sounds.., it's like they've never moved beyond small Casio keyboard synths of 1982.

Anyone?

Oh and June Star is starting to get songs together for another record...

Yay

I selected the songs... Most folks haven't heard these at all... The idea will be to record a few ep's. I'm producing one, Timmy Bracken will produce one, and we're talking with Jason Rubal who produced Lower Your Arms... For the third one... Neat.

Grimm

Going mobile...

Hi.

Dusty dust. Clean lifted. Never
Regretted the offline subscription.
How is it we're just now reconnecting?
Why haven't you called or written to
Me? Me. Me!

New drummer. Kurt from the Glenmont popes. New bassist. Mark tuminello from Neptune. Oceanic goodness.

Downloaded the Blogger app... Now I'll really stay in touch.

Or at least have one fewer excuse.

the natives

an all natural, sleek look.
shimmy and shined thoroughly.
no loose ends.
all tied together.
all tied up.
until
the sun
becomes an ember
sinking into
the sea...

grimm

making it to the clearing

happy new year. right? that's the gig. i've found reason to believe, vision, clarity, and spark. to drive without the crash. how anything happens seems like such a simple thing; just make a plan for yourself.

my plans will be quiet and private. blogger's irony. but, i will put forth my cyber foot and analog heart. i had a most frightening dream last night and my immediate reflection led me to these conclusions:

1. i am out of control
2. there are no reasons why i shouldn't be in control
3. even if i can't control my immediate situation, i should take deep breaths and try again.

what great dream did i have?

it was not my dead mother coming to give me advice in some sage like yoda moment... no... infrequently i will meet her again in my dreams, but it is never in a space where i exclaim, "MOM! I miss you; I love you!" Those episodes are almost always second hand or incidental where she talks to me just as she did when she was alive. i don't know why that is, but i suppose that's the deal, right?

the dream was the out of control classroom dream... for years i had the same basic dream the day before school starts... the class is out of control, kids talking... not sitting in their assigned seats... and me raising my voice, raising my voice, to the point of screaming. then, i will ask one student, "Why won't they listen to me?" the student replies, "Because you're you."

Ugh.

the dream last night though... the same premise but slightly different. every hooligan i've taught seemed to be there. i wasn't afraid; i knew the job ahead of me; i knew the job would require great energy; i knew it would take focus; i understood the demands of my time.

so here i am.

how consistent can i be? i can tell you this much, i started with the damn blog i've been ignoring.

grimm

somewhere in the east

it figures.

right?

the long slow
damaging ride pulls
into the driveway.

what once sang of will
and then pride
and then defiance
and then wash out

metered out only
in vague passion
not unlike denial,
tired and incapable.

T.S. Elliot was right.
James Joyce was right.
Lou Reed was right.
my guidance counselor was right.

even if there was time,
well lit boundaries and
phone calls answered right away.
even if there were you.

"will" is no longer
an engine. no more propulsion.
hardly a sputter. froze up
and quiet.

Walt Whitman was wrong.
he is very understood
and he was never beneath my feet,
waiting somewhere vainly.

it's the money you see

the exact money i do not have.
david and i were doing a late recording
session in my basement
last
night.

good times. working on a solo
album... or duo... sorry dave.
i suppose.
you don't
mind
right?

attempting to record live...

here are the mics we're using

Shure SM 86
Shure SM 57
AKG 214
AKG 212
Sennheisser 421

excitement. we may have gotten two, "in
the
can."
so to
spea
k

that was not a metaphor.

blush

grimm

tyrant... tired.

take me to the mountain
slip me into the sea
let go, let sink
loose of anyone
loose of anything

no new wonder met
every sigh breathed
just as, just is
sad to say
sad to see

with feet heels down
stretched out toes
spread far, spread late
swing open
swing close

Monsters INC

Monster Recognition

With little doubt, the first step in getting well, clearing a path back to the pond, is learning to recognize a few truths. The first truth, no matter what any one adult has ever told you, is that monsters do indeed exist; they live and work in your mind, your energy, your demeanor, your touch, your sleep, your anger, and most warmly in your denial of monsters.

The term, monsters, really came to me when a friend was talking about how he steers clear from cocaine. He said, "It became something dangerous, with a voice I couldn't ignore. It was inside me." Frightening. To be sure, I'm not talking about cocaine in this blog. I've never snorted cocaine, never had the desire... seemed to me, as far as I could tell, that cocaine was really expensive and I rather spend my money elsewhere.

When the word monster is spoken, it becomes real to me. This living being that careens and swerves with deliberate wanton severity. Not so much human, no lungs but a capacity to scream and to shake. I suppose it would be amorphous... the only form that comes to mind is the large hairy orange monster from Bugs Bunny, you know the one that's wearing high tops? Humorous digression aside, these monsters start small and grow... not some deformed grotesque abomination... that description would be more apt in describing our own likeness after giving in to the monster within... no, all monsters start out as small fetal things... defenseless, however...

Suckling on your disappointment in yourself and those around you, these monsters can grow almost as big as you, any larger, as in some cases it has been reported, a person's personality ceases to be recognizable. They become someone else, entirely. The monsters' nest, your brain or maybe your heart, certainly your liver with all that bile sloshing around, cannot be removed by conventional means. Fire. I guess self immolation would work... but that would be extreme. The first step in ridding yourself of emotional monsters is to stop feeding it. Yes it will be angry and start knocking at your door... sending you chain letters... sending you updates from Farmville on Facebook... undermining your trust in humanity... allow you space to question your friendships, your loves.

Those are the actions of a desperate monster.

But to be clear, and back on point, the less you feed the monster(s), the better you feel, the easier to communicate, the easier it is to sleep, pay attention to traffic at 70 miles an hour, cooking dinner, reading a book, volunteering at a local library... happiness should be free... monster-free.

The second truth: The people you love may be the people who cannot recognize a monster from granola bar.

Grimm

parts of speech

article: A
adjective: tired
noun: musician
adverb: quietly
verb: reconsiders,
interjection: "Yes!
conjunction: And
pronoun: you?"

pressures

sometimes i have bad dreams. bad. for example. every once in a while... while something particularly stressfull is occurring in my life... i have bad dreams. the most common, for me, is this one where i'm revisiting a house or building i used to live in and to get to my bedroom i have crawl into and eventually through a small space, barely shoulder length wide and always filled with stuffy air. my heart races... my arms begin to twitch... i'm not stuck but, i cannot breathe. for the life of me i cannot take air in or send air out. scary man. scary.

i guess i feel like that now. i was commenting to a friend the other day that something big was on the horizon for me. good or bad, i couldn't tell you. but i know it's there. i can hear its slow thud. it is heavy. for certain.

my blog is in disarray... my websites out of date. i am out of date. the record was tracked but needs work to be done on it still. mixing, mastering... maybe a round of touch up with a little extra tracking.

hard to tell. other projects are under way. we're composing by looking at the stars.

spent some time at a birthday party in carroll county. i miss carroll county. open open open space... i'm sure harsh chemicals are treating the soil... but the sky was this thick blast of blue... the sun clear, hot. not angry hot like in the city... just matter of fact.

in the city... during this heat... there was a dead rat out front of our house... at first i didn't notice him... i'm desensitized to dead rats, i suppose. but the next day he grabbed me by the nostrils and bid me to notice him. I named him, Stinky.

After a couple weeks he has been pounded and ground into the asphalt... joyce carol oates... at least i think it was her... had a poem about roadkill being mashed into the pavement until it took the consistency of a an flat dish rag... i changed his name to Skinny.

he has since moved on... washed away? floated up? scraped off? faded through? blown to?

who knows...

i'm struggling back to my small space...

Grimm

holding, deposits

new june star record
takes next step
we record june 23rd-26th
@ lord baltimore recording.

will let you know
the next step.

meh

grimm

again and again...

hi there... nothing real new to report...

other than having our equipment stomped on and careened into
at bertha's the other night. I hear you... preakness! it's
an excuse to get so inebriated that you have carte blanche to
destroy and murder whomever you like. thanks to the door man who
let them in... picked them up off of the floor and led them to the
bar for another round. the 1960 camco drumset thanks you! our
pa equipment thanks you for destroying it... yes... for the mere sum
of $250 we took in some damage!

huzzah fell's point... you may have one this one... once and
for all...

what's better is that those folks were blissfully unaware of the
damage they did and have done...

re-thinking the music thing!

Freebird!

Grimm

Explosive New Chapter in the June Star Saga!

not entirely true.
we have been off the grid.
grazing on our fortunes.
locating our muses.
they had flown far off.
the distance blurred their voices.
but now, some how... by a design of fate.
inspiration returns. frilly and wholesome.

me?

i've been a long term sub
at my old school. hanging with teenagers.
piecing together the next version of the band.
shakey but promising.
that reminds me of my prom.

we're slated to start recording in june.
it may happen. there is some doubt.
the doubt is in my mind. as time, the ultimate commodity is quite precious.

i have been tired lately.
new sources of energy and motivation will need to be tapped.
breakfast? lunch? dinner? gym?

pressure to pursue the muse.

no?

grimm

rough mix?

cold and hazy

a sudden realization
bob dylan spoke
the truth in
his admission of
why he writes.

the songs or
words seem to
come to him
without political provocation
and revolutionary passion

they are, as
macleish stated on
poetry, it shouldn't
mean, it should
merely be. word.

so much time
spent reading about
how or why
fewer minutes grinding
out words, melodies

time to set
to the task,
hoist a flag
fix a stare
cock the head

strike up digital
band and self
let the current
control movement and
fate introduces destination

the unconscious prevails,
speaks, betrays without
fail and corporeal
honesty, sweetness, devastation.
you ready yet?

oh... morning and the coffee

how difficult, do you suppose, can be it to click out all these blogs? i don't have a set plan. you see, i sit at my computer, christmas lights plugged in, and i begin to tap. sometimes a thought will come up and i'll work with that for a bit, but usually i have no real idea where that is going. this week though, i should focus. i should try to organize some sort of form to the week. next week i'm back in the classroom full time, until june 16th. then, after the schooling is finished, the kids have gone, and the room is clean, we will record the next album. i have some new kind of ideas that should be neat. for the first time we will be recording one place, mixing in another place, and mastering somewhere else! sounds like fun as far as i'm concerned. huzzah. huzzah. so. where does that leave us? many preparations to get it together... literally. some rehearsing and strategizing... putting together a short tour in july and august... maybe i'll take in a lunch meeting with my cat.

reverse, inverse, perverse...

So, let's go back a minute. Let's just hold up. My brain, in all its saltwatery, bloody function, is having a hard time processing the current situation as it has played out for the past few weeks.

The tour concluded, and my weariness quickly shifted to a warm sense of safety (maybe irony...) and belonging as the Baltimore skyline appeared on the left. Baltimore, home. Without derision, without disappointment, we drove up 95 and through the Harbor Tunnel and into David's neighborhood. No welcoming party but we felt welcomed anyway.

So, it's not safety that we felt. We were both feeling the same thing, though. Not safe,though. Safe means there have been threats and injury cast around, flung, pressured, pushed, or poked at us. America, or at least the America we traveled greeted us with smiles and handshakes and cd sales and encouragement and more smiles, it's a nice place, except for southern Missouri and northern Arkansas; they are blasted wastelands of smoldering ash, barren of hope.

Familiarity, a warmth in knowing where we were, a personal "knowing" and that sense of home eased us into Baltimore. It was more like we drove into it, though. Like passing through some sort of bubble or barrier, a cloud I suppose, but what it comes down to, is understanding how complete or thorough this sense seemed. Permeation. Spending two weeks burning through the Midwest and the deep, dirty, thick, sour, sweet, lazy, and swampy South and far from home gets past your skin and in to your bones, but home is the marrow.

There was no question about where to turn, what time to load-in, where to eat, where to sleep, how much is that, what kind of beer should we buy...none of those questions were urgent anymore; we already knew the answers. We could have taken our hands from the wheel and still have ended up at home.

Now, as my clicking gets a bit tiring to me... and I look at my office space... time to rethink my mode of operation... long term sub job starts on April 18th... Ends in June... two months of the straight job... funny how people see me as "figuring it out" in terms of the full time job. I have figured out nothing. Except some people are more generous then others, that discipline is a good thing, even if I don't have it all the time.

Today, I rearrange... make a goal... pick up an amp... tonight we play at Joe Squared Pizza for a dinner show... we'll see how that goes, eh?

Andrew

lapsed in effort

hey there,

lot's has happened since we last spoke...
sxsw was interesting... at best... no opportunities
to play but many opportunities to observe. we have
a plan now... and we will execute.

i was sick for the better part of the first three
days of tour... lost my voice... regained my voice...
i'm at about 90% right now... little rock arkansas was
fun... really enjoyed meeting kat and all the folks at
the after thought... expensive dinner, but fun times
for certain.

i'd like to drop a special note for southern Missouri
and northern Arkansas. You look like you need a vacation...
barren... wasteland... seems like nothing will ever grow
there... i have no idea about people survive... or at least
how they define living in those areas.

Cicero's... you were fun... real rock star feeling and vibes...
pizza magnificent... one lone car... delivered and powerful...

night off in Alabama... we stayed with old friend, Keith Harrelson...
he runs Moonlight Music on the Mountain concert series. Last night
James McMurtry played... he sounded great... we were reated to a 12
string acoustic version of Rachel's Song... yow.

tonight, we're playing in Atlanta... meeting up with some folks...
making friends and influencing people!

vocal cord status

my voice... though weak
has returned. last night
we played the much vaunted
cicero's in st. louis. really
nice place... with nice
sound, nice sound person, good bands,
and really well crafted beers.

st. louis is home to budweiser...
and you would think that that
juggernaut of crisp bold american
taste would be everywhere... but it isn't

schlafly's... that's the brew to buy...
man... there was another beer too... hop slam.
dave handled that one... not me...

been giving my voice as much rest as i can,
still coughing up some nasty flakes of
phelgm... thick, sticky, green... ugh.

enough of my charm and candor... we saw
a wolf yesterday... walking up the exit
ramp onto a highway... at first we
thought, coyote... but they're much
smaller... odd to see something so wild
and "mysterious" as a wolf trotting up the
expressway... guess he had to get somewhere
faster than a rural route.

right now dave and i are in Pevely, MO. A
super 8 motel... off of Highway Z. I must
admit a pang of fear rifled through my veins
when I saw Highway Z was a real thing...

images of zombies lurching east and west...

scary dude, scary.

grimm

the road

much like cormac mccarthy's post
apocalyptic novel, our spring tour
has been caustic. my throat, coarse and
dry has lost all of its vibrancy...

i had just come to certain conclusions
about my voice. a new vocabulary of
sounds had opened the other night and
now i am shut out... access denied.

jerk.

i am on the mend but must say that
i really value my ability to speak
freely... since i had lost it. I was getting
nervous... tomorrow night's show is

important since we're moving up to a
larger club... playing with other bands.
last night in columbus i had to do a
low down storytellers version of our set.

mostly spoken word with weary scratchy vocals...
think kris kristofferson and barry white...
in fact, at the beginning of the set i did
a barry white impersonation... quite sexy.

dave has done most of the driving. he is
a peach. for certain. i found a new throat spray
called vocal eze... it's an organic compound of
licorice root and marshmallow root... sweet!

so far seems to be working... i also got the
chance to start editing some of the video from the
microshow... very cool indeed. thanks to everyone
who came out for the experience...

okay... i promise to keep up with the blog from here
on out! okay?

okay.

Grimm