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The Saga Archive Men
Being Beautiful: With Bells and Whistles...and Balls Breathing
Fire into Matt and John Singing Baritone, Wings and Hooty Hoots The Noise Of Silence Our original original; featuring mystery backup vocals and two pillaged ghost solos Pillow Talk Balladeers, Making-Up, and the Magic Fingers of Dr. Neau
The Importance of Alone Time: How Dr.
Neau Found His Voice Spike's Annual Report: Battle Weary, Significantly
Richer, and Ferociously Greedy
The Passion of Dr. Neau
Surprise Attack Pillage by Jamie: the
Young and Valiant
Two Troublemakers and a Pre-Pillage to
Make Matt Wilson Cry
Jamie's Quest, Whisper Kiss, and the
Mysterious Power of Pulsars
The Tricky and Surprising Hopes and
Dreams Revival
Existential Angst, Wild House Bird
Superstition, and the power of La La’s
Secret Weapons, Stolen Signs, and the
Lone Pillager Mike Dead
The Lessons of Three Kings, and the
Emergence of Hinterland Pillagers
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Men
Being Beautiful: With Bells and Whistles...and Balls The beauty of women is a power that can have a strange effect on men. But what happens when men attempt to be beautiful to woo and seduce? Beauty can get wonderfully weird. Add to that your typical painful wrenching of unrequited love in a Matt Wilson ballad and you'll discover the eerily pretty song "The Follidaze Ballad of Highland Heights". Matt sings his beautiful yet dark and cold winter story in his unmatchable falsetto voice. This mysterious gem was never conventionally released, but was long ago offered on Matt's trippy site "Main Output". There Matt offered these liner notes as introduction to his tale:
But what lesson is Matt teaching us here? What does this frigid myth really mean? Who the fuck knows? Dr. Neau has his theories. Could the "Highland Heights" represent Matt's earlier band Trip Shakespeare? Could the "Men" be Matt, Dan, and John, and the "Women" mean to represent Elaine? What if "Follidaze" came to be The New Standards Holiday show, where Trip Shakespeare re-united and brought Elaine back to our town? If so, it worked.
And whatever the intent, why does Matt refuse to play or record this forlorn mythology of men trying to be beautiful too? The fans clearly long for it as evident when the audience shouted out their pleas for "Follidaze" at the recent New Century show in Minneapolis. This public plea compelled Dr. Neau to immediately throw us into our most furious and fervent pillage in history. Within two weeks we parlayed our plunder and offer it here to all of you, the wintery holiday classic Follidaze.
This is our rendition of Follidaze, our display of what happens when men strive to be beautiful. To that end, we threw in bells and whistles and balls. Oddly mournful bells, some of them black. Soulful whistles and wails ringing a haunting serenade. And since we are not as beautiful as Matt Wilson, our singing has some balls to it. The beauty is present in spirit, in the spirit of those other deep singing men; Lou Reed, Tom Waits, Frank Zappa, Greg Brown, Louis Armstrong, and Leonard Cohen. Though we may not conjure their voices, if you listen closely you will hear, we certainly conjure their souls. It might help if you close your eyes. The Plunder - "The Follidaze Ballad of Highland Heights" We are...
Breathing
Fire into Matt and John Cinders, in the cool damp dirt of the morning after, make for bleak mementos of the roaring fire that was the center-sun of so much robust singing and raucous dancing just hours before. A fire of unimaginable heat draws gleeful revelers inward with its bidding warmth, its whipping and flapping radiant flags. The mesmerizing blaze pulls pagans closer until their faces are seared with a flash of pain from the intensity, the edge that keeps them from entering the burn. There they hover, held in the circle of light. There on the edge of burning, they sing above the roar, they dance like fools of the wicked kind along with the laughing demon flames, and they mock the darkness of a night that seems will never end. But they tire. The burning mellows. The pagans cede the cold of night and while eyes are closed, twilight brings another day. The morning cinders seem deader than death, blackness incapable of light, frail and ready to crumble to ash. But a faint wisp of smoke may be the only proof necessary that the cinders hold embers. And embers require only a breath. A focused pagan breath, sustained and earnest, will resuscitate a heat that belies the ash and cinder. A heat still burning hotter than the dancing flames. A heat ready to burst a new dancing rite. Such embers, glowing and burning unnoticed, have been laying and waiting for a breath. Aaron is one such ember, a Hinterland Pillager who once danced and sang among us pagans at the burning fire of Trip Shakespeare. His unlikely black cinder is the tuba that he breathes into, causing the glow and radiance of Matt’s song; “Drummer Like Me”. Here we see Hinterland Pillager Aaron breathing life into his big black cinder tuba igniting the blazing hot bonfire that is “Drummer Like Me” How many cinders, cinders that are really hidden embers, are secretly waiting for a breath? Pillaging Matt knows of many, many more than you surmise. And we suspect many more than that. We will follow the smoke and expose the embers for you to blow. And we are busy building a new pyre of our own. But tonight we all reunite around the fire to blow on Matt and John, breathing new fuel into their embers until they burst into flames. We reunite to dance and sing the rites of the Twilight Hours. The Plunder - "Tubist Like Me" We are...
Singing
Baritone, Wings and Hooty Hoots Don't fall for it. It’s a trick question that’s loaded to kill your joy. The asker puts you on a plank and pokes your insecurity until you plop in the fjord. The implied query is “Can you sing well?” But that’s a treacherous trap too since you can only hear your singing muddled through the density of your own cranium. We all sing. We sing in our selves as we listen to the music that resonates with our experience of the world, resonates our life. A song becomes music when we are singing along. Sometimes we sing out loud, but mostly in loud, and always we sing well. Songs of heartache, songs of rage, songs of longing, songs of love. Music is our human dialect of emotion, and the soundtrack of our stories. And so, the real question is; “How do you sing?” Out loud? In Loud? With your voice? Or do you sing with some other instrument? An intriguing common phenomenon in the evolution of music is that when most musical instruments were invented and embraced, the universal acclaim was; “This is the most beautiful sounding instrument because it sounds most like the human voice singing!” That was the proclaim for the guitar, and the flute, and the violin, and the saxophone, and then the electric guitar. Why is this always the measure? Because we are ever seeking the instrument that gives voice to our song, gives us the ability to sing! And so it does not matter that you can not sing like Matt Wilson, it matters that you sing with Matt Wilson. Singing well is measured by it's purity of resonance with our stories, with our passions, with our souls. Which, quite often, are frail and trembling, hoarse and raw, roaring and coarse, or whispering of love. So, to answer the question; "Can Spike sing?" You're Goddamn right. Dr. Neau sings with his rich baritone guitar, and Jane with her wings. You can sing too.
Sing with us! Sing the beautiful Lulu, and you will hear the ache of missing, and the nostalgia of your own past. You will hear the voices of Dan, John, and Matt resonating with the strings of Dr. Neau. You will hear the wings of Jane hitting higher notes than you ever thought you could reach. In the quiet places, you will hear yourself singing Matt’s guitar, singing his riff in your own voice. And if you sing all the way through, again and again, your voice will join with Spike singing the hooty hoots of a cowboy riding a slow saunter into the dust of a sunset long passed. We are... The
Noise of Silence Silence is the void that allows our fears to expand, our dread to grow, and our futility to bloom. Like the surreal morphosis as light cedes to darkness, every creak and cricket becomes evidence of our soul's doom. Where once there was merriment and frolic, in the vacuum of silence there is drudgery and malaise. Where once there was dancing and twirls, the silence weights us as the plodding mundane. Where once there was Matt's lilting prose, now there are the tumbleweeds of dormant speakers. And as the metronome of our lives tocks onward, the silence builds like the waxing of plaque in our heart's chambers. Where have all the Pillagers gone? What brings this winter of dis-concert? Why has Matt forsaken us? In the pain of silence, the drumming of these dark doubts pulses between our ears. And we begin to lose our grip on the magic. We Pillagers of Matt shoulder our share of blame. But now we stand and confront you, and with a backhanded bitch-slap, we scold: "Knock that shit off." Never doubt the music of Matt. And never question the ferocity of his Pillagers. We have endured the silences before. We have seen Matt seem to falter when he shit-canned the mighty Trip Shakespeare. And what did the silence that followed bear? The glory of Burnt, White & Blue. And that album's subsequent silence has born unto us the charm and warmth of The Flops. Which, by its requisite silence, delivered unto us the beauty of The Twilight Hours' Stereo Night. And our new found dead air, what will it bring? It will bring us the never ending geyser of music that we treasure. Like the lulls in that Yellowstone hole-in-the-rock, if you bide the Park Ranger's cue rope, Matt's subterranean pressure will build, in time, and he will spew his next bevy of heartbreaking beauty, raining a mess of musical wetness down on all of the faithful. Yet, within these awkward silences, our fears bring wild suppositions; Did he break the band? Did he let em all go? Is he again burnt and blue? The why's are not for us to know. The question remains the same; will there be more? The answer is always, the answer is always, yes. A smarty wiseacre once said "Every new ending is some other ending's beginning". Or something like that. But what does that mean? It means we're all going to die. So what's the point? The point is, we ain't dead yet. Matt will muse. Pillagers will pillage. And the music that we love will never die. So, to demark this everlasting truth, we, finally, break the silence, and we offer you our next plunder. We chose a song that is one of Matt's most naked and painful confessions of his silent periods, "Landing". In this song, Matt is transparent in his struggle of lostness, owning his self shunning, apologetic for causing aloneness, singing his silence. But we take this song, and follow the model of the patron saint of shattering silence; Dave Grohl. We take that other ending's end and turn it into a rocking force of pop celebration.
In this photo, we see the rock god Dave Grohl, who is our model and patron saint of shattering the crushing noise of silence. Dave also inspires our rock god facial hair aspirations Like the phoenix Grohl, we blaze our chorus, over and over, shouting defiantly against the storm that is the noise of silence, secure in our determination; "I want to live, I believe I can change again."
In this moving picture, we see our pilot of our plane on a line into space Dave Grohl thanking you for being a Pillaging Matt fan. Join us. Refute the silence. Sing our chorus at the top of your voices, over and over. Until Matt spews again, join us in…Pillaging Matt. We are... Our original original; featuring mystery backup vocals and two pillaged
ghost solos We are... Pillow Talk Balladeers,
Making-Up, and the Magic Fingers of Dr. Neau Lauded
as the epitome of passion, young lovers are certain they are every
artist's muse. And they will lay claim to this lover's day. Certain
too that they are life's focal of lust and desire, they
will briefly play out themes of stereotyped courting, and quickly skip,
to the end. Bless them. But there are a few special artists, wise and knowing, who reveal the depth and the breadth of another love. These are the Pillow Talk Balladeers. They sing of the lovers that have been young, and now know what it takes to return there. Lovers who hurt, and then heal. Lovers who have learned to passionately chase each other through weariness and fatigue, to find love when they can, surrounded by toys, and blankets, and papers, and nooks. Lovers that twine their fingers in ecstasy, after they have twined those same fingers in desperate reassurance as they faced the greatest of all fears, together. These lovers know the
importance of loving. These lovers lay on their pillows, glad to be rid of the world, no longer caring to be on show, grateful instead to be behind close doors, sharing the love of forgiveness, the love of staying together, the love of reassurance. These love songs become classic, and saved for those nights, at home, while others sleep, with lights low. Matt Wilson wrote more than one of these, but if you ever heard John Munson sing Late, in the acoustic set, at the 400 Bar, then you know that it was John who owned that song. Too precious, we will not pillage John's Pillow Talk Ballad. But there is another of Matt's treasures that was disguised inside pop tempo. Dr. Neau knew better, and liberated Unlucky Lady making Spike a Pillow Talk Balladeer forever. We won't sully the beauty with technical talk of converting a 4/4 song into a 6/8 timing. And we won't kill the mood with stories about how many make-ups it took to get the final version mastered. But we will warn you: this song is for mature audiences only. The tender pleas, the gentle whispers, and the magic fingers of Dr. Neau will cause clothing to simply fall from shoulders. Our pillage of Unlucky Lady is our special Valentines gift to all of you lovers who know... ...how to truly make love.
We are...
The
Importance of Alone Time: How Dr. Neau Found His Voice Left alone? Of course you are. Even Spike faces these fears. And, as we have learned from the lessons of one year pillaging, there is much to cherish and reap from our collaborations, our joined feats. Yet just as we celebrate the melding of our powers, a new and unexpected trial daunts us. The dread... Alone time. Why? Why, when we waited so long to find each other, when we faced so many battles, and have come through stronger and bonded closer, why now must there be this ripping separation of alone time? Is this, already, the beginning of the end? Are we not always better united? Only by facing the darkness of these fears do we learn the truth. Alone time is essential for the collective to thrive. There are many examples of these truths, as proven by the masters; Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band Hall and Oates KISS Bill and Hillary Yet the greatest proof is the reward that comes from trust and faith, to give that space, to risk the distance. And here, like the lowly and grotesque caterpillar, cloaking himself in hiding from the world, seeming to cower away in isolation, entombed in alone time... ...our own Dr. Neau has emerged anew in glorious splendor, unfurling his wondrous wings with a solo pillage of Matt Wilson's lonely lament: "Hello Caller". And with his metamorphis Dr. Neau has found, his voice.
In this vision we see a mesmerizing Dr. Neau who has gone through the metamorphic transcendence that can only emerge when everyone just gives him a little fucking alone time. If we click him we can be more metamorphous mesmerized, but don't over do it. Not only a solo pillage, but Dr.Neau also soars with his first lead vocal plunder. Here are the details of his song: " - Telecaster (left)
and SG '61 (right), each played through the Tiny Terror with a fuck of
a lot of gain, direct miked. What will this mean for our future? There are no guarantees. But it is the passion, the weapons, and the courage of each of us that brought us together and made us great. And we must trust that, left alone, greatness will emerge, and lead us all back together again. We are... Spike's
Annual Report: Battle Weary, Significantly Richer, and
Ferociously Greedy All my life's musical quests and ventures up to that time had been solo, alone. The prospect of finally joining harmonies, guitar woven jamming, and combining melodic interpretations, seemed ethereal. I was eager to step into new dimensions of art and performance. And we achieved all of that, and more. I did not expect all the fighting. Pillaging is as violent as it sounds, with seemingly constant battles of creative ideals, clashes of craft inclinations, warring over tempos and la las, grappling over chord changes and strumming tendencies, capo altercations, vocal effects disputes, and the unfinished cowbell brawl. Not to mention the brutal parody feud. Pillagers are not pussies. But it seems that our brute force and savage assaults are turned on to ourselves as much or more than upon pillaging Matt. Is this what it means to be a band? I have learned that the music comes from the joining, and perhaps even more so, from the clashing. There is a certain mental illness that can be described as the sensation of not feeling any sense of self. That is, the person does not feel like they exist, except, when they are involved in intense emotional turmoil with another person. When there is turmoil within a relationship, whether it is rage or jealousy or accusation or abuse, they feel real, they feel tangible. And when there is calm, their self disappears, and they are empty. Therefore, they must create interpersonal bedlam, primarily with their lover. And, by the nature of their disorder, they inevitably have many of those. They feel real within the strife. And as has been said, it ain't pretty. As we pillage Matt, our plunder comes from the power of joining, and our plunder is also born of our battles. We do not want to frighten our fans. We are not destroying. However, the treasures we create require this hammering. In fact, it may be that the greatest treasures of all have come from those who have been brave enough, and fierce enough, to endure the joining and the battling; heroes like Lennon and McCartney, Hall and Oates, The Captain and Tennille, and perhaps everyone that Matt Wilson has ever collaborated with. Even his own brother. In fact, Matt has been brave enough, even now, to tussle with Steve Roehm. Thank you Matt Wilson. And what has our bravery, collaboration, and conflict reaped in our first year? Unimaginable riches! Four glorious pillage raids producing our plunder; Reception, Will You Be Found, Troublemaker, and Yes. And we have schemed and laid plans for many more, already begun. We have joined together the Wild House Bird singers. We have sounded the rally of the Hinterland Pillagers who have already produced their own plunder; The Crane, Susannah, Necklace, and a solo Will You Be Found. And there is more Hinterland Plunder on its way as well. But more than all, we have started the movement, spread the message, and we have even... gained fans. We will reward them. We will not stop. We intend to conquer... an album... a concert... and more. And so to celebrate, on this anniversary of our birth, I offer two gifts. First, to show my growth, I will settle the nastiest fight that Spike and Dr. Neau have fought thus far... the parody feud. Dr. Neau has insisted, that his rendition of Rebecca is a pillage that belongs in our plunder, even though it is a parody. I will not recount the horrors of that fight here (but will gladly reveal the wisdom of my rightness if you ask me in person). Instead, I will resign my resistance and add Dr. Neau's Rebecca to our plunder page. In this video we see an accurate depiction of how Dr. Neau ultimately won the nasty elongated parody feud, pretty much by brute force. And second, I will share a video of our greatest achievement during our first year in Pillaging Matt, a live performance featuring Spike, Dr. Neau, John Munson, Steve Roehm, and Matt Wilson, playing our version of Trip Shakespeare's Reception. Un-fucking-believable. The Plunder - "Dan Wilson (Audience Director)" We are... The
Passion of Dr. Neau What is it that ignites the burning? How do you account for some people's taste? Why is love so blinding? How do you explain the passion of some men? Who would dare to rock a mullet? Is a mustache ever really warranted? What's with Matt's choice of eyeglasses? Often, questions such as these are best left unasked. We've learned not to judge. And that is why Spike did not blink nor query when, as he joined alliance with Dr. Neau to form Pillaging Matt, it became clear and obvious that Dr. Neau pays homage to the Gods of Rock: AC/DC. It is more than a penchant. Dr. Neau owns all of the AC/DC guitars. But more importantly, he owns all of the AC/DC licks, hooks, riffs, and sounds as well. He rocks all of the AC/DC lip curls, the snarls, the growls, the stomps, and the struts. He exudes the ghosts, and the living spirits, of the lads past and present, and he rocks it all, loud. AC/DC is the passion of Dr. Neau. And passion, though mysterious and unexplained, is a beauty to behold. And that is why, while attending the "Lyric Arts" Twilight Hours show on March 18 2011, when Matt Wilson was singing his recent beauty "Yes", Spike leaned over and whispered into Dr. Neau's ear; "This one. We pillage this song next." Dr. Neau's brow furrowed. Spike continued. "Except, we play it AC/DC style." Dr. Neau arched one eyebrow high as he began to cogitate. Spike added, "All we have to do is drop it down half a step." That was all it took. Spike had planted the devious notion, and Dr. Neau was ablaze. Scheming and plotting, planning and composing, on guitar necks and ipad apps, measures and tab, drum sequences, leads, and flair. This pillage would be Dr. Neau's feat, the ravage that would give prominence to all of his prize proficiencies. This would be Dr. Neau's showpiece pillage. And Spike was glad to step aside, give deference, and indulge. Dr. Neau would play all guitars and bass, program all drums, sing backup vocals, and plot every note. Spike would play cowbell. And try to sing a lead that would at least service the passion of Dr. Neau. In this video we see Dr. Neau - Pillager Prodigy - as he licks his chops sporting his ladykiller mullet, long before his destined convergence with Spike to form "Pillaging Matt". Little did he know then how he would parlay his wicked shredding skills to pillage Matt Wilson by invoking the Gods of Rock: AC/DC . Oh there would still be the bickering and squabbles about mixes and fine tuning, but by and large, this is Dr. Neaus baby. When all was said and done, Spike finally dared to ask the unasked question, and sent Dr. Neau this message: "Tell me why you like AC/DC." This was Dr. Neau's response: "One day in 2004, I came
home to the news that one of my close childhood friends, Erik, had died
in a motorcycle accident. The wake was 70 miles away and started in an
hour. We are... Surprise
Attack Pillage by Jamie: the Young and Valiant A plan? No. The answer is always, no. It takes none of those. And it takes... No excuses. Our latest Plunder from the Hinterlands comes from Jamie: the Young and Valiant. A student, living on parental stipends and financial aids, roaming the south and west, begging for music biz internships from giant ancient record companies, he posts his begging for funds to support his artistic dreams. No time, no job, no money, no home of his own, Jamie intends to do it all: write and create, sing and play, produce and sell, tour and reach you. Reach all of you, with his heart. Jamie is another dreamer. And Jamie is a doer. In the middle of his struggles, in the middle the night, Jamie made a surprise attack pillage straight into his notebook. In his room, on his bed, with all his heart Jamie pillaged "Will You Be Found". That's right, not only did Jamie have the balls to pillage Matt, he also pillaged... Pillaging Matt. One take, front to back, guitar and singing combined, his rendition arranged in his mind and then immediately performed, then attached to an email and sent to Spike at exactly 5:24am here is Jamie's pillage: In this video we see Jamie: the Young and Valiant in his surprise attack pillaging Matt and pillaging Pillaging Matt with his own spur of the moment rendition of "Will You Be Found". What
does it take to pillage Matt Wilson? It takes heart. It takes doing. That is all. Follow Jamie: the Young and Valliant, rid yourself of your excuses... and pillage! The Plunder - "Will You Be Found?" performed by Jamie, the Young and Valiant We are... Two
Troublemakers and a Pre-Pillage to Make Matt Wilson Cry Ironically, we must try to
make Matt cry because we are inadequate, incapable of grasping his new
vision. Only then will we know he
feels what we feel about our beloved "Troublemaker". Can you hear us Matt Wilson? We are... Jamie's
Quest, Whisper Kiss, and the Mysterious Power of Pulsars "Get off my lawn kid." Jamie froze, startled but undeterred. "Are you Dr. ...." "Scram." Jamie stood firm. His white snowpants with puffs and red boots had come too far. "But I... I want to..." He paused as Dr. Neau slowly straightened and turned to glare him down. "I want to be a Pillager." He punched the words at the wizened toolmaster with as much grit as he could muster. It wasn't much. Dr. Neau simply turned back to his task and forced more pinewood into the machine, filling the air with dust and shrill noise. Jamie set his chin tight. He pulled the small cold guitar from it's bag which was bungee strapped to the sled. He closed his eyes and began to sing. "Not rich and I play the drums, that's pretty much me..." Dr. Neau stopped working. His shoulders rose and fell in a long heavy sigh. He shut down the machinery and leaned on the lumber. Jamie sang to his back. "You could lose your luck with a drummer like me." His guitar play twinkled through the nylon strings. Tender notes rose eagerly like the first sprigs of asparagus through the cool damp soil of spring. His voice was even more tender, even more eager, and sure of the story he had sung everyday this winter, to prepare for this time. When he finished, he opened his eyes to stare at the man, awaiting his orders. He did not see the tear as Dr. Neau quickly rubbed the corner of one eye, turned to the boy and said; "If Spike can Pillage, anybody can. But there are rules. Go read the rules." Jamie swelled. "Where are the rules? I can't find em." Dr, Neau barked: "They're on 'The Rules' page. Click on the little blinking pulsars." "But why are the links on the website all inside those little blinking pulsars?" Dr. Neau snarled; "I don't know! Go ask Spike, he makes up all that goofy crap. Now get off my lawn, I've got a rack to build." He flipped his switch and turned to his work. Jamie smiled at the grouch and galloped away, pulling his sled and guitar through the knee deep snow. Nothing could stop him now. ---------------- The blower spewed a constant arc of snow high above the boulevard. Blue smoke and a harsh roar drew Jamie slowly closer behind the man with the bushy silver mustache. Spike was carving a channel through banks that were taller than Jamie on both sides. The machine halted, the arc fell, and Spike killed the motor. Without turning around, he bellowed into the cold silence; "Get off my lawn, little girl." Jamie immediately shot back; "I'm not a girl. My name is Jamie. I'm a boy. And, I'm a Pillager." Jamie proclaimed his identity with all the conviction he could muster. It wasn't much. Spike turned and eyed the boy through one raised bushy eyebrow. "Says who?" "Dr. Neau." Spike snorted a scoff that curled a cloud of white breath into the frigid air. "What else did the master of disaster tell you?" "He said that you could explain the pulsars." Spike surveyed the kid with rosy pink cheeks for a long minute. He pulled two pieces of "Dubble-Bubble" bubble gum from his pocket, unwrapped them, and shoved them both into his mouth, never taking his eye off Jamie. "You know what a metaphor is Jamie?" Jamie replied, "Yeah, a meta..." Spike continued without listening. "You see Jamie, A pulsar is born when the core of a massive star is compressed during a supernova, which collapses into a neutron star. That means, a pulsar has all of the brilliance, all of the mass and density, all of the energy of the brightest stars in the heavens. "most people can't see them." "But if you look closely, if watch for the pulsing twinkle, you can discover the radiance and the resplendence of a red supergiant." Jamie's eyes grew wide; "Oh. I get it! You mean that Matt Wilson is..." "You see Jamie," Spike cut him off again as he unwrapped a third piece of bubble gum and added that to the other two, "If you want to be a Hinterland Pillager, you have to have the ability to see the pulsars, to find the magnitude that others cannot find, to grasp that immense luminosity and manifest it's full grandeur." Jamie blurted; "That's what I want to ..." Spike just continued to expound. "For example, There is the transcendental plunder that was just now conquered by the Hinterland Pillagers of the deep south. They are called Whisper Kiss." "They had the vision to reach into a deep-track cache, and reanimate the pulsing Trip Shakespeare beauty, 'Necklace'." "But more than that Jamie, they drilled into the core of this prize and culled and garnered it's inner massive stellar spectrum in a very trippy array." "Jamie, have you ever seen a grown man play a sitar?" Jamie blinked. "What?" Spike turned back to his chore. "when you think you can..." Jamie had had enough. He took out his guitar and played and sang to the back of the curmudgeon with all of the might he could muster. It was plenty. He finished with the line; "You could lose your luck, with a Pillager like me." Spike faced Jamie with a snarling smile that lifted his frosty thick mustache on one side and said; "You made Dr. Neau cry, didn't you?" Jamie just shrugged. Spike held his smile for another long minute and then said; "Go polish that pulsar a while, and when it shines, you bring it back here to Spike. You just might be a Pillager someday kid. Just keep your eye on the twinkle." "Now, get off my lawn." With that he pulled one more piece of bubble gum from his pocket, added it to the wad, yanked the old machinery back to it's raucous roar, and began spewing white pith into the air. Jamie left, pulling his sled through the snow, over the yards one after another, back toward the winter silence, and thought to himself; "What a couple of assholes." These are the notes attached to the Plunder submitted by Whisper Kiss, "with love from Athens G.A." To listen to their rendition of "Necklace", go to the Plunder page. ---------------- "My best effort given my limited time and recording skills. Managed to sneak a little bit of sitar in there. Essentially this recording is by my original music project, Whisper Kiss. On this recording I play all the
instruments except cello and sing most of the vocals. Also on vocals is The Plunder - "Necklace" performed by Whisper Kiss We are... The
Tricky and Surprising Hopes and Dreams Revival Later, I realized it was an
old Masonic Temple, and the main ceremonial hall was upstairs. John and
Matt went up to use it as a “green room” before the concert but were
scolded to leave by an official Mason who was sitting guard of the
Temple while the party ensued below. There were paintings of
George Washington on every wall. A silent projection of “The Wizard of
Oz” kept playing behind the band, but in a jumbled scene sequence,
making it even spookier. And my wife wore a sparkling tiara. She was
the stunning jewel of the party, which was not unusual at all. In this video we see Matt Wilson and John Munson singing back-up for Spike and Dr. Neau in a sweet version of “Over the Rainbow” that is the grand finale of Spike’s dream party. What
does this mean? We are... Existential
Angst, Wild House Bird Superstition, and the power of La La’s Kara, the curator of all things Trip Shakespeare with her quaint Philly accent, and Jane, our own Mrs. Braintree who is the teacher of arts in Minneapolis. The power was plenty, but
synchronizing became a daunting task. To balance this severity of our la la regimen, Spike was allowed to range free and ruthless with a crunge-shredding rhythm guitar, distorted through Dr. Neau's effects proccessor, using a customized patch titled "Spike007", that is so wicked it almost crumbled his spruce acoustic. Thank you Dr. Neau. Dr. Neau also felt this job
necessitated accumulating a whole new percussion cache, including a
high impact tambourine, accompanied by fevered lectures about the
crucial role of tambourine work in Matt's recording of "Searchers" on
Burnt, White, and Blue. Agreeing didn't seem to dissuade the Dr. from
telling you again. And again. And thank goodness, just listen to the
way that tambourine carries our clan to victory. Both of these birds flew into
those homes, fluttered about wildly, and then soared free into the
heavens above, unharmed. The Wild House Birds made our
pillage - lovely. And through this process we realized, we had all been searchers. In those formative years, while Matt exploited our vulnerable psyche, we all yearned to be found. And now, we were finally able to answer his question. Our song of La La's is our response, which we proudly proclaim. What is your response? Go to the Plunder page,
listen to our song, and join us in singing a resounding chorus of La
La's for Matt, and all the world to hear! The Plunder - "Will You Be Found?" We are... Secret
Weapons, Stolen Signs, and the Lone Pillager Mike Dead Pillaging is difficult. Plus: a bunch of la, la, la's. And stealth. How do Dr. Neau and Spike confer, collude, and meld their scheme into a pillaged prize? Bickering mostly. But Spike also uses a secret weapon. A covert hand signal. The intertwining, serpentine, duo guitar jam symbol. Dr. Neau couldn't resist boasting of the code on the Twilight Hours forum: ---------------- "Notes from the studio… ---------------- Dr. Neau teases, but the secret weapon proved to be devastatingly effective, as can be clearly heard in our version of "Reception". Listen to the break after the bridge and hear the rising glory of the Gibsons twine. close your eyes and you can see the serpentine wisps that Spike had envisioned. But our weapon is no longer secret. The very next Twilight Hours show reveals that John Munson has stolen our sign, and used it to communicate jammage to Matt right on stage! . In this video, at exactly 3:10 running time, we see John Munson use the stolen intertwining, serpentine, duo guitar jam symbol to communicate jammage to Matt right on stage. Perhaps that's one reason the latest Hinterland Pillager had the balls to go solo. Mike Dead scored our first lone pillage of Matt's rare darling "Susannah" and sent it along with this note: ---------------- "I have pillaged poor Matt pretty
hard here. This song is on some strange rarities CD compilation I got
on ebay a few years back. Looks homemade. Maybe illegal. I hope not, I
paid for it fair and square. An inadequate familiarity with the
original Trip recording so I made up the middle part which actually
goes on too long .
---------------- Does it take someone with a name as bad-ass as "Mike Dead" to pull off a solo pillage? Does it take someone with a name as bad-ass as "Mike Dead" to pirate art with a pink Telecaster? No. It requires a heart aching, and a passion inspired. Go listen to this gorgeous plunder of a wrenching undiscovered classic, and you will find that Matt's music is just too good to resist. Look into your heart and you too will find the courage and desire to join us.
The Plunder - "Susannah" performed by Mike Dead We are... The
Lessons of Three Kings, and the Emergence of Hinterland Pillagers What did we expect? Traveling alone, one thousand miles beyond one thousand miles away, where his new castle is perched over a sleepy Mexican village, King Martin the Gracious performed his own royal treasures in the back yard right next to mine! and... He needed a chair. A sturdy chair. And I knew at that moment; this was a sign! I scurried from that backyard through mine and retrieved... the sturdy steel chair painted blue. Martin Zellar sat in the sturdy steel chair painted blue, a temporary throne, from which he performed his songs, and regaled us with tales of Letterman interns, and crooked music industry weasels, and long ago parties with King Matt and the Queen of Tomorrow. After the show, I spoke with King Martin about many things, and felt compelled to confess that we were Pillaging Matt. He thought that was funny. He asked for the website address. He is truly gracious. I was able to capture a bit of youtubery, with permission, of Martin Zellar describing and then performing his beautiful song "Statue of Jesus", In this youtubery we see Martin Zellar describing and then performing his beautiful song "Statue of Jesus" in the sturdy steel chair painted blue. This must be a sign. But a sign of what? What does this mean? Soon after, we received another sign, a message, on facebook. Directly from John Munson! He had somehow discovered our pillaging! On the Pillaging Matt facebook page! And this is what King Munson the Benevolent said: ---------------- "This kicks ass. You guys are geniuses. Love. It's like Matt filtered through something... I can't put my finger on it... YET. Maybe you should produce the next TTH recording." ---------------- Yet another sign. Another lesson. Does Munson actually approve of our poetic violence? Or is he patronizing, sarcastic, or ridiculing? We pretty much don't care! He acknowledged us, Pillaging Matt! Reassured, we were more determined than ever. And then, Matt Wilson himself, kicked in our facebook door with his uptown boot and busted us redhanded, like Kojak bending a thug over the fender of a Ford Gran Torino: ---------------- "I'm planning to re-pillage the best of your booty and release it as my own! Double-boomerang meta pillage! Please proceed!" ---------------- Ok Matt Wilson, king of maudlin melody, you caught us. Busted. Guilty as charged. Yes, we stole your music. And we look silly with our little mp3s and man cave studios and monotone singing. Go ahead, you can intimidate with your threats, mock with your wit. But we will not stop. We are, in fact, quadrupling our efforts. And that's not all. You're too late. The Jihad has begun. We have been contacted by the first of the: Hinterland Pillagers. A band of pillagers from the near south called "Big Mean Turtle" submitted their version of "The Crane" along with the message displayed here: ---------------- "I'm Going in. I know that Matt can create an
impenetrable barrier of sound that perhaps not even Dan’s Grammy is
capable of piercing. I think Matt could be planning some sort of world
domination, and that this scheme is the first step. It’s almost as
insidious as when I saw him play that duet with a Marimba player in a
tea house in Kansas City. But, I am FOR world domination, as long as I
can get in on it. ---------------- What does this mean? It means that nothing will stop us now. The call is out, and we know there are others, other Hinterland Pillagers. There is Floyderdog of the southwest. And RyanOBoogie, and DanSheehan of the east. And the dread Heisenberg of the west. And many, many more unknown. They have been pillaging, in the secret of their basements, and through the stealth of headphones, plugged in to quarter inch input jacks, pillaging late into the night, for years. They are hidden, but soon, they too will emerge. And there are collaborators, even now, scheming with us for our next raid. What lessons have we learned from these three kings? Not much. We are pillagers, not lesson learners. But what lesson can be learned from the courage of the Hinterland Pillagers and the collaborators? The lesson is for you Matt Wilson: We will never be silenced. Deal with it. The Plunder - "The Crane" performed by Big Mean Turtle we are... |
|
sa·ga [sah-guh] –noun 1. a medieval Icelandic or Norse prose narrative of achievements and events in the history of a hero or a family. 2. any narrative or legend of heroic exploits. |
In this
photo we see Dr. Neau's hand written notes as he listens to Spike
bicker and squabble during one of the many phone calls annoying Dr.
Neau, sincerely demanding "More cowbell" with no intended irony or
humorous reference to a Christopher Walken SNL skit. 
In this
video we see what appears to be the intertwining, serpentine, duo
guitar jam symbol. But it is not, since Spike had not invented it yet
in the 1980's. 
In this photo we see the
sturdy steel chair painted blue.
In this photo we see the
sturdy steel chair painted blue being used by Marin Zellar as he
performs his songs and regales us with tales of Letterman interns, and
crooked music industry weasels, and long ago parties with King Matt and
the Queen of Tomorrow.
In this photo we see Spike
teachng Martin Zellar of the ways of pillagers and warning him to be
very cautious for one day, he too could be pillaged!