dirtbag challenge 2009

played a smokey killer show in SF at the Dirtbag Challenge 09 on Sunday. Totally amazing time had and much like being dropped into a different world, stripped down low-rent mind boggling and dangerous - just the way I like it. Basically anyone can enter, you can only spend $1k and build a bike to race and then trash in the burned out industrial complex at the end of Revere street, real close to the SF Bay where that super fund site is. I'm talking about the place thats got a DMZ like chain fence around it, so toxic that the dirt sometimes catches on fire and everyone from the neighborhood comes to watch the firetrucks try and hose down the ground so it will stop spontaneously com-busting. All kinds of bikers from all around the bay do their best to burn the rubber right off their tires while bands play hellacious rock to back em up. This whole thing is put on by Pinky and Paul who work their asses off to get stuff ready. East Bay Rats, SFMC, even Hells Angels show up to demo the rides and get throw some M-80's into the crowd. It makes burningman look like a pikers picnic. When we played we got 3rd spot which means everyone was doing burnouts and trying to broil 2 strokes into melted aluminum, so we ended up blowing an amp and some of the PA. It was a damn good time and there was also a bunch of people there filming so maybe it's gonna be on TV or in a movie, information was hard to get and even harder to hear when I did find a couple people who seemed like they knew what was going on. Hey what more do you need? Liquor, bikes, fireworks, bands, grilled food?!?!? It was like mad max died and went to apocalypse heaven. DUDE!

Trailer

last stop Philadelphia

Johnny Brenda's in the Fishtown district of Philly is one of those Venues where you always wanted to end a tour. All kinds of beer, a great selection of food and an expansive and beautiful sounding room. It was with some heavy-ness in our hearts that we set up and rocked the crowd into a little bit of blissful space - dedicating our set to the generosity and good will of the guys in Wovenhand. It was really great to get to know their music and themselves and to be challenged by the nightly process of throwing out the best set of music possible. They were able to bring some new element to their set almost every night, and we in turn were encouraged to do the same. There was a beautiful symmetry in the arc of the tour, with leaves changing and falling from trees and life turning from summers heat and throb to winters cold burning ache. Philly is a great town as far as I can tell there was even an interesting guitar shop up the street called DiPinto guitars, Ego Sensation almost bought a bass that had stars on the frets but at the last minute decided it would take another look.

DaveW, Ego Sensaton and myself all have given in to the art, thrill and chore of making the rock happen for quite a few sated audience members across the north and mid states this fall. If you ever get a chance you should certainly check out Wovenhand and White Hills. Thanks for reading.

Brooklyn Bell House - back in NYC

The radio show at MIT was simply a blast, quite literally. We drove directly into some weird University catacombs from the highway and loaded gear into a tiny radio studio through the cafeteria entrance, played a blistering 40 minute set that was recorded for radio broadcast and loaded the van back up; on our way back to NYC. It really seems much like a sonic induced daydream now.

Beautiful venue and stellar show in Brooklyn at the Bell House - Silver Summit opened, Wovenhand closing it down and White Hills as the straight bonding agent in what was going on this ear-delicious sandwich. Proper backstage where lots of backslapping and laughter was ringing out among the prairie fire shots and the bustub of rolling rock. At this point all the bands have their sets down to artful explosions, throwing down the brew in the first few minutes and slowly adding all the ingredients until a masterful mix of beats and bombs comes raining down on the audience by close of the set. My first time seeing Silver Summit left me with a feeling of dark happiness - the kind when anticipation comes by turns through tension and excitement. This band does not disappoint in it's delivery of soothing and beautiful vocals over eerie and psych cannons of swelling authentic songs. Many turns of drum and string later we all heaved our stuff out of the club for what would be the 2nd to last time, although we didnt know it yet.

Montreal - shot back to the states

Sala Rosa was this huge old hall made of wood and ornate facing, the stage was deep and rich with lots of facing and detail, I felt like a super-star sonic son when I was playing and we set up our instruments in a line that night so that I was even with guitar and Bass. The audience was pressed up to the stage and right in front of my kit. We all used makeup to give ourselves the tribal-space detail and I also was sporting a bindi on my forehead. Wovenhand was totally in their element, and each successive show for them has taken the intensity and dynamic higher. These guys play some deep and inspired sets for sure and many of the songs are from their latest release "Ten Stones". On this night we reached a common sonic tonic and all the elements just merged into one thunderous tribal praise to rock and the temporal energy it brings. There was lots of sharpie fun at this point, DaveW drew eyes on his hands earlier and finally it culminated in fingernails, rings, and knuckle words.

Incredible changing colors of leaves all the way down from Montreal to Boston. I haven't been in the east coast for many years and forgot how ultra-mystical all the earthen hues look and feel. The forest slides by the windows of the mini-van I am encased in and seems to beg us to stop, inviting us in. Of course once you enter you may not ever find your way out, wandering forever in the eternal fall leaves until the inevitable dead of winter.

Which brings me to the latest White Hills release timed perfectly for this passing of seasons - "Dead" dropped by Thrill Jockey on October 6th is an EP of incredible proportions. We have been supporting this release on the current tour with Wovenhand and so far the reviews are positive.

dead.

The next stop was MIT in Boston and a live radio broadcast that will be delivered to the airwaves and the internet on Friday.

guerilla post dans le hotel

In montreal, just commandeering the computer in the lobby. laptop has died and lost the pictures on that, so much for computer skills.
Akron/ Musica was surreal - the club was a litle cafe type place, very clean and uber-professional and despite our warnings the soundguy mic'ed everything and it was like a gale force assult on the mostly deserted downtown crowd that we brought. Not to say there wasnt about 30 or more people at the club, but outside the club it was apparent that everyone drove some distance to get there and the foot traffic was non-existant. Wovenhand was powerful, and very measured. Their set built over the course of the hour or so the played and it became obvious of their strength in crisp musical power strokes delivered to the eager crowd. There was nowhere to go outside the club walls so in a sense it was a captive audience. *edit* it has been confirmed that this club will never be played again so on with the backstory: when we arrived and were met by the club manager steve, he was completely disorganized and seemed to try and confuse us at every turn. We were the only band that did not get a soundcheck, and when we were in the throes of our last song the soundguy broke into the PA and cried "times UP!" Totally lame and more like some cheesy amateur battle of the bands than a real music venue. Part of the problem was the idea of having 4 bands go on between 9pm and 1am. Each band got barely 30 minutes (somehow the locals got a bit more time) and in our case there was the audible admonishment from the soundguy at 30:05. Club people take note: this is the kind of ridiculous behavior that convinces bands they never need to go to your town again. Both Wovenhand and White Hills agree.

Buffalo/ Mohawk Place was almost polar in contrast. A welcoming and darkened dive bar with glass on the floor from the night before, the staff of Bill and Nick were so generous and very appreciative that we came to play. The stage was set back into the furthest grotto of the club and it was a little like playing in some archaeoligical dig in a foreign country. Lots of people packed out the club and although doentown Buffalo was mostly deserted in that post-industrial way it lent rather than detracted from the whole "last show on earth" feeling. This was the first night when we were at the top of our scale and the set was even and exciting. Downtown Buffalo was eerily empty except for the bars that had TV's showing the first Sabre's game of the season. I also was accosted by a very drunken guy who mumbled and slurred "hey, big guy huh? Put 'em up!" It was comical and I looked around for the camera's because it just seemed so staged.

Montreal is another country, complete with language and money. The show was at a Spanish social club and 3 flights of stairs up. Looks like my time is up on this machine, more missives from the outlands later.

chicago

the Empty Bottle and WovenHand were both amazing - it was a packed house and the people from Thrill Jockey were on hand to see the spectacle. I have to say that the staff at the Bottle made every effort to help us out, most of what happened that night was a result of their efforts and support. DaveW had the silver face paint in full effect leaping and throwing himself and his guitar around the stage in blinding arcs of light and sound. We did get to visit Thrill Jockey HQ before the show and got introduced to the staff, some very good people who are totally dedicated to the art and business of getting rock music to the masses who need it. It started raining on us after soundcheck and didn't let up until early the next morning, creating some interesting moisture and smells in the dodge caravan we are touring in. Eric from Thrill Jockey let the band stay at his house and provided plenty of crazy stories as well as a very comfortable futon. we piled into the van the next morning and after securing some medium blend sockwater coffee hit the road to Ohio.

forgive my grammar, written furiously in the back of the jersey-bound shadow published from random wifi hotspots.

soiled and battered under skin and by name most of the preparations are complete. this morning saw the last of the ritualistic spatial spiritual and musical rehearsals for the tour, the aching muscles and blisters have pushed open some of the deepest darkest cores and split them wide - these moments of punishment until full release are necessary in order to fulfill the total melding of instrument and human so that things like time place and self-consciousness are pushed to the edge; passion and power consuming all in an epiphany of powerful presence. business is now at hand, a race through Manhattan to jersey to secure the tour-bus and anoint it with more mystic protection. apparently there are stronger forces at work here, nothing stops us and DaveW is driving in full tourette's mode, expletives flying out the window aimed at all obstructions.
a major part of the last 3 days has been spent at the rental space where the price breakdown is 15 20 or 25 an hour for a back-lined room to rehearse in. as long as you leave it the way you found it apparently you can do anything you want. the amps, drums and PA are supplied and always need a bit of work from drum key or other tools to be fully operational. In this case I got a kit where the high hat stand listed a bit leeward, so it kept biting the back of my hand. It went unnoticed and bled a small bit for a few songs, staining my pants with blood where my hand met during each snare beat. the blisters are welcome because now that we have a few days until Chicago they will heal into nice numb callouses. Jersey smells weird.

Brooklyn

scribed under radio silence day2.

Next thing I know i'm in the the shadow - a murky blue and battered car weathered as much by time as miles, on a hellride through Chinatown and then over the Williamsburg bridge. Pulling up in front of the gallery we spy Maureen, she was that one girl from that scary movie ego sensation made.

Movie.


The shadow wheezes to a stop and we bail out from one door, the drivers side. White Hills have a one door policy which I encountered in Europe on tour but was just re-introduced to in practice once more. As we bolt up the concrete we come across members of the Lovely Eggs from Lancaster England. They exchange some material and an envelope and we proceed to the sub-street level bar. some other stuff happens and we go to drunk pizza place on bedford and 7th, where I eat the most delicious pizza and it explodes into little pieces in my mouth like basily-garlicy-tomato-ey poprocks sating me with crisp-doughy love. please go now to this place - 7th and bedford Brooklyn ny and tell me I am wrong. please tell me I am delusional, and that I cannot give up on finding better slices. Later at the bar I took out the fat tip sharpie and we started tagging up the place and DaveW drew a 3rd eye on the back of each hand, oh Brahma, oh Shiva, be quick to bring justice and let not this band suffer!

launched into the breach

writ on monday morning as sunrise spoke.

Got back from the sweat shop and pounding drums for hours - DaveW leads with the absolve of an abandoned dragster-demon and our direction is at his mercy, sending us signals with his contortions and body undulations; a secret language of spasm.
At points we play songs that either compress or purge great washes of sound that sweep around the room, worrying from the speakers and heads, finally filling the damp decrepit rental space up to the leaky pipes on the ceiling. Even with earplugs the frequencies that accumulate form sonic seawalls breaking against my flesh, my teeth, my bones.

tour trailer.

Unceasing rituals follow each other in the white hills lair at all hours. After the show at secret project robot studios in Brooklyn last night we lit toilet paper as it spooled out across the ground while piling red glitter into the sprawling night air. The hippo-squirrel also became center piece in an ornate 8 point star drawn on the floor in soap, candles burning incense and the damp air of rain mixing in my brain, partially clothed with ceremonial robes and wraps. We spoke of shoes and ships and ceiling wax pouring ounces-to-pounds of liquid courage into a challis and adding the crushed blackened hibiscus and st.James wort until it was fortified completely. Memories get fuzzy at this point and somehow I shrunk back to my normal size and lost consciousness around sunrise.

Ego makes her traps, her pretty evil metal snares full of all manner of delicious intentions. They seem so lovely at first glance, shiny coppery cages holding chocolates, confections, pastries looking like an invitation to pure joy. looking closer delicate tiny spikes can be made out across all of the grid lines. the maze of miniature dangerous looking thorns and barbs clearly challenge a bloody treat if one is not careful. the taste is probably worth the bandages.

Scary.

I welcome this interesting but odd break from the normal routine of my life, while the benefits of this 'conditioning' may not seem obvious I have faith this tour will not leave me without having my inner eye expanded, my mind shattered by the galactic musical journey into the reaches of space.

The show at (wait for it) Secret Project Robot @ Monster Island was amazing, those French guys rocked some space-tastic noisey shuffle stomp - of which I did some, and it was so nice. And by nice I mean you are crying yourself to sleep 'cause you weren't there.

eat, sleep, pack, NYC i am back.

aH some drizzle and a bit of cool to the temples - gods alive there is nothing so soothing to my brittle brain as coming into the east village at sundown. The view of buildings - chrysler, empire, forward, the ansonia - so much eyecandy. tomorrow the intensive practice schedule begins. 4 hours of learning and playing then 4 more hours of sight deprivation practice, followed by Himalayan chant and stretching.

Got fed some trophy-mouth-winning indian grub at the white hills compound on Ave B and got lost in thought on a bench in tompkins square park. Hit 3 random bars on the way uptown and got the warm autumn drizzle soak - whicah is always welcome here and there. Thought of friends and forms - coalescing into fits and starts.

Dave W. previewed and gave live mixes in a sort of spontaneous preview party for the upcoming Thrill JOckey release and the current issue vinyl called "dead".

Sure to be and more to come. tension, excitement, insanity are all building blocks for freakshow blowouts on stages and in minds. White Hills awaits you and whatever freak future will follow.

terminal haste

jockey hardline mist pewter scaberry

thirsting like drunken 3am blighted recourse - be damned be dimmed haven't there been those proper haven't there been those lick salting begone. I have a general sense of things, but the feeling is diminished when specular when specific to situation.

telling those retail observations to conform to relate in space to what I feel now is possibly and eternally cloistered where nothing has meaning and motion, right? Often because of the amount and volume of copy, of verbiage, of media and waste I can not reconcile the the meaning and relate that to another living soul, shit jack - everything becomes a cage, everything heals and hurts when one gets right down to it. It all depends on where yer standing jack where yer soaking in it.

obviously winking like that to the sun will make you blind, but how many times can it be done? how many times do those flames lick your eyes with near perfect love and desire before nothing can lick any longer for evermore.

heat I feel heat I need heat I hold it in me as close as life as close as sweat. like my skin crawls in a circle and when the apex curls against the broad line, when the particle of begining touches the end for that brief, swift moment no words will do - you know it too - no words will do no matter how many drunken accidents and carriage collisions take you away, you can live in the arctic and I will still see you today.... if I want to.

I will break this too, you know it's true and when I do when I do the balance comes to my room. I can be under covers and beneath silk or plastic all sweaty and pungeant and ridiculous and still it will come it will beat and shear and stomp this possible fever from my head and my last remaining gasp and laughingly I will follow useless in the grasp. You know that too, but never had words to show it. did I hole=d it against you, never never as a swan could never beat a child of light and that horse run without stumble without fall dropping leaves like today when the time rolls back my dreams all my dreams of apocalypse where I am the star. Here are these prayers to all of my friends, cause no words will ever demand the same incantation, please take them and know I often dwell on your face but maybe not the name, again thats just a word.

Ever to you all, really watching super feeling nasty breathing and your breath and those lights when pointed and you stumbled and I caught. inside those everything moments, where your light shines brightest, you thank me with a shy sly smile and its really all i ever need.

Pragmatist is that joint is that point where I stopped learning and just listened, and it's for you.

listen to it here.

are this now enaught?

than thanks will never be enough

crop art

Stunning crop art has sprung up across rice fields in Japan.

But this is no alien creation - the designs have been cleverly planted.

Farmers creating the huge displays use no ink or dye. Instead,

different colours of rice plants have been precisely and strategically arranged and grown in the paddy fields.

As summer progresses and the plants shoot up, the detailed artwork begins to emerge.


The farmers create the murals by planting little purple and yellow-leafed kodaimai rice

along with their local green-leafed tsugaru roman variety to create the coloured patterns between planting and harvesting in September.

The murals in Inakadate cover 15,000 square meters of paddy fields.

From ground level, the designs are invisible, and viewers have to climb the mock castle tower of the village office to get a glimpse of the work.

Rice-paddy art was started there in 1993 as a local revitalization project, an idea that grew out of meetings of the village committee.

turns by tones

Long days melting schedules into each other
Like collisions but pre-meditated – likely
I just get worn from one event to another
Graduation, computers, meetings, classes,
Just a shoe or a hat so the day wears me down

Then surprise! A package for me marked
Royal Mail. Hell yes! So this morning I ride to work
Excited by the unknown again – anticipation
Of thought forms and team brick musics.
Stellar and prescient - all for me
So now it’s a good day
Not to be interrupted
If even for 39 minutes
And 69 seconds
hooray

the call

went in to work to make and bake the computers. Some take longer than others to set, lots of times it depends on the users. I get to meet and speak with lots of people so it doesn't get too routine, but then again it's work and I'd much rather be bating the crap out of my drums or guitars. Today had a weird call though, from a primary school. The principal calls me up and says "hey Dave - I have a situation and I need some advice and help,... could you come over directly?" She was sincere and not the usual frantic email withdrawal candidate, or my itunes crahsed my PC guy. On the way over I saw this very large murder of crows - the most I had ever seen - dozens of 'em and all cawing their guts out. It was loud and somewhat eerie.

I got to the school and Principal is standing there with a ancient LG phone. She began to tell me how this 1st grader was showing off the phone and pictures within. The pictures were of him holding a handgun, and when I looked, sure enough he was posing with a 9mm glock pistol. It could have been one of those replicas, you know how they have those that shoot air or water and look just like the real thing. I told her that I would try to get the pictures off the phone so that she could decide if she wanted to tell the parents. She told me she had, and Mom was coming to pick up the phone and the kid but had no plans to address the pictures or the fact that the child was 6 and showing his classmates in his special needs class those pictures. She was sure some legal or liable/libel issue had been crossed but wasn't so sure she had any rights to do anything other than call CPS (child protective services). I figured out how to bluetooth the pics to my work cell and then emailed those to her. I wanted to stay and shake the Mom, and hug the kid and destroy the system of repression and waste and futility and depression that could create this situation. Then I realized this may not be any of these things. I realized I could love and hate until I started to cry blood and spit piss and it would not change what I saw on that phone. I left the school and vowed to follow up but I don't know if I will, I don't think I can stand the truth.

I thought of the crows, of the cops, of the kids and wondered what happens after this.
I left work early and went to the edge of the US, the furthest point of coastline I could, the closest possible position I could get to the western horizon; and watched the sun set just like it does and will every single day for millions of years before and to come.

thickening layer of dust

I have just discovered,
quite by accident,
that I now need glasses
to see things closer
than 8 inches to my face.

Having had no need
to ever squint or pry
to ever look through any
sort of metaphor or sky
to sort out the fuzzy.

Not to be dramatic
or overly sensa-chromatic
or too megalo-frantic
but it made me whisper
'good-bye' to perfect vision
which will not return in this life

the doc made some silly jokes
about respectability
or rose coloured smoke
and I almost forgot to
politely laugh with him
and then it was over.

I ate indian food that night
and held all objects
at least a foot from my retinas.

(inspired by dustmagic).