The Frontier Brothers in New York

I'll say it again like I said it last night - I miss my gun. I'm listening to With A Little Help From My Friends radio show coming out of U penn, a creation of my friend Jillian and a girl named Rosie. New York is great. We've been here a week. My blogging has been slack, many moments I have looked at my feet moving or something like that and thought that I should blog. Or maybe have a camera to my eyes like in that Prodigy song, Smack My Bitch Up. I haven't been smacking any though, just enjoying their company respectfully.

Two out of the four shows we played in New York, we opened for a comedy troupe called FUCT. I was a bit drunk off of their keg beer (free) and all I could say was, I fucking loved it! I fucking loved it!

I'll post a link to their website. www.fuct.com

The show features many naked people and nakedness in various forms. The opening video for the website is a poor example. (Update 1/3/09 website link is incorrect) What I saw was uncircumcised penises stuffed back between people's butt cheeks. Great stuff.

Then we had a space party at The Lightyear Saloon.

That is Emily.

That was good punch.

Manifesto #1 - Preface

Mysteries of the Planet Kürr:

An Introduction to the Customs and People of the 8th planet
Orbiting the Great Star (Betelgeuse)

“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.”
- H.P. Lovecraft

Preface

Hello, my name is Marshall Galactic and it’s been a long time coming. I have put off the monumental effort of chronicling our journey for quite a long time. Though I have examined the circumstances in my own brain and thought hard about my past, the history of The Frontier Brothers, and the reasons surrounding our exodus, I have been hesitant to put the truth to paper. Almost as if all the sour memories were photographs lain aside a long time ago in a chest under the stairs, and to seek them out would bring such a flood of memories and smells and pangs of nostalgia it would be best not to even bother. But as a creature who enjoys hoarding things like paper, clothes, dishes, books, chairs, blankets, amplifiers, and more of the sort, it’s with a masochistic sort of pleasure that I open up my mind and spill all the shit and dust and broken implements back into the world of men.

Also, I need to justify myself. Not only myself, but the “mythos” of The Frontier Brothers as it is currently understood. I worry about things like that. Literary types who scoff at anything outside their comfort zone. Reluctantly, I offer this true story to the sun of popular stupidity. But I do so also with courage. The quote I have placed under the title describes my sentiment pretty accurately. The story of The Frontier Brothers has that kind of affect. It’s frightening. You don’t want to believe, you don’t want TFB to murder your santa claus innocence and expose you to the wider world, making you mad, scattering your natural perceptions.

That’s why it’s rock music. Before you read this piece, please understand that I am not a scientist. The ways that I describe my world, in relation to technology and it’s cultural oddities, are to be understood as the observations of a casual and often distracted observer. Just as most people on Earth barely understand the devices that light their homes, drive them around, and make their shit disappear, I don’t pretend to fully understand the fantastic technology of the 8th planet. But I’ll do my best.

Before you stands the first volume in a series I plan to continue. This, however, is my virgin effort. Enjoy, please. Enjoy it like I enjoy your women and your alcohol, and you will not become bored.

BETWEEN OUR PERIODICAL TOUR UPDATES I WILL BE POSTING EXCERPTS FROM A WORK I PRODUCED :

                  Mysteries of the Planet Kürr:
An Introduction to the Customs and People of the 8th planet
            Orbiting the Great Star (Betelgeuse)

Each post dedicated to this spanning reflection of on our history will be labeled "Manifesto" 1,2,3, and 4. 

The Tour Continues

We landed in Savannah and last night, Charleston. We got paid money for those gigs, about 300 dollars for each. Savannah was nice, but with the exception of Addie, I have a hard time communicating with people there. The past tours, both times at the breakfast table the morning after the show, I was silent. The girls and even the guys seem unreachable by conventional means, like they are faraway and I have to strain my voice and brain and expressions to make noises and interact. Nothing I say makes them laugh, even the go-to anecdotes that I recycle sometimes, the real quality ones. Nice people. Against my calls they're equipped with supernatural ear muffs. And I'm not talking about flirting. Just typical speech. Everything else is great though. The tree limbs are hung with green ornaments, long drab green moss; the trees have scarves on them and they hang into the street and you can touch them as you walk underneath. The people dance at our shows; they support us, provide us with good beer and good accommodations. All any band could ask for. But speaking for myself - still, there remains a devil between us.



 My recent bed time habits might have something to do with a pocketed away, dangerous loneliness. In regards to v day, Brett expressed a weak disappointment with his current circumstances - like when I mentioned I had forgotten that we were playing that very hallowed day he said "fuck that, depressing," but with no force. He presented the words with an effort close to a sigh. I countered. I said I was glad some fattened bitch wasn't at my throat, Marshall! Get me some flowers and some chocolates with little nuts in the center! I'm mean and getting fatter - - - some strawberry flavored ones!  

As the night wore on and I reflect on my behavior today, the bed ritual makes sense. I hit on some girl the entire band had already taken some sort of pass at. She was really friendly, a friend of a friend. And she was already with someone. I persevered. Shameful actions - ruinous, offensive, and senseless behavior, all because a void in my brain wants my arms to encircle something soft that loves me; a hole dwells there between my two hands and shoulders, cavernous. Likewise, in my brain a sink hole continues to widen. Just now, it became apparent to me why I do it. I can't go to sleep in my own bed without an extra pillow to hold onto. I must have one to doze off. I must. No need to explain that symbol. It rings true and my hypothesis has been drafted and the tour continues, miles of driving.

Tour #1 - Faulty Drainage

For some reason, every place we've stayed in has faulty drainage. Throughout every shower my feet have waded in a cesspool of my own body garbage, so that by the end, the cleanliness of my feet is questionable. Afterwards, I scrub the bottoms and tops of my feet clean. Sometimes I add an antiseptic. In New Orleans, we observed a neighborhood parade, a brass and wind and percussion band. Later, we were served by a transexual mexican waitress for hire, decked with large breasts and a collar that disguised her male neck. She was a great waitress. 

I've been a lonely bug in a big barren wilderness. The people are dry. They come and go. Chris Darden set up a lot in Charleston. Kendelle might not be so complicated, but more a desperate and kind soul lost in unfortunate consequences, which have nothing to do with that soul. A good one. 

In Atlanta, the doorman almost kicked me out. He claimed that planets were defined by their gravitational attraction. Only that. Magma cores had no significance. I disagreed. The theory of relativity tells us that any object pierces a unique portion of space time, a disruption: so that anyone's comb, perhaps their swimming pool pulls on a faraway nova and expands and stars and even the dying ones long ago extinct and black in black space erodes some dip in space time--- That is gravity. He disagreed. The three hundred pound islander sat up in a frenzy---he threatened to kick me out of the place. Of course, I had three Sparks in the car. Things were fine. Nevertheless, I was concerned. This large man thought anything with gravity must be orbited. Foolish. A thong panty or a bird's guano is so much a gravitational force. (Though negligible beside the rotating mass of earth and jupiter and objects floating from time and place and universe throughout time.)

And tonight, in battle with another band, a weak force. The weakest triumphed. They played late. It's a late town. 

I got a group of love letters from a girl I loved. What a woman. Then again. I read the passages steph wrote and never sent: beautiful things; she is a great writer, I never gave her that big compliment. But oh she is my love and I can't wait to return to watch a bloody movie and have decent beers and love each other once again, tenderly and light, light of being. 

Many more women will come, each will a distinct spark like they were the first ones. And all of them I will cherish in their singular noise, their air of that night.

I can love all of them, but none like Kelly, who anywhere will be her beautiful self, believing, at least to me. 

And the lady in New York, a columbia woman, good and right like clean soil, the heat that I need and I want. I can't wait. My greensboro Woman.

The Making of Space Punk Starlet Featurette

This video was created by Todd Wiseman of Wiseman design. Contact him and hire him.

Photo Journal: The Tour So Far

Tour Diary #3: Goodbye Nashville, Not Quite Hello Atlanta

Dear Earthlings,

So the Athens show didn't happen. A local band, Five-Eight, committed to being on a bill with us at The Caledonia Lounge and then pulled out without notifying us.

Dear Five-Eight, (if you find this post)
I'm sure you guys are a wonderful band. I've listened to your music and it's very well done. I'm sure you're all nice guys. Still- it's hard enough being a small independent band on the road without our colleagues burning bridges for us. Our fans in Athens have been patiently waiting for us to visit and we will have to postpone. Hopefully we'll make it to Athens soon (and the Caledonia Lounge looks COOL) but not this time. Like I said- we're NOT hating on Five-Eight, just suggesting a little more communication.

So whatever- we make mountains out of anthills (heh). We stopped by, Tennessee instead and stayed with TFB Space Cadet Axton. Sewanee is a tiny liberal arts town hidden in a beautiful southern bluff. The stillness of the countryside makes for an excellent reprieve from the always-on-intensity of the city. I think Marshall, Matt, & Travis are still asleep. I'm sitting at "The Blue Chair" coffee shop having Granola & Espresso. I sound like such a hipster.

Next stop: Lenny's Bar in Atlanta & a stay at the wonderful abode of Neil & Shelly.
- B

Tour Diary #2: Making friends at The Basement

Hello earthlings,

Last night we played wonderful Nashville room called The Basement. I was afraid that Nashville was all country. Our day spent downtown on music row certainly didn't ease my suspicions. Anyway, I was wrong- because The Basement is an indie rock enclave in all the best ways. Packed on a tuesday night and the employees couldn't have been friendlier.

We were playing what is sometimes referred to as a "showcase" set, meaning that we played only 5 songs. (The Setlist: Take It For Love, Don't Try & Take My Guns, How Do You Make Movies?, Kickstand Woman, Jump Blues) We were pumped up and ready to go. We loaded on stage. The clock was ticking (20 minutes isn't much). And.....Marshall's amp shitted out. The verdict is still out on what exactly is wrong with it but when your standing on stage and the announcer says its time to go on and your guitarist's amp isn't working- it's terrifying. I stood sweating in front of a packed room of people unable to perform yet caught in the spotlight. Seconds passed slowly. I fidgeted. Marshall plugged his guitar into the house amp (some kind of Marshall mini stack) and we got the show on the road. And I'll be damned if we didn't rock the roof down. Take It For Love was a little sketchy, seeing as there were almost no keyboards in the monitors, but the rest of the set was golden. By the time we played Jump Blues, we had inducted the audience into our secret society. The next time we come to Nashville, they will be back. Job well done.

I had the best BBQ sandwhich in my life in Nashville, yet its time to move on.

I'll be sure to check in soon.

-B

Tour Diary #1: Parade in the 9th Ward

Hello earthlings,

Sorry for our absence. You see, we were preparing for a massive east coast tour and, now, we're actually on it. This post comes to you from the mighty city of New Orleans, where the guy on the corner is actually a jazz legend and your aunt makes the best gumbo in town.

We left Austin at noon on Friday- loaded up our RV, met Matt's (our bassist) mom, and waked Travis by telling him that a homeless man had broken into the RV and was currently sleeping in it. He stormed outside in a rage to discover that it was just Pec- his roommate (nice prank, Marshall). Standing in his boxers and panting from adrenalin, Travis introduced himself to Matt's mom as the sane older voice of reason that would guide her son on a velvet rope tour of America.

So we left Austin and 8 hours later we were in New Orleans and we played a show and-what can I say- it was wonderful as always. I drive around the country sleeping on your couches and playing our songs and it's my job. How cool is that?
The Neutral Grounds is a folk coffee shop- too small for a rock'n'roll band- but we made it work. We packed in like sardines and rocked our hardest. Played the new songs. Played the old songs. It was a success and a proper start to a 5 week tour.

Yesterday, Allen took us around New Orleans. I think I've finally got a sense of the city. The vibe. Outside of Allen's house, the 9th Ward neighborhood parade (let by Quintron) was practicing for the upcoming Mardi Gras festivities. We followed them along their parade route and it was joyous. Rifle girls, trumpeters, and drum majors marched their way through "The Boys are Back in Town" and, while I've always hated that song, this rendition sent chills through my body (the good kind). New Orleans, beaten and bruised from the hurricane, still finds in her neighborhoods the spirit of the parade. I'm energized. I'm inspired. I'm ready for another Frontier Brothers tour.

- B

The Skipper, The Millionaire & His Wife