Damn it all damn it all, got that fucking email from the lady on fbook what does the music marketing shite… Quit yo day job and do music full time fucker! Damn would dat be nice. Wouldn’t it be grand to not have to work for the man so I and my fam can eat and live and I could do what i do best dear reader… it would. but fuck Imma whining. lets buck up my fuck ups and now I shall smoke up

What I do

Gimme a fat beat and I’ll feel it well inside meh. Like a rushing torrent of bluesy goodness waitin to burst pon up from ma heart. Flowing out like barfing flowers. It comes and I don’t try to control it. Like speaking in tongues… Let it go out into being forever and never contrived. I don’t stop to think. It just is…

Gimme some noisy thing to make a sound on. I’m getting high from the joy. I’m loosing my shit better hold on. get grounded I will loose control. But it is of the moment, create motherfucker! It’s lost to the air less I manage to record. In most cases I don’t… Try again and again. Get some idea of flow and ebb. Work on it, spend time with it, get to know it. Then it’s part of me and I don’t have to think about it.

I try and write, and I write and write. I seldom like it. I think it is getting somewhat easier. Like pulling chucks of brain through my skull. Words ain’t a forte, but I get their power and respect it. I like ambiguity, looseness, variety, heavy bass, punchy snare, a groove, a textural sound that gets me going, that gets my heart a pumpin and the singin from the guts going. Oh Lord!