10 songs. 1 day. day 1
fuzz bass. violet skies.
Day 1 or so… you think but it’s really….
this is day 1….it’ll much uglier by the time we leave here on saturday night. kinda like a death trap. we’ll be doing everything but sleeping here. it’s a snoozy place with a real quiet air conditioner.
i’ve been writing rediucluous poetry all morning. kinda this walt whitman sounding stuff. i’m seeing lots of flowers and oceans.. lots of windy trails and small houses. maybe i’ll post it soon if i get the nerve.
we’ve got to check some drum sounds and get all the amps plugged in.
i’m feeling good despite exhaustion from last weekend. the core of my being is pulsing.
effin’ grouch
I take it back. I was gonna write this blog about how effin’ tired I am. That’s the truth. I’m filled with all sorts of Grouch. I can’t work any more. I can’t sleep I’m so tired. I can’t eat. I don’t want to. I need a good hang. Have a good night. Let’s all just lay on the bed. Stare at the ceiling fan. Think about wishin’. Just save yourself.. come back tomorrow. 
Kermit the Frog: How about live concerts?
Oscar the Grouch: I prefer recorded concerts on badly scratched records.
Kermit the Frog: How about movie classics in the original black and white without interruptions?
Oscar the Grouch: I prefer colorized versions with lots and lots of commercial interruptions!
You are soooo boooorrringgg!!!
The story isn’t as good as the truth.
Having some drunk fat lady screaming at me from just off the stage at the White Elephant Saloon in Ft. Worth last night.. “sooooo boooorrrrrinnnngg. You are so boooorrrrrriiiiiiinnnnnnggg” was all I heard. Her voice echoed through the room with the haggard growl of a drunk bear. Her belly full of beer folding over her leather belt and black jeans.. A sleeve of unrecognizable tattoos and skin oiled straight black hair couldn’t save this woman. Her eyes fell into the bags on her face. “Booooorrrrririnnngggg…!!!!” (STOMP STOMP) “Play some… You are soooo boooorrrrriiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnggggggg!!!” She vomited out the words.
It get’s better. This went on for about five or ten minutes.
I’m right in the middle of a song…. It continues.
sure. It’s not really the place for me. But i don’t give a shit. These cowboys are real friendly and all. Even if they’re not all that into the ghostly feedback of my parlor guitar filled with hypnotizing reverb coming out of my fender amp during the tender moments of a song that isn’t written from a Texas country formula song book. Love the White Elephant. Love the Cowboys. And i love being boring you fat bag!
She kept going.
shimmer in broad daylight
“Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness.” – Allen Ginsberg
The first records I discovered were Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits Vol. 1 and Rolling Stones’ High Tide and Green Grass. I was about 9 years old then. The house was empty. The room was dark. It was mid summer. I pulled the Dylan record out of the album jacket put on the record player. Standing there in my parents house, I heard Bob Dylan sing Blowin’ in the Wind for the first time. My mind danced around and I recognized the song from hearing Peter, Paul and Mary sing it on PBS a few times. A little light came in through the shades into the room and the dust in the air suspended in front of my eyes. I felt the nerves in my stomach and sat down. Listening to that song like I was looking into a battered chest that had been buried in the attic for 30 years. And sitting there on the brown shag carpet in my parent’s house, I knew what I was there to find.
I listened to the entire song three or four times over and again. The voice that I heard sounded old, but I knew it was a young man that was singing. He was filled up with age and thoughts, ones not too dissimilar from my own. I began to pick out the verses and sing right along with them. I learned the words quickly. I stared down at the cover, a black and blue silhouette of Bob Dylan. I could barely make out his eyes or his face, only his dark wild haired profile against the blue light on a stage. And I wondered… who is this? What is he telling me?
I had heard the name Bob Dylan before, but I had never connected the picture with the voice or the voice with the song. I felt that had found something special. Something just for me. I was being spoken to from the heavens. I heard the acoustic tremor in his voice and wood of his guitar. He spat into his harmonica. I saw images of roads, white doves, canons, beaches. And I wondered, why is there war? what is eternity?
I picked out one other record, The Rolling Stones, High Tide and Green Grass and put it on the turntable. I was blitzed. Over the next couple of hours, I pulled out more records from the small wooden cabinet and quickly discovered that I also liked the Turtles, Janis Joplin, the Troggs, The Coasters, The Beach Boys, and the Crystals too. I tore through 45s, Beatles Records, Jimi Henrix. Tim Buckley records. I spun ‘em over and over all morning and into the afternoon, only stopping to grab sodas from the fridge. I flipped over and over though the album covers. I stared at the pictures and read over the liner notes, song titles, publishing information and record labels. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I didn’t know what it was I was listening to, but I was addicted.
we’ll send you dead flowers
Thanks for your donations. We have a long way to go!
Your continued support is needed!
Ladies and Gentlemen… Wear your umbrellas!
Ladies and Gentlemen…
this is an outdoor venue so….
wear your umbrellas.
Chris Brecht and the Dead Flowers
will be at the Belmont (6th and Lavaca)
September 18th
7:30
Rain or Shine
“Sound Off” – Austin Sound interview
Chris Brecht’s long-awaited 2008 debut, The Great Ride, raked in folk and country roots behind the local songwriter’s winding narratives and distinctive nasally drawl. Brecht’s tunes reel with the lure of the late night open highway, steeped in a poignant and personal loneliness and longing, braced against a wonder for the road. Since The Great Ride’s release, Brecht has expanded his band and sound, and while his characteristic Dylanisms remain strong in the new material, the Dead Flowers buck with a more polished country rock vibe in the vein of the Band or Sweetheart of the Rodeo-era Byrds, folding in impressive flourishes from the group that includes, among others, Ricky Ray Jackson (Lomita; Brothers and Sisters) on pedal steel and John Michael Schoepf of the Happen Ins. Chris Brecht and the Dead Flowers will be holding down the Belmont downtown next week on Wednesday, September 9, and they’ve offered up a taste of some of their new material below in the form of both a lo-fi demo and full band take in the studio. ~ Austin Sound www.austinsound.net
www.deadflowermotel.com
It goes on and on and on.
After several attempts at being a computer whiz and failing, i finally got this little frankenstein unplugged running free.
We’re real scientists around here.
I really think that the man who invented home computers also killed life.
I’m awake. It’s Monday. First day of my week.
