Please note: MP3s are only kept online for a short time, and if this entry is from more than a couple of weeks ago, the music probably won't be available to download any more.
I set up the Gretsch drumkit on a rug in my living-room, beside the painting and the lamp and the top of my head. The reds and blacks in the rug worked well with the orange of the drums. I keep drumsticks in a beautiful chest and so I took the sticks out of the chest, smoothing the velvet with the back of my hand. I raised the drumstool until it was perfect and then I sat down. I raised the drumsticks. I hit the drums. I racketed and blitzed. I was remembering the way Neal Morgan coos and hoos and bloos, like a red and black bird. I was remembering the way he hits his cowbell, like he is rattling a golden egg. As I played the drums, I stood up and sat down. I rocked back and forth. I farted and died. I came back to life with a clear blue look in my eyes, the look of a lover or a killer, someone who is going to stroll into someone else's memories and point at the person who will cause them harm and say, into the camera of the rememberer's mind's eye, This person will do you harm, and then pull out a knife. That's the look I had, which is a complicated look, and not one you forget.
[you may have seen Neal Morgan on tour with Bill Callahan or as part of Joanna Newsom's band / holy shit, right? / buy]
(photograph by Horst P HorstPosted by Sean at January 9, 2012 10:37 AM
YES!!!!!!!Posted by Brian at January 9, 2012 6:29 PM
DAMN . This is A M A Z I N GPosted by yesyes at January 10, 2012 6:18 PM
This should be required listening.Posted by Katie at January 22, 2012 10:28 PM