During a long slog across the Bay Bridge, ebolabuddha member Plague and I had an extended conversation about audio engineering, aesthetic choices, and historical perspective. Really good stuff. During the silent parts of the ride, I thought about our appearance at Music City as in essence being some kind of ritual act. Not so much a show, but more a small group of people in a room together, focusing intention.
After finally making it over to Polk and Bush, Eli, Lorenzo, Steve, and Jaroba were there to welcome us. We pretty much started our sound ritual right away. Things got kind of crazed. Jaroba led us with some trance baritone sax sounds, Steve and Lorenzo played spidery riffs on acoustic guitars, Eli pounded a bass drum, Plague wore a chain, I played a floor tom. All of this was, of course, accompanied by us and few other people reading from assorted texts. I stuck to my beloved Ovid.
Things got crazed and odd, that's for sure. I recall beating the tom tom with a shaker, which gave me a cut on a finger. I recall Plague chanting about a deceased frog. I recall Eli shouting out texts. Good times!
After a while, Eli signaled us to stop. We stopped. The overhead lights came on. Our ritual had ended. Driving home, Plague and I listened to Funk on KFPA and I drove without regard for the rules of the road, at least on the streets of SF. Perhaps my intentions had been rewarded with some kind of grace.
Below: gear used, and a mystery photo snapped inadvertently
After finally making it over to Polk and Bush, Eli, Lorenzo, Steve, and Jaroba were there to welcome us. We pretty much started our sound ritual right away. Things got kind of crazed. Jaroba led us with some trance baritone sax sounds, Steve and Lorenzo played spidery riffs on acoustic guitars, Eli pounded a bass drum, Plague wore a chain, I played a floor tom. All of this was, of course, accompanied by us and few other people reading from assorted texts. I stuck to my beloved Ovid.
Things got crazed and odd, that's for sure. I recall beating the tom tom with a shaker, which gave me a cut on a finger. I recall Plague chanting about a deceased frog. I recall Eli shouting out texts. Good times!
After a while, Eli signaled us to stop. We stopped. The overhead lights came on. Our ritual had ended. Driving home, Plague and I listened to Funk on KFPA and I drove without regard for the rules of the road, at least on the streets of SF. Perhaps my intentions had been rewarded with some kind of grace.
Below: gear used, and a mystery photo snapped inadvertently
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