The melt tune was essentially in the bag, as was blister, as was strange, as was teenage werewolf, as was down under, as was picasso, as was caress, and as was minnesoter by the dandy Dandy Warhols. Essentially. Eight tunes in all, a tight set, prolly 45 minutes of music to refine and shine and make whole. Workshopping, woodshedding, callouses and apathy, fighting through. To the other side of hate, where performance art glows.
We didn't create any of these tunes, but we will perform them to Pablo Picasso Project perfection. An undetected sound from out there to in here. It will all make sense in the end. There will be no encores, everything is an encore in a supergroup. Our processes are tested, the music is right, the hang is tight, it's Wednesday night.
Space is top of mind, adding drums and microphones and obsession and success is another level of commitment. Any band can wear out a welcome anywhere, it's to be expected. Even Hunter S. Thompson needed his peace, more than most know from my research. Space, space, space. The folks need space, as do the punks.
