I wrote up a file on these already, so here it is. Enjoy! It’ll need to be split into parts, so refer back to this thing for all the details.Here’s stuff from various sources, only one from a gig, really? Could have sworn I had more of these. I’ll have to work on extracting more later. deportees.mp3
This is Hotfoot Powder, the group I sometimes played with before the main guy, Jud, took off to Canada for school, Ca. 2005. Jud is singing and playing guitar, I’m doing jew’s harp. Recorded live at a gig on my old minidisc. I believe this is in G. Recordings from the Porch! Back when we were doing gigs we went over to this guy’s house, he played tablas. Eventually one of his neighbors showed up with bongos or something. Back to
Mother Earth, 60s style.mp3
This is Jud playing guitar and singing again, me on flute, and the other guy on tablas. I believe this is an old blues, Roosevelt Sikes?, somebody. I like this recording, despite its problems. With a little work it could really be great. Like maybe if I practiced the damn flute eh? I do believe the flute’s in G though I may have been playing in C. Easy Rider, 8-be
Guitar, vocals, tabla, and jew’s harp. Another old blues, everybody’s done this one but it’s probably based on Lead Belly’s version, if I know Jud. I do believe this was in A. Work or Entertaining Birdseed.mp3
The filename is taken from the subject of some spam email I got, I thought it fit for some reason. Tabla, bongos, guitar, jew’s harp, and rambling idiocy. I’m providing the rambling idiocy. The bongo guy gets a bit loud at points, but I think it should be pretty understandable. Anyway, if not, here are the words. Me: I Feel like we should have some poetry going. Jud: Yeah probably. me: The other day I was, I was staring at my clok, and I was looking at the clock and the hands were going and I’m like, “Oh my God, I’m late!” And then suddenly realized no wait no I’m not wait, late, the hands are going backwards! And I’m like, “why is my clock going backwards?” That’s what I was thinking to myself and then suddenly there was a chipmunk on my dresser. I’m like, “a chipmunk, what is it doing?” It was eating all of my money out of my wallet. I loved it. I said, “go chipmunk. Eat all of my money. Destroy the fabric of consumerist society and capitalism!” And it said, “buddy, I’m not about destroying the fabric of consumerist society and capitalism, the money just tastes damn good. It’s what I like to eat. Because, it’s got that wonderful ink, and the paper’s made out of … something that’s not ordinary paper I forget what it’s made out of.” Then suddenly I was on a rocketship, flying to the, to the moon! Then I got there and they said: “Son, the moon is closed. The last time you came here in 1969, you left your flag all over it, you left garbage all over, you took our rocks … We’re closing the moon son, you can’t come back.” And I said “but, but I just wanna walk on the moon, I, I wanna be all bouncy too like the astronauts, I wanna, I wanna leap fifteen feet into the air!” They said, “son, we don’t care. The moon is closed.” And I, I went back on my rocketship, back to my house, with no money, and a clock running backwards, and the chipmunk was still on the dresser. He was still looking for more money and I said, “you ate it all man, you can’t have any more.” And he said, “well go out and work. Go make some more.” And then, I did, I did go out and work because, well once the moon had been closed, there was just no point to life anymore, so I figured “why not, I’ll, I’ll go work sure, I’ll go make more money for the chipmunk.” And then
I made more money for the chipmunk, and the ch
ipmunk ate it all up.And now, that’s all I do. I go out, I work, I make money, I bring the money back home, the chipmunk eats the money right in front of me, and I go to sleep. And I get up and I work again. Ya know the amazing part is now that I think about it, the amazing part is that I’m still alive. I’ve been doin’ this for about five years now and, since the chipmunk eats all of my money I, I can’t buy any food! So I don’t know why I’m not dead because that’s all I do. I get up, I work, I make money for the chipmunk, the chipmunk eats it, I come home, and I fall asleep. It’s almost like I’m falling into a coma that’s how hard I work and it’s all for that damned chipmunk. I mean, why a chipmunk, why, why couldn’t it be like a muskrat or something? I’d work for a muskrat. That would be cool, you’d go up to people and they’d say “what do you do?” And I’d go, “I work for a muskrat.” “Really! Does it pay you?” “No it eats all my damn money!” That’s what I’d say.