Here are some demos I did while living in Copenhagen under the pseudonym “Lord Gay”. You might ask, “Why is the Lord Gay?”. I don’t really have an answer to that because I thought of it while walking. Imagine…”Lord Gay and His Homophobes” hitting the stage. The outrage! Protestors are already trying to form an opinion on why they should boycott future performances and ban the band from playing somewhere near you.

Lord Gay’s mission was to work on songwriting skills, play all instruments, and do the best “he” could with the tools available. The biggest hurdle was getting over the singing anxieties. I still think his voice is weak and pitchy but fuck it, it’s good enough. I try to sing like no one is listening (because no one is) and I’m comfortable with these limitations. I had spent a few all-nighters at the rehearsal room down in Sydhavn or as I would frequently misspell the name, Syndhavn, translating to “Harbour of Sin” also known as my heaven on earth.

I was lucky to have access to a room with so many instruments and equipment. My weapons of sound were a white telecaster through a 15-watt single speaker fender amp and a yamaha bass through a huge cab. An assorted palette of effects pedals helped shape color on over-dubs. Most songs I would track the guitar for an arrangement and build it up from there. When it feels OK, I go all in, hemorrhaging my heart and embracing the process. The long bicycles rides to and fro gave me an opportunity to meditate, relax, and reflect on the process of soul mining.

These tracks represent a vision of what is possible when you give mr. gaylord a small tool box. Garageband preview handled all the tracking, my ears guided the engineering where everything was recorded using a built-in laptop microphone. Mixing was about finding a happy medium between headphones and my girlfriends speakers to try and make good shit.

These days Lord Gay is still looking for a reason to keep on believin’ … but you can help with a series of small donations, just call 1-800-LOR-DGAY today.




We all need a reason to get out of bed in the morning.

Today’s reason, I’m tired of feeling tired. I get so lost sometimes, I don’t know how… but it happens like a bad habit. Assessing and reassessing my situation, planning for the unknown.

What should I be doing? Am I standing still? I think the solution is to do what feels right but when day light creeps in through the window it’s a reminder that work needs to be done, money has to be made, and a stomach needs its feeding. As I pour through empty thoughts from last night I’m wondering… do I get enough sleep? do I sleep too much? what happened to time? I think back to a time when I didn’t need to ask these questions… the flight towards Amsterdam, just before dawn with a buzz from Krakow. I’ve got a small bag, some clothing, a notebook, camera, iPod, savings and no responsibilities. Destiny pulls me in any and every direction.

From a bird’s eye view, Amsterdam looks like a plaid sweater sewn into the earth. The kind of sweater no one buys, an ugly blue/green/grey that ends up forgotten in a thrift store. As the plane touches down I feel an overflowing sense of time from my pockets, I’m twelve hours early for my meeting and I can splurge on a good meal, a cheap Heineken, and a long nap.

I exit central station and march through the caverns of a commercial district. The shopping center is littered with souvenir stores and coffee shops. Every so often, you hit a square that is surrounded by a big clock-tower, a church, and a crowd of tourists aiming their lenses at these massive architectures. I follow the canals to the next point of interest. The canals are unique to the city like the imperfections of ladies leg with varicose veins, scars, and cellulite. The air is damp, with the occasional gust of grease or hypnotizing scent of sweets. The energy of the people feels familiar with faces from all across the globe; a small scale manhattan wearing a european fashion brand. You could call it “a touch of dutch”.

It rained everyday but the rain was ok. There were many times of wet rain, the rain that really gets you wet, but that was ok too. The only exception to my high tolerance of discomfort was when moisture had soaked through my socks and into my skin. With each step, I began to think like I might be able walk on water. The seriousness of the situation had escalated to code red when I could not absorb any more water. Just one more pint and osmosis would beset me. So, I had to seek sanctuary from the showers. By good luck, I had an audience with an old high school mate. We got to know each other riding the F train and sharing the occasional lunch during our adolescence. Years had passed us but nothing much had changed. Having secured a roof over my head I’m not looking to spend money, just looking for a good time. It’s a nice way to live in the big city as a small timer. I’ve experienced new tastes, spread good nature, and made sense of myself.

When I met my friend, I foresaw adventure and light hearted trouble. If you could imagine two old pals riding a shotty bike through town, swerving in and out of traffic making animal noises and heavy metal screams than you can imagine the joy of letting loose in a strange land. I could’ve cared less if a police man reprimanded us for driving recklessly and the heckling at no one in particular. We were wild and very much alive… like birds in the rain, circling around, close to the ground. When we weren’t chowing down over-priced burgers in de Pijps or socializing at the pubs and clubs we stayed home and relaxed with cable televisions all-day Simpsons marathon.

Riding 2nd class on a bike is just another way to get around the city. Or you could walk… because it’s free. So I walked everywhere, in times of rain and shine. Well, what to do in Amsterdam. Do drugs and fuck a hooker. I couldn’t afford to spend money on the museums or the hookers so I spoiled myself with a joint. At 3 euros, it seemed like the most fun I could have. I thought I would smoke a joint, walk around, observe and write. If and when I got the munchies, I would eat something nice.

“Walking through the streets of Amsterdam where no one gives a damn. My senses are shocked as far as the eye can see, but it goes further. It gets darker, over here you can get away with murder. The kind of place, like living in a day dream. I’m not busy with anything, I’m not occupied. Just thinking presently. I’m a cowboy in the streets seeing everything as it seems. Walking through the fire, the gateways into new senses. A city inspiring the dark sides. Resisting temptations, challenging morals. Where do you stand? Here and there, where is your line and how far will you push it? In this moment I do not see. But only feel, a sense that is not real. Here I am, writing away and what do i have to say. Is there anything I want to say? Just writing and writing away. I think about it. But I don’t. What do I say, what do I say? I can say anything, everything, whatever I want. So I write and write.. it’s alright, then I read again. This voice in my head. Writing whatever I have to say. It says anything. It says whatever it wants to say. It does anything, anything it wants to say. Noise, sounds, and visions. How the hell is this happening. I’m whatever I want to be!”

The most vivid experience is seeing women sold as commerce. Red-light women market themselves like chops of meat at a butcher. You got filet mignon, porter-house, ground-beef. There’s a disconnection when snake eyes tempt you to the dark side. The whole scene is curious, empty, and a bit uncomfortable. For those frequenting, flirting back and forth, they haven’t a problem doing business with the stutes. I cannot take it all so seriously. It all seems so unreal, a false sense of reality. Some of these women are gorgeous, others are trash… I’m intrigued by the scene and walk around. I think what the hell is going on here. I observe the sex machine. Prostitution is a career choice that revolves around the beauty and mystery of women. I can’t remember how many times I’ve heard the phrase “sex sells”. Pleasure is big business here and I imagine all around the world. Since the beginning of all desires, men are drawn to the nature of women. It has inspired so much passion, action, and creation. Is there any shame in buying a prostitute? I had to ask this question and agreed that you would have to live with that dehumanizing feeling. These women are human people, mothers, sisters, and others. Primordial pleasures should be treated with a bit of sanctity. When you eat, eat presently with appreciation for the many flavors in every bite. When you make love, be present, respect, and appreciate your woman. You could say “well, fuck that”. And well… that’s just like… your opinion.

It all seemed so chaotic, all the people, the tourists, the locals. The city center is really on a hustle. I think about what do most people want? All those people on the street, at the supermarkets and at the cafes? I think everyone just wants peace, some kind of shelter, food on the table, and to feel loved. My crush of love came while eating french fries with mayonnaise, some lady had the gall of telling me I’d die of a heart attack. Well… I guess. Consuming two weeks of fat in two minutes might cause mild traffic in the arteries but this is a one and done deal. She also babbled that I’d better watch out for thieves. Well.. I guess. I was more preoccupied with trying decadent dutch pastries from the one and only dutch oven. I recommend everyone grabbing a piece of dutch honesty.

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Things ain’t shitty these days, I got Prague legs from walking this city. That’s the way to do it. Walk around, reconnect, and feel at home in another city. The choirs are singing, people are thinking. Everyone, smoking away, everyday. The history is overwhelming my mind, I think through the ages, from the beginning of this city till now, every single face experiencing the same place at distinct moments. When you see that, you think crazy, how’s it gonna be? twenty years from now, two hundred years from now, twenty thousand years, two billion years. Destiny takes hold of me and I meet the right people at the right time. I meet a devoted friend on Karluv Most, it has been 5 months since we’ve seen each other face to face and we pick up right where we left off, “how you doing”, “good”,”good”. We begin walking and talking, heading towards the location of our host for the next two nights. When we arrive at Holečkova, we are greeted by Layla, a free-spirited young girl living in a flat with artists and musicians who are living for now with no interest in dirty dishes. We’re offered a mattress, fresh tea, and strike up conversation about life in Prague, the job opportunities and rich music communities. We’re given suggestions on what to do and where to go so begins our Old City journey. We take the tram to Narodni and make a pit stop at 5 Star Pizza Kebab, an ordinary looking joint where the kebab is unquestionably the best in Prague. We are in good spirits and energy levels rise to excitement, and as those scientologists say, excitement attracts excitement . We hop through countless themes, traditional czech bars, trendy crap, student cafes, a russian vodka club, until we get to Sherlock’s and things start happening. There’s a jam session going down and the big guns are out. The players are ferocious, armed with weapons of mass intensity. The beat hops around with a bounce accompanied by a funked up bass, each soloist gets the reaction they deserve, ranging from a golf claps to a whistle, holler, and a hoot. The night is young and already a plethora of moments take my breath away. Drink up more absinthe and down more czech beer. By now, the music is red hot when flat-mate Tomas appears out of the blue. Everything is “fucking brilliant” with him and many laughs are had. The tone is set. We grab another kebab at Five Star, a beer for the road, and march uphill to Holečkova.

Waking up in a new city, feeling like a million bucks, I’m ready to explore every dirty nook and cranny. To supplement the good vibration, summer greets us in late October, the weather saturates the mood of the place and life is good. With a bread n’ cheese breakfast on the bridge we take off to the National Gallery on foot and pass dozens of faces, among the flock are; young students on school trip, asians on invasion, seniors checking off their bucket lists, couples on a romantic getaway, and me, a man without a plan just coming and going. Carrying on to the Slav Epic, I cannot handle how one man could produce a series of work of such magnitude. The paintings delve into slavic history and folklore with a dream-like interpretation that communicates truths beyond space and time. The exhibition touches on deep rooted emotions and it’s epicness is unparallel to any other historical paintings I’ve ever seen. You are consumed into Mucha’s world. A world that lasts eternally. The only escape was the force of hunger, a call we were reluctant to answer but did so out of necessity and curiosity for local cuisine. That’s when we found Lokal, slav food on Dlouha, where you can get your meat n potatoes with a fresh, cold pint. It’s tough to fuck up meat and potatoes but, to master it with simplicity is another level of enjoyment on either side of the kitchen. After having our fill we set out to find the Metronome. We were told that it’s the best view of the city and it lived up to the hype. It is the burial ground for the largest Stalin monument with a damned good view. Today, Uncle Joe is long gone… now, it is a chill zone and the site of a huge fucking metronome where you can measure how long you can stay high on life. Slowly but surely, day turns into night and we catch wind about what is happening tonight. It’s happening at Cross, a multi-level music venue with different themes on each floor. What was once an underground basement club had now turned into an art installation fun house. There’s heavy metal music coming from random corners, ska night happening in a basement turned steam-punk bar, and the junkies are bottom floor in a dodgy drum n bass room keeping danger alive. The word of the bird is Skandaal, we meet people, enjoy the music, and live vicariously through ourselves.

The next day, my friend and I take different paths, he travels to Poland and I stay in Prague. Physically speaking I am alone but it’s ok. Where to go, what to do, who to talk to, what to say. Today is my brothers birthday and I’m gonna do whatever we’d do, so, I write a letter to the united states and treat myself to McDonalds coffee and a blueberry cupcake. After a while, I have chinese food. And after that, beers with the beautiful soul, Dasa. A day of walking, thinking, and talking through Old City and a night of relaxation, fun, and laughs around Bubny and Žižkov. When you meet a stranger, you can say anything so you gotta watch your words. Words are dangerous and sometimes difficult but there’s a feel to meeting people and you can smell the bull. You can feel people out with a blend of honesty and humor. You can be sincere or talk jive, you can give em both ears or tell em to shove it. You can be a passive puss or an opinionated ass. These encounters prove to be enjoyable because you end up learning about yourself. What would you say or do.

The following morning I take a walk through Parukářka, a park on top of a hill with the finest view of Prague. It made me feel massive and Prague has that effect on you because your perspectives are always changing when you’re walking up and down hills. It’s a bit like urban hiking. Being a walking enthusiast, it really soothes the head being on these journeys. To stick to the zen, I walk through aisles of an old cemetery and find myself among good company. The dead are relaxed and in a deep rest. We enjoy a calm, quiet companionship however my reservation isn’t booked yet so I return to land of the living. A cab driver once said “you can’t enjoy a nice day six feet below” so I make plans with a guide for Prague castle where my guide provides me with anecdotes and pieces of history to help me understand her and the culture she’s in. I am just listening, observing, and engaging. From my point of view, Prague Castle and the Cathedral are assertive, the only way to escape their grip is leaving the city. They tower over the land and remind you who’s the boss with the cash to build and rebuild. Because money ain’t a thing to these institutions, it’s an illusion, just a tool to control you and me. Think about living without money. What would you do? It’s tough to imagine. To change our dependancy on the current system would mean to destroy everything. To throw people into chaos and start from scratch. I think I might love that but it feels impossible so when I get money I enjoy it.  Money pays for a roof over head, puts food in the fridge, and builds a huge fucking horse statue in Vitkov.

The road less traveled involves choices with an allure to take more risks. Not knowing what happens in the next moment keeps it interesting. You’re allowed to slow down the hands of time and dive into the present. Going against the grain seems insane but, the lust for now is overwhelming and I don’t feel any pain while growing old like the city. Prague has become a part of me. Some honorable mentions from the trip, taking coffee in a cafe, drinking czech beers, listening to strangers, and moments of shared happiness. I think Prague is probably the most beautiful city I’ve seen in my life. The architecture is most obvious and the first impression is lasting. It feels like a magic kingdom, a real life disney world. The city is crowded during the day and lively at night. Music fills up space and your immersed in the life of the area. The personality of artists and musicians cast a reflection of the city and from what I’ve encountered they are both easy-going and intense about work. I think that is attractive. Food and beer is especially cheap and that allows one to indulge in merry traveling.

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Stepping off a short flight by way of plane, I’m riding the night train towards something unknown. Always staring out a window thinking simple thoughts. Welcome to Berlin, this is Germany not France. Inside the metro, I’m bit by a sharp yellow light and I’m paralyzed watching the world go by with the people I care about. Bonded by bewilderment, they too are experiencing firsts and at this moment Berlin is way too tired but the excitement has arrived. We’re getting closer to the edge here. Great citizens of the German republic are all over the streets, including the populous minorities and the ever present authority. Everyone is out, sub-citizens digging through trash, tough turks lurking on dark corners, african immigrants hustling and bustling with a variety of non-essentials, eastern europeans making a better life, asians running restaurants, americans sounding stupid, nationalists feeling proud yet ashamed, liberals fighting for change, tourists with khaki hats and huge SLR cameras. Politics is stinking up the air with a raw energy and tensions are ringing heavy chords through the streets. I’ve been teleported to another world and I cannot recognize the look of the place, nor the looks on your face or the everyday things. Green trees, grafitti, new families, cats n dogs, all the shizer on the strasse. I could be anyone here and I’m soaking in history with my own eyes. I only care to see as much as I can, to listen and understand but everything smells shitty and I’m aware of what’s going on when I’m not here. I ordered an adventure with moments of bliss and small bites of shit. It leaves a funky impression on my taste because Berlin is not just another city. Berlin is a good place, it’s cheaper than most places and has a good rating on the fun factor. Money goes further and you can get wasted on scenery, food, and drinks. Had one of the best kebabs in my life, the cheapest beers tasted great, and generated a surplus of good energy with the ones I love. A lot of laughter and healthy promise for an adventure delivered in real time.

Like Berlin, here’s cheap food for thought to cultivate discussion.

Walking about the city and looking around, listening and smelling, all at the once. Life is going on and I want to know the local people, the side streets, the big buildings, but everything is at face value and I’m welcomed with a light reception. This is ground zero of World War. Bullet holes survive on buildings and I think to myself “shhhhitler”. I can remember once upon a time being unable to distinguish the difference between fiction and non-fiction. From a young age, he was the most exotic character in school books. You could pick Hitler out of any large crowd. Nowadays, it might be possible to change Hitler into a pop-culture icon, give him the Andy Warhol treatment, make the swastika cool again, and let the innocent children experiment with his iconic stache. It was, and still is a scary story to tell the kids. Death, of Black Plague proportions. Heaven, hell, and the abyss backed up with all the souls crossing over to the other side. How about what’s happening right under our noses with these photoshop pros pulling societies strings. Could an invisible holocaust exist? What is worse than a holocaust? What’s the absolute worst thing to happen to someone? Genocide, extermination, annihilation. What about being denied your humanity, a decent living, and a right to live free. As long as you can fall back on your couch and watch the new drama reality, World War 3, the new TV series that’s exploding your mind with sex, power struggles, money whore-ship, guns and violence. It’s great to see all this bullshit on TV but it’s not real until all you ever had starts to change and you wake up in chains.

I think about my home country America and I imagine if all history, sculpture, museums, art, books were destroyed. What would happen? How kids would be raised without all these tools to shape and reinforce history is funny. I think it prevents the evolution revolution for idiots because conclusions are good enough. That statue has been there for years so yep it’s real. The TV said that, so yep it’s real. George Bush indirectly killed people but he gets his own permanent library because he’s a family man. Why do we kill each other? Does being a family man justify murder? I fight with myself in my dreams when I’m destroyed of conscious thought. I’ve killed people in my dreams so I try to be more good and less evil in real life.

Not sure where I’m going with this. So let’s move to the main course of the story.

When I took a seat against a concrete pillar in the airport and checked my phone reading “Jan. 6 1980” my perception of time went off axis for a few moments, I’d been shaken out of reality and felt that I could be existing at anytime and everything would remain the same. In 1980, I could’ve been anyone. In 2080, I could be anyone. That’s when I came up with the train. We choose which trains we’re going to ride. We city-folk hop on trains everyday for the weekly grind, sometimes you might hop on a night train to see another town or a long distance runner to escape the world. Some journeys last long, some as long as you’re sentenced to work or raise a family. Some get on and others get stuck. But time is a choo choo train. Here’s a thought on rails, we’re going somewhere but it seems like most people on board can’t slow down or take a moment to see and feel things. The first step is freeing yourself from within and deciding hey I can get on or off at anytime. The collective whole human condition is a runaway train fighting itself and I’m looking out the window in eternal wanderlust. We’re all riding the pain train and it keeps going and going and going. Until Van Damme, Seagal, or Willis step out of Hollywood and fight these motherfuckers who highjack our thoughts than we’ll continue to head to war, continue to struggle with poverty and soon enough we’ll be too dead to do anything. Train keeps rolling, rolling down the track, gonna take me home, gonna take me home. Gonna sit on my couch and scratch my ass because I’m OK.

Waking up in the wee hours of Berlin to catch the return flight back to Copenhagen proved to be a trip.

In my head is a city always in crisis and I’m forgetting why I’m here.

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I’ve never tried heroin but I hear that it is heaven in a needle. I’m not a fan of narcotics, nor is Roskilde, their slogan this year was “against drugs” yet the Roskilde experience is like being on drugs. Here I am, the 26 year old virgin to festivals of this magnitude, it is like entering the belly of a giant beast, being thrashed around the digestive tract and vomited out in one piece. You come out with a new perspectives asking yourself, what the fuck? The Roskilde environment is one of controlled chaos. You have what seems like unlimited freedom for a short amount of time. It goes by quickly and it’s tough to live every moment to the fullest. There are ups and downs, moments of positive energy and moments of exhaustion, feelings of community and loneliness, excitement and enlightenment, wonders and hungers. The waves of energy would look like the seismic activity of San Andreas fault on a bad day. It’s a utopia from civil society where big ideas are presented and opinions are acknowledged, challenged or accepted. It is a beautiful expression of the human condition. For me, the Roskilde metaphor is we are here for such a short amount of time that we should live and love to the fullest.

The music started for me while I was unpacking batteries at Volt headquarters. It was a Monday and I heard music coming from a near-by tent. After soundcheck and midway through the first number I thought I would take an early lunch-break and see this out. It was an unofficial live show in a backstage tent attended by a dozen or so volunteers by a band known as HÉRÖ, a gypsy surf ensemble with foot-stomping bass lines, balkan beats, surf guitars, and soloing violin. Intense melodic lines from strings interjected with shouts and one-liners by a front-man donned in a sailor cap. It only went downhill after that performance with all the house music that pounds you from every angle of camp. It was like everyone was armed with sub-bass weapons and attempting to mug you for your patience. But patience is a virtue, it’s a trait that no one can take away.

First big stage experience was with soul brother, Bobby Womack. All the little girls are sitting on the floor reserving their space for Rihanna and I’m dancing like an old ass man to the chunky funky realness. I’m loving it, the musicians on stage are making their rounds with Bobby leading the show. “Bring it down boys, let’s bring it down so we can here my brotha blow that brass.” From open to close it was a soul-shake down and I was brought back across 110th street. And then it was the wait for Rihanna, 15% of the Roskilde budget and it was what it was. Kids screaming while this black cat struts with sexy gyration and street beat humps. To go along with image is a GQ band, a really awesome black drummer and overall good pop songs. I’m just not buying into the whole package, a bit too gangsta for a young lady like her who is one year younger than me. Crystal Castles is a drug without drugs. The music, lighting, and performance is a methamphetamine without taking the damn thing. Alice Glass is rock n roll, thrashing around stage, screaming, fucking, drinking whiskey, smoking weed while the two other fellas are holding it down and keeping the energy way up. You need to be totally absorbed or your tank will run out quick. Caught the last 2 songs of The Blue Angel Lounge coming down off the Meth I had just experienced and it was a nice change of drug. It was like coming to see Peter Gabriel back from a safari with Joy Division vocals, tribal rhythms/percussion and post-rock guitars. I was running on fumes and passed out in my tent in seconds flat.

Henry Rollins Spoken Word was a pleasant surprise and had a lasting impact on my festival experience. I think there should be more spoken word events mixed in with music events. This guy has some awesome stories being a punk rock frontman for decades and has met more people than any CEO, politician, or president. He’s really down to earth with his fans and continues to work-hard on his performance. He touched on topics of suicide, drug abuse & politics with the main point being take care of your body, keep pushing forward no matter how hard your struggle and become a catalyst for changing the world. Wake up every morning with a goal to kick ass and make a difference. Efterklang had my attention until the heat drained me of energy. I needed the relief of shade and a cold beer. They have a great band with a charismatic front-man opposite a female who takes lead every so often. A top class indie act that has risen from grass-roots Copenhagen to the world stage. Kris Kristofferson has balls the size of Denmark getting up on the main stage with nobody but his acoustic guitar. I hadn’t payed much attention to his music being a few beers deep and wrapped up in conversation. He was playing for the people chilling out in the sun, resting from a week of party, and fans who sat-up with ears fixed towards the stage. Quadron, the main squeeze for many danes with her latest 2013 release, is an artist who became big in America before gaining popularity in her home country in Denmark. Quadron is also what you get when black and white have a baby. My female partner was really feeling the sensual sounds and interpreting them in a sexy way while I stood there blank eye in desperate need of an americano. Lead singer Coco O can really sing a tune and her backing band was really tight, babies are definitely made to her music. Fast-forward with coffee, liquor and Metallica! From the first note I had been rocking out like that same kid who played air guitar on a tennis racket or air drums in the back of my fathers car. These guys are middle-aged but still having fun and really enjoy putting on a good show for the fans. Huge enthusiasm from the crowd and great sense of camaraderie amongst everyone there rocking out. Opening up with Blackened and playing over 2 hours of material from almost every album went by in a flash.

I caught Ensiferum for a song when I heard a double-bass drum pounding at high noon while going for a walk. It looked like a bunch of vikings on stage with their so-called axes singing songs of norse mythology. I thought it must feel silly to be an older dude wearing outfits like that and shredding on stage. So I left with that funny thought. Than I ran into what I thought was the best band of the afternoon, Wintergatan, a rocking swedish Sigur Ros with folk instrumentation. They put on a really sincere performance with personal anecdotes in between songs that had charmed the audience of all ages. Over on the stage next door, The Heliocentrics had set up a groove and let jazz inspired vocalist wail like a saxophone over the grooves. You could feel a bit of awkwardness within the ensemble but the audience was entranced in hippie-dance bouncing around like pogo sticks. The Sword was nice, but the sound wasn’t mixed very well. It was like seeing Black Sabbath in modern times but after about the 5th or 6th song I started to get riff nausea and decided to head over to James Blake, the a master of new-wave electronic trios. James Blake is in control of his music and leads with his vocal melodies mashing them up with electronic effects and loops. The backing band follows his lead providing a down beat and rhythmic textures to move the listeners body. The set climaxes at appropriate moments with huge bass pedal lines that reverberate your entire skeleton and noise crescendos that can probably explode a babies soft head.

Everyone asks me, how was Roskilde? or if you’re in the know with Copenhagen slang “How was Ros?” I say it’s beyond words to explain what it is. It’s mayhem in the camps. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you are. You are present, in the moment, in the chaos with your thoughts. Doesn’t matter what your intentions are… you just do what you have to do. Some of my fondest memories has to be the generosity of the people you meet. You never know who your universe will collide with so you take everyone at their word. And the word is the good enough for me. I’ve known a lot of people who bullshit with words but I’ve got a renewed sense of trust in a strangers word. We’re all strangers trying to find a common ground and everyone just wants to have a good time. When you get home there is loud silence. It seems that maybe it was just a dream? Recently, it’s been hard to tell the difference between all these experiences . One way I can distinguish the difference is that there’s always a feeling of dissatisfaction in reality. How can I be satisfied when I’m always hungry, thirsty, and looking for more. I’m not really sure how to satisfy myself but it helps to satiate these basic needs and forget they were there. The hunger is always there, it’s like a black hole that keeps eating and cannot be full. In reality, there is a sadness when you know about the higher pleasures of music, imagination, and different worlds. When that’s not readily accessible it’s hard to cope but you choose your sacrifices and wait for the next opportunity you lose yourself. Forgetting your existence for a few moments is that feeling of wasted bliss. It’s that feeling I’m always chasing. Roskilde is accessibility to that feeling we’re all chasing.


I think the moon has been driving me mad. I find myself gazing in wonder and my imagination travels to outer space.

So, here’s the beautiful Mad Man Moon by Tony Banks circa Genesis 1976.

What an unforgettable opening melody.

Close your eyes & let the mood carry you away… than of course have a look at the lyrics.

“Within the valley of shadowless death
They pray for thunderclouds and rain
But to the multitude who stand in the rain
Heaven is where the sun shines
The grass will be greener till the stems turn to brown
And thoughts will fly higher till the earth brings them down
Forever caught in desert lands one has to learn
To disbelieve the sea

If this desert’s all there’ll ever be
Then tell me what becomes of me
A fall of rain ?
That must have been another of your dreams
A dream of mad man moon”

This is art.



Just stayed the night in Pomona NY playing non-stop through the night. The following day, magic was in in the air… this improv. happened either before or after heading to the mountain the following day. Judging by the playing… I think after…. probably my best session playing bass because I remember feeling loose and the emotions poured through my fingers. My brother Dave plays a 4 string guitar for the session. It drops so hard… the moment is perfect and can never be created again. I remember all the feelings at this time in my life… glad to have this session on record.

The Images are blinking lights out of focus. It reminds me of planets…


Another clip from the same session… really powerful moods. I like listening to this one on grey days.