I missed the dawn of Michigan Spring while on the road out West ... I'm back in A2 and beholding the wild splendor of our backyard through the sliding glass, noting not only aggressive outbreaks of dandelions but actual living/breathing leaves on the trees that I've only known as barren. We got here last November, and had time to rake the yard once before the snow took over, so my first months in Michigan were bitter, frozen days that had me stuck inside or shoveling the driveway, muttering curses.

I lived in Altamonte Springs, Florida for one month back in 1986 (hi Scott) and returned to Michigan on Halloween night, a beautiful blustery cool night that held so much more mystery than the humid torpor of the South, and for the first time in my life I appreciated the natural graces of my home state. I never knew Fall was my favorite season until I missed it that year, and I experienced the same kind of atmospheric disturbance when I returned from the Big Trip ... over the twenty two days I was away, Spring happened in Michigan, and now that I see it, I understand the value of this calm before the Summer bloats us with wet heat, angry sunshine and thirsty mosquitos.

The End Times shows were successful. Despite only a few brief practices, there were no major meltdowns and I believe it all came together on those stages, me & Abi & Tyson were back in step once the uniforms were on and I'm way proud of what we did. Thanks, guys. Thanks to The Pillow Army and Keg (The Lone Ranger of Rock), The Mix and New Frontier Tavern too. The End Times operate out of Michigan now, and plans are being laid to record a single to release this Fall -- if anyone is interested in signing on for The Blacktree Singers (MidWest Division), please let me know, I'm assembling a mailing list for future projects ...

So anyhow, the final trio performances were very emotional and I spent nearly every night in a bar, so I'm feeling drained yet relaxed and ready to muscle through. I made a lot of peace out there.

HonkFest was as retarded as I expected it to be, but goddamn if ol' Tyson didn't pull off a weekend-long traveling block party with the city's blessing no less. I had a great time the whole time, drank Four Loko in the streets, made fun of hippies, did a little pickpocketing, just generally set my chickens free. Seriously, there was a lot more variety to each act than you might expect out of an exclusively marching band format, and the groups ranged from Merry Pranksteresque amateurs with more spirit than rhythm to the military precision of local sports team bands. Who knew this was a genre? Anything that furthers the trombone's ascendence to its rightful place next to the electric guitar as a cultural symbol of youthful rebellion is okay by me. Someday our children (or nieces/nephews) will be telling us to shove it, locking themselves in their rooms to smoke dope and bleat and blurt the teenage blues on their battered brass machines while we plug our ears and curse those kids and their damn racket. We'll deserve it.

The shows were fine. The trip was life-altering. The company was good. The worst was avoided. I sleep in Wisconsin tonight. Back home tomorrow. Starting a new choir. More later. I miss everybody.

Hutaree

You may have heard about these guys on the news. Michigan militias were a big story when I left the state a decade ago, but some things never change. Apparently these Hutaree boys are heavy enough that the mainstream Michigan militias are trying to distance themselves from them, that's really saying something. Let's hear it for the true patriots.

April snuck up on me fast (if anything can sneak "quickly," I'm happy to debate that point if we can all come to some kind of linguistic consensus), and now I find my trip to Seattle yawning before me, daring me to actually embark. Not like I won't, it's just that the whole business seemed so distant for so long, a vast insane plan to drive 2500 miles to play for 20-some souls less than a year after an extremely successful and satisfying "farewell show" ... but I've been convinced that it's the right thing to do, officially mark the release of THESE ARE THE END TIMES in the city of its birth/gestation/conception with the people who made it possible/inevitable, not as a publicity stunt or marketing ploy (as I'd like to imagine it) but as punctuation to a very important and fruitful chapter in the illegible book that is my life. And now it's here. If all goes as planned, I'll be on the road by Easter, hitting Seattle in time for some quick practice and Honk Fest (three days of tubas, trumpets, bass drums and outlandish costumes -- the kids these days just LOVE noise), then some more serious rehearsal/flyering and we visit Tacoma first, Seattle second. And then? Drive home. Take stock of whatever just happened. Start again, again.

It's gonna be good, though ... my new pal Jason is creating a minimalist video piece that should serve as a stimulating backdrop to our two performances, if technology doesn't fail us (which almost NEVER happens, I know, but I'm bringing the sign just in case), and the two joints we're hitting are cool places that also booked our friends Pillow Army and Keg, The Lone Ranger Of Rock, so at the very least we'll be in good company.

I feel like I've been straddling two coasts for the past nine months (yes, the Great Lakes constitute a coast, fuck off), with rapidly diminishing returns, and while the idea of cutting ties with Seattle is unthinkable, I definitely need to mark the achievement of the End Times' first (of many?) official physical document so I can figure out what's next. What's next? The inevitable eccentric part time job, more freelance writing assignments, another round of recording and gigging with the Jeni Lee Band (Detroit debut with the new rhythm section on the last night Michiganders can legally smoke tobacco in public places at the Belmont) and whatever comes after that. No answers. No solutions. No conclusions until it's too late to contemplate them -- that's the life I've chosen. It isn't easy, but it's honest.

Scorpion vs. Tarantula