New Year's Eve, or the Disambiguation of the Old Calendarists:


May we all experience the rebirth, so symbolic of the holiday upon us, both individually, and collectively. There is much to ruminate, though in time it's assembled matter will provide the paving stones on the road to tomorrow. And tonight as we ingest popular media's culmination of the last year of civilization, keep in mind, the world is what you make it. So here's to the promise of a productive year ahead.

Though downloads are explodingly popular, the generously textured canvas that was this year's music scene did little to alleviate sagging L.P. sales, and in my eyes, some of the best output this year consisted of rehashed material.

Best Releases of 2005:

5. Neil Young; Prarie Wind
4. White Stripes; Get Behind Me Satan
3. Fionna Apple; Extraordinary Machine
2. Bob Dylan; The Bootleg Series Vol. 7
1. Crimson Jazz Trio; King Crimson Songbook Vol.1

Honorable Mention:
Sun Kil Moon; Tiny Cities
Mars Volta; Frances the Mute
Phish; New Year's Eve 1995

Suspending Disbelief in the Post Critical Era


The "Monolith Manuscripts" have been completed, the result of some prolific Friday night sessions that began back in October, (see last entry). The multi media work on paper above, Anthropomorphic Starfish, was a direct inspiration from those assemblies, though the piece is usually accompanied by various vocal noises.
The Manuscripts were originaly conceived during a weekend's camp on a plateau littered with quarried stones, resembling various obelisks, which we proceeded to assemble into a monolith field. How these innate objects took on such stature with the slightest of manipulation was indeed symbolic, and inspirational. Though the Manuscript itself picked up some serious momentum come mid October, much was penned in the field. The result is craggy, and at time directionless, but in all, quite compelling. It will be published, in some form, on the internet, not here, but on it's own site eventually. Foremost it demonstrated that the creative lunacy of the moment can be manifested into a plausible document. A new project is already in the works.
Mass Media Culture to coin a phrase is an oxymoron, the decent guitar solo has virtually dissapeared in today's music, and we harness nature religiously. Does the answer lie within Beethoven's bones, or in some ancient Mayan mural, the Dead Sea scrolls? It not only is the solstice, but also Frank Zappa's bithday (1940), celebrate accordingly. I suggest pinion.

Current Listening:

Japancakes: If I Could See Dallas
Velvet Underground: Peel Slowly and See
Modest Mouse: The Fruit That Ate Itself
Godspeed You Black Emporer!: Lift Yr. Skinny Fists Like Antannae to Heaven
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club: Howl

A Slice of A Dabble in Verbal Babble...Live in the Studio with the Music Psycho


Maggie went to Georgia, and Marley went to the great beyond,
the recollections of those events, are not extremely fond.
We move forward in the wrong direction, until we get things right.
It doesn't happen every day, it happens overnight.
The window reveals an image of solitude and peace, upon which we gaze for solutions to our tumultuous world of struggle.
Walk on brother, keep on moving forward in your own direction, even when the others say it's wrong (or left).
Staring out the window, for hours and hours, with no apparent solution....we walk to the chemist's locker to fix an elixir to cure the confusion......
Now it's all becoming unclear to me, the best way to face reality,
It's going to happen anyway, don't clutter the path with karma.

Autumn's pith has finally been revealed, and now December's shag has found us. Our crutch is our crippled vocabulary.
Dammit! I forgot the "D" thing again. It's a "D" chord with life and emotion. I meant to bring it from the archives, but the safe wasn't open today.

Soon you will see that the power of "D" can overtake the strongest of minds and cause harmonious cohabitation amongst adversaries, forcing love upon the unloving, like an ant devouring your favorite aunt.YUMMM!

You shant and can't rant!

J. Bauer

Baby You've Lost That Nerve Growth Factor
The metaphorical piece above is titled "11". It is a page from a ficticious anatomy book, highlighting the shortcoming's of humanity. The thumb and chin represent the clumsiness of man, while the clever and saddle, gunstock denote the harnessing of nature for our benefit. Pen and Ink, 8x12, composed in March of 2004. A fit for any puritan holiday celebration, or related curiosa.

The Drake Equation, Hubble's Theory, Bauer's Postulate, and Other Significant Mantras of the Cirque du Jour

Reading an article about sick building syndrome, and how it may be related to Infrasounds, I stumbled onto the elephant, and their mysterious social circles. These creatures host greeting parties, laugh to express joy, may possess some form of E.S.P. to communicate to each other, and have more emotional range than most human beings.
The infrasound: a sound with a frequency too low to be detected by the human ear, often occured naturally from ocean waves, avalanches, earthquakes, volcanoes and meteors. The sound itself is known to cause feelings of apprehension and fear without conciously knowing. It it can at times make people feel vaguely that superntural events are taking place, and as you may already know certain animals, and media conglomerates already exploit it's very boundries. Living life on life's terms, but keeping it a little loose.
The explotation of the instant gratification of today's way of life is already passe, though what is not, is the sensation of downloadable music. Acknowledging the fact that there is no degredation of quality in copying digitel music, which seperates it from any other method of reproduction, the abandonment of the album is troublesome. (Many main stream artists excluded) The release, or album desires a listen in it's entirety. The emotional peaks and valleys of song arrangement, the anticipation. Though very few still touch stylus to vinyl these days, or know what a good side is, for it is a time when synthesizers virtually mimic the process of playing every instrument. To pick and choose cuts so easily deflates the entire industry, as you have taken the mystery out of the artist's latest composition, the album. Plus whatever happened to these arguments of analog warmth, or the frequency cutoff and quantization noise of digital music? What is the expected lifetime of our civilization?

Current Obsession: The Phish feast @ 7:00 pm Sirius Radio; Jam On Ch. #17
Too Groovy to effectively dig upon.

Stony Flagella In The Era Of Fossilized Conjugation

1. Theoretical Impinging Inertia: the passing of creative Chi though direct inspiration. Artisanal currency. Not wholly organic, (or wooly for that matter), but possibly with synthetic, or modified addititives. Pragmatic, woolly, thinking, lacking bitter malady, though the brilliant crimson of Autumn's maples has faded, and the morning wakes bearded with frost. A salve for modern media's promotion of anti-intellectualism.

Album in Review:
Extraordinary Machine/Fiona Apple: Another contemporary masterpiece for Fiona Apple. She is the sultry interpretation of Nina Simone woven to a Post-Modern Tom Waits riff machine.

Adventures in Carnelian Jewelry

Faint whispers of Winter in the November night air. Is the planet crying out to us? Tsunami, earthquakes, flooding, hurricanes, red tide? Bird flu mad cow? Is the reckless abandon in which violence is weilded globally the result of grazing upon our poisoned soils? Cat food. Cats I'd say have a much deeper appreciation for epicurean finery, more so than any other domestic animal. Maybe, save man.
The work above is entitled "Soulfish", a watercolor from '03. It seemed a fitting piece, for this piece.
Lyrical Overheardature:
More housing developments go up,
Named after the things they replace,
So welcome to Minnow Brook,
And welcome to Shady Place.

Novacaine Stain: Modest Mouse

Halloween '05 Edition or Hammer Please Dont Hurt "em

Tonight I celebrate the holiday by showcasing a projection version of the Mel Brook's classic Young Frankenstein. A diverse crowd will attend theis celebration of lunacy, as it is, as always, open to the public. Mostly seniors, but some middle aged, and younger people. I hope you are enjoying this pagan holiday in a way that will also give you, some personal gratification.

This photo is my holiday offering, it is the group of Surrealists, Paul Eluard, Hans Arp, Yves Tanguay, Andre Breton, Max Ernst, Salvador Dali, Man Ray, and others. Maybe they will bring you inspiration, to go to your studio, or whatever space you have, and make things.

My Current Rotation:

Wicked Grin: John Hammond- spellbinding interpretations of some Tom Wait's material.

Prarie Wind/ Neil Young- Prarie Wind Blowin' through my head.

Firewater/ Silkworm- 50 minutes of thundering bass supporting some measured madness.

In the Wake of Poseidon/ King Crimson- Greg Lake's vocals transcend Fripp's mastery of mellotron, and guitar, an essential rediscovery from 1970.

You Cant Do That On Stage Anymore Vol. 5/ Frank Zappa- some 1968 Mothers, and an ill-fated 1982 concert in Geneva that ended in a riot.

The Young Person's Guide To Grant St. Press


Grant St. Press has finaly reached the internet, though I must admit, this latest incarnation serves only as an outlet for a cultural phenomenom that is currently being authored, and is soon to slap it's steamy tentacles across this very medium.
It will serve as the elixer to the bourgeois convention of our uncertain social climate.
The Press itself has been in existance for just over 4 years. It was cultured at the bottom of a dead end street in Southern New England, in a house which was previously owned by an African American renaissance woman, who in her later years passed away on the premises, and it is said by some that her energy is still felt today. Related or not, this has been a fertile ground to sire one's tenets. I myself, am a 35 year old recreation therapist/ multi media artist, and the Press is my development. It is a vehicle for my artistic contribution to our civilization, and as of late has become a bit of a collective, thus outgrowing my individual moniker. For now I will subject to you to unprecedented personal influence, though this is no diary, but more of a taste that is the madness of my world. And realize a more substantial reckoning is on the wing, until then you have a "piece of my mind guarantee". So go throw some Clay Aiken on, and put some extra cheese on that McGriddle sandwich.
You will also need to keep your wick trimmed.