Rehearsals Have Commenced!

Alright, so maybe rehearsals is far too generous a term. "Creative sessions" is probably more accurate...if you drop the term "creative" from the phrase.

Regardless, Three Dimensional Rhombus got off the ground today with some borderline illegal jams that ranged from this weird mix of funk and Japanese folk music to Latin disco with church bells. It was going pretty well until one of the cats walked across my feet while I was playing a particularly emotional music box solo and I threw a Christian Bale hissy fit and destroyed the basement.

The sessions were documented with the following photos. No material was recorded, I only dropped my soprano sax twice (once on my foot) and we took two breaks for pretzels and Juicy Juice.



Kevin seems perturbed. What's the matter, is the arpeggio button sticking?





Yeah, ok, so it's on a pool table. Bob Dylan didn't even move out of the sewer until his fouth album was released.




Blurry, perhaps. But a genuine double-keyboard moment is too precious to pass up. I think at this point my dad asked if one of the cats was hacking up a hairball.





LOOK HOW ARTSY THIS SHOT IS WE MUST BE MAKING GREAT MUSIC RIGHT.




Note to self: Rock Band microphone probably not most effective recording device.



I hope you enjoyed this not-at-all-staged look at our not-at-all-completely-hopeless pursuit of a space rock opera about cat food. More pictures available here.

Music Festival Treatise in F minor

These outdoor music gatherings have some inherent charm, this I will admit.

The kids love it: you pitch a tent, it quickly fills with syringe caps and empty cans of Barfstone Lite, a few bonfires get started, melodramtic, sanctimonious hippies wallow in their own filth, some acidwashed indie rock bluegrass merengue jazz fusion band you've never heard of plays for two hours, all while the paralyzingly amorous fragence of human regurgitation, spoiled, flea-infested corndogs and mothballs fermenting in urine wafts redundantly through the crisp, evening air. It's basically America on a field for 4 to 5 glorious days.




Have a blast, Bonnaroo attendees. Perhaps you will sink deep enough into the mud that you will commune with the reptilian android people that dwell beneath the surface but, most likely, you probably just caught too big a waft of some sort of happy smoke from the bong of that guy two tents down. Let me know if neon elephants really do dance to make gypsys cry.