wirepony

Patrick Solo at 5 Spot Nashville

2011-12-06T10:42:00.000-08:00

And so it continues! After having a great time at last night's show at The Basement, I'll be playing again tonight, Dec 6th, this time in in East Nashville at The 5 Spot. More new songs and a borrowed amp. 8pm sharp.

December 6th
8pm (Sharp!)
The 5 Spot
1006 Forrest Ave Nashville, TN 37206

Patrick Solo in Nashville

2011-12-04T14:29:00.000-08:00

I'm really excited to be playing The Basement Nashville tomorrow night (Monday Dec 5th) solo! It was one of the first clubs in the country outside of San Diego to embrace my old band, the Truckee Brothers, and they made us feel very welcome then. Now Mike Grimes and Dave Brown have already made me feel right at home again. It's the perfect place to unveil some new songs I've been working on over the last year during a host of personal change. Some of my favorite writing I've ever done. I am honored and looking forward to seeing old friends again. P x

December 5th
8pm (Sharp!)
The Basement
1604 8th Ave S Nashville, TN 37203

Nashville Solo-Show

2011-12-01T12:13:00.000-08:00

While in Nashville I'll be playing a one-off solo show at one of my favorite places in the country, The Basement at Grimey's! I'm going to be debuting new songs on December 5th @ 8pm sharp. I am looking forward to seeing some old familiar faces there.

December 5th
8pm (Sharp!)
The Basement
1604 8th Ave S Nashville, TN 37203

- Patrick

Crawdaddy Interview

2011-07-02T23:07:00.000-07:00

There's a new feature interview with Patrick this week in Crawdaddy Magazine discussing music, inspiration, life and the upcoming Wirepony show July 30 in Berkley, Ca.

Read It here

Fatherhood

2011-06-20T02:50:00.000-07:00

Father's Day. Time with my sons. A sweet note from my London living daughter. A little food, conversation, a hang and crashing out over a movie. It's been a good day in my book.

Today I was asked if I was happy to be a dad with how tough it can be sometimes. Well, being a father has definitely been a roller coaster ride. When is it not, for anyone? They don't give mothers and fathers an operating manual for this gig. And I was just a kid when it all started. What the hell did I know? Not much I must admit...

Read the whole thing on my facebook notes. Feel free to become a friend if you can't read it all, but you should be able to.

Read it here.

Wirepony live in Berkley presented by Crawdaddy

2011-06-13T14:11:00.000-07:00

Wirepony will be coming out of hiding on July 30th for a show in Berkley, California presented by Crawdaddy Magazine. A very special lineup and the debut of new songs that I've been working on these last several months for the next record. My old friend Cindy Lee Berryhill will also be on the bill fresh off an East Coast tour along with Bay area singer Garrett Pierce.

Limited Edition Photo Series

2010-12-13T22:43:00.000-08:00

I am very pleased to announce a limited edition series of photographs which have been culled from my "Travel Eye" collection of tour shots. I'm really excited about this collection, a document of the solitary moments and my first to be offered publicly. Enjoy...Patrick

There are a limited the amount of prints so they won't be available for long. And if you order this week they will still ship for Christmas.

Preview them all out here etsy.com/patrickdennis

Wirepony's 20/20/20

2010-12-05T23:03:00.000-08:00

Stay tuned for an announcement involving Wirepony in 2011.

UK Solo Appearances

2010-10-24T19:48:00.000-07:00

Patrick will be making two special solo appearances in London, UK this next week.

Fri Oct 29th // The Armoury, Armoury Way, SW18 w/ The Rotten Hill Gang. 7pm.

Mon Nov 1 // Good Voodoo @ Halfmoon Pub, 93 Lower Richmond Road, Putney, SW15 8.30pm (tix)

..

Writing for Next Record + US/UK Dates

2010-09-29T13:56:00.000-07:00

We're working on songs for a new Wirepony record...slowly but surely. There has been much writing and demoing happening already. So far it's leading us down a heavier road than we thought it would be. It has gone from a quiet intimate record to a loud bombastic one. We'll continue to hunt it next month and post some updates.

On top of that new dates will be announced soon for the US Southwest and home to the UK. Then to add to that, new Spanish versions of some of the songs from the Right Hook Of Love release are also being worked on with our friend Lucina from San Diego's Black Hondo.

Llevame, donde esperaré.

: Patrick

Wirepony Review

2010-09-03T12:46:00.000-07:00

Woke up to a new review of Wirepony and our "Right Hook Of Love" record by the Daily Guru blog in Cleveland. Yesterday he reviewed Booker T and The MGs. Today us. Pretty heady company and pretty heady words about the Pony.

Daily Guru review

*

Return to San Diego July 16th

2010-07-09T12:27:00.000-07:00

Wirepony returns to Bar Pink in San Diego on Friday, July 16th.
Along with Get Back Loretta at 10pm.

'Hold On To Me' Live Download

2010-07-09T10:29:00.000-07:00

So, the stories from the Midwest tour never made it onto the blog, but there were many I'm tellin' you. Delayed flights, new pals, late night eats, dancing bears, long beautiful drives across the the country, my Bowery delusion imagining I was arm in arm with Malachy McCourt and Richard Harris drunk reciting Shakespeare on the corner, a life-changing conversation with Carlos Estrada-Vega, finding myself in the home of the expressionist painter Richard Pousette-Dart breathing on his work, the three-day drive back from NYC to San Diego, and rediscovering the joy in this light we call music. Well it was another tour out into the wide world full of great moments, music and amazing people. So many things to add to the "old-man" memories.

In honour of it all I just posted an mp3 of 'Hold Onto Me' I sang solo at The Ark in Ann Arbor, birthland of the Stooges, on April 5th. A version sounding like it did on the day it was written. I hope you all enjoy it.

» MP3 Download
.

Poetic Insight

2010-07-09T10:17:00.000-07:00

When we began planning the release of Right Hook Of Love, I asked my kids to contribute ideas to the packaging (hell, one of 'em is ON the record so why not?). In the end the packaging plan changed and simplified from what I really wanted to do, but art had been created and words written so we made show posters and included this little piece my daughter Emma wrote in the art for the digital download available only on our website.

She re-posted it on her blog this week, and it is so on-the-mark and stunning to me (biased as I am) that I had to share it with all of you. It's a little unsettling how she got to the bones of this record without even mentioning anything about it at all.

» The Prose

» Emma's Blog

Midwest Mid-Tour Note

2010-04-07T12:23:00.000-07:00

We've been out on the road for nearly two weeks now. It's been great to see old friends and to be making new ones at some of our favorite clubs in the country. I'm very grateful to be out here and to have people coming out to support. It's been re affirming.

We began in St Louis and have been running around the Midwest in unexpectedly gorgeous weather. There've been a lot of highlights leading up to last night's return to he Beachland in Cleveland. When I get off the phone and on a computer I'll tell a few tales.

We've got a few more dates left heading on to New York and finishing up this leg at the Living Room on the 12th. If you're in those towns hope you'll come and join us. Thanks to everyone who already has.

Mike Watt spins Wirepony

2010-03-16T19:25:00.000-07:00

Punk rock legend Mike Watt (Minutemen, Stooges) spun the Wirepony track "All My Rockets" from the new album this week on his "The Watt From Pedro Show" podcast while hanging in Medford Oregon with his Missingmen Tom and Raul and tour companions LITE from Japan.

You can here it at twfps.com (march 10 episode) or download on iTunes Podcasts

FM 94/9 City Beat Party

2010-03-06T12:39:00.000-08:00

Wirepony playing SD City Beat & FM 94/9 sponsored show at the Belly Up w/ Maren Parusel & Beaters and guest Jen Grinels. Wirepony at 9pm.

Thursday Mar 11th // 8pm
Belly Up
S Cedros Ave, Solana Beach, CA 92104
$9

Wirepony on FM 94/9

2010-03-04T18:26:00.000-08:00

In San Diego, indie rock radio FM 94/9 debuted a track from the new Wirepony album, Right Hook of Love today. They spun "Some Lightning" around 2pm as the member of the day. Request they play it or another Wirepony track again. Request often! It really helps.

FM 94/9 Contact
- - - - -
Tel 1(619)570-1949 // 1(760)570-1949
Email
94/9 Website
Twitter id: @FM949sd

FREE Thank You show Feb 26th

2010-02-21T15:26:00.000-08:00

Wirepony is playing a FREE show this Friday at our fave drinking hole for all our San Diego friends to thank you for the support! Also on the bill is the new band from Steve Rodriguez of The Dragons, Red Tiger.

Fri Feb 26th // 10pm
Bar Pink
3829 30th St, San Diego, CA 92104
FREE

Wirepony is NBC SoundDiego's Download o' the Week

2010-02-03T12:39:00.000-08:00

photo Andy King

Chris Cantore and crew have chosen Wirepony as the download of the week on NBC's SoundDiego Blog. You can download the title track to the new album for free, and then if you are digging it come back here to download the entire 9-song record.

» SoundDiego Blog
» Download record

Brand New Wirepony Tune Debut

2010-01-31T16:21:00.000-08:00

Video caught by guitar player wiz-kid Aaron on his hidden camera back by the drums. This tune "Willing To Break" is so fresh it isn't even on the new "Right Hook Of Love" record we were releasing and celebrating that night. Raw and complete with shaker solo from Jan 29, 2010.

» View it Here on YouTube

Download New Wirepony Record

2010-01-26T17:14:00.000-08:00

Download the new record in hi quality 320kpbs mp3's complete with cover and liner art. And you set the price for the download at whatever you think it's worth. Just go to Wirepony's music page to get the record.

First review

2010-01-26T16:19:00.000-08:00

We got an early review of the record not out yet from local San Diego blog "Rock N Roll Never Looked So Good". Click here to read

New Record Posted on MySpace

2010-01-19T13:49:00.001-08:00

Happy rainy Tuesday here in Southern California! I get to tell you that the new Wirepony record Right Hook Of Love has been posted ahead of its release on our myspace.com/wirepony page and on our Facebook.

The record features 9 songs recorded live over two days in November out at Chaos Recorders. Pleased that the 9 includes 3 songs co-written with Frank Lee Drennen (Dead Rock West, Exene Cervenka), Kacy Crowley and Christopher Hoffee (Truckee Brothers, Atom Orr).

The record (in CD form) will be available from Summertone Recordings for the first time on January 29th in San Diego at the show with Transfer and Hong Kong at the Casbah on Kettner Blvd. 9 tracks for only $5 at the show. Look forward to seeing you there.

Where is the danger now?

2010-01-17T15:19:00.000-08:00

There used to be a danger in things, in ideas, in passions. Not the Disney-ized danger of our monetary excesses, our travels, our economic downturns, our lawsuits if things go a bit wrong, but the danger to the perpetrators of a single unpopular truth, a challenging thought, a need to know and to speak. A dangerous idea that could challenge the basic reality of the outside world. Pit conviction in an vilified truth against the determined status quo. Conviction that was imperative, faced intense resistance and could even prove fatal.

There was a time when science was dangerous. Galileo tried to speak what we now know to be a simple basic fact. For that he died.

There was a time when being a writer was a death sentence. Frederico Garcia Lorca was murdered by a rising fascist government and his work buried for decades.

Look at the 60's and the civil rights movement and the lives lost for a cause that most of us now know to simply be an obvious truth.

Even a time when rock n roll was a call to arms and revolution. Elvis, John Lennon, MC5, Patti Smith, the Sex Pistols. Striking blows for the young and the denied, the angry, the seemingly powerless, the joy hungry. In the end the revolutionaries were brought down by the very thing they fought. Commerce. Even Lennon, the last casualty of that rock n roll spirit, had left his militant stance behind years before. No, there is no danger left in rock n roll. Hasn't been for decades.

So where is the danger now? Who are the heroes and what truth are they determined to give to us, regardless of the cost to themselves? Unsanitized, unscripted, researched in blood and sweat, conviction in their bones. We won't find them on CD, mp3 or in the movies. I'm sure as hell not that guy. Nothing dangerous here. But YOU might be. That someone who can see clearly beyond what we still have shrouded in mystique, falsehoods and self serving boxes. Who knows the importance to humanity and will stand and speak regardless of the cost. Someone with FAITH. And to me the idea of faith is still the most dangerous thing in our human experience.

So tell me, faith in what?

New Record on Summertone

2010-01-13T17:40:00.000-08:00

It's official!

The new Wirepony record, RIGHT HOOK OF LOVE is coming out in a limited pressing at the end of January on Summertone Recordings, our friends out there in Pioneertown, Ca. It is being pressed as we speak and we'll have it in hand at the next gig Jan 29th in San Diego! Recorded live over 2 days in November at Chaos Recorders in Escondido, Ca it has 9 tunes and we're keeping it to 5 bones only (that'd be 5 Bones US$). Better deal than Steve Jobs will give you.

Now, to get back to writing a new tune.

2010-01-02T22:45:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year everyone.
- O, Aaron, Charlie and Patrick.

Mi Feliz Ano Nuevo

2010-01-02T22:15:00.000-08:00

Clearing in the throat
this one new year
a cold importance,
but in the off license
we're warming up the blood
and wiping the old tear stains
off of shoulders

Checking how far thin blood can run
down the streets,
across the cheeks,
up the steps
and into the dark

You felt it,
The new year crawling
onto the calendar
Scratching pages
off the opposite direction
to what could have
been seen erected
unimportant,
enforceable change
kicking us now
out of the stall

And it's good
this time,
we've been replaced
by something,
a difference
a year
unexpected
silent
the difference so slight
in a goodbye,
or a first hello.

WIREPONY record in January

2009-12-28T20:53:00.000-08:00

Thought I'd slip you an advance of the artwork for the new Wirepony album, Right Hook Of Love, which we just recorded this last month. Happy and excited to announce that the new record will be in your hands by the end of January.

More news on its way.

Tear me from this shallow breath

2009-12-06T22:55:00.000-08:00

Lord give me some light,
light (light, light)

There is no death, only
flight (flight, flight)

The lies of an end
they whisper
in ears blind
to the kingdom of ancients
Staring into my right eye
where death falls only in my mind my heart
There is no death to this living art

Tear me blind
from this shallow breath
Take me rising
from this hollow death

Lord give me some light,
light (light, light)

There is no death, only
flight (flight, flight)

Lights die slowly

2009-12-04T22:03:00.000-08:00

Lights do die slowly
Not sudden as you might expect

Sparks may ignite on impact
lit with such a fierce fire
on dry thirsty kindling
they create a blast of passion
a furnace of power
exploding from the inside
and as they burn
they die
fading imperceptibly
into the growing darkness

Lights do die slowly

The sparrin'
the jabbin'
the love
the respect
the disparaging words
the distance
the loss.

I'll
miss you when you're gone,
when the lights do die slowly

Good luck

2009-11-30T01:53:00.000-08:00

Good luck finding a fire
In your bones
Anything close
to mine

You can move on but never go back
to what was evidence
of compulsion and combustion
to what became heavy enough
to crack
a heart into shards
of visionary glass
like graduating the class
as professor and expert
in what NOT
to do.

Good luck finding a fire
As deep as mine
And a wind as strong
In your failing sails
Cause when we fail
We fail large
A titanic sinking
an epic bout of drinking
just to bury you
out of every sight that suffers
the loss of you

Good luck finding a fire
as bright as mine,
There IS no middle line..

...in between crossed wires

Morning Chaos

2009-11-21T10:13:00.000-08:00

Writing. Music. Recording. Inspired. Late nights. The process has become like too many fireflies flitting around you, trying to catch them in a jar before the inspiration fades and disappears. Some mornings, you wake up looking like you were dragged through the outside hedge backwards, upside down and in the clothes you fell asleep in. Well, actually...

Re-birth

2009-11-15T10:06:00.000-08:00

The greatest day. A riot. A stomping. A tantrum.

An adult (you) stands alongside a child (you) and smiling silently with hand on the young impulsive shoulder, nods, for perhaps the first time in his young/old life, "go ahead". The child lets out his frustration in a torrent. He swears. He expounds. He yells and demands vindication. A fair hearing. Like he never did in years past. He insists on insisting he is right. This youth with such kind demeanour. Such sweetness in his actions. Such considered behaviour and obedient actions. Well raised care in his deeds. And such boiling frustration. Right under the surface. Viciously reacting to any sense of injustice against him. At being ignored. At having no opinion to challenge. At being controlled. Unallowed to act in or out. Having his truths diminished. His hopes only gently tolerated, yet never encouraged. Never winning the race, but always finishing with proper decorum. Being a good little boy.

But now the feet stomp and scenes are thrown. Violently and impassioned, while the adult simply watches silently. Allowing the young colt to stretch and buck and rediscover its strength. Something new is being born in this chill morning air. An individual.

..Then a pause. A breath. The youthful anger is spent. A realization rises like dawn light...he's done. The moment is past. He knows his own mind and his own worth.

So. What comes next?

Myth

2009-11-04T10:43:00.000-08:00

I might be a man without a myth
To settle into
But when I'm digging wrong
I'm no different than anyone

Hope is just a frightened stance
To hold onto
Until it finally comes
And I open up to a love

The last one

2009-11-02T12:26:00.000-08:00

...and now it's started
Terrors of darkness
Heart swallowed hardness
...A dragon's under-child

That m m mans it
So, I can't stand it
All hands abandon
The last hope left inside

An open case-file
A stolen air mile
A strangled peace-phile
Leads the tracks inside

And f f fans it
So, I can't stand it
All hands abandon
The last one left alive

I pla pla planned it
So, I can't man it
All hands a fandom
The last one left alive

Insane things come

2009-11-02T01:11:00.000-08:00

Insane things come
in doses
like sugar pills on my tongue
seeing figures
ending
in no one

Monsters open me up
mouths all razors
'til a tongue in my cup
borrows me wisdoms
beginning
in nothing

and it's only really
you Mary
just you
carrying the night
in a prayerful fright

are you listening,
...wired,
busted,
wireless?

The Muse

2009-10-29T11:31:00.000-07:00

The muse Art. Her effect. Her cost. To pursue her. Get into bed with her. Breathe her scent. Desire her touch in our veins. Deal with her in secret. Ignore all else. All others. Attempt to impress her. Loudly. Like a drunk in a bar. Hunt her. Fly with her. Bask in her presence. Tell all we have finally found her. Seduce her before realizing it was SHE doing the seducing all along. Believe we have any power over her at all. Then the crash after catching her. The feeling of loss. Realize that SHE was only a shadow. We didn't catch anything. Just a deeper obsession. The hunt begins again. The goddess dancing just outside the light of the campfire. Just enough to tempt us back out into the darkness.

The writer Henry James stated:

"We work in the dark.
we do what we can
we give what we have.
Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task.
The rest is the madness of art."

The hunt is endless. It is the only consistent thread. Exposing demons and celebrating joys. And I know that Pete Townsend's words could have been my own,

"I won't get to get what I'm after til the day I die"

After Elizabeth

2009-10-21T09:56:00.000-07:00

My distraction for this week. The more than interesting uncommon facts about the unpopular and politically-manouvering end of Elizabeth I's reign and the beginning of the first "foreign" king since William (1066), James I (VI) of Scotland. All circa 1603. The political intrigue hasn't changed one little bit in 400 years. If you want a look at what Washington and Downing Street are capable of today, just give this one a read. All the same power struggles and betrayals as then. For a Dennis this is fascinating stuff.

Circling...

2009-10-19T19:18:00.000-07:00

...into the tight little curve
of our history repeating.

Austin Outtake

2009-10-06T14:13:00.000-07:00

This is an outtake from a session with Frank Lee Drennen shooting that I was fortunate enough to direct. We flew to Austin, TX for a shoot and captured this on film during the session, double exposing the frame (yes kids Frankie shoots film with real old cameras. Some large format and others strange russians affairs). Not a photoshop image. Art Direction for packaging. Outtake.
Austin, TX. September 09.
Photo by Frank Lee Drennen.

Father

2009-09-29T22:59:00.000-07:00

I am one proud father

All I need

All I need to even say

Sent via my damned technological telephonic device

Driven by the Stars

2009-09-29T22:57:00.000-07:00

I am driven by the stars
Uncontrollably
Roller coastered
Inconsolably
Mercury pushing past the high mark
Into the space beyond
Our perfect presence

Driven by the stars

Bangin on the inside

2009-09-25T20:29:00.000-07:00

Some nights the heart falls
Like lead diver's weights
Stretching through the plastic of your chest
Straight to your gut

Bangin on the inside
To get out
From under the missing

Baby, how do you feel tonight?

Breath

2009-09-24T10:42:00.000-07:00

One new morning is all it takes
For your breath to renew

Like Listerine for the soul

Peace Day

2009-09-23T15:43:00.000-07:00

These Wars come from inside of us.

Change each one of us first. Then you'll eradicate the fine line we walk that makes us believe we are different. Different than the aggressors. The defenders. Different than the other Human beings walking this crowded beautiful planet. Different enough, humble enough, to back down.

...but good luck changing me.

Paid up

2009-09-21T17:37:00.000-07:00

Live impersonal apparition in my own clothes.

A couple of bills paid and some money for drink and I become all comfortable swagger for the moment. Releasing me to swing and chose my intake of food and love selectively. Like a prince, a gentleman, a considered lush. Careful as the wealthy of fortune are blessed to be.

Until I run out of scratch and the bills redouble their effort to sink. The landlord looms. Now, I will again accept the ingesting of any cheap meal given to me freely. Any low brow bread and processed cardboard I've been told not to eat lest my body violently react, knowing that it will be all that I will find today. My father ringing in my ears "beggars can never be chosers". And in these moments I surely cannot be a choser.

And even as I pay the bill and press into the throng I know that I will be back to being the beggar before the laughter runs out.

*

Los Angeles

2009-09-21T12:42:00.000-07:00

Los Angeles.

Where are you hiding the swollen river, the new shorn sheep, bleating in the field, the ancient rectory of familial past, forefathers and foremothers, their bones & ash looking out upon stepping stones swallowed in the rushing curve of the Wharfe. Life simply passing quietly under a lightly chilled rain. The dale just a place. Of existence. A place alone.

Los Angeles have you ever known the like?

Tonight's Ghosts of York

2009-09-20T12:42:00.000-07:00

The sodden earth
The bleak wetness
The chilled misty air
of childhood days

like food
for the starving
warm clothing
for the shivering
my naked body still weak

carried by the ghosts
conferring over my bed,
entering into the fights
matched in my dreams,
their influence felt
by what I cannot see
as I swing for their jaws

And none
will give me respite
only presence

Still I need them now
from beyond
the sodden earth
The bleak wetness
The chilled misty air
of childhood days

To grant me stillness
bent over my bed
with a river scented white rose
the water still
The ash laid thin on the surface

I need these now,
but only from you

Listening

2009-08-20T14:14:00.000-07:00

I am sitting here in a friend's back garden in LA listening. Just listening. Listening to the sounds of the gardener clearing out the overgrowth. Listening to his clippers. To the old growth being cleared. Space being made for new growth.

Sitting here actually recording those sounds. They are captivating to me. Familiar. Being a child again. I want to listen to this again later. My own Whalesong CD. My own mantric soundtrack. The sound of my young days. My father, the other men, myself joined in, clearing the old crops, preparing the beds for replanting, watching the cycles of growth. The sound of clippers. The sound of moving through the overgrowth. The smell of the turned earth. The scent of heavy sweat and decayed crops. The clearing out of the old fading plants. To reseed the earth. To cultivate and nurture...

...clearing out and making way for the new growth.

The Alarm

2009-08-19T00:57:00.000-07:00

"Mercy lights shine in the distance,
same as they did for us then
I know, those lights still call to you
I can hear them now"
- The Alarm

I found myself tweeting tonight about the 80's band, The Alarm (yeah I actually said "tweeting"), remembering a long forgotten time. Moments that were life and death for me at 16. I was a wee bit dramatic and a wee bit pissed off then admittedly. I was grabbing at anything that would give me some kind of emotional ballast. Choosing some kind of hope over arty irony. Hence why while my mates were listening to Steven Strange and Depeche Mode, I was secretly digging into the first three U2 albums, the Alarm and then beyond into the musical hope that seemed to pour out of the speakers in those years.

Now tonight I'm reliving it. Hearing it and seeing it all unveiled suddenly in the music coming through the speakers. Just how important these guys were to me as a youth, the young searching noise maker not yet a musician, the dreamer, the angry teen I had become; well it cannot be understated. But even more it's how much they helped me survive a teen existence that I didn't at all understand. One that had hidden truths I wasn't even aware of. My past. My DNA. My drives. The very ones that are still with me to this very day. They were a voice for me before I'd even found my own.

It's been probably 15 years since I really listened to any of their records. The ones I devoured, ingested, smoked, drank and masturbated until I knew every note and beat on 'em. I had forgotten it all. Not anymore.

I remember a 16 year old. Gangly. Acned. Searching. Wondering. Fighting. Making hopeful noises. Faltering. Loud. Tripping. Green but earnest. Wanting a band of my own. A band I could shout with. My own gang. That young kid scrawled Alarm lyric on blank sheets, plastered them on his walls, shouted their choruses, breathed their records in and out, formed my own band, commandeered their energy, mixed it with the Clash and the Who, decided that I too was looking for someone to "get me out of here" and went and found her, landed back in the UK, found early fatherhood, still fighting, still not settling and finally, in a small club in California, I found myself face to face with one of them after blagging our way onstage as a last minute opener. The man himself, Mr. Dave Sharp, of "Across the Border", "One More River Still To Cross", and that piercing angled guitar sound. Suddenly I found him standing in my own garage, guitar in hand, ready to kick my arse into shape. Threatening to make me and Frankie Lee Drennen (now of Dead Rock West) a real band of heathen vagabonds who would know how to write a song and deliver it with all the verve and piss and vinegar of a punk band in our folk-fag punk-loving skins. He then proceeded to train these two young kids how to write a song, be in a band, tour and most importantly how to get a bottle open without an opener (Actually growling out "Do I have to teach you EVERYTHING?" as he popped it into the hotel door-jam. ...Actually used that one just last week at a John Doe show. Invaluable.)

Now, as I'm older, wiser in some ways, much dumber in others admittedly, their words still resonate deep inside me. The memory of that passion, earnest determination, and commitment to an ideal, so uncool with so many people now, sticks with me deep. Undeniably.

"The harder it fights
I'm one step closer to home
The deeper it bites
I'm one step closer to home
And you can tie my hands
or whip my back
I cant give in until the sky turns black
I may get lost
But I'm one step closer to home"
- The Alarm

Here's to the indie-smart-irony-lovers-of-fads that we all are remembering just how FUCKING GREAT that band was!

To The Alarm of Dave Sharp, Mike Peters, Eddie McDonald & Nigel Twist...I am forever in your debt.

: P

Blood inside

2009-08-18T19:36:00.000-07:00

I have blood in my veins I never knew. Almost nothing about it. Now I learn that this unknown blood was painter, singer, problem and troubled. This blood was creation misdirected. But it was creation.

It all makes sense now. Myself. My siblings. My kids.

Way too many years later.

*

Father's Land

2009-08-12T19:01:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I look out over the land my father tilled for 30 years. The soil has gone. Buried invisible. The greenhouses erased. Hand built frames long dismantled. Dad's self-wired fuse boxes just part of the local landfill now. The roses in the houses adjacent, and the chrysanthemums in his 4 great houses all gone. The carnations just a distant childhood memory. The cuttings long stopped. The sawdust deliveries over. The packing shed pulled down and the coolers sold off. The irrigation pipes pulled out, shattered and trashed. The two large boilers I would stare into as a child, uprooted and reclaimed by some other grower far from this area. The pipe glue long dried and the faint petrol smell floating over the beds from the tractor blown away by the ocean wind.

The land I look over is now planted with homes. Families. Automobiles. Garages full of boxes and stacked with lightly used tools. Bicycles, new and gleaming, lean against walls. A different kind of growth. An altered type of toil.

I know. You don't have to remind me.

Everything changes.

...

Dam breaks

2009-08-11T23:31:00.000-07:00

Evenings settle in slow
Life changes by the shades falling
Thinking no dams will burst tonight
No waterfalls will tumble over cliffs
No oceans will fill

And then,

The levy cracks wide
Pouring bottles of songs
All over the table
Spilling out onto scribbled napkins
Into anticipating hands
Slipping from waking throats
The little nugget we've been panning for

Gold
Simple
Spirit
Truth

The beast is awake again

Dusk in L.A.

2009-08-10T20:03:00.000-07:00

Dusk in a city garden
Always feels comforting
The silence of crickets
Mixed with traffic like soft ocean waves
Rolling in
Racing by
A street away
The overgrowth of bougainvillea enclosing the small space in safety
But opens up above
To guide eyes skyward
Into the growing dark orange of the clouds' underbellies
Moving like slow herds of skyward buffalo
Grazing on the deepening sunlight
The distant flash of wing lights on a small prop engine plane
Disappearing into the darkening orange
Then a motorcycle coming quiet in the distance
Growing into another plane engine meandering in close overhead
There is a soft breeze in the relaxing avocado branches
Resting now
Sun drenching over
And the crickets always there
Always there
in the growing dark

I am a city boy
But a farmer's son
And surrounded by garden
By life in soil
Breathing with me
Outside I know
Something is always going on
Always moving mechanized and searching
A seething human river
That I will rejoin
And with that knowledge
I feel at peace

Silence

2009-08-09T13:11:00.000-07:00

Silence
is the toughest thing to master

In a vouyeristic mind
The thought
That sparks
When emotion dictates
And knees respond
To the jerking
Of a word

But to not respond
On hands sitting
Floating in the silence
Of a word

Uprooted

2009-08-09T11:43:00.000-07:00

Confrontations
in us

Shake
Question
Uproot
the planted rows

Apprehensively buried
by a heart replowing

For the hope
of new growth

Early morning writer

2009-08-08T17:12:00.000-07:00

Early morning shot waking up at CHAOS studio - captured by Christopher Hoffee.

Those nights

2009-08-07T09:58:00.000-07:00

Some nights are stories to tell.

Some nights are a story that can never be told.

Then some nights, you wish you could remember that story

...just a little more clearly.

~

Tracks

2009-08-06T14:24:00.000-07:00

tire tracks
on wednesday morning
left motion

where only inertia spun

leaving
hope in action
proving

paradise

is exclusive
to an open heart

elusive

to those who wait
but not

those who act

A motley crew

2009-08-04T16:31:00.000-07:00

This photo was taken by the ever charming Gavin Lurssen who convinced us it was a good idea to capture these three guys in one of the rare times they have ever been seen together. And only a day before all three left on tour...separately. In case you don't know, the other two are old friends Frank Lee Drennen of Dead Rock West and Gregory Page, then there is yours truly.

That evening in Los Angeles, Gavin pulled out his fancy new camera to show us, we all made admiring noises and then glared when it seemed he was actually going to use it. He took the shot and we all went quiet. We looked at each other blankly uncomfortable, then just walked off in different directions...

The Daughter Chronicles

2009-07-24T14:00:00.000-07:00

Today's entry comes from my rock-journalist daughter Emma Dennis who has begun a new series on her time spent each week with the writer Paul Williams, founder of Crawdaddy Magazine and arguably rock journalism itself. He is a friend and an inspiration for her becoming a writer in the first place, but is suffering from the early onset of dementia as a result of a bicycling accident and unable any longer to write. It's a touching look at him through her young open eyes.

Emma's Whimsy In Dive Bars blog
/ *

Tour Hair

2009-07-23T01:40:00.000-07:00

Well, what do we get up to on tour? Some rockers have alot of sex, down bottles of Jack, and snort long lines from Bolivia, but not us apparently. We cut hair. At 2am. In the Best Western. And the resulting ton of hair I cut off Cady's shaggy head last week in Los Alamos, NM should net us a cool profit when I sell it in small glass vials.

Join me for dinner?

Last One Standing

2009-07-20T10:35:00.000-07:00

... so short. Home looms.

Last One Standing (mp3 7mb)

/

Some Lightning

2009-07-19T11:02:00.000-07:00

Are we headed east or west? I can't tell. Hopefully North to some cooler air.

Well while I bask in the South Western heat here's a Wirepony tour-ep track for you. It was all sold out in the hand packaging, so download away.

Some Lightning (mp3 9mb)

/

Cronkite

2009-07-18T16:52:00.000-07:00

Traveling. Found out about Walter Cronkite as we jumped into the van this morning. Tough writing my thoughts on this phone i'm forced to blog from but he was THE first television memory from my childhood.

We moved from England when I was little and my father, a grower, would work long hours but always try and make it home for dinner every evening. He'd walk in our little place up on the hill, crack open a beer and turn on the CBS evening news. I'd come sit beside him and together we'd learn about this new country we had come to and the happenings in the outside world. It was a bonding every evening with my trusted Uncle Walter. The voice you could trust. The other family member.

Around about 15 minutes in I'd ask for a sip of beer from my dad's can. Some nights he'd say yes and I'd try and get the biggest gulp I could snake before he took it away and other times he'd just say "not right now". Usually when my mom was around.

Together we'd watch Walter and learn. He was our friend. Our teacher. Our gathering point.

It was one of my saddest days when he retired and any time I saw him after that I was enthralled.

There was never any replacement for him. He was and remains the marker for integrity and the drive the be the best. To make the work count.

Thanks Uncle Walter from a little boy in a whole new world.

Eyes in B Flat

2009-07-18T11:24:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in the desert speeding to another night of musical debauchery. So, let's start off calmly with an unreleased demo from Wirepony

Eyes In B Flat (mp3 7mb)

/

Home Again...

2009-07-17T09:14:00.000-07:00

...and everything is in its right place.

...and to celebrate, how about another unreleased track from the "Spun" record on Cargo 1997:

Save A Rose (mp3 7mb)

/

Leaving or coming...?

2009-07-16T10:15:00.000-07:00

In the van again, ah. My mommy gave me a lift to the bus stop this morning to join the other kids for tour camp. She even shoved some lunch money in my hands cause I forgot my Scooby Doo lunch box. Isn't that sweet, but what year is this anyway?

Now wiping the sleep from my red eyes after what I was told was 800 people last night stuffed into the aquarium overlooking the ocean. Hmm. Think we scared the fish.

Now, we are planning the first food stop already. Had late breakfast with our San Diego posse. Poltz and waffles. What else?

So, I thought I'd post a little gift for those who didn't get this one on the last Wirepony tour while I doze in the backseat...

When Are You Coming Home (mp3 7mb)

/

Firing before considering

2009-07-15T11:41:00.000-07:00

You know, being a good gunfighter in the American West involved being quick with that pistol. Knowing how fast you could deliver the power of your Peacemaker 6-shooter and take down that bad guy (or good guy depending what side of the law you found yourself on). You had to be not only quick but quicker than the other guy. But to be a great gunfighter also took restraint. Knowing when NOT to shoot. Knowing when the cost was not worth the action. Not worth the initial satisfaction. You had to know when to keep the gun in the holster.

I'm not really sure what I think of blogging and posting songs sketches, prose ideas and random shots as they are happening. Sometimes it captures a great powerful moment, other times it can be a case of shooting the wrong guy before even thinking. That is, before I've had a chance to digest them and see whether I even stand by the sentiment or emotion. In the oven heat of the moment I may write something that I believe to be an absolute truth and that I feel oh so strongly. Four days later it might have nothing more to do with my actual outlook. It was exorcised. It was meant to only live a day, like a premature baby that breathes the air of the outside world, looks you squarely in the eyes, giving you a glimpse of the real truth in her face, and then quietly leaves you to live what you learned in that short moment. To deal with the results. Only for you. Like a moment of therapeutic realization and then it is over.

So, my question to myself is, does such a piece belong in the public forum on this site? Well, 3 of the 5 of you reading might say yes and the other 2 may see my predicament. I don't know that I can post so quickly again. Not sure because I also don't believe in too much editing of a moment. You begin to lose the heart of the matter and THEN where's the point in that?

Maybe I'm beginning to make the transition from a decent gunfighter to a good one. In time maybe I'll become a great one. I'll have to consider my aim a bit more carefully next time.

So instead, here's an old track that was never released when I was on Cargo records USA.

Taking Flight (mp3 7mb)

Enjoy. P

Night

2009-07-14T14:19:00.000-07:00

Heightened awareness and the warning lights go to yellow. She comes out of the cold mists waiting for the pounce. Staring cold ruinous eyes patient in their destruction. I ignore her. And as I fall deeply sleep it begins. A tornado taps on my window and begs alms for the poor. I say no, then relent because it's a tornado after all. It could do me some damage. Not giving my wallet just because I feel moved by anything other than a bit of fear for my face and the bed I lay in. I really don't like sleeping on splinters.

Tossing back and forth under the covers I ask Nigel to bring me some water. Glass bottle, Pellegrino. With ice. He ignores me. Bastard. Still she waits for the pounce.

I hear the car coming over the hill. Motor loud and Aston Martin lively. I am speeding down the grade heading for my bedroom window. Screaming "hallowed by thy name" at the top of my lungs as I hit the flower patch she is hiding in and a puff of smoke rises. I missed. I was attempting to give her a lift. Or was I?

I toss and wake up asking Nigel for that water again. He still ignores me. What the hell is he doing?

Now without warning, she spikes her heal into my back, swinging from a pole and down into the raging torrent of weather that surrounds me. Suddenly, she reaches out a hand, looks kindly for a moment, and gently wraps a bandage around my injured leg. She tells me of peaceful moments. Ones that I must truly want deep within me. Ones that only she can show me. A peace she wants more than anything. Then a call comes in on the rotary phone and she turns into a high setting blender, shows her spinning teeth and dives at me. I maneuver my tank out into the open eye of the storm. Freeing the tangled trees from my tracks. Getting clear and preparing for battle. She will never best me. She reaches out spiny arms and slaps me. The lawsuit feels oddly good across the face. It doesn't hurt like my chains around her legs must, tying her tightly closed. Sealed to the outside world.

I awake again and shout at Nigel for the fucking water. He stares but doesn't answer. I give up and fall back asleep. He will be fired in the morning.

Now I am in math class and the lights are too dim to see the chalk board where my test is taking place. If I understand this equation, I get the sums correct, I will be released for recess and never have to come back to this god awful stench of a jail cell. But I WANT the answer. I crave the answer, the formula, the relief of knowing how to get there. I reach out to touch the scratches on the board and feel my way toward enlightenment. Just then her riding crop swings from the shadows and bites into my hand like a wet snake. I turn to sting her back. I'm not done here yet. She turns into a fruit tart and falls to the floor.

I awake again. But this time, I am not home. I am never home. I am in a wide open courtyard surrounded by pepper trees and high clay walls. The scent of jasmine hangs like a thick fog in the air before scowling and turning to head off to the kitchens. I lay still knowing she is near. I can hear her covered growl. Her games await. And I toss again.

Nigel! Answer me you bastard. I have something I need you to write down...

Hummy hummy tune

2009-07-10T23:35:00.000-07:00

Testing the recording gear, trying to find a particularly bothersome buzzy buzzy hum of a hum somewhere in the wiring a little hummy hummy tune came to mind and the vision of a portly bear with his inquisitive head stuck deep in a honey pot looking for the hummy hummy sound in the bottom of the sticky pot...and this popped out.

Hummy Hummy (mp3 3.5mb)

/

Behind locked doors

2009-07-10T11:21:00.000-07:00

The separation begins
Silent and stealthy
Working like a snake behind rotting wood
The rickety old doors closed and locked between us
Padlocked from view
right out in the open

Understanding
...nothing

Limiting
...all

And the key swallowed
Now the waiting begins.

Get thee Behind me Curmudgeon

2009-07-07T22:51:00.000-07:00

WHAT a blow hard! That last post even made ME wonder about MYSELF. Opinionated so and so!

SO, in order to make amends to myself and, frankly, all of you who bothered to read the last crap post, I have set myself the task of setting up a rather ingenious little recording outfit using all I have at hand. A couple of small tube amps, a selection of boutique pedals, an old 4-track reel to reel I bought for $15 all set up on the closest table tops I can find. Time to stop bitching and start slinging my own hammer. Limitations my friends. Songs. And teaching myself to shut up and get down to work. I'll post as I go.

Meanwhile, I HAVE to tell you about THIS one! My brother, Atom (Cady Truckee) has just released an AMAZING new track...

Cholita
&
Friends Fur Life

Dialogue Then and Now.

2009-07-01T22:55:00.000-07:00

Movies. Old ones. The angles. The dialogue. Oh the Dialogue. Like the William Faulkner written screenplay from the Raymond Chandler novel starring Bogart and Bacall in "The Big Sleep" from 1946 (actually shot in 1944 but held til '46 in favour of war films being rush released before the end of both the European and the Pacific wars.). One of the top 10 in any sane person's film dialog list. Damn. Amazing lines. And the sex oozing out of the two. ...makes me want to become a private dick...I mean detective.

Why can't writers write like that anymore? Huh? At least I'm not seeing many of them hanging around our movie studios and certainly not at the TV production houses. Do we have to get less adroit at the slice and parry with each generation? If the reality television has anything to do with it I'd say so. Or do they just not let those talents in the door anymore? They might be too much for our mealy minds to take, trained to suck up cheaper "reality" instead.

Well like, don't look at me! I'm obviously primed to be a grumpy old man frowning on everything that ain't top quality. Is it wrong to want to see and hear true impassioned thought? A commitment to challenging an art form? Not just mediocrity poured over yesterday's curdled milk. Somebody take the remote out of my hands...!

Nuts & Bolts

2009-06-27T10:18:00.000-07:00

Had a dream early this morning. Remembering all my dreams lately. Kinda sending me a bit loopy. I really need the film in my head to turn off. Close the festival early and take a 2 week holiday. But this one had to do with me moving this week. And as it happens, I actually am. The kids have a great new house to roam around in (well more like a large shoebox really but I AM a songwriter so...), but there's ALOT to do and I'm just the man to head the work team. So, in my dream the entire "moving party" shows up including the mighty Cady/Hoffee and tour manager Modl, who for some strange reason, is not running things efficiently but is just hanging in the shadows. Perhaps because I was the "leader" (insert silly voice) in this enterprise. Well anyway, I needed a special screw and bolt to repair something. Some piece of furniture, cabinetry, door. I never knew or told myself. So, having assembled the team in a late night bar (!?!), I march us out of there and into the next door lumber store for the much needed screws. Standing in the old circa 70's shop, supplies stored behind the slightly dusty counter as well as the owner himself and his slow impatient assistant serving me...slowly. So I'm standing there going through nuts and bots in the boxes and in my brain trying to find just the right combination. The details of which I had forgotten to bring with me (Of course!). My "crew" is standing with me at the counter just talking loudly amongst themselves occasionally prodding me to hurry up, along with the store assistant who wants to close and go home. (Beginning to wonder if this is that tour stop in Arkansas being replayed with me looking for tools in a very small town shop while the van waited and the locals stared...??). In the confused noise I hear someone say "Hey Steve" and someone answers back "Hey". I keep on with my mission not paying attention til it suddenly registers in my screw addled brain and I turn around. There in the flesh, carrying his walking smile and his suitcases, straight from his plane flight from Australia was Poltz! From airport direct to the lumber store he was there ready to pitch in with the move. I throw my arms around him and give him a great big surprised and long over due hug. My brother in life. My friend. My compadre.

I think I really miss Steve Poltz.

Entertainment, stress and thoughts of commercial suicide

2009-06-25T22:00:00.000-07:00

Rather attention getting title I admit.

Well, these last months with the economic conditions becoming increasingly challenging for all of my friends in the arts, all of us in every sector of the working world, the increased bureaucracy of fees, penalties, calls and bills firing away at us as the highest corporate levels are panicking, our stress is growing. World wide conflicts that make us feel pain, rage, hope and fear for our brothers and sisters in places like Iran and the African Congo, Somalia and Niger compound the weight. Some days just feel downright overwhelming trying to process and emotionally take it all in. You look, even pray, for a moment that'll allow you to step out of the river's force just for a short while. Just to catch your breath.

But how?

I don't really know. Do you? Get off the internet? Shut off the twitter? Delete the MySpace and FaceBook (well, I did)? Maybe. Hug someone? Create something? Find a little entertainment? Write a song?

I stopped writing songs for a couple months thinking that a more practical approach was called for. After all it's only entertainment. Get out there and do what your great-grandfather had to do and gather that "scrap metal". Push that "other" stuff you do. The "money" stuff. But that only resulted in a collapse of my spirit from within and didn't help my empty pocket any either. Then, I thought I should get a little help. Everyone seems to have a therapist. Some swear by 'em. Maybe I should get one and fix this stuff from the inside. And you know, everyone has an opinion. Some folks can be downright insightful. But still it kept coming back to one thing. Once again it came back for me to the songs.

Like a lot of us, songs have kept me alive since I was 13 years old. A stranger's voice speaking my thoughts, my frustrations, my joys until they became my brother, my sister, my parent. Me scrawling lyric and band names on my school books, my clothes, my bedroom walls (What, you didn't do that?). Then I started trying my hand at it. Rough at first, but immediately exciting, energizing my young gangly body until the song began to become a part of my DNA. It made me want to survive the minefield and continue the search for something simple. Something honest. Something joyful. It also gave me a place to put my anger. Even now, if no-one hears the daily results of my writing it doesn't matter. Only the songs do. The journey. It soothes my soul.

So now, with 80+ sketches sitting in the demo box waiting to be squeezed, tightened, scribbled over, and finally recorded, I feel it is time to get back to work. "I'm gonna play this song even if nobody comes" (the Waterboys). Those words celebrate for me that I GET to do this thing! I have been blessed to be a part of some great musical moments, my compatriot brothers and sisters, generous supporters who love the music I've been a part of and the bands I've been in and fans who have become friends. What a great world. What a great life. On to top it off I have been allowed to be there watching three young kids grow into creative powerhouses of their own. I am a very grateful man.

On Todd Snider's latest record he says (and makes me laugh my ass off hearing it) "...the pinnacle of success was when you finally lost interest in money, compliments and publicity. Know I need a lot more of all three before I have the nerve to turn up my nose though..."

Well, I can't afford to turn up my nose yet, and there's a lot more still to do. Songs seem to be my crazy impassioned way of contributing something to this world we live in and these tough times. Whether I can afford to or not isn't even a choice. It's a must. And for those of you pushing me, waiting patiently and hanging out along the way I am grateful for every bit of your camaraderie. So let's just spend a little passion while we are at it and say f*ck the stresses. It's all about the creation ain't it?

See you on the hunt. : P

Iran, brothers and sisters

2009-06-19T12:10:00.000-07:00

Today all I can write are my thoughts of those who have stepped out into danger to speak their own voice. Who will tomorrow meet in protest of their own government facing the rumor of guns and crack downs and knowing of disappearances, deaths and "questioning" already of political workers, art students and outspoken voices. Their cell phones cut. Their lives potentially threatened. Connection with the world outside their borders thin and only possible through seemingly frivolously comical technology like twitter which brings proof of our human determination to use whatever we can to break free of oppression and intolerance from our own.

Thank the efforts of hackers all over the world for keeping these lines and servers from Iran open. If we can help the hackers, we should. If we can spread the word, we should. If we can support in any way, we should. This is people to people, not government to government. This is the truth and the danger of democracy. The cost and the true power. Humanity, not rhetoric. Not political positioning, These people are our brothers and sisters and we owe them our awe and respect facing what we have never have had to. They will step out into the possibility of deadly confrontation in for speaking their minds. We must pick up the pressure in the next 24 hours to make it clear that we are watching and will be there alongside them in spirit.

In the time it has taken me to write this entry (5 minutes), 937 more tweets about #iranelection have been posted with news, articles, video, feeds and more.

None of this will go unnoticed.

Updates about Iran on Twitter
-> ...and here
/
From Iranian blogger on the eve of the protest | original in Farsi
/

Another soul online to the stars

2009-06-18T14:29:00.000-07:00

stars that ring like sparrows
and roam my dreams
in the bones of the shatter,

The press of the lips
tipped up to resist
making it matter
matter in me like inspired consult
result in me like open revolt
facing down the barrel
in an act for something better
an open letter to the life of love
and everything above

above you and me
.

Sparking up

2009-06-18T10:46:00.000-07:00

Waking up hungry today, grooving to my little Cholita chomping Cholula en huevos con gringo de Inglaterra (that would be my secret recipe and, nope, no boiled meat kids.). Some days your mates hand you your morning spark with a wink and a wicked grin and damn if it doesn't taste good. Arms in the air. Everybody shout. Whoop!

Being is change...

2009-06-17T11:00:00.002-07:00

"Nothing is yet in its true form."

- C.S. Lewis "Until We Have Faces"

Form

2009-06-17T11:00:00.001-07:00

"Nothing is yet in its true form."

- C.S. Lewis "Until We Have Faces"

Twelve gems a tasting

2009-06-16T22:57:00.000-07:00

The tray lay before me, filled to overflowing. Glorious green glass gems. Reachable rocks I'd never tasted. Hadn't had in my mouth. Ever. So, I had to try...didn't I?

Ah, Gaston!

2009-06-11T15:08:00.001-07:00

The sudden sight of roadside eats cheers you just as hunger crawls into the belly like a ravenous snake. Then you see there's no building. Nothing there at all. No home cooked meal. No salvation. Just a long, empty lot underneath the taunt of the age'd signage. And vegetables. Fields of unripe, uneatable, unknowable greenery stretching as far as you can see. Not a pad of butter in sight.

Onward James, and don't spare the horses!....in fact, their equine selves are looking kinda tasty...

White Stallion?

2009-06-09T16:09:00.001-07:00

Isn't that the band I'm in...?

For another world

2009-06-07T13:17:00.001-07:00

"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." - C.S. Lewis

Wirepony dandy at work

2009-06-06T10:06:00.002-07:00

A photo session shot late night at the studio of Phil Defalco in support of Wirepony's Fall tour and new website launch. All while studying up in preparation for the next record with the writings of Dumas. Obviously, they are already having a strange effect on me.

Born and...

2009-06-05T10:00:00.002-07:00

"Do you remember being born?"

"No, But I remember Dyeing."

Hungry?

2009-06-04T11:42:00.002-07:00

Hembur(b)gers and "Qesadillas" always make me very "excited". Hey Modl, you fill the tank and I'll grab the menudo.

Some questions...

2009-06-03T11:00:00.002-07:00

...just make me more confused. Does anybody know where we're going!?!

Traveling lights

2009-06-02T11:00:00.002-07:00

Undressed, beyond any essence
of these bones
that hide within, beneath my skin

Traveling lights shed on me
memory-tones
Up here, in the sky thin air

Like a freedom we can see,
for miles.

Transmute

2009-06-01T14:04:00.002-07:00

On impact, a crush, a flash, then
sharp,
a sting,

I transmute
into breath, a fierce wind
Out of the shadows,
A light meteor shower
On a bare head
The older hours remembering
Youth's stretch
With a minimalism
That youth could never dream
of
reaching

Always looking for an ...

2009-06-01T12:28:00.002-07:00

...in case of fire
between us

Cooling the Fire

2009-05-31T19:06:00.002-07:00

Repacking 20 + years of books full of my personal writing and scribble sketches getting ready to box 'em up, move 'em out and toss the rubbish. Can lead to a long, rough, emotional day. The kind you want to roll up, crush down and stuff in the full trash can parked out on the curb. Just be shot of it. Get yourself sauced and try again tomorrow. Pick up another day "down the pub" and take it home for a good rogering.

Then without warning you lay your hands on a bound tome and peeling it open land right on this page. The fires cool and the frustrations dissipate as the page gives you a good shaking and a simple quote from a three year old girl that makes you think for a minute before you start to "...open this up in your mind".

Kids can drive you insane with frustration, and then...they'll make you smile without even trying

Traces of a Legacy . . .

2009-05-30T16:59:00.002-07:00

. . . One night's dirt waiting for daylight.

From The Window

2009-05-29T13:11:00.002-07:00

One of my favorite sites on the tarmac trail. So familiar this sight, especially along the Southern routes. Something about little boys and box cars, I'm sure.

There's sixteen cars behind each engine
I ride the last one to the end of the line
I don't know where I'm going or where I'll wind up
Just anything to ease my worried mind
- "Mr Engineer"

Kook(s)...

2009-05-27T20:09:00.002-07:00

Hmm. Maybe too much David Bowie? Ziggy Stardust was on this weekend, so...

Another Gone Day

2009-05-25T19:12:00.002-07:00

I feel like I am sparked to write one of these more often about someone I have only known briefly but who's influence was immense on me. And they seem to crawl like beached Marines closer and closer to me and my own age. Friends, comrades, strangers. In my universe a part of the fabric of my own song has left the building. Jay Bennett.

It sparks memories of stage lights, dank clubs, a musician, a drunken melodian, undeniably brilliant, pedantic in the moment, cantankerous, self focused, powerful in his craft and his respect for that craft, his reverential regard for Woody Guthrie, his consumption of beer bottles (lots of 'em). Insisting that the Woody lyric be done right this time. Start over damnit. Gracious? Not so much. Talent. Immense. Annoyingly immense. Rough alcohol wasted voice. Truth in his notes. Such truth. A master craftsman of the highest order. Elegant in his note structure. Gone. Looking for the answers he didn't find here. For Jay. Part of the fabric now. Thank you for everything.

*This is an official photo possibly shot by Sam Jones but I am not certain. It is not one of mine, however, and would appreciate of anyone knows the correct photo credit.

Beck in Black

2009-05-24T12:21:00.002-07:00

So I'm a bit slow on the uptake. I know the history. I've heard the tunes. I appreciate the contribution. I know his "importance" But now I HEAR it! Jeff Beck's guitar has finally started talking to ME. The voice coming at me suddenly gripped and grabbed my gut. Told me something about his life, his humanity. The Beck's touch slight, controlled and intense. His band breathing with him in and out as complete as tantric connection. Had me immediately phoning my guitar slinging son who, turns out, is already "there" way ahead of his pop. Probably been working on Jeff licks for months, the talented bugger.

...Only took an induction into the rock n roll hall of fame for me to get on that train!

*The views expressed above in no way have anything whatsoever to do with the black and white photo of the California pines included in this post. The royal "we" acknowledge the oddity and incongruity of the two and embrace it like a bee hive to a bear's chest.

Moving Still

2009-05-22T12:50:00.002-07:00

This desert tarmac shot and an old French proverb says it all today for this travel trained and stained musician resting his legs for the Summer. "The stable wears out a horse more than the road."