Kendl Winter and Palmer T. Lee unite for ‘36Â¢’ debut
A few months ago I had the extreme pleasure to record a wonderful new duo called The Lowest Pair (@thelowestpair) in my basement. Their songs are lonely, beautiful, sometimes fun, and I’m now a big fan. It was really my first record to make for someone else all the way through and I’m happy with how it turned out. . In any event, Spin Magazine has posted a track on their site if you’d like to check it out.
also, here’s this insufferable shit:
hashtag. did i say it right?
i’m gonna put out a solo ep soon. don’t know when but it’ll probably be soon and it’ll probably be free. here’s some art that will probably be associated with it. there’s not many of you here so i’ll probably let you know first cause you’re probably my favorites.
I came to in the early dawn in downtown San Francisco. It’s a lovely city really, full of water, dirt, concrete, metal, young millionaires, and dream-dead hippies who remember a different city than that which they now find themselves. It’s expensive to be here and beautiful to look at (funny how many places own those two qualities; i rarely find one without the other. maybe duluth.) We’re here for a festival in golden gate park which is plump full o’ 80 bands and free to the public. BYOB. Now that is a rare combo.
Hi Dave! Glad to see you posting on tumblr again! I had a quick question. A while ago, I posted on twitter that I saw a sign for TBT on the side of a bus in Colorado. The TBT twitter replied with "gross." I was just wondering what was so gross about it.
- Asked by katiehassomebigasstitties
The kids are alright. At least in a more general sense. I have two young children and am taught by them daily the lessons of wise and experienced masters of life. My wife and I are in the midst of buying a new home and attempting to sell ours and needless to say the 1st world stresses of such endeavors are multitude. I often miss the simpler, deadly worries of my impoverished early 20s while confronted by the bureaucratic madness of real estate. The struggle to make enough each day for a meal, some smokes, and maybe a beer or two would be welcomed tenfold over 90 minute conversations with the IRS and the emailing of bank statements now engulfing my daily life. Don’t get me wrong, I know how lucky I am to be able to even be in this situation but that’s not the point here. The point is meaningless, tiresome, beige problems act as water on rocks on the soul; slowly wearing you away with a dull ache barely noticed until the first heart attack. Then, suddenly, my two year old daughter busts into a ridiculously awesome almost psychotic dance to whatever’s on the radio and for that few seconds I’m snapped back into a magical, young life. My baby son smiles and coos on the changing table. The irony of course is that without these little mystical beings around most of these stresses I’m whining about wouldn’t even exist. However, something in these kids makes the whole nauseating ride worthwhile. We try so hard to hide from them the hardships that await with age. From the mundane, headache struggles of mortgage closings to the death of a family member. Their innocence and joy, who’s days are certainly numbered, is such a precious, golden thing that it’s preservation for as long as possible becomes almost the sole mission of a parent. They are teachers of joy and patience and love and trust and we must follow their lessons faithfully. Just ask one of those little monsters what they wanna be when they grow up or ask them to pick their own outfit for today and let the answers fill you to the brim. You can definitely be a princess baseball player, Lucy. And that tutu is rad.