By the One and Only... Styles Bentley

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Frustrations of an Unknown Sex Addict - Chpt 1

Three days ago I was looking over my shoulder. Wondering what was back there. Peering into an abyss created by my memories, created by my actions, created by the fate of the universe. I stared. It was a whirl wind of visual stimulants as my eyes closed and my breath exhaled. What the fuck am I doing?! The all to familiar question began to strain out of my inner brain. The decisions seemed to be so clear. The world is in dire straits, it needs our help, but I need my help, I am a star, the center of attention! I dont know where the hell I am floating to! Than, I realized its been nearly 2 month since I've gotten to play in the wilderness of a woman. I am horny as fuck! Is all this existential bull shit just a frustrated dick in my pants that my mind is trying to compensate for? A new solution is to be assembled. Yes!... I need to find some party girls! 

I guess I know a few, yet even in my desperation, I would hope to find something, someone new with worth and excitement, emotional and passionate, but without dedication or ultimatum. Plenty of woman are up for a romper rooski recess in my bed, I know it, all the gay boys want to fuck me, and that definitely means; I Am Sexy! Or faggy, but chicks are into that, some chicks are! I would have to think so, yet again, these gay boys are men, I am a man, and we men are horny fuckers! If your a man who is not that horny, there is something wrong with you! Your not a pussy, or less of a man, but get a boner! I have a boner every morning. The type of hard girthy handrail you hope to impress someone with eventually, or in my case, you pray! I pondered as I slowly humped my sheets laying in bed this morning, just enough to sustain, but not to climax; What does my hard penis and relatively high sex drive comunicate to these life issues?!

It communicates I am passionate and motivated! Now I have to find the balance not just between my mind and soul, my ego and conscious, but a tri-balance of my mind, my intuition, and now my hard wiener. I kept looking back to gain insight to the future, but my receptors became hazy and blocked. The stimulating visuals seemed to fade as my attention and focus left my eyes and entered an analytical furry of questions and ideas. How to express such frustrations, through what medium shall it be; paint, song, dance perhaps? I need to think on a bigger scale, the scale of the world! Yes, I must be the canvass itself, and the world my brush. Tickle me pink silly world!! Fill my loins with grace, my soul with love, and my mind with creativity! Take me there world, I believe in your power, guide me to the blessed fruits of a goddess' love and gypsy eyes!

1 days later...

The world has failed me. My boner is getting weaker and tired of its daily inflations, discontent without the care of another! I am a loser! The motivation of my life has become purely sexual, lost to the ideals of growing up with porn on the internet and scrambled boobies on channel 1 late night. This is why religion has banned sex and treated woman like shit for thousands of years, to protect us, men, from being in an ultimate level of randy wang, so they could keep their motivation to grow their power! You fools! Woman are our goddesses and we need to learn from them, yet we are all humans, sexual beings!! So why the fuck wont anyone... everyone have sex with me!? And each other?! Has the media really controlled us to believe that free love was just a gimmick from the 60's that they silkscreen on Gap t-shirts!? Yes, they have damn it. The world is no longer my paint and I the canvas, but now the people are my canvass and I am the paint. I must convince mankind of this free love, make it my journey of life, or else... I may never have sex again! 

My charged soul gave me a thunder bolt of excitement. I instantly found some white computer paper and a sharpie. I began to write sexual antidotes, 'It is not sex that gives the pleasure, but the lover', 'Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired', 'Free Love: Its fun!' page after page. I furiously tittied the pile of papers into my backpack with a staple gun and packaging tape. I was going to line the light poles with love! Gorilla art will infiltrate. I can be the next Banksy, a sexy Banksy, filling our society with sex! I rode my bicycle to Capitol Hill and strolled down Pike strapping on my love notes for all the world to see. Some people laughed and smiled as they saw what I was doing. Do you think this funny dude?! Im at half mast in my pants, hanging up signs, trying to change the world so I can finally get laid! Fuckers! No one understands me. Yet, like any good artist I powered through with positive thought that perhaps these words will affect the conscious levels of a few, and the snow ball will begin to roll. I exhausted my supply of dirty reminders and returned to Tangle Town. I felt good, like I made a difference, like I did something! This motivation was excellent, I was pumped up... literally! Now the powers of the universe will bless me with love, for spreading the love. I anxiously awaited my lover to appear.

I sat at home smoking and scouring facebook and ok cupid for potential romp relationships when I heard something coming from the downstairs. I had been home for hours now and saw not one of my roommates, did someone sneak in to take a poop? Or have the heavens blessed me with a woman who has appeared in my home to make gratifying love to me. I was convinced, my prayers have been answered by Eros and Dionysos! I tucked my already juicy penicular in the waistband of my pants, and rolled down the stairs like a kid on christmas morning! I grabbed the hand rail and swung around the corner like a race car around a final turn. My smile felt the passing air in a slow motion sensation of momentum! I cleared the turn and was on the strait away when I saw it! There in front of my eyes was a beautiful, naked woman, on the couch... getting Danny Tannered, Rush Limbaughed, and Sammuel L. Jacksoned by my roommate!! He was Fucking My Gift! Both lovers looked up in sudden disbelief! Startled, she embarrassingly snatched a pillow and covered her luscious breasts, as my roommate's face became cross.
"You Bastard", I yelled as it all became apparent.
"You are destroying my DESTINY!"
I furiously bellowed as I lept and tackled his naked self off the couch and onto the ground. He landed on his back, but used the momentum of my tackle to flip me over him, and pinned me down. As my friend looked at me, my eyes peered down to his wang, pointing strait at me like an old lady pointing her finger at the Dennis the Menace next door. It turned into a devils face, laughing at me, the most evil devil penis laugh there could be! I was frightened and looked away back at my roommates disgusted expression.
"Dude, what the fuck are you doing, that's Ashley, my girlfriend... we didn't know anyone was home, so what the fuck dude!?"
I was released from under my naked and fully erected roommate. I was sweating, and the rush of adrenaline was subsiding.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry guys, its my penis, I can't Control It!" 

My heart was broken, has the world failed me, or have I failed the world. I turned and ran out the door, hopped on my bike and rushed the hell away from the ridiculousness that my actions created! I rode to get an iced coffee and to chain smoke cigs at Cal Anderson. As I sat on the bench watching the fountain trickle into a pool of rapids as I noticed one of my love notes laying on the ground. What hobble wash, why would you tear down such a beautiful piece of art! I decided to return it to a post nearby! As I approached Pike I noticed many of my love notes had been torn, ripped, and destroyed!! Not just taken down, but mutilated! I began to take down what was unable to be reposted, but found about 3 notes that could still be hung with pride! I taped them back together and happily reposted them, when out of nowhere a passerby coughed 'pervert' as they walked passed me. I turned in fury and released my opinion immediately,
"Pervert? You are the pervert protecting yourself from the realities of our biology, concealing the true realities of the desires of our genetalia, you sir are the death of this world!" 

"Oh is that because I'm gay!? Fuck you, and your bullshit western christian idea of sex!"
He fired back, quickly turned and walked away. I shuttered in disgust, free love is for all sexual orientations, it has nothing to do with western philosophy or christianity, in fact perhaps the exact opposite! He miss interpreted my point! I ran a few paces and caught up to the gay man. I grabbed his shoulder to get his attention.
"Hey, dude, I'm sorry... I'm trying to spread the notion of free love for all, you and me, with and for all men and woman, see, I haven't gotten laid for 2 months and I'm really horny, I was just trying to put good vibes into the universe, I'm sorry, I never meant to offend you nor would I ever want to offend anyone due to their sexual preferences!"
He seemed calm, took a long moment of silence with a few breaths, and looked at me, peered into my eyes.
"I'll suck your dick right now."
 He said almost to justify his new understanding of the situation.
"What, no, im not..."
"You know guys give the best blow jobs, right?"
I didn't know! I didn't know what to do. I've already insulted this man once, now we are trying to make amends and if I refuse his dick sucking I could be further insulting him and the entire gay community!
"I live over off of Olive, lets go!"
He carelessly motioned, and we began to walk together.

We strolled through the park and actually had a very lovely conversation. This man was an actor, stage no screen. He believed in the true artform. I can dig! I told him about my confusions of conflicts of life, now so interested in a conversation about preserving the truest forms of art, not letting industry and media infiltrate, I completely forgot that I was on the way to his apartment so he could blow me! By the end of the walk, I genuinely liked the guy and we had a lot in common. We strolled into his building and got into the elevator. This is when I realized what this trip had been ment for, lucious gay blow jobs! He got close to me and passionately said, "Are you ready for the best head of your life?" I again felt confused, I didn't want to insult the man, so I awkwardly did nothing as he stalled the elevator and reached for my belt.
"I appreciate this so much, but its ok man, Ill be good, you dont have to..."
"Shut up."
He said back to me in a sneaky tone as my belt was being undone and my zipper was unzipping. I looked down, and something amazing had happened. My perma-boner was gone, my dick was limp!! As the gay man tried to extrude my balls from my boxer briefs, their was no boner! 

I reached down to pull up my pants and end this homesexual shenanigan, when the man looked at me and questione,
"Wait, your not gay? This entire talk about not getting laid was not getting laid with woman?"
I stood embarrassed with my pants undone, looking at the ground, I apologized,
"I'm sorry man, what you offered seem to be a nice gesture, and I'm not gay, but I didn't want to further offend you."
He slightly laughed and looked at me,
"I mean, you look pretty faggy."
Damn it, not again!
"Like I said, I want to thank you for this wonderful offering, but my penis is limp again, for the first time in days, what you have done for me is better than any gay blow job."
He looked disappointed.
"I like you, so Im gonna hook you up."
What the hell is he talking about, I thought we had just established that I am not gay.
"Come with me"
He motioned as the elevator hit his floor. He headed towards his apartment, and I followed with a nervous anxiety. He opened the door to a very neat and organized studio apartment. As we entered he walked to his desk, opened the top left drawer, and took out a business card. He handed it to me, it was black, with a phone number also printed in a glossy black so you could only read it by holding it angled in the light.
"Call that number, tell them Cheesy gave it to you, and you should be taken care of."
I was so confused... Cheesy? Is he setting me up to enter a train running session on me!? I took the card, thanked Cheesy, and left as quickly as possible. The sun was setting and it was time to go home.

I laid in bed and looked at the black on black business card Cheesy gave me. What the fuck was this, maybe I should just throw it away. The world perhaps is working for me, more mysteriously than I could imagine since it gave me my own imagination. I laid back in bed and stared into the ceiling as I have done so many nights, the light of the world was fading, and my hopes of sexual expression seemed to tell me that I am gay. Damn it. All I want is a fabulous woman, elegant and smooth, delicate and beautiful to have casual sex with. My dick began to harden again. Shit! It was back. As I watched my pants rise the black on black business card caught my attention. The gleaming glossy text shined at me like a sign. I grabbed my phone and dialed the numbers. Silence... than it rang, and rang, and
"Hello?!" a crotchety old woman's voice answered.
"Hi, um... yes, my friend, a... Cheesy gave me this number to call, yea, a..."
"Be at 2242 15th ave at 8pm tomorrow for New Member Orientation."
Click, the call was over. What the hell did I just do?! I scribbled the address down on a note pad. My dick was still hard. My mind was full. I needed rest. 

Chapter 2 to come Shortly....

Monday, February 20, 2012

The Budos Band is Bad... in a Good Way!

Tingles of jive turkeys swept across my skin. Antelopes roamed the fields peacefully, but inside; the air was cut thick with cannabis, sweat flung dripping from brow and flailing limbs, the sound of a new type of freedom was echoing through my dancing bones. The Budos Band is a race of beings unknown to us, misfits of hell, banned from the eternal realms to scorch the earth with its sinful desire of Latin soul funk. Some call it afro-soul, I call it… party time! Jared Tankel, baritone sax player and front man of this demonic posse walked on stage looking like Diego Delgado, eye’s blazed red from spooning bumps of cocaine with a scorpions deadly tail spike. His horn bellowed the whaaa of such loose sound waves I could almost see them as jelly fish moving through the smoke in the rafters, swimming to the nonexistent surface for air. The crowd became entranced, possessed, and danced crazed, except for one girl.

The magic was spinning like taking acid and watching the wheel of fourtune in the 60’s on a plasma TV, when I looked to my right and saw a human, a girl, motionless, expressionless, and still. My first reaction was to perform CPR and resuscitate this lifeless poor girl, but further examination proved her to still actually be conscious! Eyes open, breathing, what the hell is wrong with this girl? What the hell was she doing in this cavern of misfit toys carousing in universal vibrations with the rest of the awakened? The brassy horn called furiously as the band stopped 4 bars after Mr. Tankel raised a gritty fist.

The brief silence gave chance of change and I challenged this girl. “Saving your good moves for the end?” I asked with an air of confidence. She glanced down nervously smiling, than her eyes shot back at me.  Politely, in a 1950’s type way, she said no through a deep shade of red lip stick. Now fiddling her fingers nervously, the music burst into the room again. I performed a few easy movements, perhaps this girl would notice and emulate. Perhaps she would begin traveling in the caravan of Budos believers, drinking twisted cocktails and potions, clothing in feathers, and dancing for the ancient spirits giving thanks for the world they have granted us with. No! She was frozen! Her soul was fresh and afraid of where this music could lead. If these evil vibration blowing bandits had a plan for all this energy being released?! She was scared and confused.

 The bellow of Mr. Tankel’s horn began with a crisp closed high hat guiding the introductory rhythm of the next song. Still and calm on the right side of my peripheral vision, I find the energy reacting just dandy in my blue suede shoes. The magic and freedom that becomes dancing, beyond an expression, and into involuntary movement had been overtaking me for some time now. I have found nothing to make me happier than the pure ecstasy that this experience is. This lonely, tired, and beautiful girl I realized may never join the millions of souls who have and do experience this, and it made me sad. Will it be her choice or destiny to dance?

Either way it will be her decision I thought as all reason flew out the window! Daniel Foder, pure yin and yang of all that is good and evil floats around the stage. He holds his bass guitar like he was a mad Vietnam solider violently firing his automatic rifle into oblivion obliterating all that surrounds. It definitely made all of us observing feel a little more bad ass. After drummer Brian Profilio led us through a vulgarly enthusiastic and motivating chant notifying the rest of the band in the best Brooklyn accent us Capitol Hill kids could emulate to “get the Fuck out here” (and play an encore), they did.

The band finished, the lights turned on, the doors opened, the smoke seeped out, and the motionless beautiful girl in the red lip stick was gone. The Budos Band had retired to a den of cocaine, sexy Latina women, and dim lighting. Stepping out into the streets the world came back to us. But now, the world seemed evil, still, and quite like this mysterious girl. The loud and boisterous music, the smoke and sweat, the uncontrollable control of dance possession makes me feel good! No, no, excuse me. It makes me feel… bad.

Saturday, December 3, 2011


My heart was pounding. My foot pressed firmly against the pedal slowly gained speed up Denny Ave. Regrade my ass, I can barely get this four banger up the damn street! It didn’t help that this was the first real date I’ve been on in months. Hopefully she wouldn’t get to see my piece of shit truck, so I purposely looked for parking blocks away from our destination, out of sight. The day was typical, it was June, somewhat gloomy, chilly… definitely a day to grab a quality hoodie or light jacket. I wore the Seattle Blacks, you know, black jeans, shoes, and coat, and I believe I had a black cap on as well, the typical style of most kids on the hill for a late spring chilly day. My grey truck squeaked to a stop somewhere deep in the zone parking area; I had two hours until this date would become more expensive with a parking ticket. I lit up a fourth Marlboro 27 and gave myself the halftime locker room pep talk. Ok, let’s do this shit! The black concrete moved under my feet like a treadmill and the overcast gloom gave me no particular enthusiasm. My heart raced, and mind recreated pictures and moments of the few minutes we spent together the night before, she was beautiful. The pep talk was taking hold and I was prepared to woo and whoa her every delight. I turned the corner, slowly stepping with the cockiness of Tony Manero, taking the sexiest drag of my cigarette I could image, and then placing it beneath my middle finger and flicking it to the curb. I watched the embers explode and extinguish on the cold concrete as my eyes rose from the street. Slowly, each degree revealed a deeper beauty, and I became captivated by the most incredible woman, wearing a bright yellow jacket! Warmth, hope, and happiness punched me in the stomach and took my breath away! The grey gloom disappeared and the sun was shining a bright yellow love. The buildings around us changed into a forest, exposed with no canopy, the newly existant sunshine illuminated the area like lights on a stage. I had to shield my eyes. I was in a fantasy world. This yellow jacket, most likely made of cotton, had the style of a light and miniature pea coat, buttoned from her waist to her breasts, and fastened with a 2 inch thick belt around her ribs. Our rendezvous was at a bar, a small old house looking building which had a large wooden deck at its entrance. We looked up and suddenly the wooden structure rose from the soil as a grandeur ship, soaked deep with adventure. The bow was constructed of a single beam, carved like a totem pole, revealing the past, or future. It rose powerfully like a plant germinating, breaking its seed for its first breath of life, but on a Roman scale. As we both looked down to the street, we saw to disbelief that we were floating in a mahogany row boat of master craftsmanship. An energy twisted through my blood veins, I couldn’t speak, my words usually so bold and witty collapsed into the sea we now floated upon. Weird fishes of the brightest colors swam playfully around us, rainbows stretched across all parts of the land like the LA freeway system. Music, compassionate and invigorating chirped from the tropical birds flying above. My Seattle blacks faded into neon hues and exposed my twitterpated heart. The heat was intense, but the last thing I wanted to do was find shade. Rhythm and love began twirling in a hurricane of emotions, impossible to express in any way, except for one. “Do you like to dance?” she questioned. The light of day had already faded, we had been together for over my two hour parking limit, and I felt that I had only been standing here for moments. The moon was a smiling light of cheese and the stars scurried around the sky as millions of fire flies, smiling upon our acquaintance. I looked around and felt a warmth, like this yellow jacket was made to keep me comfortable and at ease. “I love to dance.” I replied, and yellow has been my favorite color since.

Friday, December 2, 2011


I spent a brief time skipping rocks on the Mississippi about two years ago. I’m still not sure if I am a completely horrible rock skipper, or if the overbearing muddy brown waters weigh my flat stone down to sink it to the bottom after only one or two measly jumps. The history of the good ole Mississippi is intriguing and sets an ambiance that only Tom and Huck could truly explain. I couldn’t help but to think that, water is blue. Not brown, and the transparently blue tides of the Caribbean, or a glacier lake, the fade of blues in a large wave, and the tints of green between the rapids of a river all set a calming yet powerful tone and are the mothers and fathers of what the Mississippi is. The two largest things this earth has are the water and the sky, and we are on this ever changing vessel called land. I’ve recently found that I perhaps have felt the most alive while swimming naked in the ocean. I typically would prefer a lake or pool of freshwater, soothing. But when you enter into the salty ocean, as it slowly moves all around you, like lying in the bath, letting it rise millimeter by millimeter around your body, feeling every water molecule cling and surround your skin, you can’t help but to feel alive. The blue becomes a fountain of youth, when you’re naked. Even just a small European or Brazilian bathing suit constricts the true freedoms that are being handed to you by this creation. Then when you dive under the surface, you are free. The water moves over you like the hands of the most skilled masseuse, holds you like an incredible lover, and lets you free like pollen billowing off a field of a thousand wild flowers. You never want the feeling to end, but you need to breathe! Bursting out of the surface to that first breath gives you an idea of the preciousness of life. Regardless to how or why we achieved our consciousness, it is inevitably a gift, and this luscious blue water had been like a yearly Christmas present from a distant relative reminding you that you are loved. As air fills your lungs, your eyes begin to open. And there above you is the blue sky, soaring for an unexplainable distance until it begins again. The sky is our ceiling, protecting us, and creates the possibility for life, its calm and deep, ever changing with the hours of the day, rotations of the sun and moon. It harvests our fresh water and releases it to once again create. They hold blue to a true standard. A mind stunned by the complete power of nature enters euphoria, leaving other senses immobile. In this case you may then be pounded back into the sea by the same power of nature. As you take your second breath, staring into the cloudless blue sky, the force of a stampede of stallions crashes over the top of this temporary body, hurtling you deep under the surface. The water scoops and sweeps you in its own circle of life revolving and shaking with a power that no man, however strong, could withstand. You’re lungs are out of air, under water, naked, just the same as the blissful swim moments ago. Now fearful of death, scared and not in control, airless, the wave releases you. Control of your body and strength over the tide rebuilds confidence and your mind stops to panic and controls your body responsibly again. Through the wavy glare of the water beneath the surface, the blue sky above seems to be fiendishly holding this air, like a drug dealer waiting for an estranged customer to relapse. You fill your lungs again, and quickly swim to the shallows; into the protection land gives us. Looking out into the blue, smiling, there is nothing to do but thank the water. It is like God, giving the bliss and pleasure of living, but more powerful, full of more energy than a million atomic bombs. As you just now, I remember standing in the wash on the shore about up to my shins, and felt the push and pull of the water, constant.  That push and pull will not stop, never sleep, and never end until the end of Earth. The blue sky and the blue sea will work together, forever showing us how precious life is, the chances we have to be free, and the limitations our mortality sets. The answers are clear, well, the answers are actually blue, and blue has been my favorite color ever since.

Thursday, December 1, 2011


I strolled down Mercer Ave to go to work, and my toes got chilly! These damn Chucks, I love them and hate them. The rubber is worn to the sole, the canvas ripped and torn. They’re only a few months old and I spent 60 fucking bucks for the most minimalist shoe wear on the market! I do like the color, they’re red. Red perplexes my mind. It is bright and positive, dark and twisty, bold and daring, full of life and death. Red makes a statement, and is always seen. Most cars stopped for speeding are red, stop signs are red, Christmas is red, heat is red, pain is red, love is red, blood is red. I remember watching myself bleed as a kid. I was rollerblading through the neighborhood and saw some older kids grinding the curb. I thought to myself, sliding looks fun! I like to slide. I made my approach, of course at a distant curb from the tweenagers to protect my neighborhood reputation, or lack thereof one. I pushed off with my right blade gaining a slight speed at a gentle angle towards the curb of the side walk, knees bent, focused directly on the stretched corner of this strange cube. I leapt enough to clear the edge and locked on between the 2nd and 3rd wheels of my blades anticipating freedom to hit my soul like riding through the curl of a wave. The gritty concrete gripped me, holding me like a fearful mother, freezing my skates, throwing my momentum from my hips over my shoulders and into the street where I began. I threw out my arms as airbags for my body and felt my hands scratching the rocky crust, grating the skin on my lower palms. I frantically looked up to see if anyone had observed the failure of my treacherous feat. The older kids rolled on further down the road, oblivious to my presence. Quickly, I leapt back up on my blades and scurried away to a vacant grassy knoll at the park nearby. I dabbed the blood into the grass, my grandmother would be furious if I stained my jeans. As the adrenalin subsided the sting began to slightly grow. I peered at the back of my hands slowly turning them outward revealing the consequence of my decisions. I watched the cool blue veins in my wrist, I could see each blood cell like a group of rafters on the Wenatchee, flowing into my palms, and out the perforated holes on the juicy part of the hand under my thumb. I could almost see the transition in slow motion, life turning to pain. Blue turning to red. I whimpered for a short instance, consumed in self pity as the red slowly filled the small pieces of my skin that had been torn away. Then, I saw it, almost for the first time, this amazing color. It invigorated me, empowered me, entranced me. It had texture and depth that inspired me to live. It was beautiful. Red has always been my favorite color since.

Monday, November 7, 2011


New Phantogram track has been hitting the waves. It keeps the feel and vibe that I love about Phantograms original album. Perhaps not as memorizing as 'Mouthful of Diamonds' but urges you to wanna take a large bong toke and to dance by yourself in your living room.

 New Black Keys on the way out too! I don't know how I feel about this track. I am being a little bit judgemental I believe, but if this is their new shit, their best shit is behind them as your shit usually is.
I always enjoy random guys dancing in videos, but after Christopher Walken guested in Fatboy Slims Weapon of Choice video, nothing has been able to compare. Still a solid shit, I mean track.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Watercolor Painting "These Arms" A Lo-Fi Record Adventure

Excuse me, could you please remove your shoes before entering, Socks Too!! Bare feet. Now, pretend that your feet are one; they collide together and join harmoniously. Yes, good and now your entire body is just that. Naked as your two bare feet, excuse me, one bare foot that is representing your body as a whole... Do you work out?  More so, are you comfortably confused, naked as a large foot man or woman!? Great!! Now take your big toe, which I suppose would translate to being your head, and dip into your favorite color. Now dip all your toes!  Like your ears and eyes, nose and teeth, dip all them little piggy’s in the paint. Okay, okay… so now, now we have facetiously developed an alternate reality to create with! Or, we have created an appropriate atmosphere for listening to the new album “These Arms” by Watercolor Paintings!

A lo-fi record adventure, at times is somewhat mysterious, in such a tech savvy industry, it sounds like it could have been a demo in 1978.  In the world today of laptop DJs and an endless list of at home studio record labels uploading tracks onto the internet like pissing into the ocean, what is lo-fi and someone who sucks at recording gets confused. The difference is not in the equipment, but inside your soul!  I’ve never met Ms. Redman, but I know her soul is all the technology needed to portray her feelings, she knows what she wants.  At times the ambiance on the tracks seem to be of a friend filled living room, outside in the front yard cars passing, some tracks sound like a gymnasium or cafeteria, some sound  back or side stage preshow. What it doesn’t sound like is a soundless vocal booth. Her words are powerful, witty, and at times just cutely confused in the ukulele twang or harmony vocal. Though I realized that I listened to the album in two distinct ways; one being that I intently listened to the lyrical content, or two, would find the specific words to be lost and the sound simply combusting and reconnecting into a gritty duet of string and voice upon sound waves that have never been genetically modified. But, sometimes you just want some beef and processed cheese on it.

The world doesn’t like fresh.  A super size me civilization has tolled the common man’s brain and what he believes to be good. Even myself at first listen found the sounds to be unlistenable in an inadvertent setting.  When I played the album for the first time, it was over doing other writing and work, playing in the background, and was lost in my thoughts to deem this artist as another confused girl with a guitar and group of fun loving hipster friends in California, who’s intentions are to be ultra unique, creating overused themes of timeless youthful ponders and thoughts. Was my stereotype correct? With all these Neko Case wannabees playing there intimate sets filled with lifeless, movementless crowds, falling into the feminism of Lillifest and woman’s rights in the 21st century, a Folklife fanatic, hairy armpits and all! I looked up from my screen and saw myself in the reflection atop my browser opened to Google +. My face surrounded the screen like a connect-the-dots puzzle. I was becoming a social network, filled with judgment! NEVER!! I rushed to the closet and threw off my clothes, I don’t need THEM!! You see, I found that I was being just that, a hypocritical music whore stereotyping artists in genres I don’t particularly like or listen to often!! As timing usually plays a key part in life, it did now.  An acapella antidote called ‘Bigger than Yours’ began to play. The simple ideas of comfort and love created an instant feeling in my heart! I slid the socks of my feet with the opposite foots toe, and imagined them as my face watercolor painting. The harmonies created smooth glides across gritty brick walls, and I said okay, this lo-fi folk thing is cool with me!

I continued to listen with intent, naked at my desk, freed of societal chains directing my opinions to my heart, and not my facebook status. This slowly started to transition as the music charmed me to begin to draw. Lines became a man, which became a man with a stick and a pinecone. He soon began to use the pinecone to record the singing of a woman growing out of a tree nearby. The trees leaves slowly burned into the sunset atop the page and my wrist began to weaken as the last track “Spider Web” began to play. I decided it would be a good time to medicate. I found even now, that through the record, I still in my nudity was nit picking little things in my brain due to the low-fi recording; loss of tone and dynamics, clips and pops. Then, during ‘Spider Web’, it sounded perfect. The sweet harmonies broke my heart and made me cry yet smile again by the next line. Ms. Redman’s voice was charming my pants off! Well, they were already off, but you know what I mean. I found that I love her song, her voice. It’s so sweet and lovely, tender, silly and fun! Yes, and as I said before Ms. Redman knows what she wants. Not a mass of people giving her track 15 seconds of a listen and judging the hell out of it. She wants the people who will intently listen to HER. Her voice was designed by rainbows for people to listen to it, for people to paint to it, to make love to it, to be inspired by something so small.

Now remove your foot from foot, and extract your body to become whole again. But let them walk the streets of our world knowing that you can be naked and transform inside or outside anything whenever you want. Embrace what is not real, what is real, and choose to embrace art that was made to be art and not a product of consumption. Choose to listen to the new record “These Arms” by Watercolor Paintings! Oh, and yes, you can put your shoes back on. Thank you.