He Heard Himself Say

[DISCOGRAPHY] Agar Agar

2012-01-21T13:31:00.003-06:00

Agar Agar (Blastocoel Sound, 2012)
Blastocoel zero zero One
Format: CD (limited edition of 100), Digital

1. Trees Sweat Heat
2. Cedar Hives
3. Quarry Diving
4. You brought me to the country!
5. Argaarg

this all happened August 2006 at
Cybelle's hobbit house in Hillsborough, NC
recorded live/no dubs

Wylie Pamplin played bass.
WIlliam J Bratcher played guitar.
Zachary mastoon plaYed drums
pots and pans. Benjamin T
played voice, tape and sampler.
mastered by WJ Bratcher.visuals by
M Hart, W Taylor and B trueblood.
Thanks to all makers, friend family
season Bellweather MFG and you.
This is Blastocoel zero zero One.

In August of 2006, I was on a break from touring and visited my dear friend Benjamin Trueblood in North Carolina. It was incredibly hot. At night, warm whisky in coffee mugs guided us down the sidewalk-less streets. Cicadas buzzed as if through a humming amplifier, its tubes glowing like glass suns - or the soft light from quiet windows overlooking overgrown, fragrant lawns. By day, driving with the car windows down was our air conditioning and a Spine Scavenger cassette was our soundtrack. We picked fresh mint for juleps, tried to drive out snakes from the walls of a friend's dusty home, and dove in a quarry with screaming teenagers to wash the heat away.

One evening, we wandered to Ben's friend Wiley's house who I had never met. He and his friend William had set up a makeshift studio in the living room. There were guitars, colorful effects pedals, a bass, a drum set with a host of jangly percussion and pans surrounding it on the carpet, and cables winding to microphones and towering speakers. Ben had brought his loop pedal and field recordings captured on his micro cassette recorder, and in the fridge was Yerba Mate soda we mixed with whisky and ice.

I sat down on the drums, instruments were slung over shoulders, Ben knelt on the floor and cued up indescribable sounds to echo and filter through tiny knobs, and someone pressed "record". This is the vestige of that summer night's improvisation, now a limited-edition, hand-numbered release on Ben's Blastocoel Sound.

http://agaragaraga.bandcamp.com/

[DISCOGRAPHY] Universus Vol. 1

2011-06-14T23:11:00.003-05:00

Universus Vol. 1 (Circuitree Records, 2011)
CIRC014
Format: Digital

Misel Quitno - Im Halbhohen Gras (Caural Remix)

(taken from Sleep Over Remixes Vol. 1 (Ehstrawlogy, Ish))

[DISCOGRAPHY] Die Before You Die

2011-04-13T23:11:00.001-05:00

Die Before You Die (Eat Concrete, 2011)
EAT023
Format: 10" EP, Digital

1. Sugar Cane Girlfriend
2. Dragon Top
3. All Doors Open to the Same Room
4. Sunburned
5. Sorry, Underground Hip Hop Happened Ten Years Ago (for Regan)

One-sheet

Over the last ten years, bouncing back and forth from Chicago to NYC, Zachary Mastoon composed a diverse and critically-acclaimed catalog under the alias Caural. Pressing wax for such labels as Chocolate Industries, Mush, Plug Research, Sound in Color and many others, his song-oriented compositions and flair for unique sonic juxtaposition continue to set him apart from his contemporaries in the beat scene. Yet it was only by default - and much to his dismay - that he found himself pigeonholed by any one genre. Having come from a lifetime of recorded music (some of his earliest released work was done when he was 6 years old), a pursuit of jazz guitar studies with avant-garde giant Anthony Braxton (and even a journey sailing around the world playing Javanese Gamelan) Caural engages in SOUND more than form.

However, always in search of the next step, Caural began bidding adieu to the electronic format, but not before finishing his swan song of sorts, 'Sorry, Underground Hip Hop Happened Ten Years Ago (for Regan)'. Titled after the self-deprecating joke his touring mate Busdriver had donned on a tee-shirt, this rhythmic sound piece - constructed entirely out of vocal samples of the word "yo" and the incidental sounds accompanying them - is a brilliant, fragmented journey through some of Mastoon's favorite moments in hip-hop; in some ways, it was also his way of saying goodbye to it.

And 'Die Before You Die' is exactly that: a collection of some of the last material Caural produced before his signature Yamaha SU700 sampler was stolen from his apartment, which proved to be an ironic epilogue for Mastoon's musical alter-ego. From the driving, futuristic atmosphere of 'Dragon Top' through the head-nodding, warm crackles of 'Sunburned', to 'All Doors Open to the Same Room' (a short and ominous piece based on the beep of his friend Feltbattery's mini-disc recorder capturing a hive of bees), 'Die Before You Die' is a limited edition must-have for any fan of Caural's or music alike. Pressed on 10 inch coloured vinyl.

Quotes

"Sick!!!!!!" - Aardvarck

"'Caural almost died in a plane crash after playing L.A in 2006 and I'm glad he didn't because he makes beautiful fucking music!'' - Kutmah

"Tasty hot weather jams!" - Baconhead

"these are polished representations of his distinct choppy beats" - URB Magazine

"'Sunburned' and 'Sorry, underground hiphop..' are favourites" - Lefto

"..exactly my kind of music, will recommend it for sure! - Fulgeance

"..the music on this EP makes you realize how forward thinking his music has been over the last ten years" - Boomkat

"this is awesome!" - Wassim / Centrifuge

"Really cool and diverse EP and 'Sorry underground hip hop..' is funny as hell!!" - James Barrie / Global Souljah

"'Dragon Top' is the pick of these. Lovely synth work" - David Grinell / Donkey Pitch

[DISCOGRAPHY] Jed And Lucia - Quiet On The Freeway Mix - Andrew Meza's BTS Radio

2011-03-29T23:11:00.010-05:00

Jed And Lucia - Quiet On The Freeway Mix - Andrew Meza's BTS Radio
(BTS Radio, 2011)
BTSMX043
Format: Digital Only

"GB – Nocturnal Tribe (Caural Remix)"

Available for download on Andrew Meza's BTS Radio - www.btsradio.com

Caural X KRTS X Ampsoul By Jay Scarlett

2011-03-24T19:18:00.001-05:00

Caural's Afterlife Now Mix by Krts

To promote my upcoming 10" as Caural, Die Before You Die, my good friend Krts put together this fantastic mix of my material from over the last eleven years - check it out:

http://i.mixcloud.com/CUFix

Upcoming Limited-Edition Caural and Boy King Islands Colored Vinyl Available for Pre-Order!

2011-03-09T00:42:00.001-06:00

Caural - Die Before You Die (Available April 15th)

"Die Before You Die" is my farewell to electronic music and the Caural alias for now… The last 12 years have been fun, and this very limited-edition, colored vinyl 10" on Eat Concrete compiles some of the last music I made before I retired my sampler to a closet to be stolen. Oh well.

PRE-ORDER @ Rush Hour: http://rushhour.nl/store_detailed.php?item=58781

A couple full songs to stream:

http://soundcloud.com/caural/dragon-top

http://soundcloud.com/eatconcrete/caural-sugarcane-girlfriend

Boy King Islands - Fall VINYL! (Available May 13th)

While we are hard at work on a new album with Dan Smart of the Field Auxillary on the boards, Eat Concrete is pressing our debut, Fall, on limited edition-colored vinyl!

PRE-ORDER @ Rush Hour: http://rushhour.nl/store_detailed.php?item=58782

The album is also available on iTunes, Amazon, and other fine digital retailers, and of course there are still some copies left on
cassette for you folks with boomboxes and Walkmans:

http://plustapes.com/?p=629

[DISCOGRAPHY] Four Seasons Series: Summer - EP

2011-02-15T23:11:00.000-06:00

Four Seasons Series: Summer - EP (Organik Records, 2011)
ORG7011
Format: 7", Digital

"Sorry, Underground Hip Hop Happened 10 Years Ago (For Regan)"

One-sheet

Caural of Mush Records and Chocolate Industries fame returns with a historical ode to “Golden Era” Hip Hop titled “Sorry, Underground Hip Hop Happened 10 Years Ago (For Regan)”. Taking over 450 samples of the word "YO" from his collection of rap albums (either alone or with snares, kicks, hi-hats, chords and bass tones), Caural builds the piece bar by bar - and beat by beat! - producing a rhythmic experience of memory overload for Hip Hop heads. Ras G utilized this track in his Beat Soup Vol 1 mix CD, and it has laced the sets of many other producers in the exploding L.A. beat scene.

Boy King Islands’ Debut Album Out Now on Plustapes and Digitally Worldwide!

2010-11-11T13:11:00.000-06:00

I am happy to announce that, after long last, Boy King Islands’ debut album “Fall” is finally available!

There are a few different versions of the album floating around, but it has undergone a rebirth of sorts with new songs and all new mixes for this proper, very limited release on Chicago’s Plustapes label. If your walkman is acting up, don’t fret: it comes with a free digital download (including lyrics)!

Visit http://plustapes.com/ to get your copy from the edition of 200 cassettes while they last!

Boy King Islands is also available on on iTunes, Amazon, eMusic, and wherever mp3s are streamed and sold… Hear samples here and buy:

http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/fall/id401289166
 http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004AWAC0W/

Don’t trust your own opinion? Read a glowing review of the album here:

http://loudlooppress.com/reviews/boy-king-islands-fall/

And hey, if you aren’t trapped in 2005, you can LIKE us on Facebook!

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Boy-King-Islands/155738147787358

Better yet, if you like it, please tell your friends!

We are working on new material now and are eager to share it with you. Please keep up with us on Facebook and the soon-to-come Soundcloud page.

Boy King Islands on Abstract Science Radio 11/25/10

After you are done eating turkey or tofurkey this Thanksgiving, tune in to Abstract Science Radio at 10 PM Central Time for a special shoegaze/drone set by yours truly. I will be playing songs from the album mixed with some of my favorite shoegaze, drone, and noise. It will be the perfect companion to your tryptophan overload:

abstract science radio
 future music >> 
thursdays 10pm-2am 
WLUW 88.7fm > listen online http://wluw.org 
http://abstractscience.net/

You can stream and download the mix here:

http://soundcloud.com/boykingislands/boy-king-islands-on-abstract-science

New Music from Caural

This past June, some crackhead broke in through my back window and stole, among other things (including a four pack of Degree deodorant!), my Yamaha SU700. As if I hadn’t made it clear enough to the universe that I was more or less finished with the Caural alias, this was the nail in the coffin.

However, there are some things still on the way, I promise.

Along with my remixes for Misel Quitno (aka Dimlite) and Geskia out now on Swiss labels Ehstrawlogy/Ish, and Flau respectively, you can pick up a vinyl copy of an old favorite song of mine, “Soundtrack for Endings” on Australia’s Retort Records’ compilation “On Automata.”

And very soon, my bitter ode to rap music “Sorry, Underground Hip Hop Happened Ten Years Ago (for Regan)” will be released on a 7″ from Organik Recordings.

[DISCOGRAPHY] Boy King Islands - Fall

2010-10-14T01:11:00.000-05:00

Boy King Islands - Fall (Plustapes, 2010)
PT044
Format: Cassette (run of 200 copies), Digital

Side A
1. Math Is Christ
2. Wear You Well
3. Sweetness
4. Dead Friend
5. Hellos After Goodbyes

Side B
6. I Talk to The Wind
7. Feeling Nowhere
8. Lights in The Sky
9. Augusta
10. Atlantean
11. Ghost Walk

Boy King Islands is:

Jason Hunt
Keyboards, Guitars, Mbira, Harmonica, Noise & Field Recordings

Zachary Mastoon
Words, Guitars, Bass, Keyboards, Drums and Percussion

Additional love from Jacob Croegaert (Bass on 1, 2, 3, 5, 9 & 10) and Elizabeth Hunt (Background Vocals on 4, 5 and 10, and Rhodes on 6).

All songs written & produced by Boy King Islands (Diaspora Movement, ASCAP and He Heard Himself Say, BMI) except "I Talk to The Wind" by King Crimson (McDonald, Sinfield), published by BMG Music, Inc.

Recorded by Boy King Islands in Chicago and NYC, with engineering assistance from Keith Kreuser, Jordan Lieb and Teren Foggi.

Mixed and mastered by Keith Kreuser at Croatia, Chicago.

One-sheet

Friends and musical collaborators for nearly 20 years, Zachary Mastoon (better known as Caural) and Jason Hunt saw the first hints of Boy King Islands emerge in the summer of 1995. Outside in a park together at twilight, their improvisation unfolded as the basis for "Feeling Nowhere" - an emotive and melancholy progression magically unforgotten years later.

Named after a painting by the hugely prolific outsider artist Henry Darger, the duo of Boy King Islands was resurrected in the winter of 2002 when - then roommates - they stretched microphone chords around doors and through thin walls of their north side Chicago apartment to capture the beginnings of what would become their debut: buzzing Fender guitars with the gnarl of tube distortion; the tines of a Rhodes or the warm hum of a Wurlitzer; an mbira plucked through a wah pedal or a wooden box with broken glass and beads shook as percussion; and Mastoon's whispery and always doubled vocals swimming in a wash of crashing cymbals.

Mastoon returned to NYC that next year but, when not on tour or working on releases as Caural, he and Jason sent each other ideas to be fleshed out in infrequent studio sessions deftly engineered by their friend Keith Kreuser. Years later, the resulting collection of fuzzy and swirling shoegaze-influenced pop music spanning nearly 8 years was mixed in Chicago where the two began: with nostalgic echoes but eyes gazing forward.

Listen to it loudly.

Reviews

Thecultureofme.com

Chicago duo Boy King Islands are Zachary Mastoon and Jason Hunt, two musicians who've spent the better part of their lives in bands playing music they've fallen in love with and then subsequently fallen out of love with. Not so with this new project, where a re-imagining of noisy yet poppy shoegaze rock music is forming around swirling guitars and walls of sounds, a handful of instruments and vocals that, at first listen, don't seem to belong.

It's the 1990's all over again with Boy King Islands, which mixes the best of Ride and The Jesus & Mary Chain's influence on indie rock with a bit of Thurston Moore-ish delivery, collegiate pop from the Midwest and a bunch of other mile-markers that you should skip over and just listen to the songs already instead. Also, listing out instruments like guitar, bass, drums, keyboard, Mbira, field recordings, ambient noise, etc. is helpful in getting further entrapped.

Fall, the debut record from this band, isn't entirely new but is now being carried on cassette release via Chicago's Plustapes label. It's a very limited-edition run (200 copies on cassette and includes a digital download), but the album is available on iTunes, Amazon and Rhapsody as well.

Tracklist:

Side A

01 Math Is Christ 

02 Wear You Well 

03 Sweetness

04 Dead Friend

05 Hellos After Goodbyes

Side B 

01 I Talk To The Wind

02 Feeling Nowhere

03 Lights In The Sky

04 August a

05 Atlantean 

06 Ghost Walk

Godspeed!

Chicagoist.com

Boy King Islands’ debut release has been a long time coming. The Chicago shoegaze duo is comprised of long-time friends Zachary Mastoon (who also plays under the alias Caural) and Jason Hunt, who’ve been collaborating musically for more than sixteen years. Back in 2003, they made the project official, naming it for one of Henry Darger’s fantastical watercolor paintings. While the band seemed to be an abandoned effort, going several years without any results, the duo has finally come through and released their first full-length, Fall.

The 11-song album blends Mastoon’s more conventional instrumentation (guitar, bass, drums, keyboard) and Hunt’s stranger sounds (Mbira, field recordings, ambient noise, harmonica) into a steady flow of warm, dreamy, introspective rock. Even its most upbeat tracks, like opener “Math is Christ,” are hazed over with layers of fuzz and distortion. “Dead friend,” is an expectedly more somber track, featuring discordant guitars, deep, heavy bass, tons of distortion, and whispered vocals lost somewhere in the background. And “Atlantean” is yet another densely textured track, opening with pleasant, harmonic strumming then shifting into wavering, droning guitar and mellow, almost spoken vocals.

Despite its lush texture, the album has a distinct lo-fi, basement-recorded feel, due in part to the excessive distortion. Some tracks seem at times more like amorphous fuzz rather than coherent compositions; for example, the duo’s cover of King Crimson’s “I Talk to the Wind” is so woozy and fuzzed out it could make your eyelids droop. The duo also chose to keep the album sample- and sequencing-free, relying mostly on manual instrumentation recorded through microphones. Fitting to this lo-fi aesthetic, Fall is available in oldfangled cassette format through local cassette label Plus Tapes. But if you prefer an iPod over a tape deck, worry not, because each copy also comes with a digital download copy. Check it out for yourself, and keep your ears open for word of a possible cassette release show.

- Sarah Cobarrubias

Chicagoreader.com

Local cassette-only label PLUS TAPES has just released a new trinket for your tape deck from two-piece BOY KING ISLANDS. Fall, their new album, features 11 songs, including a totally sublime cover of King Crimson's "I Talk to the Wind." Boy King Islands is the project of townies JASON HUNT and ZACHARY MASTOON; Mastoon is probably best known to listeners for his electronica/weird-hop production work as CAURAL. This tape is limited to 200 and includes a digital download code, in case your Walkman goes on the fritz.

- Jessica Hopper and J.R. Nelson

Loudlooppress.com

Chicago’s Boy King Islands new album, Fall, is meticulously complex in creation, but simplistic in sound. Working within the heady and lo-fi post-rock arena, the duo of Jason Hunt and Zachary Mastoon have created a very impressive first album filled with gorgeous, sleepy, cerebral rock.

Together since 2003, Hunt and Mastoon pull elements from influences like My Bloody Valentine, Dinosaur Jr., and Elliott Smith, which can be heard resonating through each of their songs. Mastoon’s high tenor voice is unobtrusive and blends deliciously with the shimmery keyboards, chimey guitars, and cymbal laden drums.

The first song on the album is a tongue-in-cheek ditty entitled “Math is Christ”. It’s an upbeat (about as fast paced as they get), catchy piece layered with creamy Rhodes, delayed guitars, and fuzzy vocals. Mastoon sings cheerfully in the chorus, “Math is Christ, the devil’s in details, but everything exists just for me”.

“Dead Friend”, shows more of a darker side to the band and shows the heavy influence of My Bloody Valentine. The mood is changed entirely with Mastoon’s voice becoming breathier and blending even further into the instrumentation. Hunt and he drive the song with intense tribal drums, fuzzy clashing guitars sounds and heavy bass lines.

They again lighten it up a little in the first half of “Hellos after Goodbyes”, but leave their little face-melting surprise for the second part of the song. Using an acoustic with a light tremolo, Mastoon plays with airy harmonic vocals, exposing his Elliott Smith side. The steady quiet sound of feedback is threaded throughout the song, building a tension that explodes a minute and a half later. Screaming psychedelic guitar riffs, heavy crashing drums and bass on overdrive come roaring in, leaving you in awe of the diversity this band can pull off all in one song.

Another highlight on the album, “Atlantean” takes you on a little bit of a journey. The song opens simply with nearly surf rock-ish guitars and builds upon itself with keyboards, a lazy drum beat, and two part harmony vocals, eventually moving toward a crescendo of layered music and natural sound.

Boy King Islands are masters at blending their songs so that no one element is overwhelming. Distinct and cleverly composed, Fall takes the listener back to a time when music was slow, deliberate and meaningful for listeners; when rock wasn’t all wailing guitars riffs and lead vocal-centric, but emotional and intelligent.

- Britni Day 

Loudlooppress.com (Top Ten of 2010)

I have to start off by stating my belief that My Bloody Valentine is the quintessential shoegaze band (and, yes, The Jesus and Mary Chain and Cocteau Twins fall under this as well, but I’m not talking about them). The endless crashing off-set guitars, tinkle of occasional keys and thunderous drums while buried somewhere beneath drift the soft murmur of vocals.

All that having been explained, I don’t consider Boy King Islands shoegaze. I don’t even consider them nugaze – which really is a horrid name for the post- rock, shoegaze-inspired movement because it sounds like numetal and I think that numetal is the worst thing to plague human existence since Britney Spears and the Ebola virus. However, I do think that BKI is in a category of their own, which is why they made my top ten list.

I came across this album by miracle. Seriously. It was handed off to me by another LoudLoopPress.com staff member who wanted to listen to metal that day. And the metal gods must have been smiling down on me, because Fall happened to be a gift of the ages. Rich, fuzzy ambient lo-fi post-rock with lackadaisical Elliot Smith-esque vocals that have a dirty habit of twisting themselves into drilling guitar riffs with heavy bass lines and driving drums fill this album.

Boy King Islands make intelligent music, blending element into element with surgical precision and adding cheeky but clever lyrics to boot (“Math is Christ, the devil’s in details, but everything exists just for me”). Every song is unexpected but always a refreshing welcome blow to the ears. My favorite part of Boy King Islands? These boys love a tasty Rhodes piano with their clashing guitar as much as I do. Delicious.

- Britni Day

Theoddsareeven.blogspot.com

Boy King Islands is a collaborative effort long in the making. Zachary Mastoon and Jason Hunt's current project has roots reaching 15 years back to a summer evening in Chicago. The two have a long history of musical collaboration, and their extensive experience in other fields of music has manifested itself in their first public recordings. So named for the work of outsider artist Henry Darger, Boy King Islands' (as yet untitled) debut album's sprawling, lush textures exhibit a deep esteem for shoegaze, while the serene flow and attention to sonic detail are a clear reflection of Mastoon's earlier work in electronic music. Standout track "Wear You Well" encapsulates their ethos well - heavenly keys, cymbal wash, and a warm blanket of fuzz brush up against each other in hypnotic proportion. Boy King Islands have spent several years building this album piecemeal, yet the final product's cohesion speaks volumes to their artistic focus.

Granted, this probably sounds like a bio. That's because I wrote it as a bio for a newsletter. Still, these songs kind of rule, and I recommend everybody give it a listen at least. The chordwork is excellent and the production is above reproach. Also, there's a cover of "I Talk To The Wind" from the first King Crimson album which substitutes out about 3 minutes of flute solo for streamlined, textured excellence.

- Jon Ozaksut

[DISCOGRAPHY] Various - On Automata

2010-09-21T01:11:00.000-05:00

Various - On Automata (Retort Records, 2010)
RET001
Format: LP

"Soundtrack for Endings"

(exclusive track)

Notes: This is a song I had made in 2002 which was originally intended for Stars on My Ceiling. It finally sees the light of day on this Australian label's first release.

[DISCOGRAPHY] Superhuman Happiness/CSC Funk Band - Human Happiness/A Troll's Soirée (Split 7")

2010-08-21T01:11:00.000-05:00

Superhuman Happiness/CSC Funk Band - Human Happiness/A Troll's Soirée (Split 7") (Electric Cowbell Records, 2010)

EC 002

Format: 7"

"Human Happiness"

(Drums, percussion, toy piano, and production)

Slides

2010-02-14T23:15:00.003-06:00

I love the sound of the slide projector, handing my father slides with images I have never seen, then watching as it cycles through them, turning memories into stories, and his heart into words, sometimes choked with emotion: elaborate gold palaces in Russia, a bucolic scene in Ireland, ruins in Greece, snapshots of Jerusalem, Amsterdam, Lucerne - and of course those portraits of places he struggles to remember. And then the smile of my mother, and the click of the projector either going too fast or too slow depending on the moment, the bloodshot mist of his eyes resurfacing from their home always underneath.

Last night we found slides of our house. They were taken through a fish eye lens, and the sun dappled the driveway and crystalized in soft-focussed gems on the film. Each room of the house was drenched in yellow light, and each looked unfamiliar until we studied patterns emerging from a radiator and its adjacent windows, our subconscious bubbling in warm retrospection. These rooms were skeletons dressed in different skin: foreign wallpaper, strange carpeting, and furniture I had never seen before. And in the case I did recognize something, it was changed - whether a different color or placed in an alternative orientation.

There was a shot of the upstairs bathroom. I remembered the grey and black tiles on the wall, and the small, white, hexagonal ones on the floor. I thought I remembered the sink and perhaps the shelf just behind the toilet, but maybe I was inventing those thoughts. What I did recall was an earache, the glow of the nightlight, a sip of water before bed, and kissing my parents goodnight in their dimly lit bedroom. Then I went back further to a time before me, and helped my parents move in to what would be their first and only home together, imagining everything those rooms would hold for them in time.

Then another image. This one of my mom and dad together in Greece. My dad didn't recognize himself. And then one of my mom and sister blowing bubbles in the backyard and, in the background, a shed which was no longer there, and bushes which have long since died. But I remembered them there, and I remembered my old neighbor emerging from that shed with his lawnmower. I heard it whir and smelled a freshly cut lawn, then there were white coals and a summer's barbeque.

And the projector clicked, and its light cast the past on the wall in front of us. The cat pawed at the back of the painting we had taken down for our slideshow; the sound of my dad's oxygen machine hummed softly, punctuated by his sharp inhales, and my sister arranged slides we had already seen in glossy sleeves. I sat with a full heart as if in a dream I never wanted to end, but felt the sting of knowing that it already had.

We've fallen back asleep now; we'll remember this part when we wake.

[DISCOGRAPHY] Altocamet - Atormenta (Caural's Bleeding Hearts rmx)

2009-12-02T01:11:00.000-06:00

Altocamet - Atormenta (Caural's Bleeding Hearts rmx)

Appears on: Mitad del Viento Remixes (Casa Del Puente Discos, 2009)

Format: CD

[DISCOGRAPHY] Misel Quitno - Im Halbhohen Gras (Caural Remix)

2009-11-17T01:11:00.000-06:00

Misel Quitno - Im Halbhohen Gras (Caural Remix)

Appears on: Sleep Over Remixes Vol. 1 (Ehstrawlogy, Ish)

EhStraw003, ISH0171202

Format: 12", Digital

Caural Interview with Shot from Guns

2009-11-08T13:57:00.000-06:00

Check out this interview I did with Taylor Northern of Shot from Guns:

http://shotfromguns.wordpress.com/2009/11/08/read-all-about-him-caural/

[DISCOGRAPHY] Geskia - Right Lights (Caural Remix)

2009-10-26T01:11:00.000-05:00

Geskia - Right Lights (Caural Remix)
Appears on: Eclipse 323 (flau, 2009)
FLAU13

Boy King Islands - Album Finished/Songs up for Preview on www.myspace.com/boykingislands

2009-10-12T15:08:00.000-05:00

Hi friends, Some of you have heard various incarnations of some of these songs, but I am happy to announce that each has died and come back to life in an improved form, just like you will ;)

For those of you familiar with my work as Caural, Boy King Islands couldn't be any more different: There are no samples and absolutely no sequencing. It's the labor of my dear friend Jason Hunt and myself on actual instruments, recorded with actual microphones - hooray! I am on vocals and drums, and he and I share duties on guitars, Rhodes, Wurlitzer, and assorted sounds. Guests include our friend Jacob Croegaert on bass for certain songs, and Jason's wife Beth lends beautiful backing vocals. And, the album wouldn't be what it is without the help of Keith Kreuser aka K-Kruz who helped mix it over the last bunch of months!

I have posted 5 songs from the as-of-yet-untitled album on our Myspace:

www.myspace.com/boykingislands

I hope you enjoy it; If you do, please share with your friends!

Caural Interview with Centerstage Chicago

2009-09-21T16:34:00.000-05:00

I just did an interview with Jeff Min from Centerstage Chicago:

http://centerstagechicago.com/music/articles/caural.html

Caural Interview with Circuitree

2009-08-25T17:33:00.000-05:00

My friend Paul Gaeta (aka PG-13) recently interviewed me for his Circuitree Records blog. Check it out:

http://circuitreerecords.blogspot.com/2009/08/caural-interview.html

Goldwave

2009-08-07T15:23:00.000-05:00

Friends - my friend Justin Hori has a really cool blog called heartyarts.com, and he was nice enough to post a sound piece I completed years ago; I am now excited to share it with you!

It was more or less what inspired my "yo" piece ("Sorry, Underground Hip Hop Happened 10 Years Ago (for Regan)"), and the story behind it is here:

http://www.heartyarts.com/heartyarts/Blog/Entries/2009/5/18_Caural-Goldwave.html

Enjoy!

[DISCOGRAPHY] Sven Swift - Breakers Mixtape

2009-06-02T01:11:00.001-05:00

Sven Swift - Breakers Mixtape (Error Broadcast, 2009)

EBCMX001

Format: File, MP3, Mixed, 192 kbps

"Sugar Cane Girlfriend"

[DISCOGRAPHY] Ras G - Beat Soup

2009-06-02T01:11:00.000-05:00

Ras G - Beat Soup (Self-Released, 2009)

"Sorry, Underground Hip Hop Happened Ten Years Ago (for Regan)"

Notes: Appears as "Yo!!!!!!"

[DISCOGRAPHY] Take aka Sweatson Klank - Sweatson's Trajectory

2009-05-02T01:11:00.000-05:00

Take aka Sweatson Klank - Sweatson's Trajectory (dublab, 2009)

Future005

Format: CD, Mixed, Limited Edition

"Stalactite"

Resonate/Lecture & Performance at Princeton University

2009-03-28T12:18:00.001-05:00

Spring is still hiding behind snowy rain here in Chicago but, soon
enough, K-Kruz and I will be spring-timing it up at an all-night party
here on the west side:

Resonate v4.0 - Saturday, 4.04.2009 @ 9 PM

[description from Resonate]:

>>

RESONATE is produced by Chicago's Burning Man Community for the
Burning Community at-large. It embodies the tenets of
Radical-Inclusion, Radical Self-Expression, Radical Self-Reliance and
LEAVE NO TRACE!

Event begins at 9 pm, ends 5 am

All profits from this all-tribe event go back to our community and
are administered thru the Chicago steeringman committee. All budget and
expense info are reported transparently to the community (i.e. you)
thru the Burning Man-Chicago regional mailing list. BYO. Dress to Kill.
Near West Side location.

>>

This event has too much going on... Music, video, performance, fire
(yes, fire!), live art, art installations, sound and light
installations, and it's going ALL NIGHT LONG. Check out the website
for full event details:

http://www.resonatechicago.net

Caural Coming to Princeton!

I am honored to have been invited to speak for the Graduate
Composition Colloquium at Princeton University. My presentation is
open to the public:

Composition Colloquium Talk with Zachary Mastoon (aka Caural)
Thursday, 4.16.09 @ 4:30pm

Woolworth Music Building on the Princeton Campus

The Woolworth Music Building can be located approximately at the
corner of Washington Road and Prospect Avenue in Princeton (NJ)

Later that evening, K-Kruz joins me again for some more improvised hijinks:

Terrace F. Club with K-Kruz - 4.16.09 @ 11:30
62 Washington Rd,
Princeton, New Jersey 08544 
Cost: FREE

We'll be djaying a little bit before doing our live sampler set.

Short Interview & New Track Featured on Powerstripcircus.com

2009-03-09T18:05:00.000-05:00

Here's a short feature on me by once-fellow (so sad!) NY artists on their new site, Powerstripcircus.com. I answered a few questions asked by my friend KRTS, and gave them a brand new track for you to hear entitled "Sugar Cane Girlfriend": a simple song I felt I had to do last spring after spending months listening to hundreds of samples of the word "yo." Also featured is a video of my song "Lake" by Mr. Sean Capone (thesupernature.com). There's tons more to see on the site! Take a look/listen :)

http://powerstripcircus.com/?p=333

Caural @ AV XPLO, with Nightmares on Wax, and other news from cold Chicago

2009-01-11T22:10:00.001-06:00

Wow, it's 2009. 2008 was fairly insane for me: full of huge decisions and, therefore, major changes. As many of you know, a month before my departure date to Kobe, I withdrew from the JET Program and happily remained in Chicago among family and friends. I accepted a full-time position as a Project Manager at an E-Commerce company in River North instead of teaching elementary school students basic English, and have never been happier with an actual "grown up" job.

In any event, of course music continues, though at a much slower pace. After a first run at an improvised sampler set with Chicago producer and old friend K-Kruz for DJ Striz's party at the Whistler, we are teaming up again for two shows this month in Chicago:

(Abbreviated Press Release from A/V XPLO)

A/V XPLO presents: CHANGE WE XPLO

featuring nearly 50 artists and 8 music entities

Friday, January 23rd, 7:00 PM (17 & over) @ Subterranean
2011 North Ave. Chicago, IL 60647 (773) 278-6600 $10 cover

2008 has proven to be an historic year for the United States. Chicago's own Barack Obama ignited a political and creative movement throughout the city and nation. The good people who run A/V XPLO festivals (music director Paul Midstates and art director Tony Vega) could not sit by and allow this seminal moment to pass without throwing a party.

AUDIO : Golden Sores Ten Speed www.tenspeedmusic.com Midstates & the Choir of Ghosts midstatesmusic.com Change! http://www.myspace.com/changemusic Caural (Zachary Mastoon www.caural.net) with K-Kruz (Chicago producer) Panda Riot www.pandariot.com Pugs Atomz www.myspace.com/pugsleeatomz DJ SR71 http://www.myspace.com/srseventyone

VISUAL: Tony Vega, Jessica Wagner, Bernadette Aguilar, Jose "J-Rod" Rodriguez, Natalie Escamilla, Nuria McNeal, Brad Biancardi with many more to come.
For more information, visit http://avxplo.com

Caural & K-Kruz opening for Warp's Nightmares on Wax

Yes, in case you miss our show at Subterranean, the next week we'll be joining Abstract Science DJs and opening for Nightmares on Wax!

Saturday, January 31st, 9:00 PM @ Abbey Pub
3420 W. Grace Street. Chicago, IL 60618 $16 in advance/$18 at the door

This should be a great show. Thanks to the Windish Agency and Approaching Serpents for setting this up!

Boy King Islands: Finally ready to mix!

Over the last year, Jason and I have written and recorded a slew of new songs and thus totally reshaped the Boy King Islands record, which has been a long time in the coming. Five years and three record labels later, we will finally mix and release the album, tentatively entitled "Fall." I am really happy with the new material and, as soon as it's ready for public consumption, I'll post some new tunes on the good old Myspace for you to hear. Some older songs are up for you to listen to:

www.myspace.com/boykingislands

Stay tuned; Release date TBD in 2009

Tambourine Solo: Take One (Collaboration with Chicago artist Cody Hudson)

After an initial opening in Los Angeles this past May at New Image Art, my collaboration with artist Cody Hudson was unveiled - and is still up - at the Andrew Rafacz Gallery here in Chicago. If you missed the opening, you can view the video component here:

http://www.vimeo.com/2579556

The video was also picked up by French clothing company Sixpack, for whom Cody designs cool shirts and hoodies. You can view Cody's line here:

http://www.sixpack.fr/static/artist.php#id=6

[DISCOGRAPHY] Tambourine Solo: Take One

2008-12-12T21:27:00.000-06:00

Tambourine Solo: Take One

Collaboration with artist Cody Hudson (2008)

Format: Sound Installation & Video

Notes: For Cody Hudson's tambourine sculpture entitled "Too Late to Keep the Change, Too Late to Pay," I created an accompanying sound piece entirely out of tambourine samples called "Tambourines for Cody." The installation was first set up at New Image Art in Los Angeles in July of 2008 for a joint show with artist Sean Cassidy. Its second incarnation will be opening tomorrow (Friday, December 12th, 2008) here in Chicago at the Andrew Rafacz Gallery. For this version, Cody created an additional video component, mounting TV monitors on the studio walls to run on loop adjacent to the sculpture.

Here are details from Gapersblock.com:

Chances are you're familiar with the work of local visual artist Cody Hudson by now; either by way of his silkscreened posters for various events and venues, his public art installations, or perhaps even his work as in-house designer (under the moniker Struggle Inc.) for the Chocolate Industries record label. Or you might know him -- along with Mike Genovese and Juan Angel Chávez -- as one of a core cluster of this city's most notable street artists.

This weekend, Hudson will be trotting out a new batch of work at a show that opens this Friday evening at the Andrew Rafacz Gallery in the West Loop. Entitled "Tambourine Solo: Take One," the exhibition will also feature musical accompaniment -- a musical score crafted by local musician Zachary Mastoon. In recent years Mastoon's released albums of shoegazey, downtempo tunes under the name Caural. The score for "Tambourine Solo," incidently, was originally done in collaboration with Hudson for a show that took place at New Image Art in L.A. this past August. So peep the work, hear the soundtrack, maybe even buy a print of something. 835 W. Washington, 5-8 PM. 312-404-9188 for info. The exhibition is scheduled to run until January 24.

— Graham Sanford

TAMBOURINE SOLO: TAKE ONE from cody hudson on Vimeo.

Yes We Did!

2008-11-05T23:09:00.000-06:00

November 4th came quickly this year, and I am still amazed that a day which had been built up skyscraper-high by a frenzied media still managed to surpass the impossible expectations everyday Americans - and our global neighbors - held for it. I recall my morning commute on the El, fingers smudged with newsprint as they leafed through page after page about Obama & McCain, and paragraphs of optimistic conjecture. Opening train doors let in the atypically warm fall breeze, and more people wearing Obama tee-shirts and buttons would step in the car, glancing around at a sea of red, white, and blue on the cover of the morning news.

Stepping off the train at Merchandise Mart, I felt overcome with exhilarated anxiety of the night to come. The cashier at Jamba Juice declared, "this is gonna be a good day," and I agreed. I had brought a large bag of leftover Halloween candy to get rid of at work, and offered her and her co-worker some after they finished making my Coldbuster, sharing it with the other customers in line. It sounds so corny in hindsight, but I was just feeling the most positive energy and wanted to give it to everyone around me any way I could. Once at the office, I found it hard to concentrate, but my workday went by much quicker than I had anticipated; the election was on everyone's mind. Soon enough, I was on the El to meet my friend Rachel at her work.

Having arrived a little early, I went next door to a small pub for a vodka soda. They had three televisions on with only the audio from CNN broadcast over the speakers, and everyone was glued to the results beginning to roll in. Obama was up by quite a bit already, but I flashed on 2004. Back then, after a disastrous first term which Bush didn't even technically win, I thought Kerry's victory would have been the painfully obvious outcome. I had a 40 ounce of Olde English and was wandering in and out of Olia's room in Williamsburg, periodically checking the poll results on her television. Of course we now know what happened, and the next day, the cover of Britain's Daily Mirror asked "How Can 59,054,087 People Be So Dumb?" But this time, it did feel different: not in the way that some conspiratorial fodder couldn't already be in the works, but that people all around me - those I would have never expected to become so passionate about the election - were suddenly self-appointed spokespeople for Change with a capital 'C'. I was getting text messages, mass emails, and hundreds of political links sent to me, and the suddenly ubiquitous "status messages" on chat servers, Myspace and Facebook were all about Obama.

Maybe that in itself - our continuing interconnectivity with technology and the embrace of omnipresent information - was at the core of making this campaign truly different, but it was so much more than that. One line stuck out to me, no doubt the inspiration for tee-shirts, pins, and blogs: "Give Intelligence A Chance." People really were paying more attention this time, and the transparency of dubious sources like Fox News was increasing, becoming less and less of a threat to the thinking viewer. Of course, I don't want to sit here and argue absolutely truth in journalism, and I clearly have bias; moreso, I felt that average people, the "joe six-packs" and "hockey moms," had so much more to say themselves this time around, and that's what revolution is really about.

When Rachel arrived, we quickly said goodbyes and made our way off for espresso and a ride back downtown to Grant Park. Initially, I had mixed feelings about attending the rally. My penchant for cynicism mixed with a healthy dose of paranoia, and I feared the worst. When you get millions of people in one place supporting a single cause, people against it will want to try anything they can. But, walking off the train among truly excited people that night, I shifted towards a comforting (but altogether dangerous) sense of invincibility. Vendors lined the packed streets, hawking their political paraphernalia with pride. The energy was intense: I couldn't tell if it was the espresso, but I was tingling with anticipation. I also found it amazing that, almost everywhere I looked, there was a smile. People were nearly shoulder to shoulder walking along Congress, but there weren't any complaints or irate comments if someone bumped into another. Instead, a pleasant apology, a grin, and even a high-five with a stranger: "Go Obama!"

We didn't have tickets, so we forged our way towards one of the bright jumbotrons. Helicopters hovered ominously in the sky, but all eyes were on the live footage of CNN as states became either red or blue, accompanied by the image of a smiling McCain (and boos) or Obama (deafening cheers). And the diversity of the people around me was really striking: Black, White, Yellow and Brown people of multiple generations stood eagerly and hopeful, their eyes illuminated in camera flashes like silent lightning before the storm. Some climbed trees to get a better view, and others scampered atop port-a-potties, heads above the veritable sea of onlookers.

Ohio was ours, and the crowd joined in a chant along with CNN's countdown until the west coast's count was announced: "Five, four, three, two, one..." Then, with a swirl of animated stars and "Breaking News," Barack Obama's face came on the screen. I couldn't see the entire screen, and so I asked Rachel if he had just won California. "Zak - he won the entire thing! Barack Obama is president!"

I couldn't believe it. It almost seemed too fast, and my head was spinning. The crowd was going absolutely crazy, waving flags and cameras, hugging strangers, friends, and lovers. And then the paranoia set back in. I thought of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King. My heart started to beat a little harder and faster in my chest, and I again looked at the helicopters hanging in the inky darkness. Could they see everything they needed to? And, even if they did, what could they do from so far away? It seemed like forever before Obama walked onto the pier-like platform, but with each of his articulated thoughts, my fear subsided. I thought of Martin Luther King again, but not out of fear. Obama's "Yes we can"s echoed King's "I have a dream," and I felt I was witnessing something even greater than that march on Washington forty-five years ago. I was reminded of a quote from rapper Jay-Z, "Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther King could walk. Martin Luther King walked so Obama could run." And there we were, as a nation on a night the world will remember - finally ready to fly.

To view photos from the rally, check my flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/caural/sets/72157608690721236/

[DISCOGRAPHY] Ras G - Beats & The Abstract Truth

2008-11-02T01:11:00.000-05:00

Ras G - Beats & The Abstract Truth (Mochilla, 2008)

MOCD-009, MOCD009

Format: CD, Mixed

"Sorry, Underground Hip Hop Happened Ten Years Ago (for Regan)" on Ras G's Beats & The Abstract Truth (Mochilla)

Notes: Appears as Flying Lotus / Caural - "Orbit 405/Yoooooo"

[DISCOGRAPHY] Panty Raiders: Project Vote

2008-10-21T12:37:00.000-05:00

Panty Raiders: Project Vote (2008)

Format: TV/Online

I was happy to lend some of my music to the Panty Raiders, an award-winning squad of female artists based in NY who are all about "ambushing your media." For this collection of shorts produced for the Sundance Channel, these ladies traveled to Mexico City, Mumbai and London to get locals to cast their vote for the next American president. Check it out, and remember to exercise your right to vote!!

"Your Memories On Television," "All These Todays Just Melt Into Tomorrows" and "Pieces of a Broken Glass God" appear on Mexico City, Mumbai, and London episodes.

http://www.pantyraiders.org/project_vote.html

Modart Issue no. 19

2008-10-01T18:50:00.000-05:00

Modart Issue no. 19
Zachary Mastoon is also known as "Caural" and his musical creations are legendary in the Hip Hop, Beats, and Downbeat scenes. He makes lush tunes with a totally unique edge to them. Unlike a lot of the wash of downbeat that is around, Zachary manages to inject personality into his tracks and even give them an age.

He's opened gigs for James Lavelle, Daedelus, RJD2, Aceyalone and many more, along with racking up a massive discography of his own. He also has a large amount of remixes under his belt.

We haven't heard from him in a while and I wanted to introduce him to the readers of Modart both for his music and visual art. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Let's talk...

Q: How did it all start for you?

Whether it was my dad playing Herbie Hancock and Stevie Wonder records when I was 3, or my infatuation with early 80's bands through MTV (I'd record songs off the television with a Fisher Price cassette recorder), I just fell in love with music immediately. My cousin Andy got this Casio PT-80 keyboard and, primarily out of jealousy, I got one too. We started recording music together when I was 4 years old or so, and I can't find the tape for the life of me! Anyway, my across-the-street neighbor Stuart Bogie and I began working together on some music soon after that. I had a sparkly blue drum set, an acoustic guitar, and that keyboard: For a six year old, I brought the heat! Stuart would rap on top of it, and I actually put one of those early songs on my first album, Initial Experiments In 3D. Things progressed from there, and I still work on music with Stuart to this day.

Q: How is the industry NOW compared to say the era when the PAINT EP was out in 2001?

Well, it's sometimes hard to separate how I *felt* about the industry at such a young age from how it actually was outside of my wide-eyed and naive perspective. Back then, the internet wasn't as robust in terms of getting music out there. There wasn't a Myspace; I don't think file-sharing was as popular and mainstream as it is now; And I feel like everybody and their mother wasn't a "producer." In the last ten years, the way that technologies have emerged has irrevocably changed the industry and kind of leveled the playing field, and I suppose that is both a blessing and a curse. While it's wonderful that music software and social networking sites can turn anyone into the next big thing, it also bleeds a torrential amount of fucking garbage into cyberspace and makes sifting through it something I have little desire to do any longer. I am still a fan of music, and I still love creating it, but I really couldn't care less about the industry side of things any more.

Q: Your recent "Sorry Underground Hip Hop Happened 10 Years Ago" track contains how many "Yo's" from various hip hop records?

It's hard to say exactly because some of the individual samples have multiple "yo"s within them, but there were roughly 450 samples stiched together to create the final piece.

Q: How long did that take?

Including the time it took to listen through my rap collection and actually extract and edit the audio, I'd say the entire process took me in excess of 4 months. Granted, I wasn't working on it every day... If I had, I would've driven myself completely insane! Nearly every single hit or chord within each bar was from a different record, and so a lot of it was determining which snare sounded best next to which kick drum or hi hat. And then of course you needed to take into consideration incidental noises and/or tones within the samples, and sometimes that would make or break a small passage. It was the most tedious thing I've ever done in my entire life, but I felt compelled and excited to finish it nonetheless!

Q: It's not a track one could particularly rock a club with ... why make it?

That's a ridiculous question, but I think it is indicative of what a lot of people look for in electronic music nowadays. My fascination with sample-based music - and music in general - has nothing to do with making people dance or have a social experience. Instead, I want to evoke an emotion or a thought. "Sorry, Underground Hip Hop Happened Ten Years Ago (for Regan)," was meant as sort of a bitter joke and a mindfuck, but ultimately it is a tribute to what rap music was to me.

Q: You're living in Chicago, correct? How is the scene there these days, it's a pretty legendary city for music?

Well, I just moved back to Chicago from Brooklyn and, to be totally honest, I've never really been part of any specific scene here. There are a lot of amazing musicians, and there's definitely a lot to take in. Right now, I've been most interested in listening to live jazz and improvised music; Next to the Blues, I'd say that is one of Chicago's richest scenes.

Q: What's on the horizon for you in the near future?

Instead of making a proper new Caural full-length, I've been investing time in different sorts of pieces and really challenging myself over the past year. I made a sound piece as part of Cody Hudson's gallery installation in Los Angeles, and hope to do more work along those lines. I have been finishing new material with a friend of mine here - a side project called Boy King Islands - and we hope to have a record finished within the next few months. There are a slew of remixes and compilation appearances slated for release, and I am going to begin work on a new Caural record very soon... After nine years of using a hardware sequencer, I've started seeking some new ways of making art, and so the next record may be a complete departure from what I've been doing thus far... That's the way it should be.

Q: Have you enjoyed yourself here at Modart?

Yes, and thank you!

Zachary Mastoon aka Caural

(INTERVIEW BY JON KENNEDY)

Lollapalooza 2008 (Kind of)

2008-08-08T18:25:00.001-05:00

From its 1991 incarnation as a swan song tour for Jane's Addiction (including Austin freak rockers Butthole Surfers, Siouxsie & The Banshees, Living Colour, Nine Inch Nails and others), Perry Farrell's Lollapalooza festival has counted among its alumni some of the biggest names in "alternative" music. I'll never forget Lollapalooza '94 at the World Music Theater: Only a day before Kurt Cobain's suicide, grunge heroes Nirvana had pulled out as the festival's headliner and allowed Smashing Pumpkins to close the night. But the real highlight for me - besides locking the keys in my running car and flagging down security with embarrassingly bloodshot eyes - was the quality and variety of acts, a standard the festival has adhered to since its inception. Following a five year hiatus beginning in 1998, Lollapalooza's resurrection coincided once again with a Jane's Addiction tour in 2003; Two years later, it found a new home in Chicago's Grant Park.

With Radiohead, Gnarls Barkley, Wilco, Broken Social Scene, Explosions In The Sky, Cat Power, the Raconteurs, and so many more in 2008's lineup, I started wondering how I had - in actuality- heard so little music this year! I blame the open bars at the Hard Rock Hotel which had me drunkenly navigating between the EastSport Cafe and various lounges and gifting suites accumulating schwag, jeans (thank you Silver & Diesel!) and far too many vodka sodas. One also had the ability to have beautiful girls from Mac Cosmetics make you look more glamourous before that interview, or get a tattoo (!) while folks played Guitar Hero or Wii bowling nearby. Sadly, in the few hours I had at the actual grounds on Saturday, all I heard was Blues Traveler (huh?) and derivative "pop punk" courtesy of Brand New. I felt like an asshole for missing so many great artists, so I just threw back another Southern Comfort and Green Tea. But, with all regrets aside, we made the long, sunny walk amidst thousands of eager Lolla devotees to catch at least some of the action on Sunday.

Flosstradamus was holding it down on the wheels of steel (um, Serato, anyway), but the real party that afternoon was the frenetic, confetti covered antics of Pittsburgh's Girl Talk. Crowded on stage with 40 or so dancing admirers, this former biomedical engineer stared at his plastic-covered laptop bouncing under their weight, occasionally clicking his mouse as rolls of toilet paper were launched into the crowd. Software and technique aside, seeing tens of thousands of people go absolutely bananas for his John Oswald inspired mashups was a pleasure, as was his finale: riding a fucking inflatable boat out into the ecstatic sea of hands and smiles.

Mark Ronson was up next and, within minutes, I wished I was still listening to his sister Samantha (from the previous night's Rock The Vote after-party) blending A Tribe Called Quest into Brand Nubian and Vampire Weekend before stealing kisses with her homegirl Lindsay Lohan. I am sorry, but I felt I was listening to a wedding band run through lackluster renditions of rehashed pop music, the worst of all being the supreme butchery of my favorite Smiths song of all time, "Stop Me If You Think That You've Heard This One Before." Actually, I have heard [that] one before, but I couldn't stop you because you weren't letting Paper Magazine backstage.

A $5 slice of pizza later, it was time for the triumphant conclusion of Lollapalooza 2008. With rumors of a cameo appearance by our presidential hopeful Barack Obama during Kanye West's set, Nine Inch Nails suffered some considerable competition from the other side of the park. Nevertheless, under an illuminated skyline, Chicago's own West blew the crowd away with impressive interpretations of his material. As the lightshow faded along with his hometown fans' clamorous applause, we returned to the Hard Rock for a final Rock The Vote party with Chromeo and Phantom Planet... And enough Red Bull to keep me unintentionally awake 'til noon the next day.

Caural at Los Angeles’ New Image Art Gallery with Cody Hudson & Sean Cassidy

2008-07-24T00:08:00.000-05:00

At my shoegaze DJ set this past May here in Chicago at Sonotheque, my friend Cody Hudson (aka Struggle Inc.) approached me about doing a sound piece for an installation he was working on with tambourines. I went straight to work, and the piece is now in rotation at the New Image Art Gallery in Los Angeles:

(from New Image Art)

New Image Art presents:

I May Be Right & I May Be Wrong
But Your Gonna Miss Me
When I'm Gone
Notes On Building A Time Machine

Sean Cassidy & Cody Hudson
July 19 – August 9, 2008

Opening reception July 19th
7-10pm

7908 Santa Monica Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90046
(323) 654-2192
www.newimageartgallery.com

Continuing on the theme of the human condition, this body of work explores the concepts of both euphoria and impending doom at the same time while struggling to figure out which one is actually the positive experience.

This show will consist of new drawings, paintings and site specific installation. Both artists share roots in skateboard culture out which they have derived distinctive styles in conceptual art. Cody Hudson's constructions are known for their abstract and colorful playfulness. For this show the project room will feature a large sculpture by Cody Hudson made of found objects and collected tambourines, which also consists of a sound component created by Caural (Zachary Mastoon), titled "Tambourines for Cody."

Cody Hudson is a Chicago based painter, also known for his commercial art and graphic design contributions under the name Struggle Inc. His graphic work and paintings have been exhibited throughout the US, Europe and Japan including the Museum of Contemporary Art (Chicago), Rocket Gallery (Tokyo), The Reed Space (NYC), The Lazy Dog (Paris), & Bucket Rider Gallery (Chicago). Cody's work has been featured in numerous magazines and publications including idN, Arkitip, Anthem & Juxtapoz. His work can also be seen on random corners of Chicago streets, where he frequently participates in the construction of found object installations.

Sean Cassidy currently lives and works in Los Angeles. His work has been described as a marriage of scientific and chaotic thought producing an aesthetic and symbolic idiolect. His first solo show in April of 2007 was titled "Memory is a Vacuum," exhibited at New Image Art.

May 27th DJ Set @ Sonotheque, Chicago / New Music Online

2008-05-20T13:09:00.001-05:00

OK! Time is flying by. I have been keeping very busy with new projects and my main project of, well, readying my mind for Japan! It's pretty sobering to realize my move is only 9 weeks away... But, I am doing my best to remain present – even though I've begun studying Japanese at my desk at work...

For those of you in Chicago, I will carve a few hours out of my thus-far hermetic style to spin records at Sonotheque with some fellas from Tortoise:

Tuesday, May 27th, 9:30 PM – 2:00 AM, FREE!

Bird & Whale Showcase @ Sonotheque
1444 W. Chicago Ave, 312-226-7600

DJ sets by: Bundy K. Brown, Caural, John McEntire, and Brad Loving.

:::

I've been recording new material for Boy King Islands, a "group" of sorts I have with friend Jason Hunt. There have been some label woes which have pushed back the release date, but we plan on mixing 3 or 4 brand new songs and hopefully having the project out later this year, at least for sale digitally. You can check out sound samples and keep up with us on our Myspace page:

www.myspace.com/boykingislands

:::

The fruits of my recent work with friend Stuart Bogie are now online as well. When not recording with Antibalas, TV On The Radio, The Sway Machinery, Celebration, and Scarlett Johansson – yes, Scarlett Johansson – he has been focusing on his new solo effort, Super Human Happiness. In October, I co-produced and played on two songs for his upcoming album, tentatively titled "Bogie Nights." The album features performances by members of Antibalas, the Dap-Kings, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Lone Wolf, guitarist Ryan Ferreira, and a slew of fantastic players from in and around NYC. The album will be mastered over the next couple of weeks and released shortly thereafter. You can listen to the almost-finished material here:

www.myspace.com/stuartbogie

New Sound Piece Available for Download/Misel Quitno Remix

2008-03-24T16:07:00.000-05:00

I am excited and relieved to have finished a journey fueled by intense obsessive-compulsive disorder and a love of collage, and present to you a brand new sound piece (dedicated to my touring pal Regan Farquhar aka BUSDRIVER):

"Sorry, Underground Hip Hop Happened Ten Years Ago (for Regan)"

The title is stolen from his genius and wholly self-deprecating tee-shirt, one I quite enjoy wearing myself for the reward of glares and snickers. In that spirit, over the last few months I re-visited all of my rap albums - most of which have not aged well at all – to find every instance of the word "yo." Then, after organizing and numbering the resulting 450 or so individual samples by type ("yo"s accompanied by a chord, drum hit, noise, etc.), they were arranged into the 2 minute track below. It can be heard on my Myspace page or downloaded from here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?sg1gmmigjet

(If you like it – even if you hate it – please feel free to share the link with friends!)

Later this year, it will be released on Volume 5 of Organik Recordings’ "Get Your Hand Out Outta My Pocket" on limited-edition color vinyl. GYHOMP is a remix/mash-up series which has included Mr. Bambu & DJ Brazil from the Organik crew, Cyne, K-Kruz, Jon Kennedy, and other artists looking to make John Coltrane crunk, or the Zombies sound electro… You can order each volume on Turntablelab.com while supplies last (each run is only 1,000 copies), and read about GYHOMP & Organik Recordings here:

http://organikgyhomp.wordpress.com

Next up is a remix for my friend Dimlite’s alter ego Misel Quitno. I’ll be re-working "Im Halbhohen Gras" from his beautiful LP Sleep Over Pieces, released in December by the Swiss label Everest. I am looking forward to hearing something other than rappers getting ready to start their next verse…

Check out the project here:

www.myspace.com/miselquitno

[DISCOGRAPHY] Bosco & Jorge - Inola (Caural Remix)

2008-01-24T01:11:00.000-06:00

Bosco & Jorge - Inola (Caural Remix)

Appears on: Re-Mix Project (Who-Hey, 2008)

Format: Digital

[DISCOGRAPHY] Stuart Bogie & Super Human Happiness - Fall Down Seven Times Stand Up Eight

2008-01-02T01:11:00.000-06:00

Stuart Bogie & Super Human Happiness - Fall Down Seven Times Stand Up Eight

(Self-released, 2008)

Format: CD

"7,6,5,4,3,2,1"

(Percussion and production)

"Human Happiness"

(Drums, percussion, toy piano, and production)

[DISCOGRAPHY] Mellow Beats, Rhymes & Visions

2007-12-20T01:11:00.000-06:00

Mellow Beats, Rhymes & Visions (P-Vine, 2007)

PCD-93055

Format: CD

"In Tandem"

(taken from the album, Remembering Today)

2007 Recap/Caural on Visionaire and Earthtones & Concrete

2007-12-07T18:50:00.000-06:00

2007- a fairly crazy year for me- is slowly drawing to a close. Beginning in January, Busdriver and I set out with Deerhoof and the Harlem Shakes for a trip throughout the south, then had the amazing experience of playing the Coachella Valley Music Festival’s opening night for tens of thousands of sweaty attendees. With a couple breaths of New York’s fresh air in between, and the launching of my website (www.caural.net), my springtime ended with our prematurely aborted tour with CocoRosie in Vancouver: Canadian officials denied their French band mates re-entry to the States.

After that fiasco, I had a only a couple weeks to move out of my apartment in Brooklyn, put nearly everything I owned in storage, and gear up for a three-month organic farming fellowship in Connecticut. As quickly as it began, it was over. Suddenly, it was early September, and the insanity of my summer ended with a two day, 160 mile fundraising bike ride back to New York City. I flew to Chicago the next day, then returned to New York two weeks later to begin co-producing my good friend Stuart Bogie’s new project, Super Human Happiness, finding time to model and bartend for (probably) the last time and drink far too much. Three busy, sunny weeks later, my sister and I drove back to Chicago and my childhood home, and it is from there I write this now.

As the progress of certain side projects has slowed due to label schedules, I have recently begun work on my first new material as Caural for the first time in a year! There is no set plan for now other than to experiment and have fun, but I’m aiming to have my next album finished by August… As their respective shelf dates in 2008 approach, I’ll let you know about new remixes and compilation appearances of mine to check out. Meanwhile, I am excited to announce these recent releases for which I am proud and grateful:

Caural on Visionaire 53. SOUND

I am thrilled to have my piece “The Plain Silvery Side of This Disc…” included on the 53rd issue of New York’s revolutionary Visionaire Magazine, “Sound.”

(from www.visionaireworld.com)

Visionaire 53 Sound

A portable record player with over 100 minutes of sound on 5 12″ vinyl record picture discs and 2 CDs, Visionaire 53. SOUND will consist of five 12-inch vinyl records, imprinted with images (picture discs), containing approximately 100 minutes of sound content featuring audio experiments, unreleased songs, samples, and spoken word pieces. The 5 records are packaged inside a domed case that also houses a custom-made MINI Clubman “Vinyl Killer” Record Player: a battery-operated toy car containing speakers and a needle. As the little car drives along the record’s groove, it plays each track, acting as a fully portable record player and sound system. The issue also includes 2 CD’s with all the sound content, and a booklet of credits and instructions. Sound is a limited edition of 4,000 numbered copies and retails for a starting price of $250. However SOUND is included in a standard subscription to Visionaire at no additional cost.

Contributors include: Musicians David Byrne, U2, Michael Stipe, Courtney Love, Laurie Anderson, Cat Power, Adrock, Lee Ranaldo, Antony & the Johnsons, Thurston Moore & Kim Gordon (Sonic Youth), Malcolm McLaren, Ryuichi Sakamoto, David Sylvian, Andrew WK, Danger Mouse; Artists Yoko Ono, Cerith Wyn Evans, Helmut Lang, Christian Marclay, Doug Aitken, Robert Wilson, Gary Hill, Sylvie Fleury, Vito Acconci, Mariko Mori, Carl Michael Von Hausswolff; Bands The Knife, Littl’ans, Unkle, Animal Collective, SunnO))), Gang Gang Dance; DJ’s Paul D. Miller (DJ Spooky), miss kittin, Trevor Jackson, Towa Tei, Nigo, Hiroshi Fujiwara; Fashion designers Karl Lagerfeld, Alexander McQueen, Stefano Pilati; and many more…

Orders ship in December 2007 in time for the winter gift giving season.

If you are in the Miami area, the issue will launch during Art Basel Miami Beach (December 5-9), and is available in stores and on Visionaire’s website.
If you are unfamiliar with Visionaire, learn more about them in this nice article from the New York Review of Magazines:

http://www.thenyrm.com/000667.html

And visit them here:

http://www.visionaireworld.com

Caural collaboration with Take on his Earthtones & Concrete LP

Some time ago, my close friend Take and I took a week to slave away in his Los Angeles studio, and developed material for his new full-length Earthtones & Concrete. The result, his lush and moody album closer “Los Angeles Is Outside” (lamenting the fact that we weren’t, in fact, leaving his living room- save for trips to Trader Joe’s or hikes at Runyon Canyon) is out now on Innercurrent Recordings. The song features live instrumentation courtesy of Take and yours truly, as well as vocals by LA chanteuse Gaby Hernandez and Beth Grisa. Some goofing off led to one of the album’s interlude’s “Thinking of Courtney” (Take thought it was funny that I picked up our waitress at brunch one day). The album is available on three different formats: beautiful gatefold 2xLP, CD, and digital.

For more information, check out Innercurrent’s website:

http://www.innercurrent.com/

And visit Take here:

http://www.myspace.com/takeisme

A Fireside Storm

2007-12-03T01:11:00.000-06:00

I steadied my camera above the steering wheel as ghost-like, white drifts delicately laced the highway before me, my morning's caffeinated heart beating in excitement of falling snowflakes signaling the oncoming storm. My simple map directed me onto smaller and smaller wintry roads with subtly changing landscapes, all monochromatic in color: the farm houses, fields, trees, and rivers seemed only to be gray, and slowly disappearing into an ominous cloak of fog. And as my spinning tires progressively lost their grip, and approaching headlights became farther and fewer between, I knew I was reaching my destination of Fort Atkinson.

The Fireside Theater is a successful venue in the middle of nowhere. For over twenty years- as is the case for many regional theaters- its director travels to New York City to recruit eager actors and actresses hoping to fill roles in their off (times ten)-Broadway productions. If chosen, the lucky performers sublet their places and call this rural community home for the three-month duration of their contract, singing and dancing their way into the hearts of a sleepy, mostly geriatric audience bussed in five times a week- twice a day- from neighboring Midwestern towns; I nearly spat out the hot tea Jamie had prepared for me upon learning one patron actually died at one of the Fireside's shows- "the lights came up, and grandpa was dead." More recently, another happy customer had a not-so-happy accident in his pants during one of the numbers. Although he was later seen in the bathroom half-naked, cleaning feces from his body, some of it had escaped through his pant leg onto the beautifully carpeted hallway. Outside the gift shops selling scented candles and porcelain Santas, the stench compelled cast members to turn a nose at their costumed colleagues: "are you sure you didn't fart?" It's no wonder the American Bus Association declared the self-dubbed "spectacular" Christmas show "one of the country's finest attractions." I never knew there was such a thing as the American Bus Association but, then again, I hadn't even heard of the Fireside Theater, let alone the town in which it stands. If it weren't for my good friend Jamie lending her magic talents as one of Santa's elves, well, I probably never would have.

Shortly after a tour of the cute house she shares with other cast members, we drove to Scottie's: a favorite main-drag dive of theirs that serves pancakes larger than your head. Seated at the counter was an older man in a flannel shirt sipping strong coffee. A deep scar was carved from his ear, down his neck, and across nearly his entire face, ending abruptly at his cloudy left eye. Joined by his friend in a mesh hat, he stared unevenly at me as I entered without a blink. A single brunette in her late thirties sat a little further down, and briefly switched her attention from the Coca-Cola paraphernalia lining the walls to grin suspiciously at me. Scottie gave each of us menus, and I reluctantly decided on a skillet called "the Mounds": potatoes, cheese, mushrooms and sausage, topped with two eggs over easy. The cashier hadn't changed her hairstyle since the mid-seventies, and I smirked ever-so-slightly as she poured us ice water. A boy of about ten rushed behind my stool to look at a figure shoveling thick snow outside, and his rat tail bounced ever-so-lightly against his neck. His father counted crumbled bills above an empty plate and chatted with the cashier; I realized that he, too, had a rat tail. The man with the cloudy eye cracked a joke, and Scottie laughed heartily, weighing down the sizzling bacon. He asked Jamie how the shows were going, and when she'd come to Belmont's for a drink again (the actors at the Fireside are local celebrities in this town of eleven thousand, so a sighting at one of the two bars is inevitable). The clock ticked too quickly, and we had to leave before the food was ready. I slipped plastic bags over my rainbow Tigers and, with thanks and styrofoam containers already smelling of grease, stepped onto Main Street.

Navigating the roads was difficult, but I suppose that was part of the fun. When I picked up Jennifer and her son Jared, it was impossible to tell where their apartment's driveway ended and its lawn began, everything blending into one soft, sparkling white sheet of snow. My wipers were on full-speed, smearing sleet across my windshield and forcing me to squint, and over conversation and the tight snare rolls from Plug's album, Drum n' Bass for Papa, they started making a low, disconcerting chug on their way to the icy hood; it was almost as soon as I noticed it that the blades made their last triumphant rise- then stuck there. The rain-like flakes now cluttered the glass, melting red taillights with green ones telling me to go. I knew I was in trouble. Had the mechanism frozen? I parked in the Fireside's lot and tried my best to clear away any snow, then guided the wiper arms back and forth with my hands. No, they were not frozen, and surely nothing was in their way. Like the anonymous grandfather deceased in his plush seat, my wipers were through. So, I retreated for the time, following everyone to the green room with my disgusting mess of egg, cheese, meat and potatoes. Ah, Wisconsin…

While Jamie and the rest of the girls were putting on their faces and taping microphones next to their ears, the men simply adjusted their ties. A stagehand in black whisked by with a walkie-talkie, anxiously blurting out "five minutes 'til show time"! Through the walls came muffled cheers and applause as the host announced- with sincere bravado- the tour groups present. And then, I was snuck through the back and took a seat amongst the holiday revelers from Osh Kosh, St. Paul, and other destinations hours away, hiding a camera in the pocket of my kelly-green hoodie. On the right side of the theater-in-the-round sat a group of perhaps 50 women, all in matching red sweaters and ornate hats; on the left was another group of seniors in Christmas garb and wrinkly smiles. There was a smattering of families with mullets and 80's eyeglass frames and, when the canned soundtrack began, I felt I could only be in a deleted scene from Borat.

In its two hour running time, A Fireside Christmas boasted dance numbers, musical medleys and country star duets (?!), Christmas jokes ("Q: What nationality is Santa? A: North Polish"), the cast's fond "memories" of Christmas, magic courtesy of my elfin friend, and even a musical dramatization of Christ's beginnings. At one point, Jamie called Santa on the announcer's cell phone, and he posed the ethical dilemma to the audience: "do I sell the number to the National Enquirer?" The largely- if not completely- Christian and well-intentioned audience responded with a resounding "no," and I shuddered. There were mini-stories about imaginary families- some war-torn with the wives penning letters to soldier husbands- and four precocious children bringing resigned chuckles to the crowd. The finale saw all of the actors dressed in robes and ecstatically belting out a gospel-styled refrain, repeating "our lord, our king" with fluttering eyelashes and quivering lips. Their faces burned into my eyes as the lights dimmed, and I felt guilty- just for one second- for knowing Santa and Jesus aren't real. Yikes- was that lightning outside? I take that last comment back. How about "for *thinking* Santa and Jesus aren't real"? Any better? Cool- thanks God.

Maybe being a God-fearing Christian would've magically fixed the wiper situation on my snow-covered vehicle, but that's not the case. As a heathen headed towards an eternity in the fiery underworld, I was reduced to driving blind at 20 miles per hour, gripping the wheel a little tighter as if to help decipher scenery dripping in front of my strained eyes. I successfully crossed the street and practically sledded into the gas station, narrowly avoiding a gas pump. A twenty-something employee wore a wool hat they were selling inside and left the tag on, venturing outside to help me. She brought with her a bottle of blue liquid with the word "Splash!" emblazoned in happy red bubble-letters. "Yeah, your wipers are dead. Pour some of this on your windshield and go see my sister Jessica at [inaudible] Auto Parts. Go four stop-lights down, and take a left on Madison." I didn't quite make out what she said, but how many auto parts stores could there be? I chased the warm glow of traffic to a closed Napa store then dejectedly crunched the snowy path back to my humming car.

"Napa is closed," I informed the girl shoveling snow at the Citgo. She smiled cutely at me with white lashes. "I said to go to Advanced Auto Parts," she replied. "It's just a little further down that same road."

And so it went. I never did meet her sister, but a gentleman sold me a bottle of Rain-X which substituted for the impotent wiper blades. My next stop was Shopko, where I failed to find galoshes to wear; instead, I opted for larger shopping bags that I proudly tied just beneath my knees. It was quite a fashion statement. One of A Fireside Christmas' dancers informed me my makeshift boots had the same silhouette as a pair from Dior. "You mean," I began, "Dior has the same silhouette as THESE!" So, I made a nearby Culver's my runway, and put Heidi Klum to shame ordering a ButterBurger with cheese and fries. Sorry bitch, "as you know in fashion, you're either in- or you're out."

We did make it to a bar that night, but it wasn't Belmont's. Black Hawk Tavern was full of drunk, sports-fan locals, all of whom turned their heads to ogle Jamie and Jennifer with our (apparently) grand entrance. A wide-shouldered and bespectacled guy swayed in front of me and dizzily belittled his friend, lifting topped-off shot glasses in vague celebration and spilling well alcohol onto his fingers and the floor: "I buy the shots, so you fucking come to me." We took seats at a booth and battled to hear ourselves over jukebox picks ranging from Journey to Lily Allen and Gorillaz. Really, to be fair, we put on Lily Allen and Gorillaz. There's only so much jock rock one can take while glazed eyes undress your friends.

There had been some drama at that night's final performance. During a cutesy sequence in which the children tell Christmas jokes and welcome multiple Santas on stage, one of the young actresses wet herself, then cried as she ran from the glistening puddle left behind. The host had mentioned that the Christmas show had become a tradition at the Fireside, but evidently, so was urinating or defecating in your pants during it... I just smiled, and drank a couple more Effen and sodas. Jennifer took off her sweater to reveal a tight tee-shirt with the ironic caption "local talent," looking over her shoulder to make sure all eyes from the bar were still on her.

"The loser in the green will probably make his way over here if he gets the balls," she quipped, gulping down her vodka. But, soon enough, she found an excuse to venture up to him herself, occupying a stage outside of the dinner theater to which she had grown accustomed. As a young, single mother who moved to Fort Atkinson from New York a year ago, she certainly wanted to be in the spotlight as much as possible- not just as an actress. Maybe receiving more attention had been on her Christmas wish-list, or she had enough holiday spirit to go around and wanted to tease her admirers with a little taste. If I believed in Santa Claus, I would've only had one thing to ask of him at that moment: to saddle up his reindeer, and offer me a safe ride home.

[DISCOGRAPHY] Visionaire 53 Sound

2007-12-02T01:11:00.000-06:00

Visionaire 53 Sound (Visionaire Magazine)

Format: 5LP, 2CD, limited to 4000 numbered copies

"The Plain Silvery Side of This Disc Is Involved in Sound Reproduction.

Be Careful Not to Scratch Or Mistreat The Silvery Side of This Disc. "

(taken from the Suicide/Krylon Psychology 7")

Disappearing Limbo

2007-10-15T16:34:00.000-05:00

It's a slow Monday here in Chicago. The brown ring my morning coffee left in its porcelain mug patiently reminds me to refill it, but I've already kicked off the Cole Haan dress shoes Sivi picked out for me and stretched out my toes. Its been well over an hour since my phone has rung and, after spending my morning pointlessly surfing the world-wide web, I'm only now remembering the feeling of having a day job. My friend Dimlite wrote to me yesterday and said "man, your life is constantly in steady locomotion," and yes- fortunately or unfortunately- he's right. I suppose the bad thing is that I've hardly had the time to process much of it, leaving a Pandora's Box of sorts in my cluttered mind just as my boxed belongings top my bedroom and basement floors. But, since I spent most of yesterday tearing away at packing tape and dusting off the old, open shelves of my childhood room, there's no time like the present to let out all of the ghosts from my head and share them with you.

In the middle of this week's fall winds blowing red and orange leaves across sidewalks, today's afternoon sun hinted at summer, and mine can't possibly feel any further away. Adamah- my three-month excursion into the beauty of farm country- quickly transformed into an extended exercise in masochism. Don't get me wrong... I knew I'd be spending a lot of time around (potentially) religious, self-righteous, crunchy, politically-correct, just-out-of-liberal-arts-college, somewhat lost hippie Jews, but little did I know the extent to which this group of folks would make all of my nightmarish expectations come true. It's funny, too, because I literally thought I was losing my mind! Everyone was overly excited and wide-eyed, sitting around our filthy house giving each other massages, or listening to grating klezmer music on computer speakers as they made runny goat cheese. At the field, they'd hold hands, circling around a cucumber on a makeshift altar, closing their eyes as someone recited a cheesy monologue penned by an imaginary B-movie director: "We thank our Lord, HASHEM, for the all-powerful healing energy of the sun helping the seed to grow into the amazing cucumber before us." And then someone would "mmm," or there would be an "amen," and I'd gag while someone lovingly rubbed another's shoulder. Saturdays, everyone wanted to bang on the kitchen table and raise their voices in prayer for three-hour stints, eating cold leftovers that somehow always involved zucchini. You wonder why I'd visit the town liquor store just to make it through each painful weekend? And not even halfway through the program, there were emails and talk about a reunion! It had become the best summer of their lives, and I couldn't wait to get the fuck out of there.

Though, to be fair, I had small islands of solace: my little Sveta and her crazy Russian friends on the housekeeping and kitchen staff, the two musketeers Eden & Adam (without whom I would've definitely jumped ship), the head chef Celena who would steal me away for expensive dinners in neighboring towns, and various other smiles here and there who came and went all too soon. I had an odd, paradoxical sense of passing time: how could something go by so fast yet feel like forever? I was dark and beaten by the sun with dirt under my nails and an itchy scalp, yet the end of August still held feelings of melancholy for me.

I remember in the middle of a drunken midnight swim, I put my legs up on the pool side to lay face-up beneath bright constellations. I submerged my ears to muffle the girls' house music playing from their small radio (they were busy in the hot tub, smoking cigarettes and drinking kosher wine they had stolen from the kitchen). The meteor shower had ended, but I was still able to wish on falling stars and have a little conversation with the universe. I realized- though not for the first time- how grateful I was for the entire experience: the plants, animals, and sky; the wine & the smoke; the bullfrogs, crickets, and birds composing each night's soundtrack; the clicking of Sveta's jaw I would sometimes hold in place while she slept; the hill from the field back to the center that would make my legs burn every day; the huge golden retreiver at the package store who'd look at us with glassy eyes as we bought more vodka; nighttime drives to Wassaic; jumping into the pool during a lightning storm and torrential downpour with Adam, and our more-frequent screaming mikvahs in the river; the falls, the forest, and our field... And I thanked the stars for every roll of my eyes, because on each occasion, I grew stronger. I really needed everything that happened this summer, and bicycling home to NY- along with almost three hundred others- was the ultimate finale and unfinished goodbye.

I opted to do the century (one hundred miles in a day), though I can't say I trained well enough for it. Really, it was less the mileage than it was the two flat tires my borrowed hooptie bike sustained on the trip into upstate NY; I still finished in time! At the last rest stop before our major uphill towards Camp Kinder Ring, I learned of the unfortunate fate of two other riders: one was hospitalized with a coma, and another- a girl on my program- had flown over her handlebars and landed squarely on her face! I filled my water bottle with Powerade, took another bite of a peanut butter Clif Bar, and again thanked my lucky stars.

The second day of the ride was a different story. There were only 55 miles to go, and it was as if I couldn't pedal quickly enough. I repeated "on your left" as I flew by other riders keeping a leisurely pace, and was one of the first ten to reach the lunch stop twenty-five miles outside of Manhattan; however, parking my bike and walking to the picnic table, I noticed my right knee was really bothering me. I wanted nothing more than to finish the ride and see New York City for the first time in months, so I continued- foolishly. By the time I was in the Bronx, I had shooting pains, and at the entrance to the West Side Greenway, I was nearly in tears, pedaling only with my left foot. Who said I wasn't stubborn? At the Boat Street Basin on west 79th, I pulled in to cheers and welcome signs, then quickly found a medic to wrap up my leg.

There was a reception at the JCC on Amsterdam, but everything had ended as far as I was concerned. We had one last closing circle on its roof and my mind floated elsewhere, even with teary eyes looking into mine and "see you soon"s falling short of my heart. Tali (our superstar farm manager) had set up a booth with some of the produce we grew and jars of pickles we lacto-fermented, and it was then- limping past with all of my luggage- that I made a hasty reentry into the "real world." Eden helped me hail a cab, and its driver took me south on 9th Avenue, through my old neighborhood of Hell's Kitchen and towards my friend Clare's apartment on Bleecker.

Everything I saw in that fifteen minute ride- all the haunts nearby the one bedroom apartment I shared on 10th Avenue and 37th Street- told me a story. I had moved in there with Jordan McClean after three months in Williamsburg with Stuart, Olia, Kristianne and Monsieur Papillon (RIP), and when he moved away only a year later, Jamie took his place. And then Sarah moved in with the two of us, but that's a story for a whole other time... Anyway, I ran through a list of all the bizarre hustles I had done to get by, and all of the characters that made my life in New York over the last ten years so wonderful. Then, pulling up to Clare's door, Adamah quietly buried itself beneath all of those memories with each step I took up her apartment's stairwell. It reared its head over a few beers on her fire escape, but only as I repeated how I couldn't believe it actually happened! We went around the corner to Bone Lick Park and had $3.50 mojitos and margaritas, and I reveled in my middle-finger meal of pork ribs with a side of mac and cheese. After three torturous months in a kosher kitchen, breaking all the rules never felt so good!

I flew to Chicago the very next day, and spent a week and a half with my family, resting my knee and thinking about how utterly broke I was. We took a day trip to Elkhart Lake and Road America, and enjoyed sports car racing and delicious bratwurst like only Wisconsin folk can cook! When I wasn't with my family, I entered urban civilization with friends for the first time in months, and it took almost no time to become reacclimated. Meanwhile, people from my program were writing email threads to each other about how much they missed the goats and the farm, or how they were back in the city "where [they] didn't belong." I just manned the delete button.

I lived out of my duffle bag for the entire summer, and that trend continued throughout September and the beginning of this month. Everything I owned was stacked into a self-storage space off of the BQE, and I was left drifting in this enormous, transitional limbo. It was in August that I decided to apply for the JET program in Japan for next year and, due to a million reasons, I felt that staying in NY for the eight months before I'd (hopefully) make the move overseas just didn't make sense. And so, my last three weeks spent back in Brooklyn were a bittersweet goodbye.

I had slept two nights on Olia's couch before learning that the Arcade Fire were still on tour, thus leaving my friend Colin's apartment empty! So, due to an amazing stroke of luck and a good friend, I had an apartment all to myself for the duration of my stay- blocks from the G train and the best Bloody Mary in town: Enid's on Manhattan Avenue. I lined up maybe a little too much work for the first two weeks, but I really needed the cash! I modeled for a portrait workshop at Harlem Studio and did night classes at the Art Students League in midtown, leaving a small window during the afternoons to read in Central Park. My nights promised all of the usual New York hijinx around the city, and reconnections with old friends who were still baffled by my summer farming extravaganza.

Besides spending too much money on drinking, I was happy to return to the world of music. I was excited to see my friend Matt Lux play a beautiful set with Iron & Wine at Town Hall, and Stuart sat in with Celebration a few nights later at Webster Hall, opening up for Man Man. Joe McGinty whet my appetite for 80's karaoke at the Lucky Cat, and I even crashed my pals Harlem Shakes' rehearsal at their Williamsburg practice space (since Lexy was unfortunately feeling under the weather, I had a perfect opportunity to karaoke my heart out there as well, although, I really only understand every fifth word Lexy sings!).

Stuart is working on a new solo project called Super Human Happiness, and I had the pleasure of co-producing a couple songs with him over the course of my last week in Brooklyn. He and I began re-working some of his compositions, and finished a lot of session work including musicians from Antibalas, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Celebration, and a revolving cast of friends; I am really excited to see it all come together! It was a week of really long days and nights, and by the time my sister came in town on Friday, I was absolutely exhausted and not quite grasping the close of that chapter in NY.

It's only been a week since my return to Chicago, and I am already beginning to fall into a routine. My head is spinning with memories and thoughts of what's to come, and I gratefully bring the future's promise closer with each passing moment.

[DISCOGRAPHY] Various - Astro Lab presents Cookie & Brownie

2007-09-19T23:11:00.003-05:00

Various - Astro Lab presents Cookie & Brownie (IntroDuCing!, Astro Lab Recordings, 2007)
FAMC-008
Format: CD
Released in Japan only

"Dead Armies"

(taken from the album "Mirrors for Eyes")

[DISCOGRAPHY] Take: Earthtones & Concrete

2007-08-02T01:11:00.000-05:00

Take: Earthtones & Concrete

(Innercurrent Recordings, 2007)

ICCD008

Format: 2LP & CD

"Thinking of Courtney"

(Vocals & Guitar)

"Los Angeles Is Outside"

(Vocals, drums and production)

Adamah Part 5: Your Very Own Universe

2007-07-29T00:18:00.000-05:00

Bathing in the yellow-green glow of sunlight through leaves, Chani guards Eden in an embrace as they read together on this lazy afternoon, glancing over at me every once in so often to smile. Having awoken at two PM this afternoon, I myself feel held within the fog of my mind as if today is just last night's echo, and I hear these passing moments without really listening. About a month ago, my friend Adam told me, "if you think things can't possibly get any stranger, just go to sleep and wake up tomorrow." Each morning, I've acknowledged and welcomed that truth without the slightest anticipation; it is just simply so. It's now late-July, and my heart and head have reached a calm among the crashes and ebbs of these summer waves. The translucent walls of this microcosmic world of which I've been part- this bubble of alternating idealism and cynicism- are becoming clearer now, allowing me to gaze at the life awaiting me outside. And, still safe within the approaching final five weeks of this program, I have begun slowly peeling back the layers between my seemingly separate lives, realizing my retreat was really just to a place deep inside of myself.

I had made a conscious decision to become fully immersed in this small Berkshires society though managed to forget how utterly different my life would become. My friends Emma and Allison joked that I "would last two weeks with [these] hippies," and to a great extent, they were right- it took me two weeks to begin to change. The honeymoon phase ground to a painful halt and I found myself cringing far too often, blaming my own suffocating discomfort on the qualities of others. I reasoned they were far more religious than I was, nauseatingly politically-correct, or more insecure and hyper-sensitive, and thus projected their own personal issues onto the rest of us to establish a space in which they felt invulnerable. Sadly, in most cases, their need to do so stemmed less from their perception of one's offensive remarks, actions, or opinions, but from their own pressing need to be heard and understood. The phrase "you should be aware that" or "I'd invite you to think about" came up so often that it became comical, and I began to have a dull pain in my head from rolling my eyes so much. Wasn't there anything a person could do or say that wouldn't provoke a pained response from someone else? And- even more frightening- why did it seem that I was at the center of so much ensuing drama?

It was the first shabbat following the silent retreat, and since my chore partner Noah was a lot more invested in services than I was, I allowed him to stay, assuring him I'd be happy to handle the responsibility without him. I soon found myself alone in the utter darkness of the pasture, alarming the goats and hens with a borrowed headlight in my unsuccessful aim to lock them all up for bedtime. Luckily, someone on their way to the kfar (a tenting area nearby) gave me a hand with the struggling animals and I was finally on my way home- late for dinner. As I pedaled within the black tunnel of kaleidoscopic, brief illuminations of fireflies, I inhaled the mingling perfumes of seven young women all headed the same way: the Russian kitchen and housekeeping staff. They were dressed to the nines in short skirts and fitted tops, and wore make-up on their smiling eyes and pouty lips. "Zak," they screamed happily when I rode up. "Walk with us!"

As usual, my living room was packed with people seated on couches and chairs or huddled together on the floor, all enthralled in conversation or song. Although I had been starving earlier, looking at food grown cold only made me want to drink. I had grown increasingly sick of kosher wine, so I happily retrieved some beers from our basement refrigerator and shared a "yobnim" cheers with my new friends, away from the davining masses in the other room. Abby and Aitan sat at the kitchen table yet- for the most part- we were alone together, enjoying secular company amidst a raging shabbat celebration. We moved our conversation outside to the driveway, and eventually- arm in arm with Yulia and Gala- I drunkenly accompanied them all up the same dark road towards their house.

In writing, this may read as a typical Friday night; in reality, it prompted a number of community meetings. Two days later, a number of women both in my group and Neshama (the other fellowship program here) voiced such deep concerns as "they were dressed like sluts," and "it became a frat party with them around." Oh, I'm sorry... You had never bothered to befriend, let alone speak to any of them before, ignorantly assuming they didn't speak English, but because these girls weren't wearing fucking daishikis and yarmulkes ready to bench with you means they were acting inappropriately? Or, is the problem that you view them as outsiders because they aren't Jewish, and you let that compound the fact that they stole attention from you? Regardless, we set "shabbat intentions" to define an environment that would offend the least amount of people: only those who wished to observe and appreciate the festivities would be accepted, and any energy associated with a divergent purpose- whatever it was- was no longer OK.

I thought this would be the end of it, but it was only the beginning. I had my individual check-in with the head of my program two days later in the gazebo after a relaxing swim in the pool. Finishing a brief session about how my expectations were or weren't met and what kind of changes I would like to make, the focus awkwardly shifted to my intimate relationship with "the Russian staff." He looked me deep in the eyes and said, "I am not interested in your business, but I want to make sure you aren't continuing any of your old patterns and are getting the most you can from the program." Frankly, I was dumbfounded. I rightfully refused to volunteer any information and just asked to what in particular he was referring.

"Well, it's just that some of the women mentioned an uncomfortable atmosphere on shabbat," he replied.

"Yeah, we already went over that together as a group, but thank you."

With that, I again incorrectly presumed we had nipped it in the bud. The next day during our lunch break, the three other men in my fellowship and I were taken out of the dining hall for a private conference with only (!) the male staff. The program leader began, "I just want to say it's a pleasure to have all the men together, and to put forward the intention that we'll support one another in awareness of sexual language we use around our female colleagues."

"Um, huh?"

"Well, some of the women have expressed discomfort with some of the recent sentiment among the men."

"Sorry," someone asked. "Was there something in specific?"

Straining his face to grimace, he continued, "well, there was something said in regards to 'nailing the Russian girls.'”

"Jesus," I began. "The only time I've heard anyone say the word 'nail' was when Naomi used it as a joke. If people are uneasy about something, especially if they eavesdrop and take something out of context, why don't they just ask us about it?"

"Well, I just want everyone to be aware of the power dynamic here. Because they are women, they may not feel empowered to confront you about it."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I think you may be referring to girls... We're all adults here, and if a grown woman has a problem with a manner of speech or her misinterpretation of it, she should be mature enough to deal with it herself."

I was livid, but almost more embarrassed for the hypocritically politically-correct authority. Here were men in their mid-to-late thirties trying to sustain open communication among everyone- going so far as to utilize parenthetical "wo"s in words to erase gender distinction [i.e., calling the center "Isabella Freed(wo)man"]- yet here they were pontificating like privileged youth in a fucking liberal arts school about power dynamics between men and women? Sure, go ahead. Say we're all equal, then have a separate discussion for *just* the men to address the issue. Now I am really convinced of the balance here.

And suddenly, all the Russian women were upset. They hardly said hello, and were seen crying in the kitchen after passionately arguing amongst themselves. When I inquired what the problem was, they just half-smiled to say "it's okay"; clearly, it was not. From another member of the kitchen staff, I learned their boss insensitively gave them erroneous information, saying they were no longer allowed at our house and were not to associate with us due to their behavior over the weekend. To further rub in the lie that we were "angry" with them, they were to have a meeting the next day to examine these concerns and formulate some guidelines for the future.

I spoke to their boss, to another Russian staff member who could possibly communicate the absurdity of the situation to all of them, to the coordinator of my program, and then to the executive director of the center. I merely attempted to explain that they had done nothing wrong. These girls are all university students who came here for a unique summer experience: to work in America, make some money, improve their English, and hopefully be part of an accepting community. They did not come here to celebrate shabbat with fanatical Jews or necessarily have any kind of religious experience for that matter, and whatever personal choices they made along the way (as the executive director said, "I can't control people having sex") should be their own business, right? Well, in a bizarre twist, their little powwow the following day addressed nothing of the sort. The executive director retreated, swept everything under the rug, and simply advised them to wear helmets while on their bikes and not to swim without a lifeguard on duty. And, to illuminate them about their unintentional starring role in the whole soap opera scandal? "Everything's fine."

Though there was some more talk about it after this (I was asked to have another individual talk with a more "sympathetic" staff member, and some of the Neshama women again brought up their feelings during one of their program check-ins), it sort of faded into a realm of stilted looks and whispers. Life continued as, well, something approaching normal. It was only the fourth week by then but, to be perfectly honest, I was really bothered by the religiosity of everyone around me, and it pushed me to seek out solitude and alternatively more secular companionship. I withdrew little by little, wore my headphones around a lot more, and had less of a desire to participate in some of the scheduled activities, preferring to work alone in the field or on landscaping where I didn't have to talk to anyone. Where I had initially valued the change of social scenery and tried to brush off any instances where things felt too cheesy or hippie for me, I was now convinced I was part of a cult- complete with touchy-feely group therapy bullshit conveniently sequestered away from any sense of the real world. I was allowed no space to breathe, and found it brutally paradoxical that I was asked to bring my "whole and entire self" when it was that alone which helped to create such a discordance.

Having come alone for the summer, I feel blessed to have made friends here with whom I can connect honestly and fully, and having one-on-one, candid conversations helps to illustrate the obvious: I am not alone in this feeling. Everyone has their own varying degrees of problems living in an intentional community, especially one attempting to assimilate members whose backgrounds diverge so significantly. For me- a politically-incorrect, non-observant New Yorker nearing thirty who barely identifies as a Jew- let's just say it's quite a challenge being stuck in the country with people whose rabbi fathers raised them Orthodox on communes in Israel or, for different reasons, vegans so vigilant they post facts about energy waste involved with meat production on our refrigerator, or recent Ivy League graduates who are moved to cry aloud about the genocide in Darfur. Funnily enough, its all grown to be endearing; however, I think the trajectory of one friendship in particular helped me begin to develop true compassion, and though it ultimately soured, it is the one for which I am most grateful.

Prior to our program's commencement, I felt I knew her somehow, and we naturally entered the sort of relationship that seems fated in some way. It's never something you understand as it happens; more likely, we as humans aren't capable of comprehending that sort of metaphysical recognition- that is, if we are ever lucky enough to experience it at all. Hindsight lends coherence to everything I suppose, yet such reasoning can also become a little dangerous and self-serving, even if we try not to concede to the solipsist in each of us. For the sake of reading this next story, it doesn't matter what you believe, because it's altogether possible that things just happen with no tangible connection to anything else and we're all just spiraling in chaos, drawing our own conclusions and inventing a compelling narrative of progress. Yet, on second thought, what you believe probably has everything to do with this story, because belief was the burning core of our problem.

One day our group had a class about the significance of making brachot (blessings). Towards its end, she raised her hand.

"At first, I was really excited to be talking about brachot, but now I feel this sense of, I don't know, impending doom, you know? Like, we've just gotten so far away from the path. I mean, when the meshiach (messiah) comes, it can't happen if we are in the wrong place. Oy!"

She sighed insincerely- at least, that's the only way I was able to look at it- and I felt utterly repulsed. I wanted to respond right then, but bit my tongue knowing I would probably say the wrong thing... So, I waited a few minutes and said it anyway.

"While I think it's a good thing to elevate an action with a blessing, at least to express gratitude, it's important to remember not to put too much energy or fear into a metaphor."

If I ever write a book on what not to say to religious Jews, that will be the quote following the title page. Some people asked what I meant, and I continued.

"Religion is all metaphor. It's just one way of giving meaning to any of this- through stories, laws, traditions, whatever- and establishing a black and white version of right and wrong."

"In your opinion," she quickly spouted.

"No, that's what religions are."

"In your opinion," she repeated.

"Sure." I exhaled some of the tension building in my chest. "In my opinion."

The negative energy in the room was palpable. As people began putting on their shoes and heading towards their next obligation, Eden, Noah and I spoke about it further, and I tried explaining myself. That's when she approached me.

"You should be careful about how you voice your opinion, because some people can find it offensive," she began.

"You're right." And she was- completely. "But what you said just doesn't sit well with me. You're talking about this 'path' and the coming of the messiah, and you're taking all of this as some kind of impending doom? That's not just belief, it's fanaticism."

"That is Judaism," she coldly retorted. "You are calling me a fanatic?"

"I don't know, really. It doesn't matter what version of God you subscribe to. Even if you don't believe in any sort of power or connectivity among us, taking it to that extent- blindly reacting to fear of a story written thousands of years ago- is fanaticism. It's no different than a Christian waiting for non-believers to die when our planet explodes in a fiery ball, or a Muslim shouting 'Allahu Akbar' and blowing himself up."

Her face turned red as she lost her breath. "You are comparing me to those people?"

She looked at me as if I had grown horns, and interrupted even before I had finished inhaling to explain. "That's how you see me? I'm not having this conversation right now. This conversation is over." She stormed out swollen with tears, and apparently began sobbing. I didn't see it, though.

"Yeah, just walk away. That's really mature." My heart was racing.

Five minutes later, we passed each other on the road. Her face was streaked with tears, and she rubbed the last of them away from the misty, bloodshot eyes she made sure didn't meet mine.

It's true: I've always tended to hate organized religion, seeing it as more of a prescription for how to experience your life instead of an open course towards a true understanding of, well, anything really. Fanaticism of all kinds is flat-out wrong, and has been a main root of misunderstanding, gross disrespect and hatred, wars between nations, and unthinkable genocide. Within my own extended family, I've seen how such a staunch regard of religion has torn relationships apart and, sadly, my predominantly negative experiences with it have made me almost completely shun my heritage. That is really part of the reason I wanted to be part of a Jewish community for the first time this summer- instead of ignoring that side of me, why not see what it's actually all about? No, I didn't think I would come here and magically want to become a rabbi, but I did see this summer as potentially having an affect in my so-far non-existent religious life. It has, but only through finding that what I've come to believe on my own resonates strongly with Judaism. And while that's beautiful, I don't necessarily feel motivated to start going to shul (temple).

The problem is this: while it has been fortuitous to glean my own truth from various spiritual vantage points and personal experiences, doing so has only strengthened my opinion that a more encompassing perspective of spirituality is a healthy starting point for examining any certain religion. If from childhood your parents (as most do) offer a distinct prism through which to understand life, when you start seeing other colors that don't fall within that spectrum, you are in for some serious trouble. I saw the documentary "Jesus Camp" earlier this year, and shuddered at brainwashed children speaking in tongues and ecstatically praying to a life-sized, cardboard effigy of George W. Bush. No, eight year old children should not be engaging in glossolalia, nor should they be weeping at a local abortion clinic, begging their savior to purge the souls of women who chose to have control over their own body. The point is, fanaticism within any religion often breeds bigotry and a very specific kind of ignorance which comes from mistaking an opinion as the big (and only) picture.

So, she and I didn't speak for a week. I refused to apologize because she didn't have the decency to let me explain my side, choosing instead to be controlled by her anger and flee the conversation. There was truthfully much more to my decision not to make amends with her, but since I learned a lesson- appropriately through her- I am intentionally being vague and eliminating some details entirely. At risk of sounding like an asshole, in short, let's just say I had no desire to continue the friendship for reasons other than her religious upbringing.

True to form, the personal became public, and I soon learned that she requested to have a staff-mediated session to discuss how I had offended her. Oh joy. The head of my program took me aside after dinner one night and said that a visiting rabbi and he were going to sit us down and listen to our personal business. "It's going to be a great opportunity for me," he said. For you? This has nothing to do with you, I thought. What sort of a cruel joke is this? I don't need to divulge the reasons this person grates on my nerves in front of you and a fucking rabbi, OK? This is our business- not a community issue.

The day came for our intervention session. During breakfast that morning, she looked into my eyes for the first time that week and said she no longer wanted to have it.

"I don't either," I said laughing.

"But I just got off the phone with [the program head] and he said 'it's not an option.'"

"Getting into our personal business shouldn't have been an option in the first place!"

I groggily ate eggs from our hens and some sauteed zucchini we had grown, and washed it down with cold, raw goat milk. I needed a nap. I lay in bed, and she came in my room to talk. An hour later, we looked at each other in amazement: what I had told people in confidence was twisted around and relayed back to her, and we realized that- for an entire week- people had lied to our faces. How can such a small community simultaneously have such an appetite for shit-talking gossip and drama, then have the audacity to pride itself on openness and sharing? I wanted to vomit.

She and I had gotten lost so many times on these roads in Falls Village, and here we were, driving together for one last time to the center, feeling more disoriented than ever. The sun was hot and shining, and the movie of our lives was flickering in the speckled gravel road ahead. In utter disbelief, we parked in the lot, waved limp hellos at passersby, and swung open the screen door to the yurt. There was a circle of four pillows on the floor, two of which were occupied by the rabbi and our program head. They smiled hello and we reluctantly sat facing each other, stifling embarrassed giggles. Then we were asked to meditate and "become present," and I think that was the first time a suggestion to meditate made me want to run out of a room.

When we finished the sitting, I began to verbalize what I had been holding inside for way too long.

"I really appreciate that the both of you took time out of your schedules for this, and that you feel it's going to be a positive experience for you, but frankly, this is absolutely none of your business. For the last hour, she and I went over our personal differences and came to a good place; knowing that this intervention is not optional is really disconcerting. This is not the real world- this is a bizarre cult full of hypocrisy and people who love to hear themselves talk, then process every fucking miniscule detail. Half of the people here seriously need therapy, and I don't feel right opening up my personal history with another community member so that *you* can benefit from it. Everyone is in everyone's business as it is, and it's pathetic. And here I was wrongfully assuming that I could trust others in my group. I asked advice from them in confidence so that I could better approach some kind of resolution with her, but they wound up going behind my back and putting their own spin on what I said to make the situation even worse! People just can't get enough of other people's drama here. Get your own fucking life! But no, there's always some camera rolling- some hidden eye- and it's capturing all of the hand-holding and the idealism and the pseudo-spirituality. This little community is really just a bad movie about hippies who are in need of some major help."

Yes, I said all of that out loud.

The rabbi cooly unraveled her words. "So, what I heard you say is that you feel betrayed by the community. What do you need from us to feel comfortable?"

"Uh..."

Quite honestly, after my initial rant, the meeting took us to a point I don't think we would've gotten to on our own, and I can't understand why. Since it was such a forced reconciliation, conceivably it surpassed our bitterly low expectations just to prove us wrong. Or maybe it succeeded because it took place in this weird kingdom of make-believe- "Jewtopia" as Eden lovingly refers to it. I think both are true. In an intentional community, everything is magnified to an impossible extent, and being yourself- remaining honest while trying to be understanding- is incredibly tough. No, it's not the real world; instead, it's like a laboratory for it, helping you grasp how the energy you put out affects everyone whether you want it to or not. And while it's not your obligation to conform, you are given a stronger lens to determine how you could if you so chose.

Seeing her cry that morning with huge, heaving sobs as she explained how her religious life has alternately been a blessing and a burden, I no longer recognized her as the person I had judged and berated, but as a person I really didn't know or understand. The truth is, I will never be able to fathom the world of Orthodoxy, Kashrut, Halachic law, Hebrew day school, religious texts covering every shelf in one's house, long skirts, separation of women and men in temple, expectations of marriage and motherhood before real adulthood, and true ethical polarity (no gray area and no reasonable explanation why). None of that was her choice, nor could I have prevented being raised the way I was as her total opposite. And then I too started to cry- not from guilt or sadness, but from a love I couldn't comprehend... An overpowering sense of compassion.

A week later, for reasons unrelated to our argument, she left the program. It's as if she came specifically to teach me a lesson, and left when she saw it start to sink in. Of course, that's solipsism talking again, but isn't it comforting to think the universe exists specifically for you? Then, instead of judging everything and reacting negatively to something outside of yourself, you can turn inwards and ask exactly why it bothers you in the first place. More often than not, you'd be surprised by the answer. All of these obstacles hold lessons, and instead of circumvention, crashing headfirst seems to be the only way to uncover them. If they manifest as others' opinions, beliefs, styles of speech, personality quirks, or whatever differentiates you as people, then it's all the better for your own self-education; in that way, the universe indeed exists just for you. So take a deep breath, smile or cry, and offer thanks from the bottom of your heart to the characters who help write the story of your life.

Adamah Part 4: Words Are Just Noise

2007-06-16T23:02:00.000-05:00

"Words are just noise. Words are only noise. Repeat after me."

So begins the title track from Bowery Electric's beautiful second album "Beat," a phrase which became a mantra for me as I did my best to participate in this week's silent meditation retreat led by Rabbi David Cooper, the author of "God Is A Verb." Upon his arrival, there was a staff debriefing at which we discussed behavioral boundaries and expectations, and while most people weren't thrilled about the effects the retreat would have at the center, I was ecstatic. Of course, there was quite a catch: I was the only one in my program observing silence, and in no way did I anticipate the unfortunate rift it inevitably created within my close community. It was an interesting and challenging week to say the least...

Remaining true to my experience last winter at Massachusetts' Vipassana Meditation Center, I began observing silence and avoided eye contact early Monday morning in our field while kneeling in the soil and weeding beets. Eva was on the other side of the plant bed and, for some time, she too remained silent; but finally- almost luckily- I was alone with the beets, the weeds, and the subtle sensation of breath subtly moving in and out of my nostrils. Tali, the farm manager, gave me instructions regarding other tasks to complete, and while she spoke, my eyes remained averted. I only nodded to convey understanding. Walking barefoot in the mud back to my bike, my friends' smiles and hellos were left ignored, and I pedaled away quickly to join the others in silence at the cafeteria.

Ironically, what I thought would be my safe haven from the everyday clatter became a comedic exercise in ignoring the Russian kitchen staff who, upon learning I was keeping silence like all the other "crazy zombies," reveled in making that endeavor nearly impossible. I suppose if they weren't so cute, I would have gotten a lot angrier: 21 year-old Russian party girls aren't people with whom you can stay upset for long. And so, each day I stood in line, spooned food onto my plate to their stifled giggles and soft, unintelligible whispers, then found a window-facing seat and ate slowly, trying to maintain a meditative state. A door would slam, a chair would squeak against the floor, someone would cough or sneeze, and I'd find myself mildly annoyed. For my part, I hardly even scraped a utensil against my ceramic plate, and would lift my chair before moving it backwards or forwards, still pretending it wasn't futile to expect complete quiet. Most staff and people on my program ate elsewhere, so I was thankfully alone with the other retreatants.

There was a sitting that night, and I arrived shortly after finishing dinner. Feet padded around the room as people found comfortable pillows then awaited the resonant bell to begin. I breathed in its vibrating tone and watched my thoughts become less scattered, but my allergies were unfortunately acting up, leaving me to alternately contemplate a void and my runny nose. A half an hour later, the sharp bell marked time again. We walked around the periphery of the room with muscular motions so slow and deliberate that we appeared still, then returned to our floor spaces for a second session to close out the hour. Noticing members of my group paying me more attention than I preferred, I returned home to draw up a note and hung it next to the hot water heater in our kitchen, a place that gets constant traffic:

"If you wish to observe silence until Shabbat, please write your name below. Also, specify if you wish to avoid eye contact. For those not participating in silence, please only speak to those who are when completely necessary. Thank you!"

Underneath this was two columns for participants' names and preferences for eye contact. Though intended as an invitation for others to join me in silence, not-so-secretly it was also the most non-confrontational and roundabout way of telling people to leave me alone. Smiling, I signed "Zachary" and "no eye contact," then fell asleep.

I filled my plate with food the next morning at breakfast, and mainly ate alone in my room, listening to Loscil really loudly in my headphones to try and tune everyone out. And for the rest of the day, focusing on my meditation and ignoring everyone became easier and easier- even amidst their laughter and chatter. As the song says, "words [became] noise" (no different than whistling breeze, passing engines, rickety gear-shifts on my rusty bicycle chain, or the chorus of insects and birds), and if I held my focus strongly enough, the english language was just gibberish within a sonic tapestry I largely disregarded.

But, another thing started happening as a result of my withdrawal, something I had never experienced for such a prolonged duration before: a grasp of time and space extending outside my own frame of reference to become an out-of-body, meta-recognition of the present. A "macro moment." Instead of lasting only seconds with humbling, grateful sighs escaping as you wonder just how in the fuck your journey brought you to such a beautiful place, I entered a museum of this time in my life, and wandered its exhibits for a couple of days. Its walls seemed to fade in and out depending on how present I was able to remain or how distracted I allowed myself to become, but I was there- as myself but watching myself- going through the motions. And I wondered something about what Rudolf Steiner had posited. If it's true that when we die, we re-live our lives in reverse (but at a higher speed) to learn how karma unfolds, do we do so as active participants or passive observers? Because in truth, I felt I had been given that opportunity- at least for my consciousness to embody that sort of spirit essence. I was granted invisibility and the unique perspective of profound separation, all without a voice to clarify just how my ego felt about it.

Yet, then the museum walls would fade. I'd hear my name sung almost as a taunt, Sveta and Lena approaching and smiling from behind. "How are you, what are you doing today?" delicately in thick, Russian accents. Gala covering her mouth to quiet her giggles, her ice blue eyes on mine as I looked away frustrated but hardly able to stop grinning. The bubble burst. I was back to pouring balsamic vinegar on greens, grated cheese and walnuts as people stared into space. Yulia brought out more barbequed tofu and quinoa on a hot pan, uncomfortably setting it into a basin of hot water heated by a blue flame, then snickered at me before slinking sexily back into the kitchen. Defeated, I surrendered to a chuckle and found a new spot to sit and start all over again.

Wednesday morning, Avodat Lev was held in the forest again. We were asked to find a "prayer partner"- not a person but an object- and meditate or pray with it as we wished. At the triangular base of soil created by three trees, I found mine in a small, crooked fern. There's an idea that all things are constantly praising God, and that when we recite blessings, we're merely joining in that constant, eternal process. But, it was in meditation- not in prayer- that my "prayer partner" in this trinity of trees brought me to a place far from the forest. I was in my childhood home, the house in Evanston that my dad still shares with my sister Shana and the spirit of my mom.

I walked down the sidewalk which is cracking from years of rain and up the stairs to our white storm door. All the details were so vivid in my mind's eye: its brass knob and the handle on the other side upturned; the four squares of glass on the inner door revealing the front hallway to the bathroom, and the woman's ghostly ceramic face that hangs inside; a staircase covered from top to bottom in a soft, patterned rug whose center is worn nearly threadbare from over thirty years of footprints; pairs of shoes neatly lining the entry way; coats and hats covering the halltree's hooks and umbrellas resting against the dark, reddish wood. I pressed my finger against the yellowing doorbell and heard its familiar, descending harmony. I felt the sound in the back of my throat as if in anticipation of guests on the holidays. Then I was inside my house at the top of the stairs, looking down at the faces behind the door's paneled glass. It was my Aunt Paulette and Uncle Al holding gifts in a large, red, department store's shopping bag. Ding-dong. I heard the sound so clearly, and like the bell signaling a meditation's beginning or end, it pulsated in my skull as I breathed. Ding-dong.

Then, I mentally toured the house. I started downstairs, entering through the front door after another depression of the doorbell. My mom was on the phone, her voice singing sweetly with genuine cheer as she washed dishes in the kitchen. She turned over her shoulder at the sound of the door closing behind me, cradling the phone with her neck. "My boychick is home," she'd say smiling. I took off my shoes and went upstairs, rounding the banister and up two more steps before going into my dad's office, the carpet going from flat, creamy knots to thick, storm cloud gray strands. Manila file folders lined the wall where the bookshelf ended. Yellow legal pads filled with the ink of my dad's chicken scratch cluttered the desk next to his computer. Photographs of Ferraris and Jaguars were set on foam core or framed next to Father's Day cards from a much younger version of my sister. "Daddy, I love cuddling with you. Love, Shana." Two small speakers filled the room with jazz made faintly fuzzy through radio frequency. "Hi, this is Marc. I'm not in right now, but if you leave your name and number at the sound of the tone, I'll be glad to call you when I return. Thank you." Beep. My dad was sitting at his desk, looking through papers, concentrating with his head down. "How's my favorite boy? Muah!"

I went through his door and into my bedroom, and attempted to remember all of the different ways it had looked over the years: different orientations of my bed, posters that had come and gone, the Sri Lankan mask hanging in the corner in between windows, the way my ceiling looked before I created constellations with putty and glow-in-the-dark stars; then, tiny, blackened marks on my windowsill- the aftermath of bubble gum wads placed there from between my first love's fingers. Carefully, I tip-toed through the scarce available space on my sister's floor as she read in bed while listening to the television (I still don't understand how she does that). "Ackabee," she beamed. I saw the stairwell again and gazed into the bathroom to my right, having a hard time remembering the wallpaper pattern before the walls were sponge-painted. Stripes? I floated into my parents' room, into their bathroom, and then I flew out of the window to land on our neighbor's front lawn. Where would I go next?

I chose to stay right there, but changed ages. Up Lincolnwood Drive we went, my parents on either side holding the tiny hands of a three year-old me. "One, two, three, weeeee!" They swung me high above the ground over and over again. Sprinklers oscillated or waved on summer lawns as fireflies blinked brilliantly in twilight. We would've made it to Baskin Robbins on Central Street, and I would've licked a light green scoop of daiquiri ice nestled in a sugar cone, but I didn't make it there: I was back in the forest with a heavy heart and my eyes open and stinging, blinking out the tears that made my fern appear blurred. I rose and stretched, then trudged alone to the pasture where I had parked my bike. One of the white baby goats stood at the doorway of the chicken coop among the hens, and it seemed to be smiling perceptibly. I wiped away more tears.

The day continued as usual: alone in the field picking at bails of hay, mulching rows of peppers, weeding a bed of onions, and then dealing with the Russians' flirtatious mockery at mealtimes. Outside of the cafeteria, I was affronted by three of them as I tried to get tea. As soon as I put my paper cup on the table in search of a tea bag, Lena quickly poured sugar into it and Yulia and Kate started their rapid-fire whispering, trying to meet my eyes. I pulled at Lena's collar and tried emptying the sugar down her bare back, but Yulia swiftly grabbed her away as she squealed. There was a retreatant walking towards us, so the girls escaped to the kitchen. I just filled my cup with hot water and shook my head, grinning incredulously.

For the last two weeks I had the morning chore of watering the gan (garden), herbs, and seed-saving plants, but that Wednesday at dusk, I happily rode to the pasture early to meet the goats. The pasture manager Aitan and my milking partner Noah were arriving at 8 for a training session and our formal introduction to Zilpah and Angie (the two goats we'd milk each evening), so I had a half an hour to meditate there at the lake's edge. I sat on a bench facing the animals and closed my eyes, listening to the hens coo with an occasional "baah" from one of the kids. A few minutes passed, and I realized it would make a lot more sense to keep my eyes open and become acquainted with my new friends. It was over the course of those thirty minutes that I once again entered that "museum"; this time, it wasn't just one of my life, but of the earth's.

There are three adult goats (two females and one male) and roughly 5 kids, all of whom are bleach white and under a year old. Angie and Zilpah are the mellow matrons, and Omer- the adult male- is the force to be reckoned with on the pasture. While he's a bit of a primadonna, moreso, he is asserting himself to establish the natural power dynamic between dominant males and their young. If he wants food, or if he prefers that a different kid be fed over another, he will chase or ram the young goat out of the way. I sat and watched this happen repeatedly, then witnessed the kids imitating Omer, gently touching their horns in a harmless pantomime. They were learning through repetition: communicating without words and through instinct. And there I was, silently watching patterns develop among the collective, but seeing how each kid's unique personality influenced his or her interactions within it. Movements were echoed endlessly and, eventually, as I beheld this process, it became like holding a mirror to myself.

Like a fractal extending infinitely in- and outwards, these patterns of maturation and evolution have no real beginning or end. They are all simply cycles. We so often forget we are breathing, and we don't focus on the rhythm of our beating hearts; these are both subconscious habits that, thank God, we don't need to remind ourselves to complete every second. The funny thing is, when you look at nearly any naturally occurring phenomena, you realize they too operate in cycles which are out of your control, and perhaps lay within the realm of a subconscious which is greater than (yet inextricably connected to) our own: death and rebirth, sleep and waking, sunset and sunrise, the waxing and waning of the moon (and its effects on our bodies), cell growth and deterioration... These are some of the aspects comprising life at its most pure and basic level, and their every recurrence seems completely new.

Within our mortal framework as men and women, perhaps we share a natural inclination towards perfection, and grow together through these cycles towards that unattainable end only to forget the progress we made once we perish; that is, unless we break the akashic cycle and enter "God Consciousness," becoming One with the creator as some believe is possible. Yet, if we are created in God's image, and indeed have that desire to perfect our souls, does that mean that God is evolving as well, and through His "subconscious" cycles is looking to attain an even higher perfection? Or, since God is truly within us, do we inexorably evolve simultaneously as one Being, a single alive Consciousness?

Rabbi David Seidenberg explained the Kabbalistic concept of angels to me a week before I began the silent retreat. Jewish mystics believe that everything on earth- even individual blades of grass, or the tiniest and most insignificant pebble- has its own angel, and the proximity of each angel to God is contingent upon its order of creation (ancient forms of matter such as rocks have their corresponding angels closest to God, followed by the plant and animal kingdoms, and the human race whose angels are furthest away). The angels' awe of the Creator varies in accordance with their distance from Him, thus explaining the reason rocks and plant life are silent, and why animals and humans communicate with the sonic vocabulary or language to the degrees they do.

So, if it is said that all things are constantly praising God, and they do so not with words but by expressing gratitude in their own inherent fashion, why then do we as humans deem it necessary to verbalize prayer and not learn from our "elders" on earth? Our human race, through the luxury of using words, was the only species to unreasonably demarcate boundaries within what may as well have remained one belief, and forced us to carry the hardest burden in our spiritual ascension! Personally speaking, entering what is described as "universal consciousness" has hardly come from religious observance for me; instead, it has been actuated through intense experience, often while alone. Again, I am referring to those "macro moments" when "time stands still." I can use any of those now-cliched expressions to describe it, but they each illustrate the same all-encompassing perception of our being. And it was in silence- first in the forest and then in the pasture- that I realized that we, too are constantly honoring this energy that animates us all: we do so subconsciously- just as we breathe, and just as our hearts beat. And it is when we shift our awareness to this level of being that we realize thankfulness is intrinsic, and tears of joy are our silent blessing. "Words are just noise. Words are only noise."

"Repeat after me."

Adamah Part 3: Mud

2007-06-06T01:58:00.000-05:00

Colors are so vivid during storms, especially outside with the hood of a 4 dollar blue poncho sliding further down your eyes. I stared at my shovel cleaving at soil and clay with the soft sound of rain drumming against plastic, metal, earth, and skin. Our muscles burned, clouds continued to cry and melt dirt into mud, and we took turns carrying the heavy fruits of our labor away in a yellow wheelbarrow to dump in dark, dampening piles. And then our rainbow spectrum was altered in the safety of tinted ski-goggles. We swung a sledgehammer into the side of a hollow cylinder of concrete, and cheered each other on with each crack or chunk that broke apart. Isn't it wonderfully ironic when destruction becomes productive?

Then, running through an acapella version of Minor Threat's discography with Eden, we struggled carrying long pieces of wood through the forest's wet terrain. We ducked under branches, slid on sodden leaves, then tried to balance on the precarious staircase of bright mossy rocks leading to the rushing ravine. It was there that Jeff stood in tall, rubber boots, taking the planks with Sher Yaakov to his tent deeper in the forest. Luckily, we were too weak to bring the ten by ten foot wooden platform from the back of the pick-up truck, but instead pushed ancient refrigerators up the kitchen's basement stairwell once we were back at the center. A couple of them were too large to fit, so after they were cleared of cobwebs, they were sawed in half. I didn't do the cutting- I was already planting in the field.

By that point, the mist in the gray sky was cooling me uncomfortably. Mud had caked on my boots and soaking-wet jeans, and I had crumpled my poncho in the tall weeds at the end of the bed. We laid irrigation line, then "key-holed" black plastic along the bed to sufficiently warm the soil for our plants. There wasn't thunder- it was peaceful. And fog hung like exhaled smoke on the trees.

I remembered an old photograph of myself today. In it, I was probably three years old and squatting barefoot in my flooded backyard with a huge smile on my face. I distinctly recall the smell that followed a healthy spring shower. Do you remember the smell of a wet lawn? The smell of dirt? Or even the smell of your front hall as you stripped your clothes off to be dried in a towel, tiny leaves still speckling your shins down to your tiny toes?

The sun wasn't yet out this morning as we led each other through the forest, taking turns closing our eyes. Chani was barefoot as usual, and had me remove my shoes and socks so I could feel the earth's floor as well. She brought my fingers from hers and onto the bark of a tree, then onto elaborate ferns and weeds grateful for the storm, and touched them to my inhaling nostrils. Then, she wanted to try something different. The ground hardened slightly under my toes as she walked me carefully along, pushing away tree branches and lifting my leg when there was an obstruction.

"I am taking you to the main road now. We are going to run, and I want you to trust me."

"I trust you," I replied, and I took another deep breath.

"Go!"

We ran hand in hand across the path, and it seemed the forest moved stones out of the way for our bare feet. My eyes were closed tightly, letting hers see for me. For a short while I perceived the darkness subtly changing as early morning light created shadows through the trees, but as I ran further- and as we began to laugh- I pictured that photograph. That smile captured on my face came from somewhere very real: the primal connection we share with nature- too easily taken for granted as we grow old.

Adamah Part 2: Sabbath

2007-06-02T15:51:00.000-05:00

Every night when I've gone to sleep, I've seen brightly-lit earth crawling with insects, and felt an exhaustion and peace stemming from honest and real work. It's now the end of our first week. Time has stretched itself out to the molasses pace of shape-changing clouds where we welcome forevers in single breaths, and today marks our first rest: the first shabbat. I snoozed past my usual waking time of 5:45 AM and awakened with a slight Jameson headache just after nine. The home I cohabit a half-mile from the center is one of the communal hubs for our fourteen-person group, so people are constantly coming and going through our unlocked front door, leaving their bicycles outside in the hutch before collapsing on one of the couches, showering, checking email, or meditating. Right now, most have just returned from a morning service and are eating lunch in the kitchen. We have a great deal of food left over from the dinner I prepared with three others last night, but my late breakfast of challah, grapefruit, kale harvested from our field, and eggs from our chickens has given me a fully-satisfied stomach. I am nearly ready for a nap.

Monday began our morning routine of singing and meditation commencing at six AM, luckily held in our house! That means six of us can simply roll out of bed, brush our teeth, and sleepwalk to the meditation room with hot tea warming the sides of mason jars; for the remaining eight staying up the road in tents, it's not such an easy commute. Regardless, one by one, we found comfortable seats on pillows to the quiet plucking of a guitar. A form of Judaism called "Renewal" informs the style of chanting we do each morning. Instead of completing an entire prayer, we focus on a single line to repeat, and whoever leads the morning service (called Avodat Lev, translated from hebrew as "work of the heart") explains the significance of each.

The first is Modeh Ani Lefahecha Ruach Chai V'Kayam (I am grateful before You eternal living spirit). So, our first affirmation is gratitude for waking each morning- a pure simplicity, but only when taken for granted. Then Ma Tovu Ohalecha Yaakov Mishkenotecha Yisrael (How great are your tents Jacob, your dwelling places) in which- directly following our thanks for life- we express gratefulness for the bodies our breath animates. As the prayers continue, we shift from the physical to the ethereal, and end with the Shema (God is One)- reinforcing spiritual unity through illustrating the quite literal meaning to "loving thy neighbor as yourself."

Contingent on the whim of each morning service's facilitator, the mediations that ensue can range from basic breath observation through advanced visualizations. In one of the more powerful ones this week, we imagined a thread extending from deep in the earth's core to the base of our spines. With each breath, we brought energy along this thread until it filled our bodies, then- anchoring the thread's tip far above to the most distant point in space- we sent it upwards and outwards into the cosmos. For breakfast, we cook each other greens and eggs, or share yogurt, fruit, or cereal, then begin the meat of our day with positive intentions: Avodat Bayit ("work of the house"), rotating our responsibilities every two weeks.

Our chores include housekeeping at the center and its residences, food preparation in the cafeteria's kitchen, maintaining compost and recycling, tending to the animals (collecting eggs from the chickens, and feeding and milking the goats), landscaping the grounds and watering the gardens, and generally tidying the communal spaces within our house. Then we have lunch together, and sit outside the cafeteria on its long, wooden balcony overlooking the lake and surrounding woods. If we hadn't been farming earlier that morning, we bicycle down the hilly, bucolic roads to our nearby field for Avodat Sadeh ("work of the field"). We are in the midst of readying the beds and planting the first of the crops- adding mulch and composted manure shoveled from wheelbarrows- but enjoyed our first summer harvest of collard greens and kale last night.

The sun is at its height when we are out there, sending sweat mixing with sunblock and insect repellent down trails of our darkening skin as we dig hands in the warm soil, uncovering worms, spiders, and unidentified beetles crawling beneath. And towards the end of our time in the fields, and after returning the tools to the shed, we walk through the wall of tall grasses to cool off in the swimming holes lining the field's edge. I am still trying to find a technique of putting my boxers and pants back on without getting them full of muddy sand, but being dirty- truly dirty- is something I am quickly getting used to.

Along with the ups of the experience (including silly name games, forest trust walks, and silent hikes to overlooks- all of which have turned this into a bit of a "summer camp") there have already been some downs. A major concern for us here in New England is disease-carrying ticks. We knew the dangers before arrival, and planned on doing checks every evening to prevent those critters from accomplishing anything substantial (the common Lyme Disease takes just under 24 hours to contract, and happens after the tick becomes so engorged with your blood that it releases the virus into your veins through a backwash of sorts). I was about to take a shower the first evening when my roommate Eden found an unwelcome visitor burrowed halfway into his thigh. "Fuck," he screamed, and I looked down at the large insect subtly moving in his flesh.

We had heard about different techniques, but apparently the only way to successfully extract a tick is by firmly grabbing its head with tweezers and very carefully pulling it out. I gave him my Swiss Army knife and- for the first time in my twenty years of owning it- felt excited that it would soon be used for something other than opening a bottle of wine! Eden remained relatively calm, swearing every once in so often as he picked away at the intruder. It seemed fairly routine until the tick snapped in half and, while its head disjoined in the vise of my little tweezers, its body remained in Eden's leg: another opportunity to exclaim "fuck!" We called in Naomi from the other room and she knelt at his bedside, trying unsuccessfully to poke into his skin and remove the tick. I just stood grimacing nearby. The tweezers weren't working, so finally we used the little fish-gutter to dig; it was at that point I resigned to taking a hot shower and forgetting about it (luckily, the next morning, the director of the program was able to remove the last tiny remains of the culprit).

And this morning, waking from an amazing, drunken dinner and week-end celebration, we were saddened to find one of the baby chickens living in our basement trampled by the others, laying limply and sadly chirping in a bowl of feed. The chicks had been mailed to us yesterday, and all but one survived the postal service before being put into their new home. But now, another victim! Yes, even cute things are subject to a natural "pecking order": the runt of the group- a small, yellow bird we hadn't yet named- was slowly dying. None of us really knew what to do. Its pre-feather fur was matted, it was obviously in pain, and its miniature leg seemed to have been broken. I wasn't present for the attempt to suffocate it with a plastic bag, but knew it failed when Eva, Abby, and Naomi brought it out of the house on a small white cloth: its hearse to the deathbed of the forest floor.

The sun seems as if it will set earlier than usual tonight. Other than in the bathrooms, we've had to leave house lights off for those in our group observing "Shomer Shabbat" (a more conservative sabbath relegated to ancient Judaic law). We've reached a compromise in which laptops and electronics can be used in common areas during the day (as long as its with headphones), and we've turned the meditation room into an alternative space for Saturdays in which we can play music out loud... Honestly, everyone has been so busy singing and drumming on tables to really mind the loss of a stereo. In fact, it wasn't until last night- while everyone was off at an evening service and I stayed to finish cooking our meal, enjoying my own personal cocktail hour with some whisky- that I listened to any music other than that we created together. In doing so, I brought an inevitable flood of nostalgia for the life I've temporarily left behind in New York. Yet, it isn't truly temporary, is it? In the aftermath of any journey, we never really return to the home we remember.

Adamah Part 1: Arrival

2007-05-27T00:56:00.000-05:00

The sun is just beginning to set on the first full day I spent in my new community of Falls Village, and I already feel a substantial shift in my mind and heart. The program will commence tomorrow; however, for today- as well as yesterday evening- it was time to acclimate to a completely new and open environment in woods surrounded by fields, where nature is simultaneously deafening or silent depending on one's perspective. It took only a day for me, now reclining comfortably in the living room of the house I will share with five others this summer, to go from a stressful and hung over morning preparation in New York to a state of complete bliss. Perhaps it's the morning I spent cooking fresh eggs whose yolks held the deep, orange hue of setting suns, or spending the early part of my morning looking into the forest and playing guitar, focusing on arpeggios in different tunings and repeating improvised phrases along with the singing birds and humming insects. And then sitting on a white tree branch extending over the placid lake, trying to ignore the flies as I continued.

Eventually, I took a long bike ride alone and got a feel for the world outside of the center: neighboring farms and colorful homes, with bicycles left lazily in their yards, winding all along roads bordered by green and topped with clear blue (aside from the occasional cloud or jet stream unzipping the sky). My thighs were burning from a lack of practice, but my curiosity kept me pedaling until the pain turned to warmth, and I allowed the breeze to cool me down.

Returning to my home, Jeanette and Abby arrived with produce from a nearby market, and we drove the half-mile up the road for yoga held in a wooden gazebo facing the lake. During savasana I drifted into outer space, hardly able to focus on my breath any longer because the images in my mind were so sharp. It's fascinating how being in such an open space- away from the claustrophobia of the city- allows your mind to breathe so much more, leaving you safe from the inevitable transfer of psychic energy from everyone else... The schizophrenic feeling you have riding the subway and watching your thoughts accelerate to the point of a confused blur, all from tuning in to everyone else's noise. But now with some tea, I feel so absolutely slowed that I've reached nearly a dead stop, and I am present to observe my molecules frozen in space as I inhale almost in between them.

Last night, after unpacking and cleaning up my bedroom, I joined a group of about 15 seated in a circle around the oriental rug on our living room floor and, in the flickering glow of a pair of candles, we introduced ourselves for the first time (only four of the fourteen in our fellowship were present- the rest were staff and their visiting friends). Conversation quickly turned into song while claps, stomping feet, and a drum I found in the meditation room maintained a steady rhythm. We danced together- new friends made from complete strangers- and then enjoyed our meal with wine and coffee-flavored vodka until the timers switched off the lights....
Now, It's pitch-dark outside, and the silhouettes of trees barely stood out against the horizon on our walk home following dinner. Four of us- Naomi, Abby, Jeanette and me- are back in the soft light of our house, eagerly anticipating a tomorrow we can't even imagine... Goodnight friends, goodnight angels.

A Canadian Coup de Grace: CocoRosie Tour Cancelled

2007-05-07T13:09:00.000-05:00

I am now back in Brooklyn after my third plane ride of the day; thankfully, the last one was very short- from Philadelphia to New York's Laguardia Airport- but sadly, it represents the premature ending of our tour with CocoRosie after completing only 6 dates on the west coast. Beginning in Los Angeles a week ago at the El Ray, we continued north on to Santa Cruz, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle before crossing the border into British Columbia. It was there, in Vancouver, that we had our best show yet. Regan and I stayed nearby at a quirky hotel called Lamplight, and each room there had a theme developed by a different artist. The inside of my room (209), for instance, looked as if it were adjacent to a house, complete with a shuttered roof hanging halfway over my bed like an awning. Regan was excited about his room next door full of patterns on the walls, but evidently his lock was broken! He yelled for me through the window, and he slipped me the key underneath his door so I could let him out. A hotel with character is definitely not without its share of problems.

There was a fun after-party that night where I tried some bizarre wine and avoided Yohimbe muffins, and we finally retreated to our rooms after sharing some late night pizza with new friends. I awoke the next morning and enjoyed "The Goonies" on TV, had a sashimi lunch up the street, and drove for hours back to Seattle... We spent 2 hours in queue at the border as I tried to sleep over El-P's "I'll Sleep When You're Dead" blasting from Busdriver's iPod- not an easy endeavor, believe me. All the while, we knew nothing of what happened to our tour mates....

Once back in Seattle, we met up with Nick, Sebastian and Aaron from Islands (ex-Unicorns) and had some beer and dinner at Elysian Brewing Company. Only an hour prior, a woman on the street had randomly offered them two free tickets to that night's Morrissey concert in town, and they more-than-happily obliged. Aaron bought a third ticket from a scalper and- assuring us it would be easy to get some more- we decided to accompany them to the show. As they waited out front for us to find parking, a girl approached them and sold Nick a ticket for only five dollars (!!), and we were able to get the final ticket for twenty: mission accomplished.

The show was amazing. He opened with "The Queen is Dead," and the crowd went bananas. To be honest- and this may be blasphemous to say as a rabid Smiths fan- I don't have a single Morrissey solo album; thus, the show's highlights for me were the 3 and a half Smiths songs performed (he cut off "The Boy with a Thorn in His Side" midway through, complaining that something felt wrong). Towards the end of "Life is a Pigsty," he curled himself in a tiny ball center-stage, illuminated by a bright, colored spotlight as the sounds became quieter and quieter, resolving in silence and near darkness. And then, the dirty vibrato guitar from "How Soon Is Now?" began, and I lost my shit! Throughout the set, star-struck fans continually rushed the stage to be forcefully removed by bouncers waiting in the wings, and I was in awe of Morrissey's continuing command of his audience, many of whom have been loyal since the early eighties.

After an encore of "Please Please Please, Let Me Get What I Want" we made it to a Red Roof Inn for only a few cozy hours of sleep. As per usual before a flight, we were up at three, returned the rental car by four, at our airport terminal by five, and onboard Frontier Airlines for our 6 AM flight after snarfing down a breakfast sandwich at Wendy's. Somehow, I managed to stay awake enough to watch the new movie re-make of "The Bridge to Terabithia," and I wished I would've known how sad it was! Regardless of my teary eyes, the day was moving along as usual. We had an uneventful layover in Denver and boarded our flight to Philadelphia; but it was then, right before the stewardesses rattled off safety instructions, that Sierra (from CocoRosie) phoned Regan. I was wearing headphones but heard enough of the conversation: "Are you serious? Back to France? Where are you?"

Fantastic.

Magically, Pitchfork had mention of it before we did, and we were already receiving phone calls from friends who heard the news. Frankly, I still don't know the gruesome details other than the proper paperwork for two out of three band members (all French) were not provided to them, making their entry back into the states impossible. On top of that, the two in question were deported, but don't quote me on that since I still haven't spoken with any of them. The end result is that the tour, very unfortunately, is over. Once in Philadelphia, Busdriver and I stood at the baggage claim sort of staring into space, and I briefly entertained the idea of hanging out in North Carolina for a couple weeks. Alas, exhausted and upset, and subjected to a special search at security, I was on a tiny plane back home. I am so sorry that such a horrendous thing happened. I'm sorry for CocoRosie and their amazing accompanists Ben, Gael & Tez, and especially sorry that Busdriver and I won't be able to see many of you in the cities we had yet to visit together.

My Day in The Desert: Coachella

2007-04-30T13:04:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning on my friend Take's couch- as per usual when I am in Los Angeles and not sleeping in a room full of merch at Mush Records HQ- and felt a touch foggy from the desert festivities last night at the Coachella Valley Music Festival. My burning eyes remembered trying to keep their heavy lids from closing on our middle-of-the-night drive back home with midnight snacks from BP and J Dilla's "Donuts", then focused further back in time to the myriad images I can't believe were squeezed so impossibly into just one day.

I awoke on a different couch yesterday morning, one belonging to a nice young lady in Palm Desert, and unfortunately, one covered in dog hair from the reason my slumber prematurely ended: a pug named Ollie. She was kind enough to offer me a brand-new lint brush, but it did little to clean up the sinus congestion left behind by her cute puppy. With a goodbye and a fresh shirt, Busdriver and I escaped into the early morning heat and eventually found a cute health food store hidden among a depressing array of crappy restaurants. We bought delicious smoothies before finding what would become our gem for breakfast: Keedy's, a forties style diner just down the street. We had pancakes and read the Coachella run-down in the local paper, and since I was somehow managing to remain blissfully unaware that it was really happening, nervousness hadn't yet set in. Instead, we headed to the Renaissance Esmerelda Resort & Spa and a Spin Magazine gifting suite.

Drinking hibiscus tea or water flavored with melon, strawberries, and lemon, we chose whatever we liked from a selection of Mavi Jeans, Le Tigre shirts and hoodies, and a collection of Oakley sunglasses. I made away with all of the above (except for the sunglasses), and grabbed a Crunk juice from a bucket nearby. Wrong move! It tasted like Triaminic, except not as good. AntiMC and his girlfriend Sylvia met up with us, and we walked through the palacial lobby to the parking lot where I put on some obligatory sunblock. By this time in the early afternoon, it was already over 100 degrees!

I have a very sensitive system- especially when it comes to things endorsed by high-energy rappers- which begs the question as to why I continue to indulge like this... I was feeling heart-attack-y as we listened to Panda Bear and sat in traffic on the way to the artist parking lot, but it only got worse when I recalled a very important bit of information: my laptop was no longer at my feet. Fuck! My mind started racing- did I leave it on the ground in the hotel parking lot when Sylvia gave me sunblock? Did I leave it in their car? Or was it left impotently and alone on the hotel room couch since I had been all too focused on picking out all-over print hoodies? (Biggest question: how could I be such an idiot?) Only minutes away from parking, Regan calmly turned around and got on the phone with the folks at Spin. My mortification at my flakiness and potentially-fatal oversight was alleviated as I heard him say "yes, a bit of grey on the case; we'll be right there." Jesus.... I ran past bellhops asking me how I was doing today and embarrassedly entered the room where a whole new group of people were going through the tables of clothes. "Be honest, you just wanted more jeans," one guy joked. Well, that's partially true, but that's why the Mavi representative is sending additional pairs to me! I work magic, folks! Hehe.

Finally at the artist lot, we hid in the small bit of shade offered by the trailer and were taken via golf cart to the artist compound. It was a huge gated area composed of air-conditioned trailers spread out on the grass, and divided in rows by cute, white picket fences. Entering ours, my jaw dropped at a painting done just for Regan (Busdriver), depicting him driving in a school bus complete with his name on the top! It was way too hot outside and too early to start drinking, so I picked at our vegetable plate and stuck with water- lots of it. I shared a golf cart with the singer and manager of a great new band called Tokyo Police Club, and stashed my gear underneath the DJ table the stage manager had set aside for me at the Gobi tent.

The VIP area was a collection of tents within which were comfortable couches and an overpriced bar, and I found my friend Take milling about, waiting for me to bring him beer and water from our trailer. Throughout the day and that evening, I was able to successfully smuggle him into the artist area and onto the golf carts; otherwise, we would've had to walk through the stifling heat to the different stage areas like everyone else- ewwww!! No, but seriously, I can't understand how people put up with that! If I were them, I'd prefer to remain in one spot- in a little air-conditioned suit- and turn invisible. Alas, I had a fancy wristband, so I just watched my new golf cart buddy Dave from Tokyo Police Club sing his heart out to a receptive crowd, then retreated to the comfort of my little closed-off community to get a massage.

Soon afterward, we were whisked away in a large van to an off-site Motorola gifting suite, forced to listen to old Bon Jovi by its drivers. I had forgotten how bad "Living On A Prayer" really is, and I didn't really want nor need the reminder. Regardless, underneath a tent surrounded by silver trailers bearing the Motorola logo, we drank cocktails as a photographer documented us looking at the newest in Motorola's product line. Gulping down Absolut Kurant and Pom, I chose the blue K-Razr K1, which is the prettiest little phone I've ever seen. I'm not crazy about the ring tones, but you can't have it all, can you?

Amy Winehouse was playing in the Gobi tent when we returned, and I was excited to see my fellow Brooklynites the Dap-Kings backing her up. Having run into my friend Teal backstage, I can't say I really listened to a song she played but, at least peripherally, it sounded quite nice. I bought her album at Virgin the day before after hearing such significant buzz and being nerdily excited that my friend Nick Movshon had played bass on it, but haven't gotten it into my iPod yet for a listen. I have since read a couple reviews which panned her performance, and I think the backlash is probably unnecessary and just reactive to an overactive hype machine. OK, sure: originality is not her strong point, but I do think she has a strong voice.

I was full of nervous excitement as I ate a buffet style dinner adjacent to the main stage. The Arctic Monkeys were running through songs I have never really heard before, but I could hardly pay attention; I just tingled, watching the sky hold that rich, deep twilight signaling it was almost time for us to perform. And after hurriedly drinking a couple Heinekens to try and take off the edge, I was once again bouncing along on a golf cart tracing the festival's boundaries, admiring the bright lights lining the dusty back roads and trying not to spill beer as we crossed the yellow speed bumps. Once at Gobi, there was the final applause for the act before us, and a phone call with a friend helped to calm the somersaults my heart had been busy making. Yet, like always- from the moment I began- our set just flew by, accented with additional improvisation from AntiMC and a guest appearance from Regan's friend 2Mex.

Sweating profusely and feeling so happy upon completion, my smile widened to see my friend Colin and his girlfriend Sarah (both from the Arcade Fire) watching from backstage. Even in a sea of screaming people, one or two familiar faces make all the difference! We waited too long to get taken back to the artist area and, after finding no more beers in our trailer (boo!), we pilfered some from a nearby bucket as the familiar sound of Interpol hung in the comfortable night.

[Note: I later discovered that the thief of our beers was none other than Amy Winehouse, which explains why she acted so completely awkwardly when I met her later that night in front of our trailer. Bitch.]

Sonic Youth- one of the reasons I was most excited to be at Coachella- was about to begin their set, and our golf cart driver rushed us to their stage. With Coachella's headliners, you needed an extra wristband or badge of some sort to get on stage. I never quite figured it out, but didn't really bother: I had never seen Sonic Youth before, and I was determined to get right up there with them.

The area backstage was pretty huge, and had a number of people hanging out, drinking beer from plastic cups, and staring at- you guessed it!- the backs of the amplifiers onstage: not too exciting! The stage itself was sectioned off with three foot-long metal gates creating a small barrier, and guards were there to make sure no one got through. On the 4th of July a few years ago in New York, I hopped a fence in clear view of guards to make sure that my then-girlfriend and I had a romantic patch of grass for Yo La Tengo. The trick is to be on your cell phone, I swear! Exhibiting that sort of nonchalance makes it appear you are supposed to be there and that nothing is amiss. I wasn't going to hop the fence in this case because it wasn't necessary. Instead, I stood against the gates and, over the course of a minute, inched one of them back to create a little entrance for myself. Waiting for the guard to look the other way, I put my cell phone to my ear and waltzed right through. I don't even think I pretended to talk; I can't remember. Then, falling in behind four girls walking up onto the stage, I realized a guard was standing on top and doing the whole double-check thing. The girls flashed their wristbands one by one, and I looked the guard in the eye as I put up my empty wrist.

"Where's your wristband?"

I kept walking, half-looking at him...

"Oh, you're with them," he resigned.

I just smiled at him, and took my place stage right, directly next to their guitar tech and about 10 feet away from Lee Ranaldo. To my right- sitting on the table full of Fender Jazzmasters in different colors, and kept safe in place underneath a roll of electrical tape- was their set list, written in permanent marker on a sheet of white paper. I laughed reading the first line: it was "Candle," my favorite song from Daydream Nation! Thurston began the majestic opening arpeggio, and the realness of the moment was flickering in and out as if on a wick itself, with tens of thousands of anticipating eyes stretching back for what seemed like miles. And I suppose in all of this- the intense heat, the dust, the claustrophobic crowds, and the unbearable traffic- hearing a band you've been listening to for nearly twenty years playing your favorite song makes everything else just melt away.

I know it did for me.

Coachella & Touring with CocoRosie

2007-04-22T13:09:00.000-05:00

After torrential downpours here on the east coast earlier in the week, I hope everyone is now enjoying the beginnings of sunshine in NY! It’s come just in time to prepare me for California, I suppose.

This Wednesday, my favorite airline Jet Blue will bring me to Los Angeles, and I am excited to announce that Friday, Busdriver and I will perform at Coachella. For those of you attending, Friday night’s schedule includes Bjork, Sonic Youth, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Interpol, and Rufus Wainwright (among many others), so I hope we are done in time to check everyone out!

4.27 Coachella Valley Music Festival, Indio, CA

(the set-time will be announced in a few days- visit www.coachellla.com for full details)

Stick around for the rest of the weekend and catch people like Peter Bjorn & John, Blonde Redhead, Grizzly Bear, The Roots, Red Hot Chili Peppers, !!!, my homie Colin playing with the Arcade Fire, and CocoRosie, with whom we will embark on a two week tour with that Sunday!

Busdriver and me opening for CocoRosie:

4.29 Los Angeles, CA @ the El Ray Theatre 
4.30 Santa Cruz, CA @ the Rio Theatre
 5.1 San Francisco, CA @ Bimbo’s 365 Club 
5.3 Portland, OR @ Wonder Ballroom 
5.4 Seattle, WA @ Neumo’s
 5.5 Vancouver, BC @ Richard’s On Richards 
5.7 Philadelphia, PA@ Theater of the Living Arts
 5.9 Carrboro, NC @ Cat’s Cradle 
5.10 Atlanta, GA @ Masquerade 
5.11 Louisville, KY@ Headliners 
5.12 Chicago, IL@ Metro 
5.14 Toronto, ON @ Lee’s Palace 
5.15 Montreal, PQ @ La Tulipe 
5.16 Cambridge, MA @ Middle East

I’ll have a week left in NY upon my return from touring before leaving for a summer-long organic farming fellowship in Connecticut, so things will be very quiet for me until September.

I hope to see some of you on the road over the next few weeks. Have a wonderful spring and summer.

[DISCOGRAPHY] Silicon Graffiti

2007-03-24T01:11:00.000-05:00

Silicon Graffiti (Circuitree Records, 2007)

CIRC02

Format: CD

"Test Shot Starfish's Polaris Remix"

(exclusive track)

Notes: This was the weirdest "remix" I've ever done, simply because I didn't use ANY of the source material from the original, save for a very quiet ambient bit which is nearly inaudible in my version. I put their drum break through a vocoder to write a chord progression of my own but, in the end, I scrapped any semblance of their rhythms and left only the vocoder's decaying sustain in the final mix... Calling it a remix is probably a misnomer unless you are post-modern as f*ck, but that was its original intention and what I was inevitably paid for.

Not Feeling The Flu

2007-03-11T23:30:00.000-05:00

Ick.

I am just now reaching the tail end of what has been a horrendous excursion into the depths of the FLU. Wednesday night, after a delicious ramen dinner at Rai Rai Ken, I noticed my throat beginning to close up on the chilly walk back to Union Square. Feeling more fatigued than should be normal from soup or edamame after ending a conversation with my friend Lexy- who had just gotten over a harrowing bout with Pneumonia himself- my paranoid hypochondria switched into overdrive, and I was in bed by 10:00 PM... I didn't realize then I'd hardly leave the bed voluntarily until today. Well, that's not entirely true: I made two trips to Duane Reade for juice and medicine, both of which were followed by visits to my neighborhood video store for rentals:

Jesus Camp

Stranger Than Fiction

The Science of Sleep

then...

All About My Mother

The Boys of Baraka

and the one DVD I always look at, pick up, carry around for a second, then put down:

The Brown Bunny.

Um, without launching into full-on movie review mode, let me just say this: Chloe Sevigny's blowjob skills do not merit sitting uncomfortably through nearly an hour and a half of Vincent Gallo driving around, pissing, showering, briefly petting a kitten in a pet store (possibly the film's highlight for this cat lover) and having completely awkward interactions with people- which I suppose should be expected of Mr. Gallo. If you've fumbled around with this DVD in the store wondering if it's worth the hype, just sing the Public Enemy song to yourself and put it back down.

So, I am not sure if my headache was exacerbated by my little film festival (signs point to yes), but it grew absolutely unbearable. Ever feel like your head is a laundry machine, and you can add extra quarters for tingling dizziness, throbbing pressure along the surface of your skull, or a film of cold sweat? The homeopathic remedy I found did help curtail the chills and fever to an extent, but the golf ball of my swollen right gland tore into my flesh every time I swallowed, making the consumption of anything other than soup excruciating.

That's right, the adorable nun Rosa from All About My Mother was nowhere to be found in my time of crisis,

nor, as my luck would have it, was that her line.

Anyway, I am being spat out in one piece at the other end, despite not feeling quite back to normal, and luckily, I am no longer hallucinating insects on my kitchen floor; I made damn sure of it by sweeping it this morning with my newfound energy.

The Secret: Worst. Infomercial. Ever.

2007-03-02T02:35:00.000-06:00

My roommate Clare found a video iPod in the back seat of a taxi the other day and, being the honest and sweet girl she is, she actually contacted its owner to let him know it was in safe hands. When he came to retrieve it, he bore a gift. "I want you to have this, because it is this that brought my iPod back to me." It was a DVD copy of the highly-buzzed-about "new" movie, The Secret. I put "new" in quotes because, although recently produced with the kind of guests who would bring tears to an audience at the Oprah Winfrey show, it elucidates a very old concept: one which would not come as a "secret" at all to anyone who has read anything written in the past few hundred years (or thousand if you include religious texts this movie appropriates). I mean, look at the Celestine Prophecy for God's sake! That piece of crap came out less than 15 years ago. Is our pop memory really bad enough to necessitate a rehash and repackaging of that?

Anyway, Clare and I were both really excited to watch it together tonight. I had a few friends recommend it to me a while back, but they liked What The Bleep, so I was a little nervous to say the least. The real clincher was that my ex-girlfriend broke our code of silence to text-message me about it, telling me it was a "great movie" and that I should see it. Um, OK- thanks. And the result? I was laughing in under a minute, and my roommate literally fell asleep. So, without further adieu (beware of spoilers ahead!), there are a few secrets about The Secret I thought you should know.

1) You can actually stop watching it after about ten minutes, when they "reveal" the secret is really just "the law of attraction." Seeing them painfully stretch this singular philosophy out into the course of a superfluous, feature-length film- complete with corny quotes from Martin Luther King and Ralph Waldo Emerson read in a stage whisper (!!), and dramatizations of a woman beating breast cancer in three months by substituting Charlie Chaplin films for chemotherapy- is frankly a waste of time; unless, of course, you don't get it the first ten or fifteen times around. Then, I'd suggest another secret to you: maybe you're retarded.

2) The gag factor is staggering. Its production value includes all the worst elements of a "Get Rich Quick" infomercial airing at 2:00 AM, a half-hour Sci-Fi special on UFOs (no real depth- just lame interviews accented with corny camera effects and space-y synth sounds), a heart-rending talk show with pontificating guests and empty applause, and a National Geographic video showing how, by golly, we're just all the same! Who edited this? A spiritually-awakened Minnie Mouse channeling the greatness of the Lifetime Network?

3) I just read an interesting essay in New York magazine about the detriment of praise on schoolchildren. In short, Carol Dweck's research shows that telling a student he or she is "smart" or good at something is worse than commending them on their hard work because- as she found through her series of experiments- it can lower their expectations and the effort they expend to reach them. Similarly, there are examples in The Secret where, simply through visualization, we attain "outside" gifts (i.e., a young child cuts a picture of a bicycle out of a catalog and- surprise!- suddenly a grandfather-like figure has the exact one waiting for him in the family garage). Now, by no means am I discounting the importance of visualization and belief, nor am I discounting anything The Secret is very superficially talking about; unfortunately, I am just lamenting the fact there are probably people confused and/or stupid enough to think passive positive-thinking and feeling are going to carry the import of actually taking action and working to achieve their goals. As in the example of Dweck's case studies, neophytes to the philosophies explained here will just wait for things to come their way (I'm smart, so things will come naturally). But hey, it worked for the boy with the bike!

4) Finally, it is not the ideas in The Secret that make it a horrendous movie, it's the movie itself. Redundant writing, embarrassing effects, over-the-top guest appearances, sappy musical scoring, and a plodding rhythm akin to a self-help seminar all contribute equally to make The Secret another sad- and wholly unnecessary- chapter in our world's fascination with easily digested spirituality.

So, the next time you find a video iPod in a cab, by all means: load it with your favorites, and as The Secret suggests, be grateful you attracted it through positive energy.

I Heart Deerhoof & Harlem Shakes

2007-02-25T21:58:00.000-06:00

My downstairs neighbor just cut my bath short with hasty knocks and bell rings because apparently he had a steady stream of water leaking from his ceiling. Thank you, old building in Brooklyn, which I need to leave May 1st anyway.

I just returned yesterday evening from the southern leg of Deerhoof's tour with Busdriver and a wonderful new band from NY called the Harlem Shakes. Due to an unfortunate and very frustrating fiasco at JFK airport a week ago- a result of weather conditions across the board on the east coast- I missed the Jacksonville show; worse yet, without the ability to fly anywhere for a couple of days on any airline (even from any city nearby!), I soon found myself on the A train headed to Port Authority and my Florida-bound Greyhound bus!

Exhausted after over 24 hours of travel through Virginia and the Carolinas- including a rear-end collision which had us sitting on the side of the road for nearly two hours along the way- I finally made it to our show in Miami. Our shows in Florida were all amazing and, in sunny Orlando, we even found some time off to play adventure golf with Deerhoof! And then it was on to Athens, Nashville, and our final show in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.

The adventure was really heartwarming: both Deerhoof and the guys in the Harlem Shakes are so amazingly nice, and I am already missing their companionship and music. Busdriver and I were also given the honor of sitting in each night on Deerhoof's encore (including "Kidz Are So Small," and "Milky"), and that was really a musical highlight for me! Hopefully some fun footage ends up on Youtube!

And now, it's on to round two of Chinese takeout and some green tea from TenRen. I am back in wintry lands....

Touring with Busdriver & Deerhoof/New Sights and Sounds

2007-01-24T16:16:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year, friends! And what a crazy year this is going to be, especially for us Sagittarians (well, that's what they say, anyway). There have already been some major shifts for yours truly, and I am looking forward to seeing the dust settle.

Busdriver & Deerhoof on the Road

Starting this Friday, I will be joining Busdriver to support Deerhoof on selected dates of their three-month tour!

January 26 New York, NY @ Irving Plaza
8:00 PM: Proton Proton, Busdriver, and Deerhoof

January 27 Chicago, IL @ Metro
6:30 PM: Trin Tran, Maps & Atlases, Busdriver, and Deerhoof

January 30 San Francisco, CA @ Great American Music Hall
8:00 PM: Blackblack, Busdriver, and Deerhoof

And, in February, the fun continues. Before returning out with Bus, I will be spinning records at a low-key weekly in SoHo at Shebeen, sponsored by Paper Magazine along with friends Ryan Pearson & Larry Millah. Monthly guests include Copperpot, DJ Rude 1, plus many other fun surprises each week. Come out, keep warm, and have a drink!

February 6 New York, NY @ Shebeen
202 Mott Street between Spring and Kenmare
8:00 PM- 2:00 AM
DJs: Caural, Ryan Pearson, Larry Millah

Then, our fun with the folks in Deerhoof continues:

February 16 Jacksonville, FL @ Jack Rabbits
February 17 Miami, FL @ Poplife at the District
February 18 Tampa, FL @ Crowbar
February 19 Orlando, FL @ The Social
February 20 Gainesville, FL @ Common Grounds
February 21 Athens, GA @ 40 Watt Club
February 22 Nashville, TN @ Mercy Lounge
February 23 Winston-Salem, NC @ The Warehouse

For full details, please visit my myspace page: www.myspace.com/caural

Surprises on YouTube.com

Yes, while Google is a lovely spot to learn about your inclusion on random compilations in Japan (for which you were never asked permission), YouTube lets you know your music is being used for people's video projects! But hey, sometimes those collaborations I've been oblivious to participating in actually turn out quite interesting!

First, a video I definitely knew about. A few years ago, I created an ambient soundtrack for a photographer named Bill Burlingham, who had created a short piece with beautiful footage he obtained in Death Valley. Thanks to YouTube, the piece, entitled "Dante's View" is finally viewable by the general public. You can see it here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aPEir9IBRuk

Next up, "Soft Lunch." Some beautiful underwater adventures to the sounds of "Mint & A Hospital Watercolor," from my album Stars on My Ceiling:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9XQBw1FpK4

And "Commodity": an adorable claymation to a not-so-adorable song I did with Diverse on my Blurred July EP, "Blacktops & Plains"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3asN4r4wwWg

I especially like this next longer segment, "Fungus Ambiguity," which edited an ambient mix I created in late 2005 [streamed on Dublab.com in 2006]. Musically, it includes- in order of their appearance- Bibio, Sonic Youth, DJ Krush, Kid606, Bowery Electric, Freescha, and Squarepusher.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8geoUNWLSzE

YouTube also has Sean Capone's fantastic video for my song "Lake" (on Remembering Today) as well as some fun cell phone captures of me playing live- completely drunk- in Japan, and along with Mr. Busdriver himself. Just doing a little search amazes me with what you can find out there...

Upcoming Sights & Sounds

The next few months will see some new releases, specifically a couple of remixes and a compilation appearance on a new label called Circuitree. The Original Ultraviolets, a side-project I have with Mr. Stuart Bogie (when he's not busy recording with Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra, TV on the Radio, Celebration, Jeremiah Lockwood, or any number of people around in NY) is continuing to, well, move very slowly. In the beginning of this year, we mixed down a brand new song and smoothed out some rough edges in some of our older material. We hope to get at least one more song finished before making a (drum roll please) MYSPACE PAGE! Ooh- bet you didn't see that one coming. Also on the horizon this year is the release of Boy King Islands, and soon enough I'll put up some sound samples from that project as well.

Lodown Magazine no. 54

2006-12-25T14:12:00.000-06:00

Lodown Magazine, no. 54

BOGIE NIGHTS
A FRIEND OF MINE RECENTLY TOLD ME I WAS "POST-DEEP"

Open space is still the place, some argue, be it Outer or Myspace. But as more and more people remain indoors in order to roam the ridiculous depths of avatarian surface tubes and alt-worlds, some still carry that old school flag and pursue their travels on (at least more) real grounds. So does Caural, aka Zachary Mastoon – at least most of the time. The soon-to-be 29-year-old Chicago native, who recently made his move from Manhattan to Brooklyn, seems to be constantly going places, viz,: he likes to hit the road, get rollin', hit new cities. That is, when he's not on Myspace himself (where he's pretty aptly filed under Experimental-Shoegaze-Hip-Hop). Yet, neither his endless touring with the likes of Acey, Daedelus, Rjd2, or CocoRosie, nor his neverending backseat arguments about musical (non-)taste with Busdriver (who digs They Might Be Giants a li'l too heavily, if you ask Caural) will lead you to the sonic core of his individual journey: Cuz in fact Caural's trip is inward bound, meaning he ventures both into his archived snap-shot past, the computerized present, and hip-hop/electronica's sample-based future. There's a reason why he's into Vipassana meditation.

With his latest Mirrors For Eyes (out on Mush), he finally pulls the fine art of bedroom-based headphone production out of the oversized hard drive and rubs it softly but steadily into your sweetly stirred gut. Together with lesser-known vocal friends like Hrishikesh Hirway, Paul Amitai, and MC Racecar (oh yes, step on it, boi!), Caural perfectly balances his melodical manned mission between spaced out beat production – there are significant layovers and even lovely delays at PRF (Prefuse), FRT (Four Tet) and the more mellow BBP (Boom Bip) on his flight schedule – and organic nods to the more naïve, more grassroots, more contemplative and meditational side of the instrumental spectrum. "I included a lot of my close friends on this album, and either asked them to play on something, or used a recording they had made as source material. In the end, I write everything myself through the editing."

So what you get to see in those Mirrors is colorful and bipolar caural riffs and reefs, chanced upon in the pursuit of loops, that are either in full bloom, or being dominated by the sweeping forces of nature: "Well, I'm really a person of extremes: I can be very outgoing and extroverted, and alternatively want to stay in and look at photo albums or read old journals alone."

Checking out old journals, though, he's bound to undust little notes about his former neighbor and surrogate older brother Stuart Bogie (now of Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra) who first got him under way with the drum set and some Fisher Price gear: "He was my absolute first friend. Stuart was a leader." 15 years later, after he'd learned to stand on his own two feet and had left Chicago to study jazz guitar and improvisation at Weseleyan U and NYU, Caural became a full-on multi-instrumentalist, sample wiz, and mile collecting frequent flyer. It was in-flight that he first learned about the different kind of dangers out there…

"Jet Blue flight 292 last September was a pretty crazy event in my life, in that it was the one that brought me closest to death – my own anyway. When we took off from Burbank, the plane's landing-gear didn't fully retract, leaving the wheels perpendicular to the runway and making a regular landing impossible. In reality, this sort of a malfunction had happened in the past and pilots are trained to land after such an event, but it was little consolation to the other passengers and me up in the sky. I was genuinely frightened for a short time, but when the guy sharing my seat row offered me his smuggled bottle of vodka tonic, I accepted there was nothing I could do and grew less and less afraid."

True you saw TV news on what was going on while still in the air?

"Yes, and that's what made it terrifying! I mean, we knew there was a problem, OK, but when you see the image of your plane hovering ominously in the small seat-back television in front of you – and on every major network! – it lets you know it's pretty serious. I'll never forget the pilot coming over the loudspeaker and saying, 'It looks like we made the news – sorry about that!' Here are these reporters describing us flying in circles to burn off fuel, discussing all the potential things which could go wrong in our incipient emergency landing, and we're helpless listening in the sky, eating Terra Blues or fucking Chex Mix! It really made things exponentially worse."

Would you say that this was the scariest thing you ever went through?

"No, actually. Why? Because – no matter what happened – it was out of my control. I think it's the experiences we initiate ourselves – taking drugs for instance – which prove to be the scariest since there's always that feeling of responsibility and ensuing guilt. Don't get me wrong: I used to love taking LSD or eating mushrooms, but if and when a bad thought entered my head and I let it stay, well, it was absolutely mortifying!"

It might be indebted to this notion (entering his head) that self-inflicted dangers are more startling than others, which led Zak to concentrate on more collaborative efforts lately. In collaborating, he can minimize the dangers of being too much in control, so that right after Mirrors For Eyes, he'll release an album he recorded together with his ex-roommate Jason Hunt (as Boy King Islands), and will then return to his first musical influence ever – the leading Mr. Bogie.

"After just over 20 years, I am still collaborating with Stuart Bogie, and as a duo we call ourselves The Original Ultraviolets. We are working on a record together which is very poppy – poppy for me anyway – with vocals, guitars, out-of-tune pianos, and whatever we can borrow from friends to record with in Brooklyn."

Well, maybe the tangible hood is still the best place after all. Way better than My- or out-of-reach spaces. I mean, who could help you out with sugar, an egg, or keyboards in the digital or orbital realm?

- RENKO HAUER

Lost at Sea

2006-12-10T02:12:00.000-06:00

Oh yes. My bedroom is finally looking like my own again after having had a subletter use it as his all-in-one living and storage space for the last three months. This fall has been a blur which has left me floating and reeling. After Be The Riottt in San Francisco and a short tour in France with Busdriver, I had only a day back in New York before heading to cold Chicago for a long Thanksgiving holiday with my family. It was lovely as usual, and the weekend included some drunken adventures in the city with friends, which thankfully did not result in a DUI; I'm fucking smooth.

Anyway, my next stop was a Carnival cruise with my younger sister, Shana. Upon the successful signing of her apartment lease, as an added bonus, her realtor threw in a free cruise for two. Luckily for me, my sister's boyfriend couldn't go for some inconceivable reason, and I was her lucky man in tow for a cheesy romp in the Gulf of Mexico. 75% of our ship was from Texas, and I'd safely say 20% was from Oklahoma; that leaves only the paltry remaining 5% of us to relish in the fact that we were not from the south. You should've seen the formal night for christ's sake! Never in my life have I had the distinct pleasure of seeing so many overweight, seasick women in red-sequined evening gowns, carrying tall, $7 pink frothy drinks with their cowboy boyfriends. Each night- and practically every morning- a photographer would walk around and capture all kinds of "exciting" and "fun" happenings on the ship- you know, like a completely bored "pirate" with a hook coming around tables at dinner and posing with the unimpressed patrons, or perhaps an "authentic" looking Mexican wearing face paint and feathers (huh?) waiting for debarking passengers at port- and then place all the photos along the hall of the atrium for all to see and, um, buy. I have few regrets, but one of them is not taking pictures of the pictures, if you know what I mean.

Sadly, we had only 1 and a half days of sun. Generally, it was cloudy, cold, and raining, and that had an obvious effect for us: motion sickness. But, without fail, our Australian cruise director would get on the loud speaker a few times a day following a little melody to announce "it just doesn't get any better than this- you're on vacation!" Um, yeah- I can think of a few ways it could get better, but I don't want to upset the people playing Bingo, paying $200 for an hour-long massage, or blowing money in the casino right now, so I'll just keep my opinions to myself.

All in all, through even my most cynical moments, I had fun, and loved taking in the ocean probably more than it loved giving me seasickness as return karma for laughing at everyone around me.

I now have only a week to spend at home before going back to Chicago for my birthday and the holidays and am feeling quite insular; perhaps I've been listening to Benoit Pioulard's beautiful album too much and should put on something a little happier. Until then, enjoy seasonal affective disorder with me!

Entre Paris Et Rouen

2006-11-13T21:53:00.000-06:00

Maintenant, j'ecris avec un vieux ordinateur dans une belle maison entre Paris et Rouen, et il y a trois chats, un chien tres agité, et beaucoup des petits canards avec moi! Busdriver et moi, nous sommes arrivées aujourd-hui, et nous sommes un peu fatigue: comment dit-on "jet-lag"? Il faut froid, mais nous avons un grand feu dans le cheminee. Alors, San Francisco et le "Be The Riott" festival était super! Il y avait beaucoup des bons artistes comme Deerhoof, Explosions in the Sky, Metric, the Rapture, Xiu Xiu, etc., et j'était trés heureux de jouer! J'ai bû trop de bierre, mais c'est comme d'habitude :)

Une petite et trés mignone fille qui s'appelle Nina montée sur l'escalier, et sa soeur Thais joue le piano. Severine prépare diner pour tous, et je pense que monsieur Busdriver dort maintenant. Je suis desolé, mais Il faut que je pratique mon francais! Bon, je vais t'ecriver en anglais la prochâine fois.

[DISCOGRAPHY] Revolver USA Sampler Autumn '06

2006-11-03T01:11:00.000-06:00

Revolver USA Sampler Autumn '06 (Midheaven, 2006)

Midheaven 11

Format: CD Promo

"I Won't Race You"

(taken from the album Mirrors for Eyes)

[DISCOGRAPHY] Mirrors for Eyes

2006-10-18T01:11:00.000-05:00

Mirrors for Eyes (Mush, 2006)

MH-249

Format: 2LP & CD

1. Dead Armies

2. Re-Experience Any Moment You Choose

3. Cold Hands (feat. Hrishikesh Hirway)

4. I Won't Race You

5. Hallucination Broadcast

6. Transition Suite - Part I: Lady (feat. Racecar)

7. Transition Suite - Part II: Papillon

8. Make Us Invisible

9. Cruel Fate of Spring (feat. Paul Amitai)

10. Sending You Colors

11. Only Time Will Know (feat. Jacob Croegaert)

Artwork & Photography by Barbara & Marc Mastoon

Design by Chris Eichenseer @ Someoddpilot

Reviews

30 Music

Maybe when you dream you see strange shapes that are pleasant from afar, but upon closer inspection begin to resemble repetitive acts of soft-core, apocalyptic violence. Perhaps you appreciate the way the concrete reflects a fiery sunset only to realize that the source of so many reds and oranges isn't the sun, but a forest fire. Or maybe you see a lake from the interstate you're driving on, and pull over to take a dip only to find that the lake is designated an environmental disaster site, full of so much pollution and broken glass that entering its depths would mean certain death. This is what Mirrors for Eyes, the newest record from Caural—aka Zachary Mastoon—sounds like. The majority of the record is odd, but dreamy and laced with a strange ethereal energy.

From the album's opening guitar strums, like angel's harps ascending to heaven, it's clear Mastoon is pushing his hybrid of samples, beats and computers into a realm not often attempted, and less often achieved, in the realm of technology driven music—these songs, or most of them anyway, are infused with an uncanny sense of magic. "Re-Experience Any Moment You Choose," opens with shaky vocal samples and keys accompanied by distant chimes and piano plinking before a cymbal splash invites the beat in. The array of sounds that open the song are so organic that the beats are almost shocking.

Many of the album's highlights ascribe to a similar theme. The ambience that whispers into life on "Hallucination Broadcast" slowly grows and transforms into a natural, meditative drone, underscored by hand drums before the thick, and tight beats drop in to shake up nature and wake up the tree gazers. Much of this success carries over into Caural's collaborations with vocalists. While "Cold Hands" with Hrishikesh Hirway and "Only Time Will Tell" (sic) with Jacob Croegnaert don't quite fit into the album's overall scheme, the first part of the "Transition Suite" makes fine use of Racecar's natural delivery. Even more impressive is "Cruel Fate of Spring," a truly inspired pop nugget featuring Paul Amitai crooning over warm electric piano and a slew of other subtle textures.

In a genre that is known for producing scores of background music, it's nice to find an album like Caural's Mirrors for Eyes. Not content with simply honing technical precision, Zachary Mastoon has crafted an elegant, and fascinating record that explores the dim, unexpected corners where the natural world and technology meet. By infusing his songs with so much natural beauty, the beats and samples almost come across as ugly. Unlike the grim examples that opened this review, however, electronic coldness is an ugliness that only contributes to the album's overall beauty.

40 Versions

Dizzying dream-loop beats, hissy patchwork instrumentation, floating vocal bits, something for a colorful fall day.

Aiding & Abetting

The beats are much dirtier, the songs are somewhat flightier, and the need for patience is identical. Caural has a bit more of a track record, but that doesn't make this stuff any more mainstream. Still, I can hear a bit more "crossover" potential in this stuff. By not being so overtly aggressive, Zachary Mastoon (a.k.a Caural) leaves the door open a crack further. Plus, he adheres closer to pop song construction--within his interpretation of such, anyway. The grungy sound here really completes the package for me. Most of the fuzz comes in the lowest beats, but it's really effective. Something to luxuriate in, for sure. As are the songs here. Despite their lofty ambitions, these songs are best enjoyed with a relatively blank mind. Just let the wonderment drift past your ears and you, too, will be enlightened. And if you're not, well, you'd better start looking for your prefrontal lobes.

Boomkat

Zachary Mastoon's music occupies the same sort of creative territory from which talents like Four Tet, Prefuse 73 and Boom Bip have sprouted. He deftly combines a hip hop production ethic with a strong pop sensibility, taking in plenty of wig-out digressions along the way. The glue that holds Mirrors For Eyes together is Caural's pedigree in skilful electronic manipulations. 'Re-experience Any Moment You Choose' is a blissful cut-and-paste of found sound percussion mixed in with more conventional drumbeats, all topped off with a layering of detuned female vocals. The jazzy excursions of 'Transition Suite Part II – Papillon' and the new age-laptop-psych of 'Hallucination Broadcast' bear the hallmarks of Mastoon's musical education, studying Indonesian gamelan and South East Asian Music and even taking improvisation classes with none other than Anthony Braxton. A great example of hip hop-flavoured electronica loosening up and letting in some more out-there textures, Mirrors For Eyes sits alongside the recent work of Daedelus and Nobody, sounding very much like abstract hip hop's next move.

BPM Magazine

Following on the success of his 2002 full-length for Chocolate Industries, Stars on My Ceiling, Zachary Mastoon, better known as Caural, takes another step forward with his second record for SoCal stalwarts, Mush. Pulling together intricate beat programming, wide-ranging instrumentation and the occasional rhyme, Mirrors for Eyes wraps the listener in a world that expands upon the expolrations revealed by repeated listens. That is to say, don't play this in the background while you're doing the dishes - slap the headphones on and put your feet up on the couch to enjoy the crashing kit drums and stuttering production tweaks of "Hallucination Broadcast," sink into your beanbag and be regaled by the round, boom-bap bounce of "I Won't Race You," and loll about on the rug while the crisp snares, reversed guitars, and lounge style organ of "Make Us Invisible" fill your mind. You'll be glad you stayed in.

CMJ

So what happens when you mix hip-hop beats with South Asian influences and a shoegaze penchant for noise and try to force them all to exist together in that nebulous world of "experimental" music? Ask Zachary Mastoon, the multi-instrumentalist that is Caural. Mirror For Eyes is somewhat schizophrenic, sometimes working with smooth hip-hop beats and other times regressing into the cacophonous smashing of a rock band going all out at the end of their set. As for vocals, they range from ethereal (read: creepy) tones to slick rhymes to less-impressive Light FM-style melodies. Caural is eclectic to say the least, but he definitely has focused strengths—he's at his best when working more with beats and less with noise—and when on display, those tracks stand miles ahead of the rest. A broad scope of influences can definitely be an advantage, but as Mirrors For Eyes shows, it still helps to narrow your concentration.

DJ Magazine

Schooled in the same art of instrumental downbeat as Ammoncontact, Daedelus, Jimmy Edgar and Nobody, Zachary Mastoon returns with a full-length No. 2. It's an accomplished and colorful affair that twists and turns its way from glitch-driven weirdness to atmospheric post-rock.

Exclaim!

Zachary Mastoon finally releases his proper follow-up to his fantastic 2002 effort Stars on My Ceiling and hasn't missed a step in the meantime. Mirrors for Eyes continues Caural's ability to take hip-hop influenced programming and combine it with gorgeous electronic flares and haunting vocal samples to make yet another moving piece of musical work. Right off the bat we're greeted with a lush transition of the harp-driven "Dead Armies" as it builds its samples into a greater soundscape to breath life into the psychedelic "Re-Experience Any Moment You Choose," both chopping drums into dozens of fragments to give Caural his signature stuttered sound.

There's a few vocal turns this time around as Racecar from Chicago's slept-on Modill rhymes nicely over a romantic hip-hop joint and, even though they might sound a little like whiney folk in their delivery, Hrishkesh Hirway and Paula Amitai provide some nice melodies to break up instrumentals. Mirrors for Eyes definitely excels the most when Caural relies on his production to take centre stage, dropping various horns, guitar feedback, toy pianos and other electronic orchestration to create very moving compositions for easy listening. The comparisons to Prefuse 73 are hard to not make, but with Scott Herren losing the plot lately it's time for people to focus on this JetBlue Flight 292 survivor and Chicago native's fantastic spliced drum arrangements.

Grooves

Multi-instrumentalist/producer Zachary Mastoon certainly has an extremely diverse musical background, having studied jazz guitar and improvisation at Wesleyan University under Anthony Braxton before going on to explore Indonesian gamelan and Southeast Asian music. It's an eclectic palette of influences that's brought out in full among the lush and diverse explorations offered on Mirrors for Eyes, his second album for Mush and his fourth in total. While much of the material here isn't a million miles away from the sorts of eclectic post-hip-hop constructions of the likes of Daedelus, what really sets it apart from so many other makers of "leftfield" beats is the attention to depth of texture.

While beat-driven moments such as the narcotically swooning "Re-experience Any Moment You Choose" traverse similar landscape to the likes of Prefuse 73, the layers of lush texture in the form of trailing broken glass and unexpected sub-bass swells show Caural taking advantage of considerably more width in the frequency spectrum. "Hallucination Broadcast" finds Indian tabla influences rising to the forefront amid blurred vocal tones and drones from Don Rainwater, while the evocatively slowburning "Papillon" would easily sit alongside the Cinematic Orchestra with its rich, majestic Sun Ra Arkestra-esque horns. Easily one of the most consistently gripping and sonically rich instrumental hip-hop listening experiences I've had the pleasure of in some time, Mirrors for Eyes is highly recommended to fans of Boom Bip and Dabrye's more lush excursions.

Igloo

Zachary Mastoon's myspace page for Caural self-stylizes his work as "Experimental / Shoegazer / Hip-Hop," safely tapping three genre classifictions that, in isolation, can certainly be said to characterize his work. However, when you throw them all together (as Mastoon does more often than not on Mirrors For Eyes, his second record for Mush), the blenderization turns the music into something closer to dusky hiccuping improvisation or elegant and eclectic lounge music.

"Re-Experience Any Moment You Choose" is slow-burn dub with sleepy drum kit, digital time slices of forgotten back-up singers, a Hammond Organ tickled and coaxed by a nimble-fingered suitor, and bridges made of leftover static from ancient My Bloody Valentine studio sessions. The rhythm section of "Cold Hands" is glitched up with Pole-style static, creating a whispering backdrop for Hrishikesh Hirway's maudlin lyrics; while "I Won't Race You" juxtaposes gliding vocal samples (choral shoegazer) with syncopated drums, highlighting Mastoon's methodology of building the drum loops first before layering in swooping synth pads, tintinnabulation, and the delicate tracery of the vocals. "Hallucination Broadcast" veers away from the ethereal pacing of the early part of the record with its noisy drum exposition, a burst of thunder amid a drift of gentle rain. "Make Us Invisible" is an elementary school recess soundtrack with winsome woodwinds, stutter-step drum programming, and bubbling electronics, call it a bit of Boards of Canada naivette mixed with the Four Tet dance machine. "Sending You Colors" swirls waves of glamorous guitar melodies and lilting piano chords around a bed of digitized household noises--part straw broom whisk, part washing machine gurgle, part copper pan clatter, part utensil drawer rattle; while "Cruel Fate of Spring" features Paul Amitai doing tubercular emo while Mastoon arranges delicate organ melodies and finely granulated drum programming into a stately spring processional.

This is the trick (or trap, really) of genre labeling. If the rhythms aren't mathematically challenging enough to cause whiplash when you try to follow them, then it can't be IDM; if they don't lurch about, crashing into the walls, they can't be broken. So what's left? The same can be said for the inimitable wash of guitar noises: well, it's got to be... In the end, there's only one track --"Transition Suite: Part 1 - Lady" -- that actually features hip-hop vocals; the rest is simply informed by Mastoon's shoegazer. And Mastoon hides a little behind the "experimental" tag, I think, using it as a catch-all to deflect criticism from ardent fans of either genre who come to fuss about the purity of his expression. I'm tempted to add the phrases "downtempo" and "acid jazz" and "minimal glitch" to the list, but that just complicates things, doesn't it? While Mirrors For Eyes is certainly a complex work, its subtle magic is the manner in which it enchants the listener.

Intake Music Weekly

As unexpected and strange as a long dream, "Mirrors for Eyes" brings an ambient sound that has no shortage of sonic experimentation. Based out of Brooklyn, Caural is Zachary Mastoon, who according to his Myspace page is influenced heavily by visual arts. This can easily be inferred from his music, as it's essentially an aural collage. Beats are spliced, deconstructed, looped and pasted together. In some instances, the whole package is intriguing, in others it's busy and cumbersome. Vocals are manipulated in a similar fashion.

In "Re-Experience Any Moment You Choose," its simple vocal will bounce from one ear to another, messing with your head a little. The layering is impressive and appreciated, though, because the album surprises you often. You'll hear windchimes, baby noises, foresty sounds and some unidentifiable sounds. A sack of pennies being shaken? Maybe. Dripping faucet? Not sure yet, but I'll get back to you. Songs most instantly appreciated are "Cold Hands," featuring Hrishikesh Hirway, and "Cruel Fate of Spring, " featuring Paul Amitai, Mastoon even threw in a hip-hop song for the kids. It's not the most accessible album, but If you're bored with standard music composition, you'll at least be entertained by all of Caural's curve balls.

Music-versity

Chicago bred musician Zachary Mastoon has always made the type of music I am typically into, but for some reason, we have never fully connected on a complete album (because obviously he and all other musicians should be catering to solely my taste). Under the Caural moniker, Mastoon crafts left-field hip-hop leaning towards folktronica, ambient and IDM with Eastern influences. His previous albums for Chocolate Industries always seemed a bit too cluttered, but with his return to Mush, Caural sounds reinvigorated with finally a fully realized sound. Because he builds his songs from the drums up, Mastoon's earlier productions sounded stiff, but now he lets the melodic instrumentation, notably strings and clarinet, breath and take over from time to time, almost like an instrumental hip-hop version of Jen Jelinek. With the minimal vocal help from Hrishikesh Hirway of One AM Radio, Chicago emcee Racecar of Modill, Paul Amitai and Jacob Croegaert, Mirrors for Eyes is the album I've always wanted to hear from Caural... and you should, too.

Okayplayer

Dreamy electronic soundscapes combine with abstract noise experimentation and sparse but memorable vocals to create a truly interesting enterprise: Caural. Comprised of one-man machine Zachary Mastoon, Caural, with a little help from some very talented friends, effectively blends elements of avant-garde hip-hop, noise rock, and electronica in a way your ears have never experienced. The product is a bumping crock-pot of synthetic, surrealist, computer-generated free jazz for a new era. Deliciously original, the organic instrumentation featured on Mirrors for Eyes is infested with effects and re-cut to the point of total de-familiarization.

On the track, "Hallucination Broadcast," live drums are artfully maimed and manipulated until the listener is unable to distinguish them from the sound of violent car crash. However, traditional distortion is not the only trick up Mastoon's sleeve. Delay and echo are exhibited in mastery, transforming typical samples into brand new musical explorations. Songs on Mirrors for Eyes truly run the gamut of genres. From the strongly hip-hop, "Transition Suite Part 1- Lady," to the melatonin-laden, Manitoba-esque, "Re-experience Any Moment You Choose," Mastoon displays a musical prowess that lends itself comfortably to a number of different styles. Mastoon disorients the listener in such a way that you as not much confused as you are displaced. He takes you to another world and leaves you there, assuming you can find your way back, and encourages you to absorb- to drink in all that Caural has to offer, which I assure you is a lot. This record is pure joy. Turn off the lights, turn it up, close your eyes and say goodbye. You'll be very glad you did.

Orlando Weekly

The balance captured on Caural's Mirrors for Eyes originates from experience in recording for at least a couple of labels, but it's also due to scattered schooling. Before assuming his moniker, producer/electronic musician Zachary Mastoon studied jazz, Southeast Asian music and other genres, generously applying this elaborate scope to his experiments. Mirrors for Eyes offers sampled breaks, warm, slowly dissolving noise and a handful of guests (such as Hrishikesh Hirway) for a filling, yet mostly digestible record. The transparently labeled "Hallucination Broadcast" is strewn with a dense mix of everything that enriches the album: perpetual ghostly static loops, occasional crashing beats and live mixed hand percussion. But Mastoon juggles multiple personalities on Mirrors, and just as he shoots grimy synth stabs into faux mellotron textures ("I Won't Race You"), he warms up too much, eventually slowing to an after-dinner guitar-and-organ vibe ("Sending You Colors").

Paper Thin Walls

Chicago-based sample-tweaker, jazz buff and world traveler Caural (Zachary Mastoon on his tax return) makes lovely noise out of human and mechanical snippets. Actually, 'noise' isn't quite the right word, considering Zach once went on a retreat where he meditated 12 hours a day (he claims he could hear ice melt and feel the backs of his eyes!), and returned "offended" by some of the ugly sounds of the city. Cut to Mirrors For Eyes, a challenging, yet chaos-free zone of spliced beats and rhymes with assorted pings, bloops and binary scrapes added for good measure. "I Won't Race You," has the feel of a coded message sent from an intelligent life form from a galaxy far away... a civilization so advanced they were able to download the new Four Tet from your BitTorrent account (that's a compliment, not a slag). What gives this track its appeal is the way Caural pulls the vocal sample into a cotton candy cloud and lets it float above twinkly, musical shards of icy comets. Groundbreaking? Maybe not, but I think Caural's ears are trained somewhere other than Earth to begin with.

Re:Up

Last fall, sandwiched between live sets from Thavius Beck and part-time Musher Daedelus, I heard the man known as Caural drop some serious bombs. Funny enough, the song that brought the house down was a Legend of Zelda mash-up. Who’d have thunk that a Nintendo game from our pre-pubescent years would invoke such amped-up nostalgia. Of course it didn’t hurt that Caural had a wicked crunker of a break scuttling Link along.

Don’t know Caural? Well he has tracks released by the likes of Ninja Tune, Chocolate Industries, Plug Research and Raw Fusion, which should give you an idea of what his sound comes out to be: sparse but thick, tight but meandering, all in a robotic swagger on the beats below and a melodic sway from the voices and atmospherics up top. Yes he can hold his own on an instrumental break, but the four songs on Mirrors that Caural enlists vocalists are the choice cuts. “Cold Hands” features harrowing singing from The One AM Radio and “Transition Suite” has a nice flow from Racecar who has the introspection of a mellow J-Live and is complemented nicely with well-placed violin string sounds. Paul Amitai’s quirky but smooth harmonies on “Cruel Fate of Spring” serve as reason alone to put this CD in your clock-radio for an alarm music, giving that attentive but relaxing feeling. Live instrumentations abound with shouldershankers galore, “Sending You Colors” is all things that those dorky Boards of Canada fans will shudder at. Overall, it’s just another aces joint from Mush.

Remix Magazine

Zachary Mastoon's second release for Mush Records arrives on a silver platter from left field, serving up another of his layer-cake ambient feasts of experimental sound. Mixing up organic instrumentations with peppery metallic electronics, it's a noisy set best listened to with both ears as Caural slices and dices playful drum beats, floaty synths and handpicked guest musicians, all to do production justice to such innovative compositions as the weary "Cold Hands" (with Hrishikesh Hirway), the phased vocal trickery of "I Won't Race You" and the clap-along 3-D stylings of "Dead Armies."

Textura

Caural's material and style are fabulously represented on Mirrors For Eyes, his second Mush full-length. Chicago-bred Zachary Mastoon isn't unique in spicing a plethora of sounds and styles into richly detailed, Daedelus-like settings but the results are highly personalized and immediately identifiable as his alone.

A prototypical Caural cut is rooted in hip-hop, with a lush boom-bap base paired with a meaty synth bass line so phat it'd make Dabrye jealous (consider the subtly swinging "I Won't Race You" as proof). But Mastoon is no Mullinix clone, as Caural's left-field material contentedly inhabits an interzone between beat-based cuts and compositional collage. "Re-Experience Any Moment You Choose" might, for example, be rooted in boom-bap but the sparkling mass of sound and softly humming choir he layers over top shift the tune from the dance floor towards the listening lounge.

Numerous guests appear (vocals by One AM Radio's Hrishikesh Hirway and Paul Amitai, and instrumental support by Jason Hunt), keeping things unpredictable and enhancing the disc's considerable scope. Thus, at disc's center, we hear in succession Don Rainwater adding drones to the tabla-fueled and drum-punch meditation "Hallucination Broadcast," Chicago MC Racecar (Modill) draping easy rhymes over a relaxed funk-hip-hop pulse in "Transition Suite: Part 1 – Lady," and dueling sax work by Stuart Bogie and Colin Stetson during the jazz-hop of the "Papillon" second part—the triad indicative of Mirrors For Eyes' ambitious reach.

Turntablelab

Caural has been a steady name in the downtempo scene putting out top notch headphone beats on Chocolate Industries and more recently Mush. In the first moments of the opener "Dead Armies," Caural shows much progress as he lays downs incredible textures and some super-finessed drums. The dreaminess continues with "Re-Experience," which weaves a female vocal in and out of your speakers. Caural still gets down with the drums of death, check the rock breaks of "Hallucination Broadcast." Amidst all the psychedelic beats, Caural's hip-hop influence shines through on "Transition Suite #1" featuring the quiet-cool raps of Racecar or the sublime "I Won't Race You" with its tapped-out drums. He also seems to gather some influence from labelmate Nobody, utilizing soft-psyche aesthetics on the vocal track "Cruel Fate of Spring" and the electronic slash acoustic "Sending You Colors." Total enjoyable experience.

Urb

Crisp snares, pulsing bass drums and sizzling hisses battle soaring harp samples, sparkling beeps and other lush sounds in the ambient soundscape that is Mirrors for Eyes, the new album from Caural. Known outside the studio as Zachary Mastoon, the Chicago-based producer returns with his third full-length effort, aided by several etherial vocalists and the emcee Racecar, who rhymes on the mellow "Transition Suite, Part I - Lady." Mirrors for Eyes shines most on tracks like "Dead Armies" and "I Won't Race You," where crunchy percussion flirts with broken beat and heady samples will leave you daydreaming. At its best, Caural's new album will appeal to fans of Prefuse 73 and Dabrye - audiophiles who enjoy listening to music on expensive headphones that allow them to hear the slightest click and the subtlest sample. At its worst, it's slightly monotonous. Overall, it's a welcome addition to any IDM fan's collection.

Word

Something I've noticed about Caural is that every release I've heard of his is different. Even though some of them don't immediately grab me, it becomes clear that he is operating on a unique and experimental level that takes time to appreciate. The more you hear the detail, the more arresting his work becomes. From the odd structures of his Paint EP, to the crusty beat workouts of Stars On My Ceiling, following through to the collection of glitchy and dense sketches and unreleased material on Remembering Today.

His latest, Mirrors For Eyes, feels like something wholly formed from all of his experiments through the years, presenting us with a layered and sonically exciting maelstrom of beats, voices, and noise. The floating dimensional sound of "Dead Armies" and ""Re-Experience Any Moment You Choose" remind me of Prefuse 73, but tempered organically into a kind of psychedelic jam band freakout. "Cold Hands," "Cruel Fate of Spring," and "Only Time Will Know" feature heart-stopping guest singers and paint pictures of the melancholy and nostalgic brain behind the music. The beats bring to mind chain and wood meshed with wire, the melodies swirl and twist recalling moments of Boards of Canada. This is truly an album for headphones. Even now, while listening and writing this, I'm finding more and more to love and more to marvel at. It's not quite hip hop, not quite IDM, not quite anything you've ever heard, a heady brew of sound and emotion. Out on Mush Records and very recommended.

XLR8R

With his second full-length, Mirrors For Eyes, Caural (born Zachary Mastoon) doesn't so much as propel the glitch-hop format forward as fill in the spaces left behind. It's a quietly rich album, a rusty treasure chest spilling over with broken diamonds and gilded leaves. Over a fairly straightforward boom-bap framework, Caural embroiders his tapestry of undulating harps and flutes, pixie-dusted washes of audio fuzz, and vocoder filtered angel choruses. Admittedly, cuts like "Re-Experience Any Moment You Choose" tailgate Prefuse 73's earlier works a little closely, but they hold a sense of sweetness and wonderment all their own.

Mush Records 2006 U.S. Fall Tour with Daedelus, Thavius Beck and Yours Truly

2006-10-11T13:08:00.000-05:00

Oh yes, sunny Los Angeles! I've been trying to hike off the debauchery of the past few weeks at Runyon, and laying low: mainly drinking wine, cooking, and watching my friend's DVDs. The tour with Busdriver, Akrobatik, and Pigeon John took us through lots of interesting places and many not-so-interesting ones; I'm at a loss for words when it comes to states like Nebraska... It's as if no one cared, and just said, "well, screw it- let's just move on." I don't even think the clouds were interesting over Nebraska, and that's saying quite a lot coming from me (I am sure Busdriver got sick of me pointing out all the different clouds and rolling down the window to snap photos, but I was just getting back at him for making me listen to They Might Be Giants and The Knife).

Anyway, enough smack-talking. Here's what's coming up in the next couple of weeks:

One more show with Busdriver before we hit Europe in November:

Saturday, October 14th, 8:00PM

Busdriver and Me, and Of Mexican Descent (2Mex and Xololanxinxo)

@ The Terrace
443 E. Colorado Blvd
Pasadena, CA 91101

and then, starting on Monday:

Mush Records - 2006 U.S. Fall Tour
featuring Daedelus, Caural, and Thavius Beck

Oct 17 Los Angeles, CA @ The Echo (w/ Nobody)
Oct 18 Phoenix, AZ @ Modified Arts (w/ Great Stone Soundsystem)
Oct 19 San Diego, CA @ Kava Lounge (w/ DJs John Baker, Thumbprint, Frantik, Mada, Jwon)
Oct 20 San Francisco, CA @ BOCA (Bar Of Contemporary Art) (w/ Christopher Willits)
Oct 21 ** TBD ** (Sacramento, CA) or DAY OFF
Oct 22 Portland, OR @ Towne Lounge
Oct 23 Seattle, WA @ Chop Suey (w/ Truckasaurus)
Oct 24 Chicago, IL @ Empty Bottle (w/ Dosh)
Oct 25 Cleveland, OH @ B Side Lounge (w/ DJ Vadim/One Self upstairs @ Grog Shop)
Oct 26 Pittsburgh, PA @ Lava Lounge (w/ Jack Wilson)
Oct 27 New York, NY @ Southpaw (w/ Praveen)

For full venue details, please check my myspace page. Thank you Mush and Approaching Serpents for putting this together!

Mirrors for Eyes just shipped to stores!

That's right: my new album on Mush, "Mirrors for Eyes," just shipped to stores on Monday, so it should be reaching shelves as early as next week; however, if you come and say hello while I'm on the road, I will have copies with me for your listening pleasure.

Return to Los Angeles

2006-10-09T14:06:00.000-05:00

After a quick, hungover drive from Phoenix this afternoon, I am in Los Angeles at my home-away-from-home. The tour passed by a little too quickly despite some routing pains (3 overnight drives which Busdriver handled like the gangster he is) and, although I heard the same sets for the last 3 weeks, I feel lost tonight without Pigeon John jumping around and saying "Bro" or "She's a Freakin' Christian!" Last night in Scottsdale, on a stage covered in beef blood (I was hoping it was human blood from a punk show, but it turns out it was some weird industrial band having fun), John delivered the most classic quote from a hip-hop show *ever* as he addressed the crowd:

"Imagine it's Christmas, and I am naked, but I have no penis- it's just smooth down there. And [his DJ, bTwice] is cooking me bacon. B! You're cooking me bacon, bro!"

You see why I am so upset now?

Alas, after thousands of miles driven through middles-of-nowhere which blurred together in fields- listening to our fuzzy iPod soundtrack including Justin Timberlake, Animal Collective, Ghostface Killa, Sonic Youth, Leonard Cohen, Broadcast, Os Mutantes, and shit that Busdriver likes that makes me cringe- we found ourselves entrenched in one adventure after the next. Since most may not be fit for print, I'll leave you instead with the hilarious police log from the small Humboldt County town we played: Arcata, California. I swear you just couldn't make this shit up- not even in a place whose economy is based on Marijuana cultivation...

(from the Arcata Eye, September 19th, 2006)

Hoots, Hollers, Threats and Creative Unpleasantness
Arcata Police Log by Kevin L. Hoover

Thursday, August 24
3:18 PM A water pipe sales representative set up a short-lived shop beside a Plaza garbage can, which was no substitute for a business license.
4:53 PM A citizen who'd been waiting for a bus at Virginia Way and Lena Avenue went wee on someone's bushes, which upset a resident. The bus rider then went to the police department to complain about harassment.
4:56 PM A bushy-bearded man is no longer welcome at a Uniontown shopping center.
5:15 PM A bearded man is no longer welcome at his ex-partner's home.
5:33 PM A beardly weirdling unsettled proceedings at a Fifth Street church
7:28 PM A small baggie of "something white" was spotted in the company of a man bearing facial hair near Westwood Center.
8:21 PM A young male dine-and-dasher at a Valley West Mexican eatery sported an earnest suggestion of a beard.

Friday, August 25
1:40 AM A 12th street man predicted that an ex-girlfriend would break his window because she thought he stole her dog.
11:06 AM A man reported than an overnight houseguest had threatened to murder him if he made any more remarks about his girlfriend's "social major."
3:38 PM Various personnel come and go from the van parked at Ninth and F streets, from which clouds of dope smoke also exude.
4:45 PM Pete beseeched a passerby for coinage in Uniontown
5:10 PM Young males with hats clustered and fussed on the Plaza

Tuesday, August 29
3:38 PM Anina Way neighbors conflicted
When someone's dog ran unrestricted
Discussion ensued
Allegedly rude
With someone's ass set to be kicked
4:41 PM Someone got so mad at a child at a Valley West burger joint that the kid's head was angrily slammed by a bathroom door.

[And this one may be my favorite]:
6:33 PM A woman complained that a street person threatened to sit on her head until she became dead behind an everlasting donut shop.

WHAT?

So, I have about a week to relax before heading back out with Daedelus & Thavius Beck, and I hope there are fans like the guy in Denver who hung out at our car and repeatedly punched himself in the face, saying "I love you man!" to a completely bewildered Busdriver. That's what makes this fun; well, that and late-night antics with new friends at the Super 8.

(From The Road - 2: Texas)

2006-10-07T01:27:00.000-05:00

There is nothing but Texan darkness surrounding the road we illuminate with the headlights of our Impala, our sedan of a home for nearly the last month. Sonic Youth's album Dirty (now the song "Nic Fit") plays on the stereo, and it reminds me of a crush I had on a tall blonde named Liz who had a boyfriend, and a nighttime drive in Kentucky with my cousin Stephanie.

I met Liz with a girl Megan I used to mess around with from another high school- Niles North, I think- and the energy between us was intense and immediate. I remember walking with her at dusk back to Megan's, and we held hands secretly behind her back. Then, I think we were watching some kind of movie and laying together on the bed, again trying to hide the fact that we were holding each other. We'd talk on the phone for hours and met once- just the two of us- at her house. I just remember staring into her eyes and neither of us being able to do anything. It was this album that I listened to the most during the weeks that this unrequited relationship existed. And then- I imagine it was soon afterwards- I was in Kentucky for my cousin Thad's Bar Mitzvah, and Stephanie and I escaped the cheesy party full of rich Jews to drive around aimlessly and smoke Newports. I think we got lost together.

I can't believe there's only 2 nights left on this tour. Somehow, it seems way too short, and maybe because my love for the adventures has been strengthened. All the energy from the crowds, the loud music, the new connections... Sneaking into hotel swimming pools, bizarre meals at places like Terrible's in Iowa where they warned me that I had to sign a waiver if I wanted my burger medium rare.

Fuck, we just got pulled over.

This is the fourth time so far.

(From the Road - 1: California)

2006-09-19T19:05:00.000-05:00

I haven't shaved in about a week, and I'm beginning to enjoy the beginnings of my beard's itchiness. We're done with the drive for the day, having wound through the forest-topped mountains and clouds of northern California to our fuzzy iPod soundtrack, ranging from Justin Timberlake through Ghostface Killa and the new, bizarre Dr. Octagon album (ironically, we sat at the base of a hill and listened to him recite "trees are dying" as we impatiently admired the pines, waiting for the construction worker to lower the stop sign). Now at a FedEx/Kinko's on the main drag of this small town of Arcata, Busdriver looks over responses to his Myspace bulletin post about needing a place to stay tonight while I breeze quickly through emails on an outdated browser. It's perfectly quiet except for the humming of equipment and the soft radio, and the sun is beginning to set.

We have three shows behind us- four if you count the Cocorosie gig in Los Angeles- and I finally feel more entrenched in the adventure as each experience unfolds: the drives through all the middles-of-nowhere which blur together in fields you forget as soon as you pass them, miniature naps on hotel beds with the television softly lulling you into a dream, and then the newfound energy as the concert-goers fill the once-empty floors of the venue, somewhat anxiously nodding their heads to the familiar kicks and snares. With fatigue and mood swings as my enemies, but nearly everything else on my side, it's hard not to be excited about all the things to come.

Caural on Tour, in the Mix, and in Video

2006-09-03T23:09:00.000-05:00

Somehow, it's September.

I think the rain this last week has done something to my brain, so thank God there's some sun on this Sunday afternoon to dry whatever it is away; luckily for me, I head to Los Angeles this Thursday and will probably get plenty of it there!

Friday, September 8th, 8:30PM:

Cocorosie with Busdriver and me
$15
@
Avalon
1735 N. Vine
Los Angeles, CA 90028

Next week, I will be putting a brand new set together with Busdriver incorporating material from his upcoming album on Epitaph, "Roadkill Overcoat," and heading out on a North American tour with Akrobatik (of the Perceptionists), and Pigeon John. I will also be doing a short opening set. For full venue details, please check my myspace page:

Caural, Akrobatik, Busdriver and Me, Pigeon John

Sept 15 San Francisco, CA @ BOCA
Sept 17 Reno, NV @ Club Underground
Sept 18 Sacramento, CA @ The Library
Sept 20 Arcada, CA @ Mazotti's
Sept 21 Portland, OR @ Berbati's Pan
Sept 22 Seattle, WA @ Chop Suey
Sept 23 Spokane, WA @ Mike Krock's Birthday Celebration
Sept 24 Salt Lake City, UT @ Club Ego's
Sept 25 Boulder, CO @ Fox Theatre
Sept 26 Colorado Springs, CO @ The Black Sheep
Sept 27 Denver, CO @ The Bluebird Theatre
Sept 28 Minneapolis, MN @ Foundation
Sept 29 Des Moines, IA @ Vaudeville Mews
Sept 30 Milwaukee, WI @ Stone Fly Brewery (aka Onopa)
Oct 1 Madison, WI @ Club Inferno
Oct 2 Chicago, IL @ Abbey Pub
Oct 3 Lawrence, KS @ The Record Bar
Oct 4 Austin, TX @ Emo's Lounge
Oct 5 San Antonio, TX @ Kingston Tycoon Flats
Oct 6 El Paso, TX @ House of Rock and Roll
Oct 7 Tucson, AZ @ Solar Culture
Oct 8 Scottsdale, AZ @ Chasers

A few more shows will follow back in California and, immediately following that, I will be joining my labelmates Daedelus and Thavius Beck on a Mush Tour, promoting my upcoming album "Mirrors for Eyes"; I will be posting those dates as soon as more are confirmed.

An exclusive Caural mix CD benefitting Chicago's homeless

On September 28th, Rock for Kids - a Chicago organization- will hold it's 4th Annual Music Mixer at Smart Bar. To raise money for Youth Jam (its music education program) they've asked a number of artists, DJs, music journalists, and promoters to contribute one-of-a-kind CD mixes which will be silently auctioned at the party, the contents kept secret until the winning bid is placed. With past contributors including Billy Corgan of Smashing Pumpkins, Jeff Tweedy of Wilco, and members of Tortoise, these exclusive mixes promise to be diverse and exciting. For complete details, please visit:

http://www.rockforkids.org/events/newEvents.html

Caural on soundtrack for Graffiti DVD, "The Run Up"

Soon to be released by Triplewide Design Collective- in conjunction with Upper Playground and FIFTY24SF Gallery- is "The Run Up," a follow-up to their successful DVD, "Dithers." I am excited to have a great deal of my music included on this document of such amazing artists!

(from triplewide.net):

Featuring twenty-six of the most eminent artists of today, The Run Up, is a visual and historical representation of the contemporary art movement. Directors Shaun Roberts and Joey Garfield filmed the artists in a sequence of vignettes, where each segment reveals the artists visions and the inspirations behind their artwork.

Artists featured on The Run Up include: Herbert Baglione, Estevan Oriol, Cody Hudson, Chris Pastras, Mark Bode, Mr. Jago, Will Barras, Wes Humpston, Futura, Jeff Soto, Above, Kofie One, Heavyweight (HVW8), David Ellis, Ryan McGinness, José Parla, Swoon, Rostarr, Mister Cartoon, Maya Hayuk, Doze Green, WK Interact, Dzine, Jason Bass, Ron English, and Logan Hicks.

To view excerpts and trailers, visit:

www.triplewide.net
www.upperplayground.com/06/film.html

New Caural video- Second Collaboration with Positron (aka Sean Capone)

Sean Capone just finished a beautiful video for "Lake," a song from my collection "Remembering Today," by meticulously manipulating and bringing to life imagery obtained solely with his cellphone. To view the piece and read his explanation, visit:

http://positrongraphic.com/lake.html

If you haven't seen it, you can also view our first collaboration here:

http://positrongraphic.com/AVM.html

Caural vs C-TRL Labs (NY) & New Releases

2006-07-23T21:11:00.000-05:00

I hope you are all having a wonderful summer. I am writing from Chicago, and luckily it's cooled down a touch from the smoldering temperatures earlier this week. I just received the master for my new album, "Mirrors for Eyes," and am excited to announce it will be released 10.9 on Mush Records (www.mushrecords.com). This fall, I will be touring extensively- both solo, and with Busdriver- but here are some releases and an exciting multi-media performance to check out in the much-sooner future:

(from C-TRL Labs'):

Tuesday July 25th 8:30 PM
C-TRL LABS CAURAL

We're please to present a live video performance entitled "Roomiks Cube", a collaboration w/ audio artist Zachary Mastoon, AKA Caural.

Roomiks Cube is a multichannel A/V performance, part of the ongoing MUX A/V series. This rare event is a collaborative effort between live video performance artists C-TRL Labs and NY based electronic composer Caural. Specially tailored to Monkey Town's minimalist cubic interior, C-TRL will utilize motion graphics, 3D and realtime software (Modul8 and Max/MSP Jitter) to create an environmental extension to the existing architectural space. Caural sets the tone w/ flowing abstract compositions in a rich sonic space. The audience will be immersed in a whirl of architectural landscapes and organic forms in both performers playful experimental styles.

If you haven't experienced Monkeytown's excellent 4 channel screening room w/ 5.1 Audio, you're missing one of the best performance environments for experimental video of late. (Not to mention the excellent food!) Please join us!

Tues July 25th 8:30 PM (One screening only)
MonkeyTown, Brooklyn
58 N. 3rd St. @ Kent
Williamsburg, Brooklyn, NY
RSVP: rsvp@monkeytownhq.com

For full details, check: http://monkeytownhq.com/muxjuly.html

Cookie & Brownie EP (Astrolab, Paris)

The opening track from my album, "Dead Armies" (which some of you downloaded from edIT's "Beat of the Week" on www.complexplayersclub.com) is on this exciting EP from Astrolab, a new label in Paris which is definitely one to watch.

(details from Boomkat.com):

Following on from the first 2 EPs with exclusive tracks by Shadowhuntaz,
Mike Ladd, Deceptikon, Pascal Schafer and the like, Cookie & Brownie .. 3 is a more electro hip hop oriented affair, with 4 brand new tracks from Caural (Chocolate Industries, Plug Research, Mush), Dimlite (Sonar Kollektiv, Plug Research), a big floor-friendly hip hop cut from stalwart LA underground producer Omid (featuring Ellay Khule), and relative newcomer Take with an instrumental of deep atmospheres. Solid twelve.

You can check out the 12" domestically with Groove Distribution:

http://www.groovedis.com/shop/product.php?productid=70821&cat=621&page=1

Silverware: Audraglint's Fifth Anniversary Compilation

An old favorite track of mine, "Lime Green Transfer" now appears exclusively on this fantastic compilation on Audraglint (www.audraglint.com). To celebrate their fifth anniversary, they culled exclusive music from their roster, including Kid606, Tarwater, Nudge, Grizzly Bear (who just released a debut with Warp), Marc Hellner (of PulseProgramming), Stars as Eyes, Signaldrift, and many others. Available online and in stores, the compilation is well worth getting- immediately :)

That's all for the next few weeks. Stay tuned for much more this fall, including remixes and an exclusive CD mix I made for Rock For Kids, a Chicago-based organization benefitting the homeless.

[DISCOGRAPHY] The Run-Up

2006-07-02T01:11:00.000-05:00

The Run-Up

Format: DVD

"All These Days Just Melt into Tomorrows," "Bleached Platinum," "Camphor," "Crush," "DJ Dren Charity Skoolin (Caural Remix)," "Explosive (Caural Mix)," "In Tandem," "Lake," "Mint & A Hospital Watercolor," "Red Sunshine," "Sipping Snake Blood Wine (Savath & Savalas Remix)," "Suicide," "Ultra Vivid," "Untitled," and " Your Memories on Television," appear throughout.

[DISCOGRAPHY] Silverware - Audraglint Fifth Anniversary Compilation

2006-06-20T01:11:00.000-05:00

Silverware - Audraglint Fifth Anniversary Compilation

(Audraglint, 2006)

AG113

Format: CD

"Lime Green Transfer"

(exclusive track)

Notes: originally intended for the Paint EP, and instead was replaced by "In Between Thoughts"

[DISCOGRAPHY] Assemblage Sessions 2

2006-06-02T01:11:00.000-05:00

Assemblage Sessions 2 (Abandon Building, 2006)

ABR005

Format: CD

"Sea Monster (1997)"

Notes: This is a song I recorded with Transmission in Detroit, and was the basis for my song "Ultra Vivid" on Stars on My Ceiling.

[DISCOGRAPHY] DJ Dren: Charity Skoolin' (Caural Remix)

2006-05-11T01:11:00.000-05:00

DJ Dren: Charity Skoolin' (Caural Remix)

Appears on: Delic Records Presents: Remixes of Pieces

(Delic Records, 2005)

DDCD5004

Format: CD

Notes: due to an error in either spelling or translation, it is miscredited as "Charity Skoolin' - Coural remix, remixed by Coural."

http://itunes.apple.com/ie/album/remixes-of-pieces/id285209618

[DISCOGRAPHY] Emulsion: Balloons & Centipedes (Caural's Sunburned Mix)

2006-05-10T01:11:00.000-05:00

Emulsion: Balloons & Centipedes (Caural's Sunburned Mix)

Appears on: Blue Sky Remixes (Lens Records, 2008)

LENS0020

Format: Digital Only

[DISCOGRAPHY] K-Kruz: Time (Caural Remix)

2006-05-05T01:11:00.000-05:00

K-Kruz: Time (Caural Remix)

Appears on: Time (Organik Recordings, 2006)

ORG12005

Format: 12" Single, Digital

Notes: used on Mirrors for Eyes and renamed "Only Time Will Know"

http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/time-ep/id307546071

Colgate

2006-04-21T23:09:00.000-05:00

Tuesday, Regan and I picked up Rob Sonic and Creature- a rapper who remembered meeting me at a Soul Position show two years ago- in the Bronx, and set out on our entirely-too-long-of-a-drive up to Hamilton, NY. We stopped at T.G.I. Fridays, a place Rob joked should've been called "F.U.C.K. Fridays," and marveled at the tacky red-and-white-striped decor. The staff outnumbered the customers nearly three to one, all dressed in red and giving each other high-fives as they walked between the empty tables or stood around in packs. Most of them were in their teens. Our waiter was white and was- possibly closeted or not- a homosexual with the worst cornrow hairdo I have ever seen. He looked like the kind of guy who was friends with thugs in a made-for-TV-movie that got beat up at some point, and you only felt half-bad watching it happen. He had a slight lisp.

Driving through the desolate upstate roads was almost scary. There were trailer parks, homes with wheels, and very few "towns" dotting the bland countryside. Some hunter could just chop you up and leave you in a river, and no one would ever know- or care! Farms were abundant, and I thought of [my friend] and how strange it must've been for her growing up in such a place, walking miles to a school where she had one friend and where her mother taught, and later how she'd come back to a chorus of crickets and make little cynical zines in her room while- before sunrise- her father would wake up to begin the day.

We finally made it to Colgate University, and saw where we were to play: outside of a girls' dorm where there were about 40 kids congregated near a small stage. We couldn't believe it: it couldn't get any stranger. Of course, it did... The show itself was great. I drank green tea provided by the young promoter, and ate a disgusting piece of pizza for dinner.

[Omitted]

Following our performance which the cops had cut short due to the noise (we were also prohibited from swearing!), Rob and I had a cigarette, and then we all followed Regan and [omitted] to her house only blocks away. We drank her beer, smoked her weed, and hung out with her painfully awkward friend who bordered on mute. I was fully high and drunk by the time we left after midnight, and was ripping through a bag of pizza-flavored Combos and Creature's Pringles like gangbusters. We stopped at Taco Bell at 4:30 or so, and suddenly- after Regan listened to They Might Be Giants' album Flood to try and wake up- I found myself driving the last hour back to the Bronx with burning red eyes. I navigated through tolls and around trucks, eventually getting to Rob's apartment as the sun peeked through. Regan took the wheel again, and my eyes felt sewn shut with fatigue. I only opened them a couple times to see us driving seemingly in circles due to one-way streets, and we didn't get back to my apartment until 7:30 yesterday morning! I was a wreck: I slept until four then went to Crunch and tried to swim everything off.

The yerba mate I had at Tea Lounge with Regan and Danielle after our Geido dinner had me too wired, and I was unable to fall asleep. I need to get back on a schedule of sorts, and I also need to regain my optimism. I never quite lost it- it was just a little shrouded today. Tomorrow, we play a festival at SUNY Purchase, and it will be another brand new experience...

[DISCOGRAPHY] Cookie & Brownie EP 3

2006-04-08T01:11:00.000-05:00

Cookie & Brownie EP 3 (Astrolab, 2006)

ALR03

Format: 12" Single

"Dead Armies"

(taken from the album Mirrors for Eyes)

Upcoming Shows in Austin, LA & NY

2006-03-26T15:08:00.000-06:00

"Don't Mess With Texas" is more than a saying on the label of the urine that is Lone Star beer: it is the truth. I tried messing with Texas- or at least had too good of a time there over the course of SXSW last week- and paid the price with a full-blown cold complete with headache, sore throat, and a runny nose which then became a sinus infection. But damn, I dare say it was worth it!

So, this Tuesday, I return to the lovely city of Austin for a show with Busdriver, and then spend the week in LA where I'll work on new music for my next record and play two Mush Showcases at the Echo. Later on in April, Busdriver and I will play a festival at SUNY Purchase with Prefuse 73, We Are Wolves, Pretty Girls Make Graves (we think) and other acts. Details for all shows are below:

Tuesday, March 28th, 9:PM doors
Red 7
611 E. 7th Street, Austin, TX 78701
Apparently, it's free if you are over 21 years of age; $10 for 18-20 year-olds

Busdriver with guest the Studemont Project

Friday, March 31st, 8:PM
Mush Records Showcase @ The Echo
1822 W. Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90026
only $5

Thavius Beck, Daedelus, Bigg Jus, and Busdriver

Friday, April 7th, 8:PM
Mush Records Showcase @ The Echo
1822 W. Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90026
only $5

Caural, Clue to Kalo, Nobody & The Mystic Chords of Memory, and the Electromagnetic

Friday, April 21st, 6:PM
SUNY Purchase Festival
735 Anderson Hill Road, Purchase, NY 10577

Busdriver, Prefuse 73, We Are Wolves, Pretty Girls Make Graves (we think), and possibly much more...

SXSW

2006-03-17T03:19:00.000-06:00

I took an early flight out to Austin and met Regan at the airport. After grabbing the little Adidas dufflebag I checked, we shared a cab downtown with a DJ from Brooklyn named Spencer Product. We finally registered at the convention center after following a labyrinth of lines and booths winding round, and were given our badges and the beginnings of bands which would accumulate on our wrists over the course of the next few days. We also received a huge cloth bag of goodies including magazines, promo cdees, a toothbrush and toothpaste, one of the cheapest condoms I've ever laid eyes on, and- most random of all- a Roy Orbison CASSETTE!

We walked to Casino's, a biker bar nearby on 6th, and sat in the sunshine of the back patio. I ate chicken wings and drank my first few Lone Star's while reading over the schedule of music to follow- it was daunting! Suddenly, Nan Warshaw (head of Bloodshot Records but, more importantly, former head of Sound Exposure) walked in and joined friends at a table in back, and it was as if right then I felt a real thread within my life as a musician. There I was, readying to play a huge music festival in Texas, and there was the woman who had helped the then-teenaged Stuart and me organize our very first shows in Evanston. We had become colleagues in a way, and I felt proud. We spoke briefly, and I sat back down with Regan and continued to soak in the sun, calling Stuart to tell him the funny news.

Soon, we met Regan's friend Briana outside, and she drove us to her house. Briana and I clicked immediately- she is a very sweet girl. We sat in her living room watching the dazzling Sophia Choi on CNN news (at least, I found her to be dazzling), followed by some quality Family Guy episodes her roommate had recorded on his digital TV. We were starving and, after two misses in the restaurant department (both Hula Hut and Shady Grove were packed), we ate delicious Tex-Mex at nearby Maude's cafe. We took a short stroll around downtown and I was amazed at how busy it was even without the SXSW festivities beginning! I got some chai at a cute cafe called Halcyon, and then met Briana's adorable friend Krystle at the bayou behind Stubbs to secretly watch the Strokes! It was so nice- I had never heard them live and, although I obviously couldn't see them, it was nice to catch their show.

After getting kicked out of there by cops nice enough not to give us tickets (they were looking for crackheads), we went to Jackalope's for a few drinks. We all went to Briana's for more “Family Guy” but quickly passed out- I preferred the floor over the couch, but I am not sure I even had a choice.

The next day was insane and began very early. I drove Briana to work at 10, then returned to her house to check email and shower. I couldn't believe she had trusted her home and her car to a stranger, but that's just the kind of southern hospitality I'd grow to expect from Texans. Well, maybe not, but at least from her and her friends! Regan and I went to Guitar Center and I nearly bought a new mixer- only at the last minute to decide against it. We picked up Briana, ate some tacos at a nearby haunt which had a mountain of taco meat on the grill (not as appetizing as it sounds, believe me!), then began the show-hopping.

We left the first show almost immediately and went to a large tent on Red River and 6th to see Awol One. Briana had to meet up with her friend, and I waited with her on the corner. Louise of Fringe Benefits was going to meet me there as well, so we just stood and watched the crowds go by. A gorgeous brunette and I made eye-contact as she approached, and then I realized it was Briana's friend! Isn't it lovely how that happens? I told them I'd wait for Louise and meet them inside.

Louise took forever, so I went across the street and bought a Sparks. When she arrived, conversation was difficult through all the noise, and became even harder when Steven and his friends showed up. Regan was ready to leave and, to make a long story short, I never really listened to a single song in the set and left with Briana, her brunette friend Sara, and Steven, losing Louise in the process. We walked in the wrong direction towards the next showcase, but got to talk and all get to know each other a little better.

We walked for quite some time, passed underneath the freeway, and finally arrived at Ms Bea's Bar for a showcase of Brooklyn bands put together by Brooklyn promoter Todd P. We watched the Double while I bought beer after beer, and I ran into Chris- a writer at CMJ and a drummer of the band Parts & Labor- and his friend Poingly whom I had apparently met at the Books On Tape CMJ showcase last year. After the Double's final song, a van pulled up out of nowhere and- as quickly as a white banner was lowered down its side with the name "Teenage Harlets" [sic] spray-painted in pink- a band jumped out and started to play. The singer flailed violently with the microphone around the dusty parking lot as his bandmates accompanied him on bass, keyboard, a mint green Fender Jazzmaster and, from inside the van, a full drum set. The audience moved from the bar's patio to the lot for the band's set of 4 short songs, standing in awe with bottles of Shiner Bock. Then, as rapidly as they had come, the banner was raised and they jumped in the van, speeding away to their next destination. I imagined they were the only band to do a "tour" of SXSW!

The next band, Night by Night, was brash and started off the set by spraying the crowd with Budweiser. Although they were fun, it was time to move on to the next destination. We all split up, and I went with Steven and his friend Fernando to a showcase on 6th street where they were to film the band Gracer. I, too, took a ton of photos and wandered around the stage with only toilet paper to help block out the deafening noise from my ears. By this point, I was chugging water trying to sober up: it didn't occur to me until much later that I hadn't eaten dinner, so the alcohol was going straight to my head.

From there, it was off to Stubbs for the Matador Records showcase, and a terribly boring set by the New Pornographers. Steven and Fernando bought vile smelling food from a stand, and we walked upstairs to somehow enter the VIP area in time for Belle & Sebastian! The venue was packed and we had a comfortable space in which to watch, and new smiles were constantly being illuminated in camera flashes. Eli Reitz was there, and I soon remembered he played in a band called Bright Black Morning Light who had performed prior to our arrival! We caught up and drank together and, by the time Mogwai were halfway through their set, he had vanished. Soon enough, I was walking together to the ATX magazine after-party down the street to meet Briana, Sara, and Regan.

[Omitted]

I sat down with Sara and Briana to take drunken photos. Cops came to break up the party, so we all piled into Briana's car and headed home to Neil Young's "Helpless" as Sara and I traded an imaginary mic back and forth for the chorus. Regan passed out on the couch, and I stayed up with the two girls until almost 6. Eventually, I curled up on the floor in the living room again and fell asleep.

The next day was Thursday, the day of our showcase. It's funny- I had been having such a good time partying and seeing other people's shows that I couldn't have cared less about my show that evening! At least, that's how I felt in the morning as Sara came out in tiny shorts, furry boots, and a tight tee-shirt and asked me if she looked cute. She put on an adorable dress with a striped black and white top, and I sat hungover on the lazy boy next to her as she applied make-up, glancing over at me every so often with a smirk. We all went to Halcyon together, and I bought Briana lunch- it was her birthday that day.

We piled in the car and drove to a new parking spot on top of a hill, and Sara and I skipped together around the streets like schoolchildren. We went to Stubbs for the L Michaels Affair (Nick Movshon & Leon's band, featuring Stuart Bogie and AJ from Antibalas on the horns) and Wu Tang Clan! I found it so strange that my oldest friend was playing with the fucking Wu, but life just keeps getting stranger, doesn't it? Regan took off, and Briana and I went to the VIP section in the balcony. The show was fun, and Thavius, Subtitle, Bigg Jus, Matt (AntiMC) and others from Mush were milling about. There was a BBQ buffet which was unfortunately mediocre, but Briana and I ate nonetheless. Sara had gone back to change clothes, but soon returned to meet us in a mini skirt, white tee, and tall boots. Jesus.

We went to see The Ponys, and only caught their last song which was incredibly loud. Sara treated me to a Push-Pop and a Red Bull, and then it was time to say goodbye. I got dropped off at what I thought would be my soundcheck at Zero Degrees, but we soon learned there wouldn't be any... One by one, the Mush artists arrived. It was great seeing Daedelus, and the guys from Clue to Kalo were so amazingly nice! Really, everyone was nice. Since we weren't doing soundchecks, I nervously and almost reluctantly left to go to the Vice Magazine party.

It was a longer walk than I thought, but out of nowhere, a car pulled up and I heard my name called: it was Raedawn and Tes! I rolled with them to the packed party on 11th street. Now, I had heard there were sound problems with the last act (Spank Rock), so I was hoping they had been resolved. I had no idea what I was in for... The first 15 minutes I was there, a guy on stage repeatedly tried to play a track, and it kept cutting out. Lady Sovereign was nowhere to be seen, and people were becoming agitated. 20 minutes of strange stops and starts later, she came out on stage in all the glory her five-foot-frame could muster. The show was a disaster. I have no idea why on earth it was happening- perhaps some kind of a limiter turned on if the music reached a certain volume?- but two bars in to almost each song, the music mysteriously stopped without warning. People were booing a bit, but we knew it wasn't her fault. It was rectified for a couple of songs and then, on what she announced was her "favorite song," it happened again. She sat down on the stage, folded her arms across her chest, and pouted: it was so tragically cute!

Tes and I lingered outside, chatting with Spankrock, Kid 606, and Drop The Lime while Raedawn was dawdling inside. They drove me- and some random straggler- down to 6th street, and I walked inside to a horrendous performance by someone whose name now escapes me. Anyway, I had borrowed the mixer from Bigg Jus' guy Jon, so it was all good. My excitement level was rising, and Sara texted me to let me know she and Krystle were outside just as I was getting everything ready. I escorted them in, and disappeared to the side of the stage while Thavius and Subtitle opened the show.

By the time I went on twenty minutes later, Robert informed me that we were at capacity! I did an impromptu birthday song for Briana and got the clubgoers to sing along! Then, my set went by in a flash. Once I finished, Robert informed me he sold out of my cdees during my set! I was so happy! I spoke with a few folks, sold merch, drank a couple beers, and sold a couple extra copies of my CD myself. Busdriver and I set up at a feverish pace- Clue To Kalo had taken forever to set up, and the set-times were all pushed back. We managed to do well although we were cut short, and I was sweating profusely. Swollen Members were on after us, and we had to take everything apart as quickly as possible which of course I hate doing.

It was beautiful outside. We smoked a one-hitter on the street with one of Jus' djays, and I sat down a touch stoned with a tired Sara bobbing her head back and forth as she looked at the streetlights through special rainbow glasses. Our showcase was a success- it was so wonderful. Briana had gotten much higher than I did, and was having an enthusiastic exchange with Robert about Neil Young. Krystle was sleepy as well- it was Briana and I who were wired. The five of us- Regan, Krystle, Sara, Briana, and I- piled into the car, and I sat a little crunched in with Sara and Krystle in the back. There was a bottle of Jack, and Sara poured me way too much in a cup- I still obliged, of course.

Sara and Krystle were too tired to come out (it was 2 in the morning by the time we dropped our stuff off), so Briana and Regan and I headed out for a last hoorah: the Tigerbeat 6/TTC afterparty at Karma Lounge. I started getting exhausted and, after meeting the guys from TTC, I sat with Briana and listened to Vivian Host from XLR8R & Drop The Lime play some fun booty house. There were a few fashionista girls who were quite lovely but, besides the fact that I think they were with the TTC guys, I was ultimately so tired I didn't want to pursue anything anyway. Besides, the DJ from Spank Rock fell over dancing about a foot away from someone sleeping near the DJ booth, and that was an early cue to leave. We stayed for a while longer as DJ Orgasmic played some great tracks from their Institubes label, then went to Kerby Lane (where Briana's tattooed roommate Jennifer works as a waitress) and had a very late night/early morning meal of Tex-Mex. It was delicious, but something about eating tacos at nearly five in the morning just CAN'T be a good idea no matter how you look at it!

Regan's cab took forever to come, but finally we were on the way home. Krystle was awake when we returned, laying on the couch and reading, while Sara was fast asleep in the other room.

[Omitted]

I'll never understand why, but I was awake at 9:30 and couldn't fall back asleep. After a half an hour of laying on the couch and realizing sleep was beyond me, I went into Briana's room where she and Sara were already giggling on the internet. We looked at pictures together, listened to some music, and then all got ready to go. Krystle took forever to get there, and Sara was eager to go to a concert; I offered to go with her. We walked around 6th street together, stopping in a bar and having free quesadillas and queso while we talked about our lives.

[Omitted]

Krystle and Briana met up with us a little too soon. We saw Gogogo Airheart perform with Subtitle and Thavius Beck and ate disgusting barbeque, and I sipped on Sara's vodka. Matt from Mush was to drive Daedelus and me to the airport, so it was time for goodbyes. There was so much more going on in Austin that weekend but- before I knew it- I was on a plane whose wheels were touching down in NY.

SXSW & Other Updates

2006-03-11T19:04:00.000-06:00

It's hard to believe it's only been 10 days since I returned from touring with Busdriver, RJD2, and Aceyalone. It was wonderful traveling and seeing friends (and family) in so many different cities- and now it's time for SXSW!

Mush Showcase @ SXSW

I leave on Tuesday for Texas, and am excited to play in the Mush Records Showcase this year- both solo, and with Busdriver. If you are in Austin, please come and say hello! Here are the details:

Thursday, March 16th, 10:PM - 1:AM
Mush Records Showcase @ Zero Degrees
405 E 7th St. in Austin

Featuring:
Busdriver
Bigg Jus
Clue to Kalo
Daedelus
Caural
Thavius Beck

If you Texans miss out on this show, I will be back in Austin on the 28th to play with Busdriver- more on that later.

Caural (Streaming Audio Interview) On Dailysonic

Just before leaving for Los Angeles last month, I had the pleasure of drinking whisky and recording an interview with Dailysonic, a webzine based here in NY. Listening back to it, I shuddered at the effect whisky had on my usage of the word "like," embarrassingly making me reach "valley girl" status. Regardless, it's a short and fun spot where I talk a little about music, meditating, and sound, and you can hear some mellow sounds of mine in the background! Thanks to Aaron and Adam at Dailysonic for making it happen:

http://www.dailysonic.com/segment1058 [This is a permanent link]

Video Art vs My Music

I am excited to announce that my friend Sean Capone (aka Positron) has made a wonderful, short video piece based on a song of mine and, while it's in transit to some potential galleries and shows, you can view it online here:

http://www.positrongraphic.com/AVM.html

When Sean isn't busy making video installations for Prada runway shows in Milan or doing motion graphics for films, he manages to fit in a million creative projects of his own. This is our first audio/visual collaboration. You can view his 2005 demo reel (and see me playing with virtual space) here:

http://www.positrongraphic.com

New Remix out soon on Organik

On March 23rd, my friend and old-school collaborator K-Kruz will release his debut solo EP "Time" on Organik Recordings. Keith has done production for Diverse and Longshot, moonlights as a drummer for The National Trust (Thrill Jockey) and has most recently released a full-length with Modill, including Dave from De La Soul, Truth Enola, Diverse, and his partner-in-crime Racecar. This vinyl EP features three instrumentals and one vocal (handled by the illustrious Jacob Croegaert), as well as two remixes of the title track: one by me, and one by my good friend Take. For fans of colored vinyl, Turntable Lab will exclusively be carrying the clear vinyl version, as they do with all of Organik's releases:

http://www.turntablelab.com
http://www.modill.com
http://www.organik.us

That's all for now- I'll be coming out west for some dates in late March/early April, ending in LA at the Echo on April 7th, and I'll let you know as it gets a little closer. Later on in April, I'll be performing in and around NY, so stay tuned!

Nylon Magazine Japan - 2006 March no. 22

2006-03-03T17:33:00.000-06:00

Nylon Magazine Japan

2006 March no. 22

February Tour with Busdriver, RJD2 and Aceyalone/Other News

2006-02-08T20:12:00.000-06:00

I am leaving NY this friday to spend a week in LA preparing for my labelmate Busdriver’s tour with RJD2 and Aceyalone. I will be touring as Busdriver’s accompanist, and he and I will be developing a set together with my trusty sampler and laptop; I am grateful for this opportunity and think it should be a lot of fun! The tour will last until the end of the month, and will take us to the fine establishments listed below:

Caural & Busdriver opening for RJD2 & Aceyalone

02/17/2006 10:00 PM - the El Ray Theatre (Los Angeles)
 5515 Wilshire Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90036,US

02/18/2006 10:00 PM - the Independent (San Francisco) 
628 Divisadero, San Francisco, CA 94117,US

02/22/2006 10:00 PM - the Fox Theatre (Boulder) 
1135 13th Street, Boulder, CO 80302,US

02/24/2006 10:00 PM - Metro (Chicago)
 3730 N. Clark Street, Chicago, IL 60601,US

02/25/2006 08:00 PM - Phoenix Concert Theater (Toronto) 
410 Shelbourne Street, Toronto, ON Canada

02/26/2006 09:00 PM - Avalon (NYC) 
47 W. 20th Street, New York, NY 10011,US

02/27/2006 08:00 PM - Beyond (Philadelphia)
 338 N. 8th Street, Philadelphia, PA 19107,US

For complete details, check the listings in your area. I’d love to see you guys there and maybe even have the pleasure of sleeping on your couch!

March will bring me to SXSW for the Mush Records showcase, and more is developing for late March (either a short west coast tour and/or Winter Music Conference in Miami).

Meanwhile, I am working on my new album for Mush entitled “Mirrors For Eyes,” and will be starting a remix for Outputmessage, a new artist on Melodic (UK). For the DJs on this list, you (hopefully) know him from the incredible remix he did of Dabrye’s track “Hyped-Up Plus Tax” from the Payback 12″ on Ghostly.

In the next couple of months, there’ll be some new and old songs/remixes of mine released on Organik Recordings, Astro Lab (France), Audraglint, and Abandon Building- I’ll write more on these when the release dates become a little closer.

That’s all for now. I hope your new year is off to a great start and, for those of you in the cities I’ll be visiting shortly, I hope to see you soon!

Vipassana

2006-01-23T06:06:00.000-06:00

Does anyone else realize how brilliant Mazzy Star's album "So Tonight That I May See" is? That is just an aside for those wanting an aside...

I returned home this afternoon via a Greyhound Bus from Shelburne, Massachusetts a somewhat delirious and detached person: I spent the last 10 days of my life in my first Vipassana Meditation retreat. To be honest, I had no idea what to expect, and I think that I was both pleasantly- and unpleasantly- surprised.

For those unfamiliar with the practice, Vipassana is a meditation technique which had been preserved in Burma from the time of Buddha, and returned to India- and then introduced to the western world- by a man named S.N. Goenka. There are now centers globally, and the operations of each are based solely on donations without any advertising campaign besides word-of-mouth. Appropriately, a girl I went out with this fall told me about it.

And so, two weeks ago I consulted the website and packed accordingly. It was fairly easy since a student is not allowed anything besides his or her mind. What do I mean, you ask? Besides forbidding the obvious- cell phone, iPods, computers, television, etc.- you are allowed no reading or writing materials, no religious objects, no additional food or drink, and are not permitted to practice any other techniques during the course (yoga, alternate prayers and rites, visualizations, counting rosary beads, etc.). I showed up with nothing except for a couple pairs of sweatpants and tee-shirts, then packed blankets, soap, shampoo, lotion, and deodorant. Upon arrival, I checked-in a pack of Orbitz cinnamon gum and some almonds I had brought on the bus as valuables!

Besides this, a student is to have no vocal- or eye-contact with anyone and signs a waiver declaring his or her concordance with that and other regulations. I was assigned a room with two other students, one of whom was an unfortunately naive herb who seemed most impressed by the fact that Rivers Cuomo of Weezer was on the course. He thankfully stopped talking like the rest of us, and we began our schedule the following morning:

4:00 AM: Awaken

4:30-6:30: Meditate privately

6:30: Breakfast

8:00-9:00: Group Meditation

9:00-11:00: Continue Meditating on your own

11:00-12:00: Lunch

12:00- 1:00: Rest and interviews with the teacher (if desired)

1:00-2:30: Continue to meditate on your own

2:30-3:30: Group Meditation

3:30-5:00: Continue to meditate on your own

5:00-6:00: Tea break

6:00-7:00: Group Meditation

7:00-8:15: Discourse

8:15-9:00: Group Meditation

9:00-9:30: Optional Question time in the hall

9:30 PM: Retire

If you do the math, you meditate about 12 hours a day, eat two meals [old students take only tea at Tea Break while new students can have a little fruit] and have the opportunity to either walk around in a designated area with signs to demarcate boundaries, meditate, or sleep during your breaks. That is all.

For the first 3 and a half days, we focused entirely on our breath, remaining aware of it passing "out of the left nostril, the right nostril, or perhaps simultaneously out of both the nostrils." All of our instruction was delivered on CD in a somewhat strained dead-pan from Goenka himself. There was an assistant teacher who was in charge of pressing play, stop, etc., and of course she herself would sit the meditations and answer questions posed privately in the quietest voice possible. She would ask all the male students or female students to remain after the mandatory group sittings in the hall to insure we were all understanding the instructions. On the second day, I was bored senseless.

Yet, each of the discourses (video presentations of Goenka broadcast on two screens at the front of the hall) addressed the frustrations I was experiencing day-to-day, reassuring me that my issues seemed to be universal impediments to the goal of remaining "on the path of Dhamma." They did little for the obsessed Weezer fan who became too overwhelmed and frustrated with the poor choice for his scholastic winter break, and he left the course on the beginning of the fifth day (students abandoning prior to course completion is common). The remaining roommate and I returned to our room that evening, shrugged our shoulders, and fell asleep.

The practice of Vipassana itself was intense. It relies on the kind of concept that you'd never really think of yourself but, when hearing it articulated, seems plainly obvious: it is our bodily sensations which create cravings or aversions to objects outside of ourselves and, if we are able to observe their transient nature of arising and passing while maintaining equanimity, we will no longer develop conditioned responses and thus end our cycle of being "miserable." So, in these terms, when I think of someone I want to sleep with, it's not so much the specific girl I want, but the sensations of sex I experience just thinking about it. Or, if I want to buy a Ferrari to make myself happy, the Ferrari is of no consequence: it is really the excitement of acquiring an expensive object to call "mine."

Ok. I assume everyone reading this has even a vague and basic concept of Buddhism and what it entails, right? Good. Moving on...

Bodily sensations conveniently correlate with human nature's cravings but, when observed to serve a more practical function (God forbid you want to fuck the whole morality part of Dhamma and continue drinking and having sex), they also impact our reactions to others. When our girlfriends invent these delusional fantasies and insist we want to sleep with every female who sends us a text message, or cry and want to prohibit us from attending another girl's party without a chaperone she herself designates (just a hypothetical example, I swear!), we may want to scream that they are insecure, jealous lunatics who should get the hell out of our lives immediately but leave their cat behind. Yet, that would only be reacting to the uncomfortable sensations within us; therefore, we remain aware of our respiration, and eventually cultivate compassion and infinite love- after we leave them.

If I weren't drunk, I wouldn't be being so sarcastic. But, airing dirty laundry aside, you can see the truth: if we meditate using this recommended technique- passively observing sensations as they arise and pass- these notions of impermanence are now comprehended on an experiential level, and our unconscious mind's old stock of Sankaras (conditioned responses) become feebler and eventually die.

In the sittings, Sankaras manifest as pains, and dealing with them becomes very difficult to say the least. Meanwhile, since we are now focusing our full attention on sensations which were normally only attended by our unconscious, that sub-level of our mind rises to the surface and irrevocably changes our perception of reality. At moments, I experienced states similar to those during the onset of acid. This was fine, but imagine when the trip starts to go badly, and you can't communicate that with anyone! You are alone in your head, circling outside in sweatpants slowly soaking up the mud and gravel and, feeling the cold of new england's winter through the soles of your sneakers, you can't even call home to make sure your one remaining parent is still alive. All these fantasies swirl, and you follow their now-strong sensations round-and-round in your chest, watching as they wrap around your sore spine and escape in your breath like exhaust.

One night I had a full-blown panic attack. I lay in bed, my heartbeat reverberating upwards into my cheeks, and I saw imagery from thoughts which weren't mine. Getting ready for her bedtime, a little girl took out her eyes in front of a mirror then sawed off her lower jaw with dental floss before going to her parents' room to say goodnight- over and over again. Then my mom's skull with darkened black eyes, then an imaginary halloween, her wearing face paint of a skull yet dead anyway. Then my father hugging an image of her evaporating in wispy ash before he himself turned to dust. All I felt was my heart all over my body, pounding maniacally and futilely as if it were wounded, bleeding rather than distributing blood.

I went into the light of the hall, convinced of ghosts in my room. I concentrated on the floor's colored diamond tiles, then thought of knocking on the course manager's door and inquiring just what in the fuck was going on. I managed to slip back in bed and fall asleep to bizarre dreams before waking up to my roommate's sleep-talk in a different language... Then I immediately hallucinated an entire sequence of what I believed were blurred satanic symbols in black crayon, one of which was a bird with eyes on its wings. And, in early morning, I sat upright in bed during a paranoid episode where whom I thought was the course manager entered my bathroom and put poison on my fucking toothbrush! God, I wish I were joking... I said his name out loud three times accusingly from my bed before my entirely confused roommate exited the room with his hands up in the air, refusing to break the code of silence.

Then, things changed. The next day was positive. And up and down my moods continued, arising and passing. I was having no trouble not talking to anyone; I felt I could do this for the rest of my life. Then on the seventh day, thinking of Brooklyn in summer, thinking of my friends and family, feeling so happy and lucky walking around in the sun and listening to ice melt. Then, I was so fucking bored again, my knees hurting and my heart racing, kneeling in deafening silence amongst strangers draped in blankets and shawls, hearing chanting from speakers and the vegetarian food digesting in stomachs all around me. Then a smile, a stifled laugh, a pain in my ribs, my thoughts coming in between breaths and sensations. Remembering the little frame of the Weezer singer in the front row, getting "Buddy Holly" in my head as I passed imaginary objects through my body to feel their sensations. I wasn't supposed to be visualizing anything- I was breaking the rules. "Why all these homies dissing my girl? Why do they gotta front?" I felt the backs of my eyeballs, each toe...

In the end, it was a technique: a technique one can use to focus the mind and remain a little more positive. But, with Goenka's repetitive and puritanical ramblings, it was presented as a hypocritical philosophy that- while rightfully eschewing negative aspects of religion and the ensuing blind faith of its devotees- propagated an identical discourse by outlining very specific precepts one is to follow and then delineating a course of action for you to experience "real happiness, real peace." I didn't enjoy bowing to a television set, nor did I enjoy hearing that if I first ignored aspects of Sila (moral precepts) and LATER REALIZED THEY WERE RIGHT, I'd get back on "correct" path of Dhamma. And so, out of its initial premise of being non-sectarian, Goenka praised specific interpretations of Siddharta's teachings, and he declared those to be the "pure" Buddhism... God, this sounds awfully familiar, doesn't it?

Though now I am home. I've been up 24 hours, ignoring sleep on the bus to Port Authority this morning to talk and then guiltily watch "Hitched" with Wil Smith and Eva Mendez. The subway ride back was difficult since the everyday noises all around me were now strangely foreign, but after some sake with dinner, my code of Sila was broken, and I re-entered the world I remembered with my eyes opened a little wider than before.

Lord Alfred Tennyson (New Years)

2006-01-01T01:59:00.000-06:00

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
 The flying cloud, the frosty light:
 The year is dying in the night; 
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
Ring, happy bells, across the snow: 
The year is going, let him go; 
Ring out the false, ring in the true. 
Ring out the grief that saps the mind 
For those that here we see no more;
 Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
 And ancient forms of party strife; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
 The faithless coldness of the times; 
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes 
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

- Lord Alfred Tennyson