Bees and Sweet Honey

Hey.

To everyone who came out to the gig on Tuesday: Thank you so much! It was kind of a challenge. Morbid highlights for me: the cabdriver trying to gouge Alan and me $25 for a drive from the lower east side to Williamsburg (that fucker made off with $15 -- still highway robbery); getting an electrical shock trying to wipe spilled water off the equipment, then later sparking my lip on the mic (and screaming in a hushed room); Alan's battery going dead. Lucky for us, Bruce of Love Camp was very generous in loaning out his bass.

Philip's set was sublime. All through it, I was so happy. And happy to be sad. He can pull it off by himself: the emotional highs and lows, the melodic twists and turns. His songs are beautiful and killer. No one trick pony, he.

And that's not all. I love Love Camp 7 more each time I see them. I can't even get my mind around it. It's like watching closeup footage of bees: they are precise and automated, yet natural, and in perfect sycnchronicity. It's like a different kind of consciousness.

As for our set . . . things are starting to feel good. I lost myself somewhere inside of "Jane, Jane" and just let it flow. Listening to Nina Simone is proving to be a good thing. She is relentless. I'm trying to muster courage. It's all about courage. And having these guys behind me is like having your mom and dad on the sidelines at your swimming lesson. When you're scared shitless about to try your first dive, you look to them, and they're nodding Do it! Do it!