The Old Straight Track

Wah-Wah Cowboys, Volume II

2011-12-30T18:34:00.000-08:00

Hiss Gldn Mssr presents
Wah-Wah Cowboys, Volume II

00:00 "Making a Decision" :: Mississippi Charles Bevel
03:30 "Who Ya Tryin' To Fool?" :: Sand
08:47 "Don't Hold Your Breath" :: Ike Turner
12:22 "Tullahoma Dancing Pizza Man" :: Eddie Rabbitt
15:10 "I'm Sober Now" :: Danny O'Keefe
17:54 "Ride My Rainbow" :: McGuinness Flint
20:47 "Color Him Father" :: Linda Martell
23:26 "For Roach" :: Jimmie Spheeris
26:09 "Kiss the World Goodbye" :: J.J. Cale
27:55 "Smoke Rings" :: David Wiffen
31:49 "Darkness, Darkness" :: Phil Upchurch
34:23 "Red Dirt Boogie Brother" :: Jesse Ed Davis
38:06 "Another Season Song" :: Michael Chapman
41:28 "Look Around You" :: Danny Kirwan
44:34 "Yellow House" :: Kossoff, Kirke, Tetsu, & Rabbit
47:55 "Homesick Kid" :: Compton & Batteau

This was a hard year, but good. We made it.

POOR MOON

2011-07-11T06:10:00.000-07:00

On November 1st, 2011-- an apropos date known variously, and coincidentally, as the high harvest holiday of Samhain, the liturgical All Saints' Day, y el primer Dia de los Muertos-- Hiss Golden Messenger will release a new long-playing vinyl record entitled Poor Moon on Durham, North Carolina's boutique Paradise of Bachelors label.

Composed and arranged by Head Messenger M.C. Taylor at his home in the rural Piedmont mill town of Pittsboro and recorded with longtime collaborator Scott Hirsch in New York, California and North Carolina, Poor Moon offers a moving culmination of the spiritually-charged song cycle commenced on last year's critically acclaimed Bad Debt album. Treading a red-clay road between Bad Debt and Country Hai East Cotton in sound and sentiment, it is the first fully electric ensemble recording since the highly limited HGM live release Root Work in 2010.

Featuring contributions from Terry Lonergan, Nathan Bowles (Black Twig Pickers; Pelt), Hans Chew (D. Charles Speer & the Helix), Matt Cunitz (Brightblack Morning Light), Tom Heyman (The Court & Spark), visual artist Alex Jako and others, Poor Moon represents both an elaboration and inversion of previous Hiss Golden Messenger efforts, proposing an America at perpetual sundown, wracked by devotion, wrecked by celebration. Named in homage to the Canned Heat track penned by the immortal Blind Owl, Poor Moon conjures the unsteady experience of soul at home in the wild, and it stands as the greatest Hiss Golden Messenger album to date.

Paradise of Bachelors is proud to present such a captivating document of Southern songcraft as its first foray into contemporary music. This autumnal album of twelve songs will be available in a limited edition of 500 copies, pressed on 150-gram virgin vinyl, packaged in hand-numbered tip-on sleeves, and accompanied by digital download coupons.

For a limited time, you can download the album cut "Call Him Daylight" in exchange for providing an email address HERE.

Please consider "liking" Paradise of Bachelors and Hiss Golden Messenger on Facebook, where you'll find their most up-to-the-minute announcements, rambles, and information regarding pre-ordering and record release celebrations for Poor Moon.

Hellhound

2011-05-07T08:32:00.000-07:00

Banjo player Don Stover called it ‘snake music’ when referring to the work of Scotty Stoneman—the haunted Virginian who could sound his fiddle like the bark of a carrion crow or a silk stocking slipping on slow—not to mark Stoneman’s obsession with black snakes so much as to describe the way that he would sway like an asp in the footlights, entranced, when he played.

Robert Johnson played snake music too. I have stayed awake at night and seen his guitar leer like a jackal. I have heard Robert Johnson coo like a mama in a room full of newborn babies. And while there is no visual record of Johnson playing—none that we know of, anyway—I imagine he closed his eyes and swayed slow when he played. Listen to his music—how could he not? His is the sound of a soul in flux. His is a deep study.

The facts as we know them go like this: Robert Johnson was born in Hazelhurst, Mississippi, in May of 1911. From 1930 onwards, Johnson worked as an itinerant musician in the juke joints and house parties that dotted the Delta landscape. In 1936, the young musician journeyed to San Antonio, Texas, where he made his first recordings for Brunswick Records. The following year, he again traveled to Texas—this time, Dallas—where he recorded another selection of songs for Brunswick. Anecdotal evidence suggests that Johnson died in 1938 near Greenwood, Mississippi after drinking strychnine-laced whiskey. Musician Sonny Boy Williamson reportedly cautioned Johnson against drinking from an open bottle to which Johnson replied, “Don’t ever knock a bottle out of my hand.” He was 27 years old.

Robert Johnson’s collected works fit easily on two long-play records. These sides forever guarantee his place in the American cultural lexicon. And while it’s easy to get lost in the Johnson mythography that seems almost Biblical in age and import, it’s essential that we hear his music for how complex and alive—musically and emotionally—it was. Leave his crossroads deal with the Devil for the theologians.

While there are more harrowing bluesmen—Skip James, maybe, or Robert Pete Williams, or Washington Phillips—Robert Johnson was the cipher. His music is slippery and blue. It jumps like a silver fish. It weighs heavy as the dirt from a new made grave, and laughs like a drunk on the first night of a bender. He was arcane, but surely not primitive. He was the opposite of primitive. He was the progress that we all hope to be and the immortality that results when we live like we don’t mind dying. He is the American totem.

And then there’s snake music another way: The tune the charmer pipes to entice the creature from the basket. And while Johnson may have been a cobra entranced, I believe he was also the piper. And perhaps understanding the serpentine wiles enough to bring them into the world and dance them around for a little while—perhaps this is a curse. But Robert Johnson did this too.

HISS GLDN MSSR :: FEB 2011 TOUR

2011-01-19T11:46:00.000-08:00

Friday, February 4th as part of the Folk Union at King’s Place series; curated by Arctic Circle. Outshine Family supports.

8 PM

Kings Place
90 York Way
London
N1 9AG

Tickets can be purchased in advance here:

http://www.kingsplace.co.uk/music/folk-union/hiss-golden-messenger

Saturday, February 5th @ Rough Trade West

This is a free in-store that begins at 5 PM.

130 Talbot Road
London
W11 1JA
T: 020 7229 8541

Wednesday, February 9th @ Club Uncut at The Slaughtered Lamb. Outshine Family supports.

7:30 PM

34 - 35 Great Sutton St. Clerkenwell,
London, EC1V ODX
T: 020 7253 1516

Tickets can be purchased in advance here:

http://www.ticketweb.co.uk/user/?region=gb_london&query=detail&event=420521

Friday, February 11th @ Clwb Ifor Bach (top floor). Cate Le Bon and H. Hawkline support, along with Special Guest DJs. This performance will be prefaced by a 5:30 PM instore at Spiller's Records- the oldest record store in the world!

8 PM

11 Womanby Street

Cardiff CF10 1BR

029.2023.2199

Saturday, February 12^th @ Lono Presents at Miss Peapod’s. Colour Sun supports.

8 PM

Jubilee Wharf,
Penryn, Cornwall
01326 374424

*On most of these overseas shows, I will be accompanied by Rick Tomlinson on second guitar.

*****

Thursday, February 24th @ Gillie's, Blacksburg, Virginia with Hans Chew and the Black Twig Pickers.

153 College Avenue

Blacksburg, Virginia 24060-7401

540.961.2703

Friday, February 25^th @ The Palisades, Eggleston, Virginia with Hans Chew and the Black Twig Pickers.

8 PM

168 Village St.
Eggleston, Virginia 24086

540.626.2828

Saturday, February 26^th @ All Day Records, Carrboro, North Carolina with Hans Chew and the Black Twig Pickers.

8 PM

112A East Main Street

Carrboro, NC 27510

919.537.8322

This is the stateside record release show for Bad Debt!

$10 donation strongly encouraged. BYOB.

*****

During my UK trip, I’ll also be taping a session for the great series Songs From the Shed, which will be posted online at a later date.

While in the UK, I’ll have vinyl copies of Bad Debt and Root Work, Bad Debt and (the recently repressed) Live in Big Sur disks, and T-shirts for sale. If you're planning on attending one of these shows and you would like me to reserve something for you, please email me at hissgoldenmessenger at yahoo dot com.

If you have any hot tips on good places to visit, please email me at same.

My thanks to the good people at blackmaps, David Morris, Uncut Magazine, Hans, the Black Twigs, Outshine Family, Rick Tomlinson, Arctic Circle, Rough Trade, and all the other fine folks that are making this possible for me. Thank you.

Bishop Dready Manning :: Roanoke Rapids, NC

2011-01-10T17:02:00.000-08:00

I played blues up until I was about 27 years old. That was 1962. Then I stopped playing the blues and switched to gospel. Well, I was playing both all along, but blues were my main thing; rock and roll, stuff like that. What happened was I had a hemorrhage in 1962; I was bleeding from my nose. I bled for about a week and a half. I wasn't able to work, because of the way I was bleeding from my head. I bled night and day for about a week and a half. I went to medical doctors, nose specialists, and they'd pack it, but still blood was running down on the inside of me, all of it that wasn't coming out of my nose.

I was willing to try anything to stop it, it didn't matter to me, so an old man came to my house after he heard about me. He told me, "I know somebody that can help you." He said, "He's a root doctor." I didn't want to have any dealing with it, but if he could help me, it was OK with me, you know? So I went to the root doctor in Littleton, and he checked me out. I was bleeding so fast. So he told me to let him have my right shoe. It's kind of funny, in a way. He took my right shoe, went into another room, and brought it back.

What were you thinking at this point? Were you confused about what was happening?

What was I thinking? I'll take any help I can get, that's the way I was thinking. Because I was a hard-drinking man too, through the years. I mean, very hard. I had to have my drink to play my music; to get in the spirit of it, you know? But anyway, this guy took my shoe and came back in. He told me, "I want you to wear this shoe for three days and nights. In three days and nights, you're going to be alright." That's what he told me.

So the funny thing about it is at night, I wouldn't pull that shoe off. When I got into bed, I'd pull up a chair beside the bed and let my foot rest on it overnight. I just believed what he said, that it was going to work. But it didn't work. That third day, I went back to him, and I was bleeding so fast it scared him. He said, "You have to go back to your family doctor." I knew then that he couldn't help me. I went back to my family doctor and the nose specialist, neither one of them could do any good.

I had a first cousin that had just started with the Holiness people in the church. The Holy people had prayed for his mother when she was on her deathbed. The prayer that they prayed for her raised her from her deathbed and healed her. Man, I'll tell you- this stuff here- I start telling it and I start feeling it.

So he asked the Holy people to come and pray for me, because I was bad off sick and they felt like they were going to lose me. On a Monday afternoon they came. They drove up in my yard, and I looked out my window and saw them. I didn't want to let them in, because they were Sanctified folks, and I was a Baptist. That's just the way it was. One of mine said, "Don't let them in. Those Sanctified folks are going to come in and worry you to death, and you're already sick." But someone else said, "Don't do that. It wouldn't look right." So I went to the door and asked them in. They came in- three of them- and they started talking with me, and letting me know what their Lord could do for me, and telling me what the Lord had done for them. Then they said, "Do you want us to pray for you?" I said, "You might as well. I've done tried everything else." Those folks gathered around and prayed their prayer and faith. And when they prayed, I was healed just like popping your fingers.

Man. Good God Almighty.

So that was it? You were ready to give up drinking and hard-living?

Everything. Everything. Yes, I was a changed man when they finished that prayer. God healed me through their prayer, changed my mind. I had two half-gallons of bootleg whiskey in my kitchen; I had some beer in there. That's when I was drinking and having fun. So I went to my backside door and took the whiskey and took the top off and just poured it out on the ground. I was done. I was finished with it. I didn't want any more of it. I took the beer and took it out to the fish pond; took it down there- there was a whole lot of it- and threw it out to keep from having that. I felt like if I kept it, I was going to drink it. OK? So I came back to my house and I told my wife what I'd done. The next day, I went back to my job.

12.11.2010

BAD DEBT

2010-11-18T03:37:00.000-08:00

BUY FROM iTunes NOW

Friends,

Did you hear the good news? Monday, November 22^nd will see the release of the new Hiss Golden Messenger album Bad Debt via London/Tokyo-based record label and publishing house blackmaps.

In addition, Heaven & Earth Magic Recording Co. will be releasing Bad Debt in an edition of 100 numbered vinyl copies, complete with lyric tracts hand letter-pressed by Lampyridae Press.

Bad Debt comes from ten dense acres of oak, cedar, and apple trees in Pittsboro, North Carolina, directly south of the Haw River. The house where it was written and recorded was built in the early 1970s by a hippie cohort that settled along Brooks Branch; though this may sound like some kind of brag, I offer this to explain just how cold it was last fall and winter, the time when the record was conceived; most hippies—except for the most famous one, of course, and probably a few others—are shit carpenters.

Bad Debt is about my God: That is, whether I have one, and whether there is a place for me in this world. It’s also about donkeys, snakes, betrayal, redemption, scarecrows, wandering and love, though anyone that listens to the words may wonder whether I’ve gone off the deep end for the Lord.

I don’t go to church and I am not saved. I can party too. I can do a saxophone now and again, bang the proverbial drum. Some of you know this.

Bad Debt was meticulously mastered by Anthony Puglisi. Brendan Greaves put together the beautiful artwork for the CD and digital version, and generally arranged all the artistic motifs associated with the album. Thanks are due to both of these gentlemen.

While the CD and digital versions of Bad Debt will be available at record stores and online (a Google search should easily turn up where to obtain one), if you’re interested in obtaining a vinyl copy of Bad Debt (which will include an extra song), send me a note at hissgoldenmessenger (at) yahoo (dot) com with "Bad Debt vinyl" as the subject line to let me know you’d like a copy set aside for you. When I get them, I’ll notify you that they’ve arrived, and I’ll send along an invoice. Remember there are only going to be 100 copies, and I think they're going to go fast.

There will be a slew of UK dates in February 2011. Please join us on Facebook, where we do our most regular communication. Onwards!

-Jai Lil 'Slim' Diamond 17 November 2010

2010-08-19T10:09:00.000-07:00

And then I got tired of living in machine
by machine
and I went out to see what I could see
I ambled o'er the wide sweep of country
And in every corner who did I see?
Me.

Doin' That Old Year Rag

2009-12-18T12:24:00.000-08:00

Back in March of 2009, our son Elijah Lee was born. Although we were exhilarated, we were also exhausted, and I spent a lot of time reckoning with being a new father. One thing that put me in the zone during my naptime contemplation was digging in archives and gathering the best wah wah cowboy cuts I could find. Like a dog digging a hole in the sand, I found myself obsessively cherrypicking the deadliest jams-- much to the bewilderment of my wife and mother-in-law---- as a way to process my new situation. Once I had a handle on how Elijah worked, I left the project alone for awhile to ripen in the drive. But since we're just about in a new age, why not spread some of the magic around a little bit?

This collection is heavy on the white American male, something that will be remedied in the coming Wah Wah Cowboy collections (I have a Tanya Tucker cut that's a doozy). Get it here, here, or here, light up, and take a relax.

WAH WAH COWBOYS VOLUME 1
00:00 Cross County :: Mickey Jupp
03:21 Petaluma :: Norman Greenbaum
05:59 Florida :: Lonnie Mack
09:05 When The Truth Finally Comes :: Brewer & Shipley
11:39 The Body Song :: Thomas Jefferson Kaye
15:51 Ogla Mahula :: Augie Meyers
17:53 Bon Soir Blues :: Gib Guilbeau
20:46 We’re Running Out :: Phil Everly
23:20 Hamburger Midnight :: Little Feat
25:49 Scorpio Woman :: Mordecai Jones
29:35 Seeds & Stems (Again) :: Commander Cody & The Lost Planet Airmen
33:22 Losin’ Streak :: The Crickets
36:04 Jerry’s Bar & Grill :: B.W. Stevenson
39:39 Hello, I Am Your Heart :: Dennis Linde
42:33 Sing My Way Home :: Bonnie & Delaney

ENJOY.

*Thanks to Nat for the tip on Mickey Jupp (the only Brit here) and Brendan for the tip on Dennis Linde. In remembrance of Jack Rose, who I didn't know, but admired greatly.

Sweet Days

2009-11-20T19:14:00.000-08:00

Backyard; Haw River trek; flood; Tarkovsky; Dead 73 Baltimore; Greenwitch; Warren Cty native

Late-September Things I Like

2009-10-01T05:55:00.001-07:00

Frogs

Marantz

Fresh eggs with roughage

Morning dew

Books, generally speaking

Well-kitted kitchens

Future chickens

Rooms with views

Elric

Also: Harold Budd, Mel Tillis, Mike Nesmith, Garland Frady, Pita pockets

New Dig

2009-09-18T10:31:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago we moved to a root nook tucked deep in the woods over the Chatham County Line in Pittsboro. We're still getting our spot together. Lij and I went out for a walk this morning.

2009-08-22T18:45:00.000-07:00

Breaking the silence: Packing up Eaglewing Farm for a place down the road in Pittsboro. Pictures soon. Need a job. Stop. Baby boy growing big. Reading John Crowley's Little, Big. A masterpiece. Stop. Moving is unsettling, but we've got a spot for chickens now. Live Hiss Golden Messenger record coming soon, edition of 100 on vinyl for anyone who might care. Sometime late fall. Stop. Record collection is packed, making do with Tusk, Charles Tyler's Saga of the Outlaws, Jethro Tull, Dollar Brand. Thanks Pete J. for flowing me all that new music, I'm stoked to check it.

Terry Reid is on the youtube right now. I'm pretty sure that's David Lindley on the lap steel.

RAMBLE TAMBLE

2009-07-20T14:50:00.000-07:00

Friends,
Lots of Hiss Golden Messenger news & blues percolating in the pot! So whilst the summer thunderstorm yawps and rips through Eaglewing Estates and Mahavishnu rages in dire sympathy with the lightning and the rain, I here deliver the latest missive from HGM oblivion. Jumping in feet first:

I. UPCOMING SHOWS

We’ve got a few shows on the near horizon.

Thursday, July 23rd @ Bruar Falls
245 Grand Street (in Williamsburg), Brooklyn, NY

Hiss Golden Messenger plays with Family Band and One Hundred Dollars. The cost is six dollars and we play first, about 8 PM they say. Get there early, stay late.

HANG TENDER

Saturday, July 25th @ Julian & Juliette's Homeplace
Bovina Center, Upstate New York

This is our yearly epic ramble on a princely piece of land belonging to our friends Julian and Juliette. Responsible and dedicated parties are welcome. We share an all-day bill with P.G. Six, Meg Baird, D. Charles Speer & The Helix, Family Band, One Hundred Dollars, Joan, and The Disciples of Agriculture. This is a camping situation. More information is available HERE. Hippies semi-welcome. Just kidding, we'll take all comers.

Anyone interested in finding out more about this event, drop me a line at hissgoldenmessenger at yahoo dot com.

Also: I would like to play some more shows. But where? Email me at the above address if you have any suggestions. Less interested in clubs, more interested in houses, barns, churches, and the like.

II. FREE LIVE ASHEVILLE DOWNLOAD AVAILABLE NOW

On January 29, 2009, I played a solo show at the incredible Harvest Records in Asheville, NC, opening for natural born ramblers Matt Valentine and Erika Elder. This is a warts and all recording with its fair share of flubs, but there is something that I like about it. Simply cut and paste http://www.echo-magic.com/mp3downloads/Solo_Show_Asheville.zip into a new browser and your download should start. Enjoy!

III. TARASCAN HUMMINGBIRD T-SHIRTS

I’ve just finished a run of hand-dyed 100% cotton V-neck Hiss Golden Messenger shirts printed with the Tarascan Hummingbird for luck. These shirts are grey with a light tie-dye feel. Medium and large sizes are in stock now, small and extra-larges available upon request. Wash with like colors in cold water. Available for purchase in the Heaven & Earth Magic shop for the trifling sum of $13 plus shipping and handling.

IV. COUNTRY HAI EAST COTTON NOW AVAILABLE DIGITALLY

Country Hai East Cotton is now available digitally through Amazon, iTunes, Lala, eMusic, and most other spots where music is sold electronically. If anyone out there is interested in writing a review of the record on one of these sites (or elsewhere), send me a link to the review; I’ll send you something good in return. I’m not sure what, but it’ll be good.

In other news, we’re just about done with an EP we recorded with Irene Trudel for broadcast on WFMU last summer. It's a collection of live renditions of tunes from Country Hai, and it's sounding solid. Expect it to appear in some form this fall via the Heaven & Earth Magic Recording Co.

Keeping busy down south with Mahavishnu Orchestra and The Crickets, Dominic Reeve's Smoke in the Lanes and a whole mess of Charles Willeford. Keep it nice.

Your golden messenger,
Jai Lil Diamond
Heaven & Earth Magic Recording Co.

Midsummer Ramble

2009-06-21T09:15:00.000-07:00

Plant `em in the spring, eat `em in the summer
All winter without `em's a culinary bummer
I forget all about the sweatin' & diggin'
Everytime I go out & pick me a big one

Homegrown tomatoes, homegrown tomatoes
What would life be without homegrown tomatoes?
Only two things that money can't buy:
That's true love & homegrown tomatoes
-Guy Clark

Hey All::

Midsummer's Eve is here, and we're celebrating at Eaglewing Estates with a homemade ginger peach pie and a couple bottles of the good stuff. And since the little one is asleep, I thought I'd also take a minute to spread the gospel on current Hiss Golden Messenger news and blues.

We've got some shows in New York coming up.

Thursday, July 23rd @ Bruar Falls
245 Grand Street
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
HGM with Family Band and One Hundred Dollars. The cost is six dollars and we play first, about 8 PM they say.

Saturday, July 25th @ Julian & Juliette's
Bovina, NY
HGM with D. Charles Speer & The Helix, Meg Baird, P.G. Six, Family Band, One Hundred Dollars, Endless Boogie, Disciples of Agriculture, and Joan. This is an epic ramble on a princely piece of land, but you've gotta be dedicated. If you're interested in finding out more about this event, drop me a line at hissgoldenmessenger at yahoo dot com.

Also, I just did an interview with my old pal Sarah Rogers at Amoeba Music in San Francisco, which you can read here. Whenever you're in San Francisco, stop by and give Sarah a hug for me.

Finally, for all overseas heads, two more incredible stores are carrying Country Hai East Cotton: Rough Trade in London and Norman Records in Leeds. If you want to buy a copy of the album, but don't want to pay for shipping from NC, those are two more options (along with Piccadilly Records in Manchester, who recently nominated Country Hai as one of their records of the week). My sincerest thanks to my friend Rick Tomlinson (aka Voice of the Seven Woods), and his brother Paul, for facilitating this transcontinental business. Check out Rick's music and Paul's zones. Both truly amazing, and that's no lie.

What are you up to out there? Please, drop me a line. Again, that address is hissgoldenmessenger at yahoo dot com. I want to hear from you.

Bringing you the nice dreams since 2009.

HGM Inc.

P.S. Not to put the scare on ya, but if you're waffling about ordering a copy of Country Hai East Cotton, do it soon. We're running out of these things.

Country Hai East Cotton

2009-05-29T17:44:00.000-07:00

Friends::
Hiss Golden Messenger's Country Hai East Cotton, an album assembled by Scott Hirsch and myself over a period of three years in various studios, lofts, and farmhouses in San Francisco, New York, and North Carolina, is ready to be ordered and shipped!

The album is out on our own label, Heaven & Earth Magic Recording Co. We started this label because we think it is important to control each step of the musical recording and dissemination process by ourselves; Scott and I could no longer reconcile leaving something so important to us in the hands of others.

Does the world need another record label? I suppose it depends who you ask. Obviously we think so. I think there is still a place in the world for those dedicated to spreading good art and, despite what the pundits say, I think there always will be. So there.

The miniature gatefold cover of Country Hai East Cotton was illustrated by our friend Nathaniel Russell, and printed on 100% recycled materials by Stumptown Printers in Portland, OR. The disk itself is encased in a woven inner sleeve, and the whole CD comes enclosed in a protective plastic outer sleeve. Country Hai East Cotton is limited to 500 copies, each one hand-numbered. Rest assured- if it's your thing- that we have laid hands on every single one of these.

To order Country Hai East Cotton visit the Heaven & Earth Magic Recording Co. You can easily order the disk via Paypal on the "Shop/Downloads" page for $14, plus shipping and handling. Alternately, you can obtain a digital version of the record there; although it's not mandatory, we ask that you consider making a donation- something between $5 and $10- in return for MP3s of the album.

I realize that Country Hai East Cotton will be easily obtained for free on a host of torrent sites and blogs very soon, if it isn't already. That's OK. We appreciate that. But, at the risk of sounding totally romantic and/or naive, we're hoping that those who have heard HGM and like what we do will choose to spend a little money on a disk or download directly from us. And a word for armchair audiophiles: The actual disk sounds better. This is not opinion; it's fact. More sonic information.

Also, if you prefer to buy a copy directly from a store, you can do that too. These fine establishments are all carrying Country Hai East Cotton.

Amoeba Music
6400 W. Sunset Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90028

Amoeba Music
1855 Haight Street
San Francisco, CA 94117

Amoeba Music
2455 Telegraph Avenue
Berkeley, CA 94704

End of an Ear
2209 South First Street
Austin, TX 78704

Waterloo Records
600A North Lamar Boulevard
Austin, TX 78703

Time-Lag Records
578 Congress Street, 2nd Floor
Portland, Maine 04101-3317

Aquarius Records
1055 Valencia Street
San Francisco, CA 94110

Harvest Records
415B Haywood Road
Asheville, NC

CD Alley
405C West Franklin Street
Chapel Hill, NC 27516

Sonic Boom
2209 NW Market Street
Seattle, WA 98107

Tequila Sunrise
525 W. Girard Avenue
Philadelphia, PA 19122

Exiled Records
4628 SE Hawthorne Boulevard
Portland, OR 97215

Piccadilly Records
53 Oldham Street
Manchester, M1 1JR, United Kingdom

Rest assured, we have no idea what we're doing. But as a small organization that cares very much about music, we're trying our best. If you have suggestions about something we could do better, please let us know at hissgoldenmessenger at yahoo dot com. This is not a one way street; we encourage conversation, so get in touch.

We welcome all comers. We want to be friends. Help us do a better job. And we hope that you enjoy Country Hai East Cotton, because we're proud of it.

These two characters are really doing it. Tell somebody.

Roll some inspiration,
Jai Lil Diamond

Taste

2009-05-06T12:10:00.000-07:00

Pura Onda

2009-04-08T19:05:00.001-07:00

Drake's son in front of his '64 Impala. Elon, N.C.

Boy Child

2009-03-28T10:15:00.000-07:00

I fell off the map just for a moment.

I just spent a little while trolling the archives- perhaps having Elijah Lee here is the reason, a prod towards memory, construction of past and present, reckoning of mortality and all that- and this is what I came up with.

Ancient is such a strange concept. I once took guitar lessons from a guy that played in a jazzy, progressive world music group called Ancient Future. The neck of his guitar was scalloped so that he could play notes that don't even exist. He was pretty good and needed that many more notes, I guess. Good band name.

So these pictures feel ancient but they're not necessarily so. Unless you're an insect or a small boy child. Then they are.

I miss all of you and will see you soon. There are some egregious omissions here, and we hope to remedy that tout suite.

Rancho Tonto, AZ, 2ooo-something

Banana. Petaluma, CA. He used to play in The Youngbloods. His solo record Mid-Mountain Ranch is a humble masterpiece.

From Bisbee, AZ.

Heyman.

The Sunday Driver.

Lunch, Maine, 2007.

Snoc, Bob's Big Boy, 2007.

Dia de los Muertos, way back.

BG.

Country Hai East Cotton.

Fitz.

Hirsch.

JK & Mom.

Linda/Nat.

Talbott/Puglisi.

Sorcerer.

Babe in arms, yesterday, 2009.

In other news-and this I swear-Country Hai East Cotton is just about ready to go. Check that cover done by Nat Russell. And the Baldhead Growler wrote up something real to commemorate the voyage. 'Nother record currently in progress and coming up fast.

2009-02-21T08:52:00.000-08:00

It's Saturday morning, February 21st, and June Sparrow has finally gone to get us some oil. We've been without heat for five days, and I saw my breath in the house this morning. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. I walked up the road to ask June again whether he could fix the heat. He was sitting in his easy chair drinking a glass of milk and watching "Frida." He said that he was sorry, that he hadn't seen the note I left taped to his door on Tuesday. I looked down and there was the note crumpled on the ground amongst old editions of the Raleigh News & Observer and racecar magazines and spitty cups full to overflowing with chaw juice.

I have always wanted to record an album outside. Even more so after having seen these pictures of Merle Haggard and his band recording on Lake Shasta. You get the sense that they are not giving a shit, so lackadaisically does Wally Heider's crew spirit the gear over the water to Merle's houseboat. Like perhaps they finished this session and just threw the tapes in the water. Or maybe there wasn't any tape at all. Yet at the same time that raft of Peavey amplifiers says that they mean business and that this is the big time. Is Merle not a conundrum? He was the king of the world in his own mind.

I've also been thinking about recording outside since I saw pictures of Ronnie Lane and his band taping some of Anymore For Anymore in the fields behind his tumbledown farm in Wales that he called Fishpool. If you listen to that album closely you can hear many kids and dogs running wild across the land.

I also read recently about how John Martyn's elegiac One World was taped mostly outside. That is amazing. I guess Martyn and his family and Phill Brown went and camped out in a barn at Chris Blackwell's Woolwich Green Farm and cut tracks in the dead of night. Check out these notes from the deluxe One World remaster:

"The 10 days we spent at Chris' recording it," Brown recalls. "We were recording outdoors, pumping whatever John was playing through a PA system and across the lake and miking it up, because of that aspect, it rather made the thing magical." Recording began when the Island Records mobile studio was set up in the courtyard allowing easy access to the barn and converted stable block, on the 16th of July, just as Donna Summer's "I Feel Love" was about to ascend to the UK's No. 1. However there were to be sonic developments on One World that would, in time, quietly rival Giorgio Moroder's groundbreaking production. Martyn, his family, Brown, Island mobile driver Ray Doyle and his assistant, Barry Sage, all lived in the stable block. The 15 x 12 ft self-contained flat at the far end of the stables was used as the main studio. There was also a practical reason for living and recording in the same place. "Doing it out at Chris' house made it easy and he also knew where John would be as it were," Brown laughs. "He didn't have to go into a London studio -John has his wayward ways and likes disappearing off at certain opportunities, where there, he couldn't do very much, he couldn't escape!"

The atmosphere was charged, yet mellow: "It became, in Chris's own words, something of a circus," Martyn laughs. "He had lots of his relatives and friends from Jamaica over, and I had my entire family there. There were people all over the shop. There being children everywhere put me slightly off course. But it had very good results."

"Oh yes, there were certainly plenty of children around," Brown agrees. "Who they belonged to, I had no idea. My daughter was there. It was chilled out, in the summer -the good weather, living in the converted stables -it was a pretty pleasant experience."

"I often used to start work at half past twelve in the evening," Martyn recalls, "And then go on 'til about six, crash out and then go down the pub and come back and do some more." This also suited the recording process. "Although Chris' place was pretty remote," Brown remembers, "Because of working outdoors, there were interruptions with planes and traffic; all of the stuff we did with outside mics was done at night, that's where it kind of came into its own." And, Martyn's late hours meant that Blackwell and Brown could check what had been recorded. "Back then, John wasn't functioning that early in the day, so we would check through things from the day before, get set up and then a lot of things were done in the evening," Brown continues. "It was just a very calm week, with Blackwell, myself and Ray, the guy with the truck, and John. John was running off various different versions of these songs in a fairly chilled out environment -John was very relaxed at this time."

It is the closing track, "Small Hours," that is universally seen as the great moment on the album. It was the clearest example of the recording technique that Blackwell and Brown had crafted. "We were all firmly out of it," Martyn recalls. "I don't know who came up with it -I remember thinking this is fucking wonderful, recording from a speaker a half a mile away across a load of water. It was just a cool thing to do. That was ambience. They talk about ambient music now -that was real ambience".

"It was recorded at 3 a.m. in the morning on the lake," Chris Blackwell said in the BBC documentary Johnny Too Bad. "The main railway line from London to Bristol goes across the land, and there were all these geese on the lake, which you hear at night. John played these slow chords which hung there for ages."

Doesn't that sound nice? Incidentally, you can hear those geese on "Small Hours." Go easy, John.

I'm listening to Mickey Hart's Music To Be Born By from 1989. It's pretty cool but I don't know if I'd have my kid to it.

Rulers of My Heart

2009-02-18T08:19:00.000-08:00

2.16.09 Cold winter's eve with Lucy and Joaquin, Durham, NC.

Sparrows in eaves,
mice in ceiling-
celestial music.
-Basho

Cherry time:
coop-birds, eyes shut,
sing together.
-Issa

Holy Smoke

2009-02-13T04:48:00.001-08:00

Abby spilled beet juice on the carpet and I couldn't go back to sleep. I got up and ate two pieces of cake for breakfast, 6:30 AM. Now a cup of coffee. It looks as though it's going to be a nice day. Clouds tuft past the second story window.

Like Rayna Green, I am an Americanist at heart. All "Cannery Row" and Augie March and William Kennedy's Albany. All Lilly Brothers and Bob Wills and Lonnie Mack. What can I say? I am a patriot?

Where have I been? Out in America, the southeastern provinces mostly, wandering around. Mostly looking at cars.

Holy smoke, I've fallen off. It's been a bear of a winter, and I've been deep in it. Friends and loved ones, here's where we been.

1894 Winter
I here by the stove,
you off on
your wanderings

1895 Spring
A train goes by,
its smoke curling
around the new tree leaves

-Masaoka Shiki

From a Rural Pen (Two Hours and a Hot Cup of Cawfee)

2009-01-13T18:05:00.000-08:00

“Where do bad vibrations come from, Raymond?” Johnny asked me last night, and I had no answer. But the point is though it’s long established Vermont is a place of strong white magick, a place friendly to adventurers of the mind and body, a holy place, though we and thousands of others know this and never take it for granted, yet we must risk the relatively inferior terrain and vibration of Massachusetts and points south and west, and the huge strain of friendless middle America, the lonely gargantuan with not so much as a single true playmate, in order to reach that other magnetic pole, that California which shows magick can, too, be black. Vermont belongs to The Band, California to the Rolling Stones, at least now; and now is all the time we know.
-Raymond Mungo, 1970

We place ourselves in the world with lists. With lists, we sandbag against the ravaging, indiscriminate incursion of time. We index and order as talisman against death. This ordering engraves, leaving a recording of our wonts and troubles and loves. Lists, as considerations of and meditations on the materials with which we put flesh on our bones and become human, stand us in relation to the cosmos. They convey priorities, understandings. We index and order as talisman against death.

I recently attempted some death dodging with lists. Sitting on a Raleigh tarmac in a mid-sized plane bound for Cincinnati, sure that the airship would turn screaming fireball and come tumbling out of the sky forty minutes hence, I joined my sweaty palms together and attempted a bit of mindful breathing. I sought the spirit world, but lost count of my breaths. So I started listing: Favorite food; favorite Southern food; favorite baby names; favorite Dudley Moore film; favorite haiku poet; favorite tea; favorite tequila; favorite bag of weed; favorite Charles Willeford book; favorite issue of Swamp Thing. Soon my listing turned, as it always does, to records.

For heads such as myself, there are many ways to index records: favorite song; favorite genre; favorite singer; favorite album by artist; favorite Dead bootleg; favorite Merle Haggard record from between 1977 and 1984; favorite era. This breaking out of lists according to aesthetic and temporal dimensions avoids the lurking bugbear of them all: Favorite Records. A list of this magnitude, blind as it is to musical borders and language, threatens to tangle us—record dicks and compulsive indexers—in the finer points of our obsessions, flummoxing our drive for compartmentalization, defying our strict organizational rhetoric. A list of favorite records—favorite records, period, without caveat—is a terrifying and awesome thing. Where does It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back stand in relation to John, Wolf King of L.A.? By what method, by what memory or emotion, do we rank? It’s not fair and not possible.

Record players are altars. The listener first goes through a repertoire of ritual gestures, removing the black spiral-inscribed disc from the sleeve, holding it by the edge and label and placing its center through the spindle before lifting the tone arm and placing it at the edge of the spinning disc. The air in the room begins to move, and the memory held by the disc of a performance by some living, breathing person is reiterated, separated from its image and corporeality in an angelically invisible space. Some part of the listener enters into that space and goes into communion with the unseen force of the sound.

It is magical and mysterious stuff, this impulse for sound-play that is universal among human beings through all times and places on earth.
--Ian Nagasoki, 2008

I avoid the Favorite Records list when I can, but when I absolutely must grapple with it—and sometimes I must, as when death is hot on my heels and demanding account, daring me towards remembrance, as it was in Raleigh—I start my list at number three. Let me explain: When I was 22—in the early-middle period of my obsession with music, green and carefree in the making of lists but attuned in some burnt-out way to the import of certain record albums—I brashly and eternally devoted the number one and two slots on this list to two albums by one outfit: The Band’s Music From Big Pink and their eponymously-titled second album (commonly known as The Brown Album). I first heard these two albums—picked up for a pittance in a South California used record shop—in the guest room of my parents’ house; they were conducted, crackling and hissing, through my father’s glowing Marantz receiver. I was 22 and beached on the deracinating shores of Orange County, high as a kite.

Though a pup, I was aware that some profound, elegiac conjuration of white Woodstock magick was going down from note one. I listened to these records over and over and over again, trying to decipher their inscrutable, bearded Hudson River Valley mystery. Music from Big Pink and The Band, singing as they did of woodstoves and white liquor, of natural waterslides and busted Hudson coupes, of homburgs and redeye gravy and sleepy fiddlers and communal backyard string pulls in the folded lap of the Catskills, eased my mind. I was captivated by their mythography and their modesty, by their celebration of retreat and solitude, by their honoring of family and community and other grown-up things. Lost in the woods, The Band led me towards the path. They grew me up a little bit; they served adult portions. I felt I might move to Upstate New York, but a friend told me I couldn’t handle the winters. Fair enough.

‘Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book that all may read.’
So he vanish’d from my sight,
And I pluck’d a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen,
And I stain’d the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.
-William Blake, 1789

How does one talk about a favorite record? I tend to speak in hyperbole. It’s a weakness. Talk often invites more talk, and the music is lost in a cloud of words. So I’ll put it like this: I like Music from Big Pink and The Band a lot. I think they’re perfect records.

Capitol Records recently released 180-gram limited vinyl editions of both albums. They sent me copies so that I would write this. They sound incredible and are worth picking up.

Hoy! Hoy!

2008-12-21T14:04:00.000-08:00

Lulu recently reminded me that a new mix was long overdue; thus-- Hoy! Hoy! The majority of these rockers are Crescent City born and razed; a number of them, however, hail from points semi-North and Delta South. No matter. All of these selections lay deep in the cut and share an obsession with: being fat; being wasted and lovelorn; Olive Oil; quietude; beatific asses; mercy and redemption; kidnapping; God; and good times. Forgive the sloppy curation. My chronology is skewed; many discursive moves are made. But these songs are powerful and magical, and may bring a tear to your eye. Lubricate your mind, turn your radio on, and shout:

HOY! HOY! *

And remember one thing: We- Big Mama Martin, Slim Diamond, and Peanut- love you and think of you all the time.

01 Let The Good Times Roll :: Shirley & Lee
02 It Will Stand :: The Showmen
03 Kidnapper :: Jewel & The Rubies
04 Te-Ta-Te-Ta-Ta :: Ernie K-Doe
05 I Done Got Over It :: Irma Thomas
06 Don't You Know Yockomo :: Huey 'Piano' Smith & His Clowns
07 Tee-Nah Nah :: Smiley Lewis
08 Ooh Poo Pah Doo :: Jessie Hill
09 I'm Shakin' :: Little Willie John
10 It Hurts Me To My Heart :: Bobby Marchan
11 Something You Got :: Chris Kenner
12 Shotgun Wedding :: Roy C
13 Keeper Of My Heart :: Faye Adams
14 Searching For Olive Oil :: The Senors
15 Thank You John :: Willie Tee
16 Let's Live :: Aaron Neville
17 Drinkin' Wine Spo-Dee-O-Dee :: Stick McGhee
18 The Fat Man :: Fats Domino
19 Fat Boy :: Billy Stewart
20 A Quiet Place :: Garnett Mimms & The Enchanters
21 Barefootin' :: Robert Parker
22 Whatcha Gonna Do When Your Baby Leaves You? :: Chuck Willis
23 I Know :: Barbara George
24 Heavenly Baby :: Allen & Allen
25 I'm Gonna Be A Wheel Someday :: Bobby Mitchell
26 39-21-40 Shape :: The Showmen
27 Ruler Of My Heart :: Irma Thomas
28 I Got Loaded :: Lil Bob & The Lollipops
29 I Hear You Knockin' :: Smiley Lewis
30 Over You :: Aaron Neville
31 I Need Somebody :: Roy C
32 Mercy, Mercy :: Don Covay
33 She Shot A Hole In My Soul :: Clifford Curry
34 I've Got Puredee :: Mel & Tim
35 Talking About My Baby :: The Impressions
36 Gossip :: Cyril Neville
37 Night People :: Lee Dorsey
38 Caught You In The Act :: Mel & Tim
39 Goin' Down :: Allen Toussaint
40 Fool For You :: The Impressions
41 Lady Marmalade :: LaBelle

*Incidentally, this is a huge file, and will take a while to download. Get it set up and go bake some bread or something. If you're more of a Rapidshare head, you can try here.

All Good Things

2008-12-16T07:09:00.000-08:00

Eaglewing Supper Club

2008-12-07T15:31:00.000-08:00

Good buds::

On Sunday, December 14th, Eaglewing Farm will be hosting an early evening indoor concert with some heavy dudes (and I believe at least one heavy dudess)- Marpessa Dawn and D. Charles Speer.

Marpessa Dawn is our mystery man of the woods. We here at Eaglewing owe him a great debt; he hipped us to this place long ago. He hails from points north, but now calls this bucolic parish home. Check his wine-spo-dee-o-dee stylistics at 7 PM sharp.

D. Charles Speer is a member of Harlem's NNCK (aka No-Neck Blues Band), and also leads the sublime D. Charles Speer & The Helix, whose recent album After Hours kills but good. I mean, he does it proper- dude even versions "Single Again" and "Drink Up and Go Home"- and very important people are digging his vibrations. Look it up. He'll be performing a stripped-down show with his partner in crime as Key Demo at 8 PM.

Since this is a Sunday, we're gonna do this early. If you're interested (and I hope you are), please join us at about 6 PM for some refreshments (and feel free to bring dinner along). Show starts promptly at 7 PM, and will likely be over by 9 PM. All are welcome; tell a friend. Donations are encouraged.

Directions to Eaglewing Farm

Take the 15/501 South towards Pittsboro.
Go left on Mt. Carmel Church Road immediately after crossing the James Taylor Bridge.
Go roughly two miles, and make a right on Clearwater Lake Road.
Make your first right down the long gravel driveway; Eaglewing Farm is the first house on the left.

Feeling Reserved

2008-12-04T05:07:00.000-08:00

Jeff showed me these. Serious business. Definitely watch that middle one (click on the blank space and it'll take you to the clip on Nativetube).

2008-12-01T06:18:00.000-08:00

These three albums utterly wrecked me. I'm almost certain that Change Today was the first tape I ever bought after hearing it in an Alva video. As I write my final, rambling paper, they are all that matter. They are super classic.

There's blood on the streets again today
All the people dying, what a price we have to pay
Around the world they're fighting, it's not that far away
Feel the darkness, can we change our ways?

We live in the American zone
Free of fear in our American homes
Swimming pool and a digital phone
But what do we say when Johnny comes home?

You know Johnny just got back from war today
Beirut weekend, a powder keg
He was 20 years old and he lost both of his legs
We're all real sorry today

We live in the American zone
Free of fear in our American homes
Swimming pool and a digital phone
But what do we say when Johnny comes home?

What do we say?
What do we say?
When Johnny comes home and he's lost his legs?
What do we say?
What do we say?
American, American, American, yeah. We live in an American, American, American, American-
and you don't know what to say when you see your brother with no legs
He said oh oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh no

2008-11-26T07:40:00.001-08:00

Allow me to unfetter my eighth-grade boy self for a moment. This is a place I pass a lot in Burlington, NC. What does it mean?

Down on the Farm

2008-11-08T14:26:00.000-08:00

Things are quiet here on Eaglewing Farm. Nothing doing besides playing the guitar, cooking collards, deep-frying beignets, trippin on fall colors, thinking about raking, growing spinach, procrastinating, walking around, buying fish, writing too much, and waiting for this baby to get born. Hurry up baby.

AUTUMN 2008 ::ON THE BOX::

Stony Island OST
Hot Tuna Burgers
Seatrain S/T
Lefty Frizzell Saginaw, Michigan
Jesse Hill Naturally
Various artists Laff Attack: Rappin' and Goofin' (so deep; first rap I ever heard?)
Lonnie Mack The Hills of Indiana
Bonnie Raitt S/T
Danny Kortchmar Kootch
Fleetwood Mac Then Play On and Kiln House (crucial)
Peter Green The End of the Game (crucial crucial)
Sand S/T (on Barnaby; Northwest trippin)
Mighty Baby Jug of Love (needed this on vinyl and disk just in case)
D. Charles Speer & the Helix After Hours
Jerry Garcia Band Cats Under The Stars (is this good?)
Hank Locklin The Mayor of McClellan, Florida
Badfinger Wish You Were Here
Henry Flynt & Nova'Billy Nova'Billy 75
Deuter Ecstasy and Haleakala
Roy Smeck The Haunting Hawaiian Guitar (I know Snoc plays a Smeck model; I pick this up in his honor)
Bonnie 'Prince' Billy Ease Down the Road (groove)
John Stewart The Lonesome Picker Rides Again
Meat Puppets Too High To Die
Eric Clapton Backless
Ike Turner Bad Dream
Quincy Jones Mellow Madness
Bobby Womack Communication
The Wild Magnolias S/T
Bobby Whitlock S/T
Hag A Portrait of Merle Haggard
Mahalia Jackson The World's Greatest Gospel Singer (her debut for Columbia)
Gene Clark White Light (always and forever; Jesse Ed killing it)

Also a bunch of Conway Twitty, Fontella Bass, Ray Manzarek, the Delmore Brothers, and this damaged Chubby Checkers record called Chequered. I also got sent deluxx reishs of The Band's Music From Big Pink and the brown album and they are blowing my mind again. Chicken bog.

2008-11-05T07:38:00.000-08:00

It happened.
I woke up early this morning and listened to Bessie Smith and wondered what she would make of this glorious day. I think she would be proud and amazed. Our baby will be born with Obama in office. How can you keep from weeping with joy?? Hallelujah and Amen.

FOR THE CHILDREN

The rising hills, the slopes,
of statistics
lie before us.
the steep climb
of everything, going up,
up, as we all
go down.

In the next century
or the one beyond that,
they say,
are valleys, pastures,
we can meet there in peace
if we make it.

To climb these coming crests
one word to you, to
you and your children:

stay together
learn the flowers
go light

-Gary Snyder, 1974

2008-10-27T04:51:00.000-07:00

A Bay Area acquaintance of mine called Scott Pinkmountain recently penned a piece on the election which I thought was quite good. It goes a little something like this:

Present V. Absent, or Reduxio ad Absurdum ad Infinitum

The highly publicized issue of Barack Obama casting "present" votes versus John McCain's under-publicized practice of simply not showing up to vote is central to the current political landscape. Obama's vote of "present" is a common voicing of a soft negative for contentious legislation such as the redundant Illinois abortion bill, BAIPA, which contained wording that would have undermined Roe V. Wade and came up in the final presidential debate. McCain had eight no-shows in the past year alone (presumably for similar motivation?) for a vote to extend tax breaks for renewable energy development, which he claims to support.

On the one hand, Sen. Obama has built a campaign around acknowledging complexity and contradiction in controversial issues such as gun control and abortion (often to the frustration of the far left) and on the claim that we will need to find comprise and reconciliation in order to move forward as a country. On the other hand, McCain has steered his campaign further and further from the subtlety he has shown at points throughout his career, into what has become an all out assault on nuanced discourse. These are not just the empty gestures and poses of a presidential campaign, but fundamentally different mind frames being expressed under the extreme conditions of a lengthy, taxing endurance test requiring all the same advice-taking, policy analysis, decision-making, staff deployment and populace-mobilizing skills necessary to run the White House.

After lauding Barack Obama's deep calm and reassuring presence in a recent OpEd in the New York Times (Oct 17, 2008), David Brooks questioned whether this quietude would make him a pushover among his more experienced cabinet. Month after month Obama has maintained a clear, singular vision and a nearly impossibly focused, unflappable campaign. This is the result of a highly disciplined candidate acting from strong core beliefs, not the random acts of someone chasing votes, motivated by whatever voice is loudest in his immediate proximity. This distinction explains the formerly scrupulous McCain's behavior as he fires off shot after shot into the dark: a reckless and unqualified VP pick whose track sheet of vendetta politics, secrecy, intimidation, cronyism, lack of interest in the rest of the world (until a month ago) and prideful ignorance of Washington rings devastatingly close to George Bush; an outwardly unbalanced, attention-grabbing approach to the financial crisis; and his recent descent into fear-mongering, jingoism and anti-intellectualism.

The real danger in McCain's move away from a nuanced and textured world view is not the immediate effect of lowering the level of discourse in the election, but what a presidency with such an approach would bestow. Fortunately, or unfortunately, we do not have to work too hard to imagine. We have seen its corrosive, divisive and ultimately destructive effects over the last eight years under a president who, genuinely or not, played ignorant on crucial national security issues (including sending us to war) and frequently invoked "bad guys" and "evil" in a world that is far too complex and interconnected to reduce to such childlike perspective.

We are seeing it again in John McCain. The incessant hammering at Obama's relationship with William Ayers demonstrates McCain's reluctance to show up and be "present" for the kind of subtle discourse we so desperately need now in this country. Ayers, now a highly regarded citizen by people with ties to both parties, was once part of a resistance movement against the most unpopular war this country has ever fought, (a war responsible for more than 58,000 American deaths), at a time when the U.S. government was responding with violence against protesters that we can scarcely imagine in this day and age, including the killings of unarmed protesters at Kent State. Governments are labeled "regimes" and appropriately criticized when they behave as such in the world today. This does not excuse the actions of the Weathermen, but it does cast them in a context which undermines McCain's attack and his attempt to essentially equivocate Ayers with the likes of Timothy McVeigh - a dangerous and false equivocation but a distinction far too nuanced for a smear campaign with robo-calls.

Then there's the issue of socialism. Playing on the assumption of people's political ignorance, xenophobia and greed, McCain has taken up the button-pushing claim that Obama is a socialist due to his suggestion to Joe Wurzelbacher that were Joe to make over a quarter of a million dollars a year, he ought to consider shouldering a 3-4% tax increase to support his great nation. That McCain has labeled the paying of income taxes socialism, (income taxes being the primary source of revenue for our country so that it may continue providing military, education, roads, entitlements, veteran benefits, etc..), is yet another assault on the nation's presence of mind. Never mind the fact that by "socialist" standards McCain has established, his $300 billion dollar mortgage purchase plan and capital gains tax advocacy are aimed at "sharing the wealth" upward. Then of course there is the histrionic and inflammatory depiction of ACORN as "maybe destroying the fabric of democracy." How low do we need to drop the bar of conversation until we can meet McCain's disembodied rhetoric? Will it stop at questioning which parts of the country are "pro" or "anti" American? Apparently not. This is what McCain is offering to the country? A no-show vote on depth and realistic perspective. A view of the world that is so compromised, so diminished as to cast it in with us or against us terms. This is what we had with Bush and it has cost us dearly.

All this in stark contrast to the measured presence of Obama. He is a realist who will openly consider options such as expanded drilling for oil and increased forces in Afghanistan even if they are unpopular with his supposed leftist base. Obama has repeatedly sacrificed sound bite oratorio in order to elaborately acknowledge the complexity of challenges he may face in office, as opposed to offhandedly dismissing and oversimplifying these challenges as McCain has done with social security, nuclear waste, and "winning" the war in Iraq (whatever that yet unexplained qualifier might mean). In Obama, we have a candidate who seems willing to absorb multiple perspectives and seek a nuanced path through charged issues to find a solution. A balanced negotiator with an intellect broad enough to allow contradictions to exist alongside one another, just as they always will in the real world. This should come as no surprise from America's first presidential candidate who is a true citizen of the world. Someone raised with multiple perspectives from different geographic, socioeconomic, cultural and religious influences. This overwhelmingly positive attribute - one which can easily be argued is the single most important quality an American president in today's utterly intertwined global community must embody - has somehow been twisted into a negative by the inwardly-turned, antagonistic, nearly alienationist McCain. One candidate is present on a global level, and the other is aggressively absent. This is not a coincidence or a metaphor. This is a very real, very important distinction.

Midnight Trolling

2008-10-22T21:14:00.000-07:00

It's worth watching this the whole way through.

This too. Pat and Lolly in the zone.

2008-10-16T06:54:00.001-07:00

It’s hard enough

To find an open door
It’s hard enough to see

It’s hard enough
To sit and wait your turn
It’s hard enough to be

You are my only love
You are my safe
You are my one aside
Why don’t you stay?

It’s hard enough
To plow a frozen field
It’s hard enough to try

It’s hard enough
To drain an ocean filled
It’s hard enough to try

You are my lone love
You are my safe
You are my one aside
Why won’t you stay?

I’ve been thinking a lot about Souled American lately. It’s the way the light is strumming through the trees ringing the meadow; the way the days are changing timbre, etched as they are now in long gold and copper; the way the crickets and tree frogs weep and gnash their teeth mad in the moonlight for warm summer gone. It’s the way—maybe—we peep naked over the sash onto the holy dawn field and feel (in light of a recent West Coast sojourn) homeless and a little bewildered (sometimes). Home is where you make it. Is that a saying? In this season I have to remember to make it here where I am. Souled American carries all that burnished loneliness and quiet madness and also wry humor and frustrated, perfect rhythm; this is why I’ve been thinking of them, I suppose. They are good music for the season.

I met Chris Grigoroff and Joe Adducci in 1999 or so when my band opened for them in San Francisco. They were the first true musical stars I had ever met; their reputations preceded them (Camden Joy’s book was already out, and their music was on the streets), and when they arrived disheveled and stoned and impossibly old in a rental sedan (having driven from Chicago to play two shows on the West Coast), we were all in awe. Watching them stumble onstage, looking for all the world like post-apocalyptic scarecrows in wraparound sunglasses and tattered jeans and running shoes, wreathed in dope smoke, none of us had any idea what to expect; they hassled the harried soundperson for a bit, smoked a joint, demanded beer “without fruit in it” (code for Budweiser or Pabst, anything but the microbrew on offer), and launched into one of the most alarming, psyche-altering sets of music my young self had ever seen. I was also stoned that night, having smoked some of the pot they had proffered upon arrival (they were nothing if not giving), and had to walk around the block several times during the course of their performance to quiet my soul. I know now that this had less to do with the quality of their weed than the profound conjuration they were involved in. They were damaged and baffling, maddening and gorgeous, grievous, hilarious, and, in their way, rhythmically perfect. Everything flanged and flammed and strobed in glacial, prescient unison; Chris hung back from the microphone and shook his head from side to side, sobbing in a cracked windowpane tremolo. Joe played a homemade fretless bass; upon the headstock he had scrawled, in permanent marker, “Lee Skalar.” They were ramshackle and dark and wild and singular, and there was a distinct possibility that the whole thing was a put on; that’s how in control they were. They were involved with us all (and there were many people there that night; San Francisco was a Souled American town at that time) deeply and inextricably; they also did not seem to give an everloving fuck. They were incredibly smart dudes. Gris gris men.

Over time, I became better friends with them. We were never close, but I hung out and played with them whenever they came to town, and I would see them when we traveled through Chicago. I was always a little starstruck. I recall walking into The Uptown on 17th and Capp (back when we still had to dodge hookers and the occasional fired gun to get in the joint) with Joe once; he smiled and said, “I used to play in a reggae band called The Uptown Rulers.” This made perfect sense. They were roots.

The last time I was in contact with Souled American was in 2004. I had just returned from Europe when I received a frantic call from the owner of a club in San Francisco I had set them up with. Apparently, their show hadn’t gone so well. There were few people in attendance (by this point, San Francisco was not so much of a Souled American town; it had been almost ten years since their previous album was released) and almost no dough at the end of the night. They threatened the employees of the club and were eventually pushed out the front door, which was promptly locked. They spent several hours beating on the door and haranguing the bar staff before the cops were called. It was uncomfortable for everyone at the time (except maybe them), but it’s hilarious to think about now. The only rules they played by were their own; nobody else even knew what game they were playing.

Listening to meisterwerks like Sonny, Frozen, and Notes Campfire today, I still think it’s some of the most complex, challenging, beautiful music I’ve ever heard. “Make Me Laugh Make Me Cry” (from Fe) continues to makes me pump my fist in grief and glory; the rambling melody of “One Note” (a song that is supposed to be on their next record) still runs through my head at weird times.

They're so tuff. Souled American—where are you?

Robeson County, Where Ya At?

2008-10-11T16:38:00.000-07:00

I recently tripped down to Robeson County with Amy (refugee of the Brooklyn Boroughs), where we met up with head Lumbee magik man Jefferson Currie. He travelled us down some back roads and introduced us to the sights and culinary delights of that fecund, oft-maligned land of enchantment. It ain't where ya from, it's where ya at.

Where was the Baldhead Growler? He would have done the shimmy shake on some of this food.

Free To The People

2008-10-09T16:08:00.000-07:00

I no more expected anyone else on earth to have read a book I had read than I expected someone else to have twirled the same blade of grass. I would never meet those Homewood people who were borrowing The Field Book of Ponds and Streams; the people who read my favorite books were invisible or in hiding, underground. Father occasionally raised his big eyebrows at the title of some volume I was hurrying off with, quite as if he knew what it contained- but I thought he must know of it by hearsay, for none of it seemed to make much difference to him. Books swept me away, one after the other, this way and that; I made endless vows according to their lights, for I believed in them.

Parents have no idea what the children are up to in their bedrooms: They are reading the same paragraphs over and over in a stupor of violent bloodshed. Their legs are limp with horror. They are reading the same paragraphs over and over, dizzy with gratification as the young lovers find each other in the French fort, as the boy avenges his father, as the sound of muskets in the woods signals the end of the siege. They could not move if the house caught fire. They hate the actual world. The actual world is a kind of tedious plane where dwells, and goes to school, the body, the boring body which houses the eyes to read the books and houses the heart the books enflame.

-Annie Dillard, 1987

2008-10-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

Most of the songs are composed by young people who are seeking supernatural powers, and have gone off wandering in solitary places for hours and days, their flute at their lips; thus one has to take into consideration the influence that the musical scale peculiar to such and such a flute will exercise on the tunes that are made up. When a young man wishes to acquire supernatural power, be it for hunting, for gambling, or for shamanism, etc...,he runs away from everyone, he wanders aimlessly through wild lonely places, where he lets himself fall into endless daydreams, more or less accompanied by hallucinations. Finally he sets himself to composing a song which will be for him the total expression of that particular experience. This song "belongs" to him; that is to say that everyone calls it his song, the song of so-and-so. But he never keeps it to himself along, like a secret; he will sing it openly in front of others. And if it pleases them musically, they'll learn it and it can even become very popular and go through quite a few variations. But its supernatural effectiveness is limited only to him who found it, whose voice and special way of singing the spirits will of course know how to recognize.

-Jaime de Angulo

2008-09-24T05:25:00.000-07:00

[I SAW MYSELF]

I saw myself
a ring of bone
in the clear stream
of all of it

and vowed,
always to be open to it
that all of it might flow through

and then heard
"ring of bone" where
ring is what a

bell does

-Lew Welch

The Fiddler of Dooney

2008-09-23T03:58:00.000-07:00

When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.

I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.

When we come at the end of time
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;

For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance:

And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With 'Here is the fiddler of Dooney!'
And dance like a wave of the sea.

-W.B. Yeats 1899

Loose Salute

2008-09-19T04:48:00.000-07:00

As autumn creeps in to the Southeast, I offer up these albums as a way to spread the gospel of Ronnie Lane. He brought some light into this world. I encourage everyone to check out "The Passing Show," a documentary about his life and times (mainly post-Faces). Ronnie knew some stuff.

Anymore for Anymore (Part 1)
Anymore for Anymore (Part 2)

Ronnie Lane's Slim Chance
(This combine's Ronnie's 1974 Slim Chance album and One For The Road, from 1976, with a few omissions.)

Mahoney's Last Stand
(Soundtrack for the 1972 film known as Mahoney's Last Stand or, alternately, Mahoney's Estate; does anyone have a copy of this?)

You Never Can Tell: The BBC Sessions (Part 1)
You Never Can Tell: The BBC Sessions (Part 2)

How Come
(A compilation; mainly included here for the glorious "Kuschty Rye.")

21
I must launch out my boat. The languid hours pass by on the shore- Alas for me!
The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. And now with the burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.
The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the shady lane the yellow leaves flutter and fall.

What emptiness do you gaze upon! Do you not feel a thrill passing through the air with the notes of the far away song floating from the other shore?

-Rabindranath Tagore

*If any of Ronnie's people are out there and would like these links taken down, just say the word.

Holy Smoke

2008-09-10T19:23:00.000-07:00

Groover's Two was a success. I thank all the great people who showed up to play and hang out. I drank too much and now I'm on the wagon. But I'm concocting an Autumn Groove that I think will be a lot of FUN. Maybe in October or November??

Over the last couple days I got a few electronic notes from Trad Gras och Stenar saying they liked Hiss Golden Messenger's music. Imagine that. Perhaps they send this sort of thing to everyone that "friends" them on MySpace, but it was pretty sweet nevertheless, and I was on cloud nine. I love Trad Gras, International Harvester, Parson Sound...all that stuff. It's all so good. Awesome breaking dirt on the commune vibe. Thanks for the kind words dudes, you have no idea how hard you stoked this guy (meaning me) out.

I wrote about The Hag's "Rainbow Stew" LP the other day. Amazingly, incredibly, footage exists of this awesome concert. Check some of this shit out, it's on a whole other level.
I'm thinking right now that "Misery and Gin" may be my favorite country song ever.:::

2008-08-29T12:34:00.000-07:00

Heads::

Saturday, September 6th will mark the occasion of the second Groover's Paradise at Eaglewing Farm. Call it Groover's Two. Just for you.

Helping us out at this evening sing with supper-on-the-grounds are some serious folks that are gonna take us to the ZONE:: Secret Boyfriend (featuring Ryan Martin, of Boyzone fame), Felt Battery, Matt Bauer (from NYC), and Kurt Weisman and Raub Roy (aka Horaflora),who are currently sojourning southward (and presumably, at some point, westward) on a music bike tour. Yes, you read right- they are touring by bicycle. They call it the Cycledelic Music Trip. Tuff stuff.

Thee performers, gentlepersons all, are of the highest musical pedigree. Check some of those linkss and you will agree, Eaglewing Farm is where you need to be.

We'll stoke the grills up about 5 PM, and we will attempt to have music cracking by 7 PM. Please bring vittles and beer/wine/likker. Weather permitting, we'll do this thing outside. ALL ARE WELCOME. Please feel free to send this message to any folks that might be interested. This show is free, but a donation plate will make the rounds.

As usual, there will be no tipsy driving. If you've had too much to drink, you'll sleep in the yard.

To reiterate::

Saturday, September 6th
Groover's Paradise Two featuring...

Kurt & Horaflora
Matt Bauer
Felt Battery
Secret Boyfriend

Grills at 5 PM
Music at 7 PM
Donations encouraged!

Directions to Eaglewing Farm:

Take the 15/501 South towards Pittsboro.
Go left on Mt. Carmel Church Road immediately after crossing the James Taylor Bridge.
Go roughly two miles, and make a right on Clearwater Lake Road.
Make your first right down the gravel driveway; Eaglewing Farm is the first house on the left.

P.S. Many thanks to Jenks Miller, The Curtains of Night, Hem of His Garment, and The Sparrow Family for making Groover's Paradise One a smashing success.

P.P.S. Danny Kortchmar's "Kootch" pumping loud and proud down here on the farm right now. Get it.

2008-08-16T08:46:00.000-07:00

It's been a Rainbow Stew kind of morning. John Hofer turned me on to that Hag record- Rainbow Stew- and told me that it was one of his favorites. It's a wonderful album, recorded live at Anaheim Stadium in 1980; the Hag is not giving a shit and the drummer is on quaaludes. It's the perfect album for reminiscing.

So this morning, I'm reminiscing about the recent sojourn that the Hiss Golden Messenger family took northwards. I'm a horrible documentarian: There were virtually no usable pictures of friends or family. But you'll get the general idea.

Much love and many thanks to Julian and Juliette, Linda, Scott and Emily, Terry, Michael Talbott, Abby, Meg, Pat, Nadia, the Endless Boogie crew, Brendan and Samantha, Chris, Lex and Will, the Bovina Connexion, Max at the Brickbat, the Golden West Cafe, Television Hill, and The Agrarians in Baltimore, and everyone else we encountered along the way.

I love Suicidal Tendencies; this is my bid to get Mike Muir out here.

Welch beshirted juggler.

Brendan and Samantha size things up.

Jay and June Sparrow; June brought down a big jar of moonshine, and the low country boil (below), and instantly became the most popular guy at the party. He was walking around like he owned the place. Actually, he does own the place.

Hem of His Garment. All natural.

The end of the beginning of the end of the road.

Philadelphia Turnaround, 4 AM, following a heavy session of Gary Stewart, Hillbilly Martinis (Bacardi over ice with a slice of lemon), and tokes with soul brother Chris Smith. We almost cried.

HGM via Brooklyn; Lathan Hardy pulls a Chris Wood. Yair Evnine was in the band too. Killing it.

Eamon Ore-Giron on the rise.

Talbott

Garden gnome

Alexa and Will's Bushwick greenspace

Juliette in the kitchen, Bovina, NY. Lulu on the left.

Julian and Juliette

We got our music festival started in the barn, and it was grand. Tandy, the Family Band, The Disciples of Agriculture, Michael Talbott & The Wolfkings, Meg Baird, Hiss Golden Messenger, P.G. Six, and Endless Boogie played. It went all day and through the night.

The Heavenly Chorus.

P.G. Six on fire.

At a certain point, it didn't matter if we used the flash or not. Endless Boogie took us to the zone. Paul Major proposed to his girlfriend over the mic during the first song. She went apeshit, and we all lost control. Jesper Eklow took off his guitar and watched his own band for a while. Meta. Hirsch dubbed the vocals Tubby-style. Then we went for a swim and had a bonfire.

Then we drove home.

:::1st Annual Groover's Paradise/HGM Tour:::

2008-07-24T13:50:00.000-07:00

:::One and all:::

Thursday, July 31st will mark the 1st Annual Groover's Paradise at Eaglewing Farm. This happening will feature The Curtains of Night, Hem of His Garment, Horseback (aka Jenks Miller), and Hiss Golden Messenger, plus folks playing records, grilling, and reveling in the mid-summer heat. Groover's Paradise will be going down on our land (which we rent from the venerable Sparrow Family), and we encourage everyone to bring their own beer/booze, grillables (and possibly stoves, if you have portable ones), instruments, and tents. Anyone is welcome to camp in our yard or the surrounding area; there will be no tipsy driving. We ask for respectful behavior.

Paradise will open its gates at about 5:00 PM or so; music will start at 6 PM. Although this is a free show, donations are encouraged. We'll pass around a collection plate.

The address is 1533 Clearwater Lake Road, Chapel Hill, NC, 27517.

To get here:

Take the 15/501 South towards Pittsboro.
Go left on Mt. Carmel Church Road immediately after crossing the James Taylor Bridge.
Go roughly two miles, and make a right on Clearwater Lake Road.
Make your first right down the gravel driveway; Eaglewing Farm is the first house on the left.

Please feel free to send this invite to folks that might be interested. All are welcome!

::::

Incidentally, Groover's Paradise will be the first whistle stop on a short tour that Hiss Golden Messenger is undertaking. The rest of the dates are as follows::

Friday, August 1st @ The Golden West Cafe, Baltimore, MD w/ Television Hill, Old Tender Heart

Sunday, August 3rd @ Brickbat Books, Philadelphia, PA

Tuesday, August 5th @ The Cake Shop, New York City, NY w/ Electric Tickle Machine, Dinowalrus, Teenage Souls & Ed Schrader

Thursday, August 7th @ Union Pool, Brooklyn, NY w/ Michael Talbott, Backwords, Pure Horsehair

Saturday, August 9th @ Julian and Juliette's Farm w/ Meg Baird, P.G. Six, Michael Talbott, Endless Boogie, Disciples of Agriculture, and Tandy

We will also be taping a performance with our old friend Irene Trudel for later broadcast on WFMU.

Check those links for times and costs.

If you would like us to play somewhere for you in between Baltimore and Philadelphia on the 2nd of August, please reach out to hissgoldenmessenger (at) yahoo dot com.

We will have shirts (based on Bob Welch-era Fleetwood Mac t-shirts, except of lower quality) and a second pressing of our live performance in Big Sur from 2007 at fire-sale prices.

Our first full-length record, "Country Hai East Cotton" will be released quite soon. More information on that, as well as how to acquire a live disc or shirt (should you not be present at a live performance) very soon.

-Jai Lil Diamond

MOTE

2008-07-13T17:46:00.000-07:00

These are stills from the transcendental film Morning of the Earth. This is where I'm at right now. Once a couple years ago we were travelling through New York City. We stayed in our friend's Chinatown apartment (where was she at? I don't feel like she was there) and watched this movie until dawn. Hazy visions. Nice boogie soundtrack.

Stand Back

2008-07-12T05:41:00.001-07:00

Stevie killing it in '83. Waddy Wachtel in full gear.

Purple Rain

2008-06-25T20:01:00.001-07:00

2008-06-25T19:59:00.001-07:00

Carlos Gomez and Ruben Olmos have taught me about all kinds of things, including lowriding. They're two wise men. They run the Lowyalty Car Club, which reps Burlington, Durham, and some other southeastern spots. Carlos' Lincoln Town Car, which he calls Purple Rain, won a top award at the Tampa stop of the Lowrider Magazine Tour in April. He was pretty stoked about that. I watched him put this car together from the ground up in about 3.5 weeks. Insanity.

This is a new section called ON THE BOX. It'll be about what's on or around the box. I'm a fool for lists. Let's start here::

Kris Kristofferson :: "Jesus Was A Capricorn"
Dollar Brand :: "Cape Town Fringe"
Tompall Glaser :: "Tompall and His Outlaw Band"
Merle Haggard :: "Back to the Barrooms"
Sister Nancy :: "One, Two..."
Jeremy Spencer and The Children :: Self-titled, I guess
Mordicai Jones :: Also self-titled? Some of Link Wray's greatest tonez
Zapp :: Also also self-titled? Worth so much more than the $3 I paid for it.
Anthony & The Imperials :: "Reflections"
David Wiffen :: "Coast To Coast Fever" (Simple and lovely)
Pete Townshend :: "Who Came First"
The Pointer Sisters :: S/T (On Blue Thumb; pure class)
Freddie McCoy :: "Gimme Some!"
Erykah Badu :: "Mama's Gun" and lots of "New Amerykah Part One (Fourth World War)"
Thomas Jefferson Kaye :: S/T (Grandiose waster grooves; Fagen and Becker contribute)
Man :: "Rhinos, Winos, and Lunatics"
Dennis Coulson :: S/T
Nas :: "Illmatic"
EPMD :: "Strictly Business"
King Tubby & Soul Syndicate :: "Freedom Sounds in Dub"
Don Cherry :: "Brown Rice"
Jim Pepper :: "Pepper's Pow-wow"

This list could be a mile long, but that Tompall record is especially blowing my balls off. And that Jim Pepper record kills too.

::Three Studies on the Merican South::

2008-06-19T15:59:00.001-07:00

Three kings.

From an Old Fort

2008-06-16T08:25:00.001-07:00

Motto/mantra/request

Tips & tricks

Old Fort, Western NC 14.6.08

Healing Powerr

2008-06-11T08:43:00.000-07:00

Last week I went to visit an herbalist/healer at her rambling farm joint in the foothills of Western NC to talk about her work. Besides creating all types of balms, tinctures, salves, and teas, she grows her own food and makes the best honey I've ever tasted. She's got a nice spread. Lulu would have loved it.

Wands.

Drying herbs.

The bees live over there.

Something was growing in here.

Flowers in the garden.

Making honey. She said she got stung a lot.

The biggest Egyptian Walking Onions I've ever seen.

The greenhouse. She raises little birds in there too.

(((D&B Twofer)))

2008-06-08T14:56:00.000-07:00

It's awesome that this exists. Always sweet to see the Dark Horse and Bobby Whitlock back in the day. Kind of creepy to see Jim Gordon rocking that jeepster groove too. He's too good.

I had a guitar made by Creston Lea in Vermont that is a replica of that Telecaster that Delaney is playing, which he got from George Harrison. It's a really nice guitar. Thanks Creston.

And this.

I can get behind Delaney & Bonnie.

2008-06-05T19:30:00.000-07:00

What a lovely song. I've always really dug Rodney Crowell. His record album "Ain't Livin' Long Like This" is worth buying for sure. Find er cheap. The guy that plays Waylon on The Wire is to Rodney's left. Emmylou does a rousing rendition of "Bluebird Wine" on "Pieces of the Sky."

I dig David Allen Coe too. But I've always felt a little sorry for the guy for some reason. It seems like he got a weird shake in the biz. My pal Brendan super digs him, and swears by his record SPECTRUM VII. I think that's the one where he learned compassion. And blowing on conch shells.

Guy Clark, what a man.

THE GONZ

2008-06-03T15:23:00.000-07:00

Mark Gonzales is one of my favorite soul men. An early interview I read with him in Thrasher Magazine back when I was just a little grom was one of the major reasons I wanted to skate and make art. When I moved to the Mission District, I would sometimes watch him cruise down Alabama Street from my porch and I would always freak. I should have said what's up. He seems like he'd be cool with that.

The Soup Song

2008-05-29T04:28:00.000-07:00

Wake up on a rainy day
Stealthy stalk your wild prey

With apologies to the critters,
Cut your leaves- I did mine with scissors

Go inside and wash off the dirt
Listen to music if it helps you work

Peel and chop with a quickness
They call it a chiffonade in the business

Get the pot and heat er up
Throw in one or two sizzling pups

Finish soup
Warm the bread
Eat your supper
Go to bed

29.5.08

Kale and Potato Soup (a variation on the Portuguese caldo verde)

1 bunch kale (about one pound)
2 pounds boiling potatoes
2 quarts water
1 teaspoon salt
Optional: 1 garlic sausage
Extra-virgin olive oil

Remove stems from kale, wash the leaves, and cut them into a chiffonade. You should have about 6 to 8 cups.

Peel the potatoes and chop them up very fine (Yellow Finns are good for this- or use some other flavorful boiling potato). Bring the water to a boil with the salt. Add the chopped potatoes, return to a boil, and cook for 2 minutes, covered. Add the kale and cook 2 minutes more. Taste for seasoning. If desired, serve with sliced garlic sausge heated briefly in the soup and a splash of the olive oil.

-Alice Waters, "Vegetables"

This is a mystery soup. Where does the flavor in the broth come from? Can someone tell me that in like one paragraph?

Go Bert

2008-05-27T19:45:00.001-07:00

Supperklub stumble towards ecstasy.

((((((Steal Your FACE))))))

2008-05-26T15:07:00.000-07:00

2008-05-26T11:34:00.000-07:00

Smithers, Jack, Martin, and I took a trip to the swamp this weekend. Merchant's Millpond is in Gates County, surrounded by broken mill towns and broad countryside. The swamp is a lovely fluorescent green this time of year. I prepped for our sojourn by reading some Alan Moore. I was on the hunt for a psychedelic yam.

We're now back on the grounds of Eaglewing Farm. I just fertilized the back garden. Steve Young's on the box.

RAIN IN ALLEGHENY

standing in the thunder-pouring
heavy drops of water
-dusty summmer-
drinking beer just after driving
all the way around the
watershed of rivers

rocky slopes and bumpy cars
its a skinny awkward land
like a workt-out miner's hand
& how we love it
have some beer and rain,
stopping on our way,
in Allegheny

-Gary Snyder, 1972

Merchant's Millpond 22.5.08

Swamp Fox Martin (aka Our Lady Abigail of the Swamp) 22.5.08

Smithers and Jack 22.5.08

Merchant's Millpond 22.5.08

Swamp Thing/Clouds 22.5.08

Merchant's Millpond 22.5.08

Back garden 24.5.08

Pretty much your standard ranch stash...

2008-05-18T13:34:00.000-07:00

To welcome the coming summer--marked here at Eaglewing Farm by rapidly growing green beans, the smell of freshly mown grass, afternoon thunderstorms, moon shine, and a pile of books by Michael Moorcock and Spider Robinson--we've delved into the dusty stacks to put together a righteous mix of British and Irish country groovers. Spark one up and dig mightily.

Weed, Whites, & Barleywine

featuring...

0:00:00 Let It Be Gone :: The Grease Band
0:04:33 For A Little While :: Ernie Graham
0:11:09 Rock & Roll Runaway :: Ace
0:14:18 Faith To Arise :: Terry Reid
0:18:50 Homegrown :: Andy Roberts
0:21:45 Silver Pistol :: Brinsley Schwarz
0:25:22 Your Eyes Are Looking Down :: Help Yourself
0:29:50 Bright Phoebus :: Lal & Mike Waterson
0:32:45 Richmond :: The Faces
0:35:50 Anymore For Anymore :: Ronnie Lane & Slim Chance
0:39:33 Anniversary :: Ronnie Lane & Slim Chance
0:42:30 I Wanna Roo You :: Van Morrison
0:45:54 Open Up The Watergate :: Bert Jansch
0:48:30 Across From You :: Eggs Over Easy
0:52:01 Jug Of Love :: Mighty Baby
0:58:21 Eternal Circle :: McGuinness Flint
1:01:20 Old Man At The Mill :: Ian Matthews
1:03:51 I'm Turning Off A Memory :: Richard & Linda Thompson
1:06:21 You Better Run :: Henry McCullough

P.S. Pardon the bummer upload delivery service.

2008-05-15T17:06:00.000-07:00

I dig the haiku of Santoka Taneda. It's beautiful.

Legend has it that he was attempting to commit suicide by throwing himself into the path of an oncoming train when a Zen priest saved him and took him to a nearby temple to recuperate. Santoka himself was ordained as a Zen priest at the age of 44, and spent the remainder of his life wandering, begging, writing poetry, and drinking barrels of sake. Water, weeds, and mountains are recurring motifs in his work.

328
It's fall-
I sit in the wild grasses.

313
Frying fish,
Sometimes frying your hand-
Life alone.

306
(My beard's theme song:)
An uneven life,
Standing and falling.

287
What a splendid inn!
Mountains in both directions
And a sake shop in front.

266
I've something to eat
And something to make me drunk;
Rain in the weeds.

255
Scooping up the water,
Lifting it towards the moon,
Full of light.

207
If only one plows the fields,
You'll soon hear a song.

155
Will the town
Throw a festival
For those brought back as bones?

6
Wet with the morning dew,
I go in the direction I want.

It's raining outside right now, a good time to read Santoka. I'm drinking a cup of tea with cream and sugar. I could get to like this hot beverage. Bobby Bare and Skeeter Davis are on the hi-fi, singing about low-down dirty cheating.

2008-05-14T15:32:00.000-07:00

Is there anything more beautiful than a busted grape arbor in the spring?

In the last month, things have turned one centillian (that's a one followed by 103 zeros) different shades of green here on the grounds of Eaglewing Farm. Even more amazingly, vegetables have begun to grow; the lettuce, kale, arugula, beans, and onions are reaching their arms skyward, and June Sparrow's radishes are ready for picking.

We need a good radish recipe. Besides garnishing carnitas, what else can you do with them?

And yes, that is an authentic Irish Garden Gnome. He traveled here all the way from Dublin, and plays that horn like a motherfucker. I bought him for $20 in Liberty, NC, where they were also selling authentic NC BBQ under an authentic rebel flag.

On the turntable:: A SIGNED copy of Henry McCullough's "Mind Your Own Business" (courtesy of Hari Georgeson's Dark Horse record label). What a beautiful barleywine-soaked platter.

2008-05-09T17:36:00.001-07:00

I was recently reading a book about Harry Smith called "American Magus." It's not great, but there are some fantastic (if poorly transcribed) interviews with many of his friends and admirers.

Lionel Ziprin was one of Smith's earliest friends when he arrived in New York, and the interview that writer Paola Igliori (also a friend of Smith's) conducted with him is one of the better ones in the book. He makes some refreshingly bold claims. As someone working towards a degree in folklore (the stepchild, perhaps, of anthropology), I often think about exactly what Ziprin proposes below.

"You see anthropologists are whites, super-racists. They come to look at Indians; they come to look at Jews; they come to look at Africans. They are anthropologists. They are a superior white culture."

2008-05-07T03:43:00.000-07:00

I return following a backbreaking month of work. I'll post a little picture/word narrative detailing the last few weeks of life here on Eaglewing Farm shortly. In the meantime, here are a few videos that have been rays of sunshine lately::

Reverend Gary brings the peace.

Ry Cooder controls it.

Oh, and did everyone in the imaginary audience hear about this craziness? Might be a good time to drop acid::

Manuel Göttsching for the first time ever live on stage in the USA !
Wordless Music: 800 Years of Minimalism - The Spiritual Transcendent
Friday, August 15, 2008 7:00 PM
Lincoln Center Out of Doors @ Damrosch Park Bandshel
7:00 Beata Viscera (Debut): The Music of Pérotin (fl. c. 1200)
7:30 Rhys Chatham: A Crimson Grail (Outdoor Version World Premiere)
9:00 Manuel Göttsching: E2-E4 (12.12.1981) (U.S. Premiere), with the Joshua Light Show (World Premiere collaboration)
There are no tickets or advance registration. The seated capacity is about 4,000, including standing room up to 12,000.

AMEN.

Heaven and Earth Magic (1962)

2008-03-31T06:57:00.000-07:00

2008-03-31T06:54:00.000-07:00

Today, having written some songs myself, I see that Baker knew what all songwriters know, what singers like Judy Garland and Patsy Cline and Karen Carpenter knew most profoundly, that all songs are sad songs, borne as they are on the insubstantial substance of our fleeting breath.

-Dave Hickey on Chet Baker, 1997

Dark Star (or) Song of Sam

2008-03-23T13:32:00.000-07:00

The Beatles’ barnstorming of America in February of 1964 is widely considered to be the beginning of the ‘British Invasion,’ an era marked by the domination of American popular music charts and concert venues by groups from the UK such as The Rolling Stones, The Who, and The Kinks. In the wake of this musical flood, American groups scrambled to regain ground and chart position, and in the spring of 1965 a rallying cry burst forth from Memphis, Tennessee, courtesy of Texas R&B band Sam the Sham and The Pharaohs. “Wooly Bully,” their pulsing, frantic, decidedly Southern call-to-arms remained on the charts for 18 weeks and went on to sell over three million copies worldwide, winning Billboard’s “Record of the Year” award and earning the group a Grammy nomination.

This reclaiming of American musical territory in the wake of the ‘British Invasion’ is rendered even more significant upon closer examination of The Pharaohs themselves, a mixed race group led by Mexican American musician Domingo ‘Sam’ Samudio. Sam was born in Dallas in 1933 to Santiago Samudio and Aurora Sanchez, and spent six years in the Navy before being discharged in 1962. While attending the University of Texas at Arlington, he formed an early version of The Pharaohs before accepting a position as a lead singer and organist with a group called Andy and The Nightriders in Louisiana. By the time The Nightriders arrived in Memphis for an extended engagement at The Diplomat Club, Sam had assumed full control of the band, rechristening them “Sam the Sham and The Pharaohs.” Under Sam’s leadership, the band was signed to the Memphis-based Pen record label, and recorded “Wooly Bully” soon thereafter.

I provide this brief history to demonstrate ways in which Domingo ‘Sam’ Samudio asserted and affirmed his Mexican American identity over 40 years ago. At a time when Latino identity and culture, as well as border politics, are of such national concern, it’s crucial that we think deeply about the work of Latino musical pioneers like Sam in an attempt to identify past sites of cultural negotiation and enactment. It would be wise to heed Sam’s incantory introduction to “Wooly Bully” as a powerful proclamation of our heterogeneous cultural mix as a nation. In 1965, the distinctly American response to the ‘British Invasion’ heard around the world went something like this: “UNO, DOS, ONE, TWO, TRES, QUATRO!”

Although the triumph of “Wooly Bully” went a long way towards returning the nexus of popular musical power back to the United States, Sam’s subsequent tenure with The Pharaohs was a series of diminishing returns. Largely perceived as a novelty act, the group recorded several fairytale-inspired records (including “Little Red Riding Hood,” “The Pied Piper,” and “The Hair On My Chinny Chin Chin”) before Sam disbanded the group, frustrated that his work was not being taken seriously. In 1972, Sam released “Hard and Heavy,” a solo album that found him in collaboration with Jerry Wexler’s Miami-based house band The Dixie Flyers (which at this time included Duane Allman, Jim Dickinson, Mike Utley, Tommy McClure, and the Memphis Horns). “Hard and Heavy” earned Sam a Grammy for his self-penned liner notes, which read as a treatise on issues of class, race, and family. However, despite Sam’s work towards establishing a new American musical identity through the late 1960s and early 1970s, “Hard and Heavy” would be the last time (aside from a short-lived collaboration with Ry Cooder in 1980) that the wider public would hear from Sam the Sham.

The story of Domingo ‘Sam’ Samudio raises several questions that warrant serious consideration: How did Sam negotiate and reconcile his status as a Mexican American with his status as a Southerner through the 1960s and 70s? As a Latino musical celebrity performing throughout the South, which cultural roads was he forced to walk (by record companies, audiences, concert promoters), and which did he choose to walk? How does he construct his identity now? And importantly, in what ways does Sam’s story dovetail with narratives of other Latino musicians from the South such as Freddy Fender (born Baldemar Huerta) and Augie Meyers? An oft told story reveals how early promotional photographs of the Sir Douglas Quintet (for whom Meyers played organ) were taken in silhouette, in effect disguising the ethnicity of the predominantly Mexican American band. Sam’s bilingual countdown at the beginning of “Wooly Bully,” and his outspoken address of his identity as a Mexican American in the liner notes to “Hard and Heavy” propose a counter-narrative, one that finds him in a complex cultural discussion about the South as home.

Somehow, Sam has been strangely forgotten. “Wooly Bully” is certainly remembered (and often played) as a party favorite, but the bilingual shout that brought popular music back to America is rarely thought of in the context of Southern race relations in the 1960s. Sam has continued to live in the South; he worked throughout the 1970s and into the 1980s servicing oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico, and later traveled as an itinerant preacher. I recently tracked Sam down at his home in Memphis, and he told me, in no uncertain terms, that his life’s work “hasn’t even begun.”

A larger Latino population than ever before currently calls the American South home; with this changing demographic comes conversation- sometimes volatile, always vital- about what it means to be American and Southern. In participating in these conversations, we would do well to consider the work of Sam the Sham as a potential lens through which to look towards our future.

Easter Sunday; 2008

2008-03-23T13:08:00.000-07:00

(Over the meadow, through the woods; this photo was taken in the summer. It's now nearly spring.)

Today is Easter Sunday, and we woke to a bright sky, pale blue. A wondrous thing to have birds singing in the trees, on the rise overhead, hawks and crows patrolling our green patch on this holiest of holy days. I'm not a believer- not in the way the hegemony would have us worship- but I do recognize the sanctity of Easter for the ways that it draws family and community inwards; in this I see spirit, a net encompassing long dead and not yet born.

So I snuck downstairs quietly, so as not to wake Abby- which of course I did- and made some coffee, stacking into a queue many records with which I would call down the Easter spirits; they're all Christian in orientation, but they didn't have to be. I could also have played Terry Riley's "Descending Moonshine Dervishes."

On this Easter morn, 2008, we heard: Shirley Caesar. Washington Phillips. The Jackson Southernaires. Charlie Jackson.

The world's in a terrible fix.
Men in darkness.
Men on their way to destruction.
Save, Lord. Save, Lord.
O Jesus.
O God: Let us know that you're here
in this proud meeting.
-Reverend Louis Overstreet

This jam session was followed by brunch at Crook's Corner, surrounded by church folks, recently sent forth from Easter service like a flock of birds, in all their finery: clip-on ties, penny loafers, navy jackets with brass buttons. I had the shrimp and grits (continuing my pursuit of low country cuisine). It was very, very good.

White Overalls

2008-03-16T14:31:00.000-07:00

Oh yes, I've been meaning to put this up here for weeks. I grabbed it off of Arthur Magazine's blog site.

Just when you thought YouTube couldn't get any crazier, that they'd found the every last clip of waterskiing squirrels and Argentinian gnomes, someone shows up to the party with a clip of NEU! playing "Hero" in 1974. Wow. I'd give something special for five more minutes of this performance.

Michael Rother is playing it cool as a cucumber there in the back, controlling that reel-to-reel tape machine delay. Klaus Dinger on the guitar and Thomas Dinger on the drums. I'm guessing that might be Hans Lampe on the other kit. Is this some kind of NEU!/La Dusseldorf hybrid?*

Speaking of Rother, I hear that the Water Record reissues of his solo records are officially out. I wrote the liner notes for "Sterntaler," and I'm pretty excited to see them in print.

*Note Klaus Dinger's demonstration of white overalls, La Dusseldorf's uniform of choice. Now don't you wish there was a picture of Klaus Dinger and Lowell George together?

Nativity '61

2008-03-16T14:04:00.000-07:00

Whoa. That took a minute. I'm back.

I was sitting in the dark house yesterday afternoon listening to "Bitches Brew" while lightning flashed and thunder roared outside. It reminded me of what a mystical guru Teo Macero was, and that I hadn't yet sent him my spiritual thanks after his late February passing. Teo, nice work. I hope they've given you a solid gold razor and diamond splicing block over on the other side.

And then I thought about how Miles does thunder and lightning so well.

And then I started thinking about thunder. Why does it sound so ominous? Is there something minor in the harmonic makeup of thunder? Or is it because, historically, it has been a portent of tragedy to come?

So I was thinking all this stuff and a particularly loud clap of thunder snuck up and blew out my microphone.

Also on the Miles Davis tip: I spent some time the other night perusing Abdul Mati Klarwein's hallucinogenic little corner of the universe. He was on to something. Feeling free in 1961:

::DGT/MCT Convocation of Trousers::

2008-03-06T07:41:00.000-08:00

This episode is an important one in traditional Taylor family lore, often invoked during communal gatherings. Little did I think there was a photograph of said event. So long ago, in a land so far away.

2008-03-05T08:28:00.000-08:00

What seems from afar to be smoothly continuous often appears from within to be a canny series of recursive acts, of little revivals, as people go back to go forward.

-Henry Glassie

Gary Gygax Gone to Meet the Great DM in the Sky

2008-03-05T05:26:00.000-08:00

Gary Gygax's name was on the spine of many a book on on my shelf growing up. This reportage comes from the Wired Magazine blog:

Gary Gygax, one of the co-creators of the Dungeons & Dragons role-playing game, died Tuesday morning at his home in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, according to Stephen Chenault, CEO of Troll Lord Games.

Gygax designed the original D&D game with Dave Arneson in 1974, and went on to create the Dangerous Journeys and Lejendary Adventure RPGs, as well as a number of board games. He also wrote several fantasy novels.

"I don't think I've really grokked it yet," said Mike Mearls, the lead developer of the upcoming 4th edition of Dungeons and Dragons. "He was like the cool uncle that every gamer had. He shaped an entire generation of gamers."

Gygax had been in poor health for some time, according to his wife Gail. Chenault says he will publish more information, including funeral arrangements, on the Troll Lord message board as it becomes available.

2008-03-03T05:44:00.000-08:00

We dream of the banish of bare trees and the return of green to our fair woods (seen above thru front windowpane). The daffodils are lately spearing up through the earth. Some are lemon yellow, and some are the color of butter. The gnomes watch over them. We plant our garden soon.

How cool the green hay
smells, carried in
through the farm gate
at sunrise!

-Boncho

Addendum: I've been digging mightily a record by Daddy Longlegs called "Oakdown Farm." It was originally released by the Vertigo label in 1971. The cover art is some Castle Dracula shit, and highly reminiscent of the photograph on the first Sabbath record. (Possible Hipgnosis connexion?) However, the music inside is far more good times than Sabbath, an American country boogie group relocated to the British countryside. They remind me in more ways than one of Eggs Over Easy, another American group playing Dr. Goodvibes boogie rock in England in the early 1970s.

50

2008-03-02T07:27:00.000-08:00

If you're looking for a place to rest,
Cold Mountain is good for a long stay.
The breeze blowing through the dark pines
Sounds better the closer you come.
And under the trees a white-haired man
Mumbles over his Taoist texts.
Ten years now he hasn't gone home;
He's even forgotten the road he came by.

-Han-shan

2008-02-27T06:07:00.000-08:00

A leetle morning moodmusik. This era Kinks is- to me- the best.

Howl On

2008-02-26T19:03:00.001-08:00

I think I've stumbled upon the record that might soundtrack my spring and summer: Howlin' Rain's "Magnificent Fiend." Damn. There's something about the flag-like unfurling of the tunes that tug my heartstrings a little differently each time I hear them. No worries in the swinging Joe Cocker dirtbag jams, and that should be taken as the highest possible compliment. People have ventured into this territory before, but here we have something entirely different. Congas with confidence. As a person that spends so much time in the dusty bins of the past, it feels rich to encounter something contemporary that presents musik both familiar and utterly new. Right as Rain.

I think I might've seen an early gig by a different incarnation of these guys called something like Rusted Vultures? But this is a whole different bag.

2008-02-21T20:30:00.000-08:00

Question for the day: Is it still a bro deal if they're always giving you a bro deal?

2008-02-21T20:04:00.000-08:00

Lovely snakecharmer; hhumble wreathed snakesharmr.

More Lowell

2008-02-20T20:57:00.000-08:00

More late-nite Lowell in white overall boogie mode. My hero. And is it me, or does Paul Barrere look like a cross between Terry Riley and El Topo?

H.A.W.K.W.I.N.D.

2008-02-18T19:41:00.000-08:00

I was setting here at the table overlooking the expansive, leaf-strewn yard when my pal Rob said, "Hey man, a hawk just landed in the tree out there." And he pointed the hawk out to me and sure enough, it was a hawk. How very rad.*

It also reminded me of something else-- the fact that, in the last several months, I've plunged with headlong ferocity into the spiraling Hawkwind vortex. I'm talking the Space Ritual/Doremi Fasol Latido/Hall of the Mountain Grill/Warrior on the Edge of Time-era windowpane acid shaman music. Why now? That's what we must always ask ourselves. There must be something about their Michael Moorcock-inspired foggy dirges that appeal to me so acutely right NOW. I could just chill with the back cover of "Hall of the Mountain Grill" and a bottle of sake for a minute. I love the way those city lights are twinkling off in the distance in the lap of those purple mountains. And the moon hanging lazy up in the sky, like the kid brother moon of Herbie Hancock's "Sextant" moon. This is some Mervyn Peake shit.

The culmination of my Hawkwind obsession, thus far, has been the purchase of a pin (for $10) that says "Hawkwind U.K. Tour Winter '73/74" and then "Have A Good Time." I pinned it (appropriately, perhaps) to my black leather coat.

*Some addendums: While jogging, I saw an owl up in a tree looking down at me. She was huge, and dead serious. I was honored, but seriously hoped she didn't sink her claws into me.

When I told my postman (see earlier post) that I was into Hawkwind, he was like, "Ah, you mean like 'Space Ritual' and 'Doremi Fasol Latido'?" He never ceases to amaze me.

I found an awesome copy of the New Lost City Ramblers' "Remembrance of Things to Come" (adorned by Robert Frank's beautiful photo of the band) yesterday for $4.

This Guy

2008-02-17T15:39:00.001-08:00

Respite from a Sunday nite slog thru Agamben (not that I don't like it). Do this.

2008-02-16T15:13:00.000-08:00

The other night, while celebrating my pal Brendan's 30th birthday, we drunkenly went on a Little Feat "Sailin' Shoes" vision quest. Little Feat, with Lowell George at the helm, are the tuffest. Such strutting. Tell me they don't play the motherfuck out of this thing.

Lowell George's father was a famous furrier who raised chinchillas and sold furs to Hollywood motion picture studios.

(((And here's Mr. George talking to the Topanga Messenger in 1979, not long before he passed on to the spirit world during a tour in support of his majestic solo album "Thanks I'll Eat It Here.")))

2008-02-13T21:06:00.000-08:00

Do you know this man? You probably don't, but you should. His name is Scott Hirsch. He is a very good friend of mine. He's taught me a lot. He's a humble man. We've shared so many experiences. We were together in Atlanta when someone bombed the Olympics. And we were together in New York City when 9/11 went down. We watched the Twin Towers fall down together. And of course years and years of many much more subtle events.

I also credit him with learning me the guitar. I distinctly recall asking him if he could help me change my strings when we first started playing together- this was a long time ago now. And we puzzled over how to accomplish such a task on the guitar I had at the time. He lives in Brooklyn now with his lady Emily (who is also awesome). I miss him, even though I talk to him regularly. Friends are tuff that way.

The Sunshine Is The Moonshine

2008-02-12T19:29:00.000-08:00

Sometimes one just wants to drink and watch the rain come down over the trees- or perhaps take shelter under a tree (if you're a Rainbow Traveller)- and maybe listen to Terry Riley on an infinite loop. I'd recommend the above beer: Georg Schneider's Weisen Edel Weiss. It tastes like a meadow. It has narrowly edged out the Pinkus Mueller Pilsner in my life. I love the taste of earth and grass and trees.

I've been heavy into Mr. Riley lately. I can't get enough. Particularly "Descending Moonshine Dervishes" and "Persian Surgery Dervishes." Both worthy of unlimited devotion. Mr. Riley would like to take a moment to tell you about goats milk (and La Monte Young) if you don't mind. Listen closely.

This website, from which the TR and TMT documentaries are taken, is something else. Roll upon it.

The Moonshine is the Sunshine

2008-02-10T16:13:00.000-08:00

Today felt like SPRING. Abby and I cleared our garden space (perhaps 75' x 75'- quite large) of rocks, sticks, and roots as best we could, and then June came and plowed with his old tractor. It smelt good; new, upturned earth. Now there are more sticks and rocks to pick out of the dirt, and then we will begin to plant. Around midday, it became very windy. I run indoors and begin to record some musik. But this seeming arrival of spring brings to mind many poets, including RYOKAN, who said:

Spring has begun!
Jewels and precious gold everywhere!
Please come visit me!

He also said:

Tonight the plum trees reflect the silver moon;
both are in full bloom.
Entranced, I did not return home until evening.

Last nite was also nice; we had a BBQ in the leaf-strewn yard, and drank sake upon sake upon sake.

2008-02-08T08:08:00.000-08:00

Issa says::

One bath
after another-
how stupid.

((and))

Farmer,
pointing the way
with a radish.

((and))

Strong wind-
mother, suckling child
sheltered by scarecrow.

2008-02-06T19:24:00.000-08:00

"...the greatest musician I have ever heard..." -Terry Riley

2008-02-04T19:23:00.000-08:00

While performing some hard-won work attenuation (i.e. time-wasting) in between bouts of writing about low riders and trying to rid my work-area of the A&W root beer-scented air freshener odor that I mistakenly opened up, I stumbled upon some beautiful recent artwork that my pal Nat Russell has been working on. This one hit me in the gut. I'm 32, although most of the time I don't believe it or act like it. What would it even mean to act 32? Nat, if you're reading this, what's up? All travellers, see Nat's work in its natural habitat here.

Set the controls for the heart of Souleyman

2008-02-03T13:52:00.000-08:00

2008-02-03T13:43:00.000-08:00

June rolled his tractor yesterday while maintaining a massive leaf pile burn. Thankfully he wasn't hurt, but this is something you hear about, people getting injured or killed in tractor accidents. I know that Doc Watson's son, Merle, went that way.

Wild vegetables.

There is talk of planting onions in the coming weeks. There is now an empty plot of land where the leaf pile once stood. It gets a lot of sun. I'm pushing to plant sorrel there. I like the name and I've seen it growing in the medieval herb garden at The Cloisters, near the espaliered pear tree. How to keep the deer away from the sorrel?

Sickle moon on the rise.

((((((Jamming Shepherd I))))))

2008-01-27T07:13:00.000-08:00

Ain't no party like a Taj Mahal Travellers party. They are tits. Set aside 103 minutes of your life and watch TAJ MAHAL TRAVELLERS ON TOUR. Released in 1973. VW bus jams for the ages.

(((Now Be Thankful)))

2008-01-26T08:22:00.000-08:00

2008-01-26T07:34:00.000-08:00

26.01.08. :: Late-nite viewing of "Tout va bien." Written and directed by Jean-Luc Godard and Jean-Pierre Gorin. Released 16.02.73. The story is in the details. The mess of thorny brambles is the story.

I recall, in my submarine consciousness, the Wolfking (MT; of Brooklyn) having this poster hung upon his wall.

2008-01-24T12:42:00.001-08:00

The mailman often has to come up our long dirt driveway to deliver things that I've ordered. One day he asked, "Are those flags meant to keep away evil spirits?" I replied that they were.

As it turns out, he knows a lot about arcane things like ley and dragon lines and the folks that write books about them like John Michell and Alfred Watkins. In fact, he said that he went to study with some of these fellows in England in the late 1970s. He told me that most of the people in the town of Glastonbury (a spot where ley lines, Arthurian, and Biblical myth collide) didn't take kindly to the longhairs invading their spot.* They just wanted to drink their cider in peace. Then we talked about Stonehenge for a while like it was the most normal thing in the world to be chatting about on a Wednesday afternoon.

He also knows a lot about dudes like Captain Beefheart, Roky Erikson, and the Clarence White-era Byrds. He's pretty cool.

*(See the "Glastonbury Fayre" documentary for evidence of said invasion; notable for providing Nicholas Roeg with his first photography credit, and ripping performances by Terry Reid, Fairport Convention, and Traffic, among others).

2008-01-24T12:17:00.000-08:00

History is not the past. History is a story about the past, told in the present, and designed to be useful in constructing the future.

(((or)))

Mr. [Hugh] Nolan was a saintly man and the great historian of Ballymenone, a patch of green hills and white houses in the County Fermanagh, just north of the border breaking Ireland. His delight in youth, he said, was listening to the old people talking. From them he assembled the history of his place, and in old age his delight, he said, was speaking the truth.

The truth, he knew, is not the same as the factual. The past is gone, the facts that remain might be wrong, but you learn and ponder, doing the best you can. The truth, he said, is what you are willing to live by, and in speaking on the truth, Hugh Nolan claimed and was granted the name historian. It is the will to the truth that makes historians, separating them from other tellers of tale. Mr. Nolan did not falsify by omission. The historian, he said, must tell the whole painful story.

-Henry Glassie, 1999

Where You At Mule??

2008-01-23T19:26:00.001-08:00

2008-01-23T06:34:00.000-08:00

Our salvation abides in the darkness.
-Henry Glassie, 1999