by Gay Nichols
click images to enlarge2010
digital print
640 x 426 pixels
5/19/2010
Franks
by Ida Griesemer
She could be grumpy, Mrs. Franks.
Her hair was a gray helmut that she wore
inside, but I don't forget the sparkle
in her eye. The year they filled
Her lab with colored globes.
Those artifacts of the first person.
Something must have happened
to the computer-makers.
Some giddy delight in their own
clairvoyance. That made them want
To turn every typing tank into a toy
store. We can do this, they said, know-how
spilling over. We'll make these machines
from inflatable air chairs. We'll put our lips
To the power cord and exhale. They're gonna
blow up. Franks will go nuts. We'll have every
gray hair standing when she reclines
on this furniture. We've been to the future
And we're bringing back lava lamps.
Maybe it was the transparency
that did it for her. Was that it?
She could see right to the guts
of those cheerful medicine balls.
Mario claimed he could teach us typing
but she had ideas about why he couldn't.
The boats were better, she said.
She made us row for our words.
Oh, Mrs. Franks. Some days she was tired.
Some days all she could do was list
everything we didn't know
on the whiteboard. Some days we were rats
And she was a lone scientist.
She was a mechanic.
She taught us about engines, she led the
search. What did we know about spelunking?
Rowing was one thing, but…
I want to tell her,
thanks. I met Google through her.
After class - an accidental facial
expression, a look of interest -
I stumbled into a private lesson.
There are many, she said, But this
is the one I like. A plain page. A baby
name. Another psychic nerd
Playing a joke on the world. Goo
googaga from the mouth of a grown
woman. Eyes really lit this time, drool
clinging to the strap of her helmut.
Thank you, thank you, Mrs. Franks. It was
an important thing for me to know
it turns out.
5/14/2010
howler
by Ariella Ruth
howler dear
it could be wilt
metal that hangs
in center beats
that aren’t purple but harm
small hairs on insides
of your ears never
can be bent up straight
again the flowers
turn south to face
browning water open
their small mouths
to cherry wood i bought
you because no one
would
not buy
you i mean but give
to me it snows
on you the hills
on dullness beat
drums
howler beat
my ear
drums
5/12/2010
Hell
by Nate Blanco
Interview by Michael Pollock
Download - Hell
"Death," another song by Nate, was posted last week along with part 1 of the interview.
Listen: Death
LL: Are there real instruments on “Hell?”
NB: There’s a drum in the background, and everything else is just my voice. I recorded the drum part first - it’s a big floor tom - then I layered vocal parts on top of it
LL: How many layers are there? Because it gets intense at parts.
NB: At one point I think there’s 5 layers. At most points there’s 2-3 going at a time
LL: Do you do that on your computer as well or do you do layer it on a recorder?
NB: It’s all done on my computer. I use garage band, which is surprisingly good for the kind of stuff that I do.
LL: Can you tell me about your website, Digital Cassette Records?
NB: Yeah, this is a website that we just started, maybe about a month ago. For a while, in this very room, a lot of us have been playing music, completely improv, just jamming out mostly. My friend Nick and I, we invite people over all the time. We record jams - a lot of them are pretty good and we want to be able to release them and get people to hear them. We used to release CDs. We were making good stuff that wasn’t realistic to release as CDs. It’s a lot of work for me and I’m not that good at promoting or giving people CDs or trying to sell them.
LL: Not good on the street?
NB: No, not at all. So I thought having a place where people could come hear the tracks, where I could post stuff on a regular basis would be a really great thing to have.
LL: The people that you mostly play with are close friends? Do they live here?
NB: Mostly close friends. My friend Nick who is the person I play with the most often, he did live here until 2 weeks ago. Sometimes it’s just him and me. The other people who are regulars are close friends and a few solid people who come kind of often but other times it’s just random people. One day Nick met this girl in the street. He was working at this canvassing job and met this girl and invited her to come over. She brought her friend and instruments. That was actually one of the best jams we ever had. Pretty magical. That jam was the inspiration for the song “Hell.” At one part during this jam we were all so on and on the same page. Three different people are playing guitars and other people are playing hand drums and everyone is singing at the same time. I just started improvising the lyrics that became the song “Hell.” I was singing them in the same way, I think that was one of the best parts of the night. I wish that would have been recorded. That jam session was actually not recorded. The recording of the song “Hell” was me trying to recreate it. I really like it because I was impressed with my own lyrics and ideas and wanted to remember them.
LL: When I heard “Hell,” I wasn’t sure if it was you or not.
NB: Which happens a lot with me. Even with songs where I think I’m singing in my normal voice I’ve had people who listened to it many times and knew that I made the song but they ask, ‘Who is that singing on there?’ or ‘Did you write the lyrics or did he write them?’ I’m like, ‘That’s me, you’ve know me for years you don’t recognize my voice?’
LL: Like, ‘Thanks, Mom!’ Does your mom listen to your music?
NB: I don’t know. I’ve given her CDs. Whether she listens to them or not, I don’t know.
LL: So she hasn’t given you feedback?
NB: Not really, except for the standard mom things like, ‘That’s great.’
LL: ‘That’s so professional’ is my mom’s favorite.
NB: Right. I don’t know if you’re saying that, Mom, or if you’re just saying it because that’s what you do as a mom or if you actually listen to it. But I also feel like, how could she possibly not like it because she is such a mom she’s going to love anything I do even though I don’t think it’s music that she would normally ever listen to.
5/07/2010
Death
by Nate Blanco
Interview by Michael Pollock
Download - Death
I talked to Nate about his music in his Brooklyn apartment while his roommate hammered at a guitar pedal, trying to fix it. "Hell" will be posted next week along with part 2 of the interview.
LL: When did you record these songs?
NB: They were made at a similar point. They are actually recorder a few days a part. So “Death” was recorded a couple days before Christmas, then “Hell” was recorded a couple days after Christmas while I was in Pennsylvania at my mom’s house.
LL: Are they Christmas songs?
NB: I wouldn’t say so. I wouldn’t say that Christmas feels like death or hell to me. I kind of enjoy it, but some people might get a kick out of that.
LL: Are they home songs? Do you think you wrote them because you were at home or were they something you were thinking about before and that is just when you happened to have time?
NB: “Death” was definitely just on the spot. I was actually having a pretty crappy day. It was the first full day I had been home. I had gotten there the day before and no one else was there yet and I was really bored all day. I couldn’t leave the house because I didn’t have a car to use so all I was doing was watching T.V. and using the Internet. I started to feel a little crazy by the nighttime and couldn’t sleep. I was almost going out of my mind and needed a way to channel it I guess. Something to do to distract me from the way I was going crazy and it all went into the song.
LL: How did you make the song?
NB: The song is done in two parts - both parts were completely improvised. The part that I did first is the noise that you hear.
LL: The static?
NB: Yeah that’s done on the spot with my computer. It’s actually a recording of a bunch of different videos and I was switching back and forth between them really quickly. I was trying to make something out of it, kind of in that death mind frame that I was in, kind of going crazy on it. And then I improvised the piano on my computer.
LL: So it was all done on the computer?
NB: It was all done on my computer, yeah. None of those sounds are real instruments.
5/03/2010
The Nighttime Stomach
by Molly Goldman
When he falls asleep I know it’s because he’s lying
on the boring side of my face.
I don’t sleep. I crouch inside of myself
and talk gently to the dog that looks like Lassie
who lives in the nighttime stomach.
Her head is tilted sideways like it’s missing
a stitch. What is it, Girl? I follow her
through the wet newspaper tunnel of my intestines.
Someone could be trapped in there.
Is it trouble at the well?
My impulses move like iridescent fruit flies
against a stain glass backdrop. It’s like I’m trespassing
through some hollow church and flinching
at the echo of my footsteps. The stomach
is a jar glowing with swarms of red
candles. Lassie leads me
to a familiar chalkboard in there. Last night,
I stayed late and wrote believe me,
believe me, two hundred times. When the words
are erased I can use the dust to dry everything up.
On the outside, a toothbrush lies
down in the medicine cabinet. A drawer hangs
open like a child peering over a bridge.
The stairs stack themselves in darkness.
