1. Ian and the Lossy Coils westcoast tour. We will be heading west from Austin through Arizona and into California, then back, starting at the end of June. Here are the dates we have so far

June 30 Austin Tx @ the Continental Club
July 1st Dallas tx @ the Kessler Theater
July 2nd Lubbock, Tx  TBA
July 3rd Tucson, Az @ CLub Congress
July 4th Phoenix, Az @ the Rhythm Room
July 7th Pioneertown, Ca @ Pappy and Harriet’s
July 8th LA, Ca @ the Bootleg theater(w/ The Wind and the Handshakes)
July 9th Sacramento, Ca Marilyn’s on K
July 10th San Francisco, Ca @ the Bottom of the Hill (w/ the Bare wires)
July 14th Denver, Co @ Bender’s Tavern
July 15th Santa Fe, NM TBA
July 16th Albuqerque, NM The Low Spirits

2. We are finally doing an Ian Moore band reunion!! Right now we are looking at the 2nd 2 weekends in August for shows. We will also be releasing the never released 3rd record. This was the last record made by the original band.  Many of the songs ended up on ‘And all the Colors’ but they are quite different recordings, sounds, etc. All of the guys are excited to be playing together, and looking forward to playing many the ‘hits’ from the 1st couple of records as well as many of our/your other favorite songs!!

We will post dates as they come in, but right now we have:

August 11 & 12 Houston, Tx @ the Continental Club
August 13th Austin, Tx @ Antone’s
August 19th Dallas, Tx  @ Granada Theater

Being in a rock and roll band is like permanently being a senior in high school waiting for college to start. An endless summer of reckless abandon, ambitious half formed plans, and the promise of something much more grand in the coming fall that never quite materializes. Short term glory buttressed by seemingly endless stretches of monotony and indecision.

I watch as my friends grow up and seemingly go through adult forming school. They adopt different, mostly more healthy, habits, and fade into a more gentle phase filled with adult conversations that seem formed and appropriate for their(our) age. Meanwhile I am stuck in endless conversations about why the Teardrop Explode matter(or don’t), why ironic dress and facial coif had its place until a couple of years ago, and other forays into the minutia of pop culture that truly should be mainstay thought for an 18 year old, but are more suspect when calling 30 year old friends “kid” and still chasing down your bartender friends for free drinks.

Being in a band is a youthful endeavor. It is amazing to look out onto a packed room filled with attractive people who believe that music can change the world. Unfortunately I believe the same thing as well? When does one get the mailer that actually explains what the ‘grown ups’ are supposed to really think? When do I get the insight that allows me to stop being so idealistic and cash in on the collective sins of our species? I’m stuck in this fountain of youth and it stinks of urine and folly. The kids are splashing around oblivious to anything but the importance of their play in the cultural waters, long fouled and drained of meaning, each waterfall smaller than the one before until the final drip is sliding out of the concrete orifice of some suburban kid with X-ray vision specs that say “Google”.

Speaking of fucked up, what is it with drummers? Am I the only one who finds it ironic that the very person that we rely on for meter and time is completely incapable of simply showing up at the same time that all other adults can? Of all of my drummers, and there have been many, I can think of only one person who was capable of actually showing up at the time he said, and he quickly got out of drumming and started trying to save the world by selling eco building products to yuppies who needed a slight hedge to hide their rabid consumerism. If I had any sense I would have bought a stopwatch years ago so I could keep a running tally of time wasted to gripe about in the golden years. I do believe in irrefutable truths. I believe that humans are inherently good and that we are all capable of change. Consequently I am repeatedly dumbfounded as our drummer saunters towards the van, elegantly smoking, and seemingly troubled by nothing, a good 30 minutes after our said departure time, as we wait outside HIS house in complete awe.

I keep waiting for this phase where I am bestowed some flowing robe of knowledge and my acolytes surround me being filled by my vast musical knowledge and discourses on integrity. I see that Willie Nelson has recently released his book the “Tao of Wille” and is being considered for Sainthood by the Catholic Church, who are willing to look past his phenomenal Marijuana consumption. Meanwhile I am stuck in this half-form, not able to speak of my rock and roll exploits lest I sound like a braggart, but considered smug and distant if I stay tightlipped when my younger friends educate me on their new cultural bounty, bounty that we pawned many years ago to lighten the load…

Excuse me, didn’t mean to sound bitter..Now ,that’s fucked up. I can’t think of anything cooler than playing in a Rock and Roll band

Did I mention heavy metal soundmen?

Ian has always been known for his concise definitions of musical and artistic styles. Here are his three recent entries:

CapeRock: a musical idiom relating to the mystical and or supernatural, often represented by fantastical writing, liberal use of the studio as “an instrument”, and a very serious, stately stage demeanor. Inspired by the music’s of psychedelic era Beatles, early Pink Floyd (with Syd Barret) later carried on by Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois. It takes its cues from Tolkien, CS Lewis, and Dickinson, with a bit of eastern mysticism thrown in for the “wow” factor. Not to be confused with the cape used as an ironic social comment (Beck) or as a prop to scare children (Marilyn Manson, Alice Cooper-see sidebar for info on kiddiecore)

CapeRock came into its own as marijuana moved from the east coast intellectual elite (where it helped to open minds up to mid 60’s folk) through the middleclass, where it combined with jr. high literature to create such early CapeRock cornerstones as “Children of the Sun”, “1983, a Merman…” and much of Skip Spence’s early work. It made periodic appearances throughout the 70’s such as Roxy Music’s cape rock lite triumph “Avalon” and short flourishes with early Genesis and Yes. It died a painful death in the late 70’s trampled underneath the brillo pad skull of Denis Deyoung and Styx and bloated works of supertramp (which incidentally also killed the Rhodes piano, before it was reclaimed by current caperockers Radiohead)-

After a brief dry spell, no doubt aided by the very uncapey emergence of punk rock and many of its offshoots, Cape Rock reemerged in a sea of echo and emotion in a musical melding of Eno, Lanois, and U2 in their masterpiece “the Joshua Tree”. With this record the cape rock 2^nd coming was announced. A flood of mystical music followed, including a new British wave with the Charlatans, Primal Scream, etc. Back in the states, Lanois was busy draping many classic American artists in Velvet, as Bob Dylan, Emmylou Harris, and Willie Nelson took a turn looking into the ether.

Today Caperock is alive and well with a new generation of kids that see the value of pot and Dungeons and Dragons. Neutral Milk Hotel made what many people feel to be a cape rock opus with their raw, yet opulent “Under the Aeroplanes” and the Fiery Furnaces have recently been stirring the cauldron with their “everything” soup masterpiece” Blueberry Boat”. The brightest light by far would be that shone by the planet Radiohead, who share as much with Emerson Lake and Palmer as they do with Can. Who would have thought that the spotlight would shine so squarely on the band once written off as Nirvana wanna-bes. Every release takes us further from the literal into the shady world of non-sequitors and nonsense lyrics. Every bleep and blip takes from the printed word of the Dungeons and Dragons masterbook into the uncharted world of the online gamer. A vast vista indeed. Caperock’s future lies in the recesses of many adolescents’ brains. In skulks in the corners of shopping malls and in the gray matter resting under the “mullet fade” haircut, soon to be birthed in a wave of hair dye and community college courses, clove cigarettes and cappuccinos

Prepare for battle

Beardcore: an inevitable outcome out of the sensitive first wave of indie rock. Indie rock itself a rebuttal of the testosterone-laden punk and its various children. Quiet became the new loud, and a new generation of kids employed techniques and instrumentation that had been ignored by the bombast and attack of their older brothers. Legions of near-folk prodigies unfurled their high- “school diaries, bled white in front of their doe eyed girlfriends and other sympathetic glasses clad dorm buddies. Sleepy hamlets like Northampton, Portland, and Omaha clamored for placement on a new hipster landscape, set to the sound of  vibraphones and love songs that weren’t afraid to curse, coloring their Simon and Garfunkel ruminations with enough underground slang to keep it contemporary“

As indie rock moved into the punk rock clubs across the nation, it was inevitable that a major culture clash was in the works. Many Mohawks were ruffled, many descendents jackets were thrown down in rage, and there was a sense in the punk rock establishment that a great injustice was being done. They were being displaced by the very thing they had rebelled against, a bunch of fresh-faced kids in button downs singing about love and feelings, nary a political view in site. As the conflict escalated, many indie rockers found themselves brushing their windswept hair from their bloodied eyes, or at best nursing bruised egos and hurt feelings. This was a dark period for indie rock as many fanzines turned on the sensitive torchbearers, and many Judas’s professed newfound love for garage rock and noisepop. Throughout the 90’s many of the faithful, furrowed brow troubadours dug deeper within themselves, searching out the dark corners of their suburban imaginations, experimenting with drugs and alcohol, and growing out their facial hair. Those blessed with the ability to grow full beards affected somewhat of a Grizzly Adams look, fully ready to battle their pierced and tattooed enemies. With the beards came metaphysical weight and Carolina was now a state, not a woman, the banjo replaced the string section, and Hank Snow was name-checked instead of Brian Wilson. Pabst Blue Ribbon replaced coffee, and cocaine replaced clove cigarettes.

For reference see Granddaddy, Iron and Wine, Will Oldham, or Richard Buckner

The next morning we got up at the crack of dawn, drove to Universal Records, and showcased for the Fontana/Universal group, who are distributing the record. They have a “breakfast” meeting where the debut new music that is coming through their system. We were to go on right after the new Kanye West video. So right after their single biggest artist debues his multimillion dollar video, we shuffle in and do our thing. Funny how that works, but our voices pulled up from the froggy places they had previously been residing, and all of a sudden we were Rockpile 1982. It was glorious…And the room looked to us with only a mild hint of displeasure, their donut eating creating a bizarre rhythm to which we strummed and sang.

Now back in the northwest, i am off to the inventing room where i am concocting special voodoo pedals to let you sound like someone other than yourself. You get these if you are the most valuable player on the street team, that or a tshirt, possibly some salsa if i ever get a day off. You can email the Clatterhead folks if you really want a pedal and you are good at making people like us  support@clatterhead.comThis e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it

Ciao for now little kittens

EL_J