Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Just played some gigs in Northern Michigan and the Upper Peninsula. Thanks to Jeremy Moran for shooting video of this song that I'd never really played live before.

Monday, January 20, 2014


Hydropark is a new unit with myself and Chuck Sipperley both playing various synthesizers, Chad Pratt on drums and Jason Lymangrover on bass. Instrumental bug outs or repetitions. Most oft-asked question; "How blazed were you during these jams?" Answer: "Never touch the stuff, but I understand how you might think that. Have you ever heard Nobukazu Takemura? One time I got so sick at my job that the only thing that felt like it would make any sense was to drive a few blocks over to the Best Buy parking lot and lie down in the drivers seat of my car. I parked as far off in the corners of the lot as possible, but tried to be around at least one or two other employee's cars as not to look just absolutely sore-thumb sketchy. You know, dude sleeping in his car at 12:30pm on a Tuesday, parked a safe distance from everyone else to minimize the mess when the home-made bomb goes off or whatever the fuck he's planning. It was cold, the first part of the winter, easily, and I felt colder from whatever illness was going through my blood, so I curled up in a ball and started playing a random Takemura record quietly off of my phone. "Scope", a more abstract and glitchy one with long, protracted fields of sound and brambles filling in as songs. I fell asleep without noticing, coasting on the lengthy glass-plane like electronic vaulting rods that seemed like they were being flung slow-motion around the car, slowed down even further by my bubbles of nausea and shivering exhaustion." Photograph by Ian Fulcher, taken at our 2nd show, Arbor Vitae loft, January 17, 2014.

Monday, December 9, 2013

City Center Volume One

A collection of 14 tracks from City Center, taken from 7"s, tapes, unreleased, compilations, etc. Up on Soundcloud for free download, streaming. 2009-2011.

Monday, October 7, 2013

Trailer Park, Installment 1

Right now I'm living in Sunny Side Park, a trailer park in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I've been there for two months. It's the trailer park where Iggy Pop allegedly grew up as a teenager. I live not in a trailer, but in a floating house-like spot that sits on top of the manager's office, storage compartments, mail and laundry rooms. This complex that I stay in is at the very front of the park, which goes back a quarter of a mile, trailers smashed together incredibly close, maybe 20 or so deep until the park ends and spills into a really beautiful man-made river and some forest paths. A friend of mine had been living in the house for the last eight years, and offered it to me when he decided to move in with his girlfriend. Before that, another mutual friend of ours had lived there forever. Both of these people were perpetual creative/hard working social-yet-loner types, both photographers, music lovers and culture-minded record store employees who'd been having a lot of fun just carving weird, interesting life out for themselves in this sometimes-magical college town for a long time. It made sense that I'd be the next in line, perhaps.

Yesterday was the first day in maybe two weeks straight that I wasn't working one of two jobs, travelling or playing a show. Some friends were coming over at four to work on music, and moments before they got there, sirens started sounding. A fire engine, ambulance and three cop cars pulled up at 3:55. I looked out the window, nosy neighbor style, curious. I got a call from the friends I was waiting on, who'd never been to my new place before. "Uh, dude, someone died in your trailer park." About an hour later, when they went downstairs to smoke, this joking sentiment was actually confirmed by a friendly neighbor I hadn't met but had been waving to since I moved in. "Vinnie's gone. Pat was his best friend and went to say hello to him, found him there. This is hard for me. I lost my mother last year and I was the one who found her. It's got me kinda nervous. He was 61, and I'm gonna be 60 next year."

"Oh, don't think like that. You're doing okay, you're going to do so well."

"Ah, yeah... this is just gonna take a few days to feel alright."

"I know. I'm so sorry you had to be the one to find your mother, and I'm sorry for your loss now. It's a dark cloud, but I know you'll be alright. It's nice to meet you officially."