 alec
got into socialism, and then, regressively, neo-fascism;
brett set up a pan-asian/vegan barbecue joint near
newbury street; i hung around central square and stole
wallets for a few months. the truth was that none of
us knew what to do with ourselves after the breakup
of our ten-piece funk ensemble finkfankfunk.
alec was starting to believe he was jfk. brett and
i tried to play scrabble once and forgot all the rules
and made up words like "oiouefe" and "querd." one
of us, i forget which, ate a pound of cocaine and,
glowing, levitated above MIT. the other two of us thought
the whole thing was pretty derivative.
to cut a long story short, this had to stop, and it did. we were reminiscing
over drinks (something about scam and large and their comical run-in with the
daughter of FBI chief j. edgar hoover) and brett just started blowing over the
tops of bottles. we listened for a while. then we followed suit. and it was magical.
big deal, you say. i do that sometimes, you say. no, you don't understand. we
did that for four and a half days. then we decided to start a band, which would
have drums and a melodica in addition to bottles. alec learned how to play the
saxophone. i stole someone's bass and am still basically figuring it out.
so the point is--the taste explosion just kind of
happened. we get up there and play what we feel like
playing. none of it is written. some of it is out
of time
and out of key. some of it makes you want to dance awkwardly. some of it sounds
like a person's brain dissolving. some of it is us casually murmuring to each
other about whether or not specific audience members are hot. also brett generally
wears an afro, although he insists that it's definitely his own hair.
influences include miles davis, steve reich, parliament, herbie hancock, kraftwerk
and (need we even say it?) duran duran.
listen to our mp3s. you can come to our shows too--we'd
love to see you there and all are encouraged to sing along. think summer camp,
1988. live a little. free your mind and then give it to us so we can poke it.
pretend that you are our best friend, as are your hand puppets that you inventively
made out of cardboards, rubber cement, and tums. we think you are "alright"!
-jesse |
