We are back in Oregon now! After things went seriously south in the Southland, I headed back up to the dreary old Northwest and rented a duplex in southeast Portland with my brother. We called it Skypad and it was good. I had an attic space with no closet and a highly sketchy staircase down to the second floor (even I had to duck my head at the bottom) and an even sketchier fire escape staircase. But there was room for all of my musical instruments, a futon, a thrift-store stereo, my mimeograph equipment, etc.
I got in contact with (T.S.) Sean Brooks of Minmae fame, a talented writer and multi-instrumentalist, and we arranged ourselves into multiple band permutations, played at dives like It's a Beautiful Pizza and the Ash Street Saloon and, somehow, the original Stumptown Coffee. But more importantly, we played this show in Sean's basement at Kelly Haus. My garage-sale Hilgen amp was cranked and myfriends were screaming and my guitar wouldn't stay in tune and it was great. Sean eventually headed out to Berlin and continues to write elusive and beautiful music.
What was the song about? Well, still confusing, but it's mostly about playing Ethiopian Groove: The Golden Seventies in your Geo Metro in dark Southern Californian nights when you are doing something you should not be doing with someone you should not be doing it with, that weird mixture of nostalgia and intense regret, a short sharp transitory sadness. Oof.
