My latest installment for PHX SUX’s local music review column, Rock Blotter, takes a look at the haunting sounds of Willetta’s “Frisson” EP. It also talks about Iranian art cinema because that’s just how I roll.
Starting today at Arcosanti is the 2017 incarnation of the FORM Festival (featuring acts like Hundred Waters, Deafheaven, Father John Misty, Solange, and many more). Here’s a feature I wrote about the fest for Phoenix New Times.
Phoenix New Times: Don’t Expect Fyre Festival Drama at FORM Arcosanti
My latest piece for the fine folks at PHX SUX. A few weeks ago I went down to Seattle to visit some old friends and to enjoy a change of scenery. While I was there I had a fantastic time (Seattle is an extraordinary city) that also served as a reminder about what the best part of living in Phoenix is.
I’ll give you a hint: It’s not the weather.
On Monday night I went to the Marquee (my least favorite venue in Arizona, to put it mildly) and saw Echo & the Bunnymen (w/opening act Jennie Vee). Here’s my review of the show for PHX SUX.
I can taste blood
in the syllables of your name
as it rolls off my tongue.
Its sharp vowels chips teeth
and leaves tears in my gums.
Every time I see your face
I feel a small death
rattling in my lungs.
I have to laugh
to get it out of me.
Your name was written
on the tombstones of every grave
I saw in the cemetery
I used to hide in as a child,
reading Stephen King in the grass
and wondering if the flowers
that sprouted from the dirt beds
drank dead memories up through their roots.
I would pluck daisies, forget-me-nots, and roses
from the grave soil,
imagine souls disintegrating in my hands
as I pulled out all their petals.
All those flower heads,
stripped of their petals,
looked like you.
I can’t read your name
without thinking of Sundays
spent at your house in Union Hills,
next to a strip club named after a candy store
that I thought was a candy store…
until my hormones told me that it WAS a candy store,
just not the kind they give you at the end of October.
We would read comics- Spawn and The Maxx.
I’d rest my feet on your pit bull
while you let me play Sonic The Hedgehog
on your Genesis.
You chain-smoked on the porch,
signing your name in curlicues of nicotine.
You drank a 2 liter of coke every day
and never gained an ounce.
You gave me everything-
but you never gave me that.
I can’t think of your name
clouds of dust
kicked up by a speeding car;
an airplane vanishing beyond the horizon;
an empty doghouse;
a Sega on a Goodwill rack;
a piece of mail
with no return address.
Your name gives me
from secondhand nostalgia.
Your name clings to the leather
of my car seats
and cuts lines into my face.
Your name is a dead currency
that can’t buy me anything.
Your name gave me
plus some change.
Perhaps it’s greedy of me
to ask for more.
Wherever you are,
I wonder what you taste
when you say my name.
I hope it’s sweet.
That’s all I can hope for you
It was so hot today that Satan banned all of his demons from working in Phoenix, citing “unsafe and inhumane working conditions”.
It was so hot today that Slip N Slides turned into Scald N Screams.
It was so hot today that Buddhist monks started making mandalas out of ice cream to better convey the suffering and pointlessness of human existence.
It was so hot today that Jesus refused to take the wheel: He wasn’t about to pile third degree burns on top of his stigmata!
It was so hot today that volcano cultists sacrificed virgins by pushing them into Phoenician hot tubs.