St. Paul Conclusion / Nihilist Constriction
(Amended May 16, 2007; photos uploaded May 20.)
The rains came again. I wanted to shove the severed horse cock we'd previously rammed through Jann Wenner's lesser omentum into Tommy Stinson's grotesque, gaping throat wound. (Were there mare schlongs and said suppurations.) Awnings flew - John Vance failed to join us, owing to homeowner's distress. Matt St. Germain (Freedom From, End Times fest, etc.), however, accepted the challenge. We churned for twenty minutes, peeled away pre-selected noodles, and dissolved back into the miserable night. Humid, wet, black and stormy, St. Paul embraced our negative energy and transmuted the local aquifer's bilge into a rheumy cat lung omelet. Mission terminated, cash pocketed.
(See pix from previous entry...)
We dined on late night vegan delivery, slept well following an exchange of recreational splenetics, and were met in the surprisingly muggy MPLS morning by in-crowd types for brunch at the Downtown Cafe. The Russian waitress peaked my interest, of course, but with my lacerated nose and pustular upper lip I reckon she would have preferred a lengthy gulag stretch to my rough embrace... Oh well, her accent was kinda squeaky anyway. Rat succumbed to steak and eggs, and later, the local post office was filled with nervous homeowners grumbling about impending bankruptcies. Yup, Bush's presidency still sucks ass, even when we're on tour...
Goodbyes were exchanged, then we zoomed across the numbing veldt to Illinois and a certain in-progress loft party.
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Flash forward to Chicago - arrived late at Andy Ortmann's Nihilist complex. Police had already arrived to issue noise ordinance warnings, so we were bade to reduce, choke, constrict. This, of course, was what we'd been waiting weeks to encounter. Our good friend (and justifiably legendary Electric Eels savant) Brian McMahon joined the fray. (His lovely bride Mary Burzynski rocked our vid-cam with alacrity.) We nailed it, but the preferred O-mind yawn proved elusive. Still, a parsec's shade over the math-rock-dullard-besotted Bottle gig from '04...
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Gregory Jacobsen's group Lovely Little Girls were superb, by the way. Their crazed crossbreeding of Brechtian narrative menace and Zappa/zuehl theatrics was a bracing rejoinder to just about anything you'd care to name...
Ben and Graham have many more photos; we'll post them as soon as we can get our filthy mitts on 'em.
Love,
TS
The rains came again. I wanted to shove the severed horse cock we'd previously rammed through Jann Wenner's lesser omentum into Tommy Stinson's grotesque, gaping throat wound. (Were there mare schlongs and said suppurations.) Awnings flew - John Vance failed to join us, owing to homeowner's distress. Matt St. Germain (Freedom From, End Times fest, etc.), however, accepted the challenge. We churned for twenty minutes, peeled away pre-selected noodles, and dissolved back into the miserable night. Humid, wet, black and stormy, St. Paul embraced our negative energy and transmuted the local aquifer's bilge into a rheumy cat lung omelet. Mission terminated, cash pocketed.
(See pix from previous entry...)
We dined on late night vegan delivery, slept well following an exchange of recreational splenetics, and were met in the surprisingly muggy MPLS morning by in-crowd types for brunch at the Downtown Cafe. The Russian waitress peaked my interest, of course, but with my lacerated nose and pustular upper lip I reckon she would have preferred a lengthy gulag stretch to my rough embrace... Oh well, her accent was kinda squeaky anyway. Rat succumbed to steak and eggs, and later, the local post office was filled with nervous homeowners grumbling about impending bankruptcies. Yup, Bush's presidency still sucks ass, even when we're on tour...
Goodbyes were exchanged, then we zoomed across the numbing veldt to Illinois and a certain in-progress loft party.
---
Flash forward to Chicago - arrived late at Andy Ortmann's Nihilist complex. Police had already arrived to issue noise ordinance warnings, so we were bade to reduce, choke, constrict. This, of course, was what we'd been waiting weeks to encounter. Our good friend (and justifiably legendary Electric Eels savant) Brian McMahon joined the fray. (His lovely bride Mary Burzynski rocked our vid-cam with alacrity.) We nailed it, but the preferred O-mind yawn proved elusive. Still, a parsec's shade over the math-rock-dullard-besotted Bottle gig from '04...
---
---
Gregory Jacobsen's group Lovely Little Girls were superb, by the way. Their crazed crossbreeding of Brechtian narrative menace and Zappa/zuehl theatrics was a bracing rejoinder to just about anything you'd care to name...
Ben and Graham have many more photos; we'll post them as soon as we can get our filthy mitts on 'em.
Love,
TS
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