Like Making Love to a Beautiful, Sweet Woman

The night before the show. We've been working so hard; it's kind of a big deal. During the time I spend alone the night before, I focus on various things. I make checklist to make sure I don't forget picks or straps or clothing or tea or honey. Then I get to string my guitar. For a lot of other players,  the stringing process is a mere chore, an annoyance endured once every few weeks. For me, in the quiet semi-darkness of my room and my guitar there reflecting those bits of light beams from a single lamp, for me, it's a sacred act that I treasure. Like making love to a beautiful sweet woman, I remove the old strings and polish the golden wood and the neck and watch it there, gorgeous. When the job is complete and every string perfectly wound, I place the polished piece of gold back in its case and watch it there. It reminds me of times I used to watch Stephanie sleep and chuckle gladly at all the strange noises and movements she made in that deep dream sleep. My guitar is my woman now and she is silent but beautiful when I have completed. She's lean and ready for the half pageant half war of rock and sweat and beer she will wade into tomorrow and go back in the case and come out again to be loved once again. 

Initiation: Our New Bassist Gets SLIMED *VIDEO*

So long trio, The Frontier Brothers are going quartet. It's a big deal, joining the band, so we thought we'd run Matt through a little initiation ritual.

Jump Blues - The Making Of

I want everyone to know, especially those that enjoyed the video, how much pain all the frontier brothers went through to bring it to you. YOU!

"Concert By the Water" - 97 degrees fahrenheit. No wind and no shade. In the video, notice how the band appears in different spots across the bridge. Well, we had to play the entire song in said heat for each of those spots. Also, we had to endure the jeers of passing cyclists. However, one of them made it into the video. We then had to jump up and down to the hey hey hey deal at every one the locations you see us in the video. (We have now been outside in the heat for 30 minutes without water.) To top it off, we had to run across the bridge, up the ramp and across the rocks and back, probably three times and at full gallop. Pretending to play Jump Blues along with the album version on a pair of ipod speakers was so rock.

"Solo in the Sky" - I could have been killed. It was also freezing that day. In order to climb onto that warehouse roof, Disney (the director) had to pull his car up to side of the building. I did a straight pull up (utilizing my powerful shoulders and sculpted core) and hurled my legs over the side, conquering the obstacle. Then, I had to assess the structural integrity of the roof. To me, it looked like a whole bunch of foamy shit glued together by tar. I made my way to the preferred spot as Andrew waited across the parking lot in another building with the camera. I stepped carefully from steel beam to steel beam, these pieces seeming the most reliable footholds. Finally ready, I ripped a fake solo and looked damn cool up there in the cold, perched on that faulty roof. 

The Other Segments - the kiss was my idea. Check out my uneven teeth and ratty beard. Aw, that part wasn't so hard. Andrew was like, oh my man, this shit is dynamite, you look so fucking cool! Ah man, you're such a star. Not really. It turned out pretty cool. I broadcast the image of my malformed teeth as I bear my soul to you, the readers, each and every day. YOU!

World Premier: JUMP BLUES MUSIC VIDEO!

Hello earthlings,

In between touring and exploring the universe, we had time to make this fancy music video. Brilliant earth director Andrew Disney captured our likenesses using some technique called, "Tilt Shift." I don't know what that means, but it sounds pretty cool. Check it out and be sure to comment!
PS. be sure to make it full screen, homie.



The Frontier Brothers - Jump Blues (a music video in TILT SHIFT) from Kinetiq HD on Vimeo.

Press Update: Sounds Like Austin

Oh how they love us. We dazzle them with whiskey and spandex and, really, it's not even fair. No chance to deny us the critical acclaim we are told we should desperately seek. No swirlies in the girls locker room. No wedgies. Just pure cool.

This one from Sounds Like Austin (really a great blog w/ excellent photography- check them out!):
note: I have taken the liberty of making all complimentary statements bold and all incendiary statements tiny. (so that I can ignore them)

An upbeat, very clean, piano based indie-pop sound, with a look that occasionally inspires doubletakes. I hope you like songs about love, because that’s what you’re getting.


When i first put this disc in, I was kind of confused. A piano-based indie rock band. I know they are out there, but i keep forgetting they are (is that bad?). The energy is super refreshing. The gravelly voice behind this group sounds really good, and they really keep it upbeat. I would definitely check these guys out live. I actually saw one of them last year at SXSW in his full body mansuit (i’ll get the photo up here eventually). Is the album a bit long(?); maybe, but who is going to complain about something dumb like that (not me). It’s has it’s poppier moments (Get Up Go), and it’s indier moments (How Do You…, Jump Blues). Most of the songs are about love and more stuff about love; having listened to them i think they might have written a lot of these songs after asking out their new robot girlfriends (but, hey… robots are pretty sweet, except all the ones in movies, and the red ones, pink ones, and the anything that becomes self-aware). Anyhow, this is an album I would listen to, so i don’t mind if i end up with a puff piece. It’s a little nerdier than your normal austin indie scene, and having seen one of of those mansuits they have worn, they might not be super easy on the eyes, but at least it’s a look. I would say pick it up, but who listens to me anyhow… (don’t tell the PR people though, or they will stop sending me free shit)


Go check out Sounds Like Austin and tell them I sent you.
- B

Show Gallery: 1/24 @ The Sig House

Thanks for the photos, Jennifer! (Stolen without permission from Facebook)

First Gig Back and with Matt, Sig House, Southwestern University

What a riot tonight. At 10:45, five people milled about the Sig house. Leery that the show would remain a dud, I took some of my xanax, readying myself for the awkward claps and the deeply humiliating silence between weak claps at the end of each song. 

Then, a flood of bodies came. Slow at first, then more rapidly, steadily that way for the rest of the night. It was fucking rock. I felt the spirit. I rocked with Matt. It was his first show. I drank from beer and poured water in my hair and sometimes surveyed the audience. I chuckled inside my brain. Everything is very strange, inexplicable, and at times ridiculous. I surveyed all their faces. Who are they and why are they here? Just all the faces; I was satisfied with whoever looked back at me. Who knows; the feeling is bizarre. I like people better out there together, a big picture of emotion. Something in a line of faces is pure because it is shared. I did not mind and even liked them as they all danced and eyed us from a few feet away in the near dark and the loudness. 

We finished with Dream Collector and were quickly cheered back onto stage for an encore. We played Magazine Soul. Then the one more song chant began. After a quick deliberation- Walker warned that 100 angry people might descend on us if we didn't close with another one - after that conference, we elected to close with petty's Won't Back Down. A success. I then drifted between crowds as Trav took around the mailing list. One girl waited in front of the monitor, right in front of my pedal board, no one around. Some drunk guy was asking me if he spilled any beer on our equipment. I said no, but stepping over my pedal board I slipped past her with my head turned away and angled shoulders. She was a nice, pretty girl; I am sure of it. Right now, really recalling all that body movement and that one space in time, I think that it was heartbreaking what happened. A small failure, between the two of us.

Tonight, I shared a romance with everyone in the building. I enjoyed seeing them all walking, laughing, encountering one another. I wasn't inclined to feel this affection for them because they had liked our music. The nice thing was descending out of the lights and into the movement once again. I felt like a secret father, some uncle or best friend watching intently from across the yard  at their own son that will never know the truth. I watched them with that relaxed pride. They did not know, but that did not matter. Secretly, they are mine and I will protect them. 

High School Teachers or Exes or Bosses

What happened to class? What became of American elegance. Folks used to dress up for plane rides. Now they shuffle in with hoodies and pockets under their eyes with expressos. 

There are three parts to my day. First, I wake up. I throw on an undershirt. Maybe it catches a milk stain, some kind of spill. I write a few things, mostly throw away nonsense. Then I change into gym clothes. I come with the sweatshirt, the wrestling shoes, the short socks and shorts. Band practice sees me go casual, a little serious, maybe a sport coat;  some kind of decoration formal enough for serious creation. When night comes, and if I do peek beyond the curtains, I get a lot going. It's time to wow. I take a shower, a cold one. My pants come, the suit comes on. I locate a tie. Everything sharpens up. 

I come across these get togethers and people stare at me like I'm some kind of lunatic, like I've committed some kind of error. The motherfuckers look like they just crawled out of bed; they look like a hungover Nickelback member. They shoot a comment. I take it easy. I know their bored women are not so bored now, not so bored as color shoots into the night as a decent being arrives. 

Good God. Have some imagination! 

We did a great deal of promotion tonight. I told a girl I once hunted wild game. She opened up on me. I don't mind. I'm a predator.

Tonight was a success. I haven't hunted in years. It's not like I'm going after your dog, Dorothy. Still, I wonder about hunters. Why do it? Aren't we supplied with the food we need? Is hunting some kind of bloodlust. Instead of deer or hogs, does our mind's eye see people there, like our high school teachers or exes or bosses?

Can a kill be pure anymore. That's it. I don't believe my mind is pure. Therefore, I cannot kill without guilt. There it remains. 

Gig in Georgetown. Saturday. The sound will blow a mind to hell. The kick and the snare. The fucking guitar. Blaring keys; popping bass. Prepare yourselves. My voice is clear, angry and powerful and resonant. I see the women there, like bunnies. And I'm a big, ferocious bear, BEWARE!

Today

Not much today. Practice was cancelled. Travis had to replace his drumheads after they were fucked by the cold weather in Houston. It is unnaturally warm here, though. I don't like it. Also, the horn players cancelled on us today. We are now forced to schedule a Sunday practice. No good, but necessary. 

Today I did an interesting exercise at the gym. You swing a large sledge hammer onto a truck tire, switching sides each time. Fucking hardcore. 

Today was boring. This post is boring. 

However, the JUMP BLUES MUSIC VIDEO has been completed and it's very awesome. You can see my imperfect teeth. It's ok, they've got character. Also featured: my unkept stubble. Very sexy. 

This is starting to sound like some girls myspace entry. No inspiration. Well, we'll talk tomorrow.

-M. Galactic

You Must Thank Fate, Yourself, And the Gods

I'm currently fighting the urge to fall asleep. Bed feels natural right now. I can almost feel them wrapping around me, the covers. I spent a long time tonight cleaning the kitchen. I rubbed the sink clean and scoured the stovetop for difficult spots. Some of the stains just wouldn't come out, even when I took my fingernails to them and grated for a bit. I could not figure how to put the stove grates back on correctly. No combination fits. Each removable metal piece has a small protrusion. The stove does not have a matching indention in its porcelain. A little wired, I decided to drink a lot of Nyquil.

Really one of the great things about waking up, or sleeping for that matter, is a nightmare. During the actual experience it is not pleasant. But the sensation of realizing, wait, this is not real, I am waking up. I'm not even in school right now. There is no final to study for. Everything is ok. I can relax. Fuck homework. I'm comfortable here. 

This morning I got a piece of that. Oh, it was wonderful. I came to a bit, realized it had been a horrible dream. The sun slanted through the window in the unique pattern of early morning. I checked the time, ten o' clock. Nice and early. I set my alarm for 11:17 and lay back down, moving against the covers, loving it. You have to appreciate these things. I even made a mental note at that time. I was damn lucky. Lucky my ass did not itch or I was involved in any sort of romantic relationship. Thankful for being there. Thankful for my bed and the fact that my car will start and for not having a stuffed up nose, breathing clean pure air, available so easily for me. 

Everyday you must thank fate and yourself and your clothes and the gods.

THANK YOU, LADIES AND GENTLEMAN

Everyone's A Neutron Bomb

Today has been a dark day. Much sloth. I thought that would make me feel better, but movement and outside air helps a lot more. Tonight, after the dark day, I finally did my laundry. I then hurried home and straightened my room up. Now, the desk is free of clutter. The bed is made so perfectly and the shoes are lined up with such order and the lighting is so correct and the clothes so organized and put away nicely that my room is truly a thing of beauty once again. It must be like that for true happiness. I have to be able to walk the floors at night without worrying about stepping on any scattered objects.

Now that I am no longer tired all the time, no longer too weak to move about and put things away, I really see my obsessive compulsive tendencies coming to life in mundane forms. Also, I see new and frightening possibilities, new ways for a raging anxiety to function within a healthy, alert mind. 

That brings us nicely to the real reason I started this post. I thought I might take a crack at explaining the inspiration and the meanings of some our songs for the readers here. At the laundromat, I was running through Everyone's a Neutron Bomb in my head. The gay shock jock Daddy Jack played it during our interview today. He provided a playfully mocking accompaniment to the ending phrases, pitching his voice low, poking fun at the exaggerated poignancy of the outro. It just got me thinking. I thought about the meaning of the song tonight and Jackie's sing along. 

The basic concept of the song, well, it reminds of the end of this short story I wrote, Sick Man.

The party finally had disbanded. I'd had keg beer, received a few presents. Stephanie drank moderately, but I went into the spins. I left early, took off my shoes and pants and shirt and climbed into bed. The room was dark and cold, comfortable. I stretched out over the entire mattress. Stephanie wasn't there. Ten minutes later the door opened, light shot in. I heard the laughter of the last few guests and the clinking of bottles being thrown away. I kept silent. I heard her feet padding across the carpet. I listened to her undress and go into the bathroom and turn on the light. The water ran, then stopped. She crawled into the bed. Her arm slipped under the covers, around my chest. I sighed and mumbled inaudibly like I was asleep. It had been a wonderful night.

She settled in close, breathed around my ear. "Marshall?" Her head rose up in the dark. "I love you."

I stayed silent, still as stone. 

"You're awake," she said. "I know it." She rolled over but our feet still touched. That was the last time we ever discussed that and three months later she let me go in hot, parked car. I went wild  and stomped and threw things, but with a calculated intensity and sadness and all inside I breathed easier and felt at ease. I was finally free.

Now I know that I am a sick man. I know it can never be taken from me. It is rooted too deeply. Something went terribly wrong the first time I experienced a crowd, the first time I really felt my guts move and became aware of myself. It's all a malfunction from those first seconds. Only I sense what happens. My guts shift incorrectly, but I shit fine. My feet strike the ground like hammers but I appear to move so easily against the wind. I am sick and it is my own trouble. When a new one comes, the worms disappear to the soil. But they will return. They always have; they always return to a sick man. 

Josephine represents the compulsive anxiety that prevents me from getting close to anyone I love. I like the end of the song. When I switch to the lower register, I show more virility and masculine power. The tone of voice is almost cocky, so deep and cocksure. The end is a clean break. Most of the song consists of promises and questions couched in nice, catchy melodies. It's like I give a damn. 

In the final verse of the song, I am a cocky, heartbreaking man. But what I do destroys me worse than anything. It's sure and unsure. I don't know. In reality I am sick. In fantasy I am dangerous like a bomb, ready to explode. 

Tune In: TFB Live Radio Interview Today!

Dear earthlings,

The Frontier Brothers will be LIVE ON AIR today between 2 & 2:30 CST. If you're in the Dallas Fort Worth area, tune your dial to 1360AM. Otherwise- go to http://www.rationalradio.org/ and click LISTEN.

Rock on!

- TFB

Bas Rutten Self-Defense and Meeting

This is Bas Rutten's self defense video. He is a very decorated mixed martial artist and now a respected commentator. He has some good points here. He is also a psychopath.
On another note, I talked to Britt Daniel from Spoon at Club DeVille. Now, I'm not talking a soul bonding, but we chatted for a second. He seems like a decent guy. I was wearing a blue suit, though. Who wouldn't want to talk to someone with enough balls to through on one of those in January. Thank God this is not New York, I would have been egged to death, right there. Enjoy, friends.

Some of my favorite quotes:

"I slit your throat"
"Everybody underestimates the kick in the groin"
"Right away you say I'm sorry....No I'm not."

Really kids, this is kind of joke, but there are some great tips here. Mainly the head butt and groin strike. Those two.

Reach Music Festival

We played the Reach Music festival last Saturday. It was the first show we'd played in a long time. Probably two or three weeks, at least. As usual, it was balls cold and windy and no alcohol was provided on location. They did have some great looking funnel cakes but I only had three tickets so I decided to use those on a chicken sandwich.
Brett and I decided to make a trip to the local liquor store. I initially proposed we get tequila, which was debated back and forth. I even doubted myself. In the end, that was the choice. Tequila and lime juice. We took drags of that in the car before the show.

When I stepped out of the vehicle, it was not so cold anymore. My throat felt like the chimney of a low, glowing fire down in the pit of my stomach, gently warming everything. I had to change into my suit, we were in a hurry. Even as I undressed down to the whities in the howling wind I was not chilled.

On stage, my fingers were cold. The guitar was thrown horribly out of tune. So were Travis's drum heads. When we started, no one was there. Then I realized a lot of people had arrived. Probably 30 or 40. I mean, it was fucking cold for them. They hadn't exercised the foresight; they hadn't consumed any blue agave that night.

After the show, they listened to me attentively and were much nicer than normal people. These kids displayed neither visible pretension nor any unreasonable preoccupation with the ironic. It wasn't all about doing what was ironic with these kids. They just listened to what they wanted to and enjoyed what made them and dance and endured a lot of cold weather to do it. Good people. I'd really like to seal off and exterminate Beauty Bar on a Sat. night, then airlift the reach kids over there. That would give that place some courage, some guts!

Thursday, 15th

This morning I awoke at 8:10. Outside my window there was a little bird. It's sounds woke me up. I then went back to sleep.

For breakfast I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, two slices of pineapple, and Yoplait yogurt, harvest peach flavor. I watched the first two rounds of the Georges St. Pierre vs. Jon Fitch title fight of 2008. Interesting.

I've put the monkey story on the back burner and am now trying to finish something I started in freshman year. It's something I wrote with the passion of an admirer from afar. A little overdone then. Now I'm reeling it back in, it should be good.

Day to Day Things

I was just about to say the same thing. I am saying the same thing. Nothing beats Brett and I screwing around after practice, inadvertently tapping into the divine, coming up with the money chorus. I was getting really worried. We had no chorus. Now we do. We have one, big time. A great weight is lifted from my shoulders. 

But still I wonder. How are we going to top this song? We always do. And I know I'll always pull my hair out over it. I actually have that disorder. I think it's fun.

Jesus "El Matador" Chavez was sparring today. I go to a boxing gym. Trav and I both do. We feel pretty fat and white most of the time, but we're getting better. And we're not like the other fat whites because we have athletic backgrounds - both AMAZING wrestlers. Haha. No, actually we were both pretty good. 

I've been coquettishly avoiding verbal and visual contact with the former world champ. I am not worthy. But he was sparring today with some other pros. I was hitting the focus bag (little inflated ball attached to floor and ceiling with elastic bands) and I felt something strike my back. I turned around. Nothing was there. Something struck my left shoulder. I whirled, again finding empty space. Finally, I received a knock to the head. I decided to turn and walk five feet away at the same time, to get a wider perspective. It was Jesus. I felt about the same as when my high school crush finally talked to me. 

He said I was treating the bag like my girlfriend and that I should not give it such an easy time. He demonstrated accordingly. I tried again and noticed the lesson had improved my abilities. I thanked the Matador. 

I'm still sweating out a year of hard drinking and burritos. 

The old routine still tries to lull me back. I will walk right back in again, someday - and gladly. I'll need to rest. Right now I'm resting from that. 

The legend of the new songs.

Proud to report that major progress was made on both new songs today. I'd say they are 70-80% done- with most of the remaining work stylistic rather than structural. Galactic has some amazing ideas for the words and I had a major breakthrough with the progression on a song that Galactic is calling, "Bu****g Pa***s (top secret). I'm sure we'll be playing both at our upcoming Austin super-show.

More as it develops.

- b

Show Preview: Houston TX Reach Music Festival

Fighting the Mean Reds

Stay Focused! I've noticed that my inner voice is rather weak. For as much as I know I have to do, I still waste away hours online or offline or wherever. How can I stand to spend three hours searching for Natalie Portman Robot Art, when I've got the mountain of rock stardom to climb. Yuck.

TO DO:
Find booking agent - We've been doing all our booking ourselves. It saves money, but it's not practical in the long term. It's hard to negotiate guarantees (which we deserve, because we work our asses off to bring people to every show). It takes time away from other things ie. Natalie Portman Robot Art. It's hard (for travis, our booking guru).

Get Travis, Matt, & I on a click - Part of becoming a better live band involves reliability. Too many redbulls or an overexcited kidney and suddenly we're playing Jump Blues at competition speed. Starry Globes and Stereos in liquid slo-mo. The solution to this involves in-ear monitors and a click track (metronome). The HUGE side-benefit of implementing this new technology is that we will be able to add sound-effects, backup parts, etc. to the show. We'll finally be playing Ego Protection, which starts and ends with a drum machine that must be perfectly sinc'd to our tempo. (very hard to do when I've got two hands on the keyboards---I need more hands)

Write new songs - We compose at a geriatric pace. There are no throw away songs in our arsenal. I'd like to believe that there are no two songs that sound the same. And it's hard! We wrestle our way into each new track. Bridge? Chorus? At some point we're gonna need a whole new album and that means a LOT of new material. And it needs to be better than ever. I never want to release an inferior product. I'd rather go hide in a cave.

Make money - Is it really possible? I hate to be selfish, but I'd really like some.

And thats just the tip of the iceberg people. So I need to stop being lazy, dammit, and get to work!

Positive Affirmation

I really need some kind of confidence boost. Maybe if I were given an opportunity to rescue a single person or a group of people from some menacing force, my equilibrium would return to normal. My mom bought me a weight scale for christmas. Kind of a hint. But I don't think I'm overweight, at least not until my mother got into my head. I hope my wife doesn't treat me like that. Of course, she'll probably be the fat ass, not me. I'll have to hide the Oreos. I feel like Lindsey from Arrested Development. My mother is much nicer than Lucille, though. Oh fuck it, I say. As far as I'm concerned, every woman yearns to mother my children, even when I stiff them on their tip near closing. I need to tell myself things like that. My mother calls it positive affirmation- like when you're just hanging around the house, saying out loud to yourself, "I am an attractive, kind person."  "I am a capable attorney." or, "I am not depressed...or lonely" 

               

It kind of seems like a delusional exercise to me, an exercise in delusion. But when I think how many times a day I tell myself how much I suck at things, I am convinced maybe a little affirmation might be in order. 

 

I open the door every morning now, fully nude, for all the back yard and garage to see, and display my virility: a god to women. 

I'm working on the lyrics for two new songs, both (positive affirmation) destined to admired for generations to come. I'm trying to find a good balance between humor and poignancy. It's difficult. However, I think they are great and if you come to our show at Club De Ville on the 30th of January, you might get a listen. 

 

This one line, too sappy, not enough bite? I'm not sure:  "Open your womb to me."

Purple Monster (not a porno)

        I got really frustrated yesterday because the short story I had been working on for a week was floundering. It was all over the place. I realized it then. It was like discovering a piece of paper from the night before, a group of lines scribbled down in a moment of real vision. It was like discovering that what you wrote was complete shit - only instead of that that drunken night, I had a week of hard work. 

 

Of course, the inspiration for the piece was spotty at best. For some reason I've been convinced that anything I dream, now matter how weird or apparently random and useless, must be committed to the page in the form of short story. So I dreamt one night about an abominable snow man creature of sorts, only more human. I dreamt that this creature carried a sword and slid down hills of trash. It seemed compelling. 

After discovering that my creature was probably not capable of the witty inner dialogue that a Fante inspired 1st person narrative provided, all became clear. I am a horrible writer. I have nothing to show for three years of "writing." I should stick to music. But, at the time, I was horrible at that, too. Everything before me was crap. Nothing worked. I needed to make him innocent. He was a god figure, a hairy, bloodthirsty god among men. And that's what I'd name the new draft. A God Among Men. 

 

I took a good deal more of my medication than usual. I began with positive affirmation. I lit the incense I'd received for christmas and placed the stick in it's stand, an effigy of an elephant. I felt strange. If I turned my head, things seemed to blur. My plan was to build a rapport with my revamped character, to understand him. I borrowed Brett's color pencils and began. He was supposed to be a black man-like creature with black fur. I spent close to thirty minutes on it. When I finished, I felt relaxed. I went to bed. 

 

The next morning I rose late and checked the drawing. Instead of black outlines for the arms and legs, the entire figure was purple. The snow man was purple and red, big red fur around his neck. This was fucking terrifying to me. I spent thirty minutes in a well lighted room illustrating a fearsome god monkey and my brain shits out a purple clown teddy bear. 

So that's how things are going. I'm glad to be back after my disturbing two week hiatus. I'm sure the millions of devoted fans that read this page must be as well. 

                - M. Galactic

Helo

I know it's a crappy video. I gotta ease back into this blogging thing.