Life Need Not Intercede

So, I had to get up at 7 a.m. Saturday to take my son to his final swim meet of the season. In Macomb, MI. Sigh. Naturally, I rang in 1:30 a.m. with Old Empire at Skipper's after tolerating the Mantons' CCR covers. Duhr. I had caught a serious case of Blowout momentum. Buoyed by the Koufax-ian goodness of the Juliets, pressed on by the pure local-musician-savant-gone-solo-casual of whatever Randy Chabot was calling his crashing laptop, A-ha dance beats and and fucking awesomely hilarious tweaked vocals. I was inspired by Lettercamp's, I honestly don't know, pure showmanship? pop perfection? attention to detail? awesome songs? pretty singer? mysterious performance with all members but one behind [the word in your language escapes me]. Lettercamp is the kind of band delivering a revelation that launched a hundred botched "what if this band is actually good" excursions. Also, they reminded me of Charm Farm at the Warehouse circa 1990. In a really good way. I was goaded and inspired by an Excel doc my friend Jimmy Rossow put together that (oddly) made everything seem so much more vibrant. Weird, right? I was kept afloat by conversation with my running pal Ben and guest floaters Sarah Peters, Caleb Garrison and Steve Hughes (sans only Anne, "What is a Foxgloves reunion at Lush circa 1999?", Alex!) , Hughes' friend Tim was in town getting an art exhibit up at the former Design 99 space. couldn't have picked a better time. this is going to sound really weird, you know, in words and all, but I met another Grateful Dad in the Gates of Columbus bathroom. And MT scribe and killer academician at large Carleton Gholz showed up out of nowhere. And there was a Street Wizard. And Rich Hansen convinced me to revisit High on Fire and man did Steve-O P look tired! And Old Empire? Totally worth the lack of sleep. Like usual. Except unusually so.

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