Saturday I get back to writing on the blog. Less than 24 hours later I fall prey to the Coronavirus. Coincidence? I think not.
It's not really the Coronavirus. It's more like a worm made out of fog that crawled into my nose while sleeping and has buried its self in my frontal lobe. Some sort of smoke-fog worm. I can feel it in there moving around.
Descending! Moonshine! Dervishes!
I feel like there was a phase in the 2000s where bands used a lot of exclamation marks in their names. Those were the days. Salad days.
Hey, don't have much to add to this one. Enjoy it. Let is wash over you. Some weird synthesizer loops with some cool, freaky trumpet over top of it, all live.
Oh. Hello there, random blog reader or possible Russian bot.
I didn’t see you there.
Welcome. Again. For the second time, to Denim On Denim.
We are back. Got the band back together after about seven years.
Things have changed. A lot. And stayed the same. We are still bringing the hits but a little older, with a some-more white hair, a little beaten down, a little jaded, but still upright.
What are we into these days? The same and not the same. More jazz probably than last time. Probably not as much house as I use to listen to.
Somethings just make sense now.
But we will cross that bridge when we need to.
Until then, Moodyman. More and more and more Moodyman. Moodyman’s been a constant for the last seven years. So much so, that the last time I was in Detroit we went to his house and we kind of got scared away by a big dude we came around the side and started walking towards us.
I think about Detroit a lot. A lot. We went to a bar in Detroit and there was a band playing that was better than 90% of bands I’ve paid money to see. Funky as shit. And then, when they took a break there was a DJ playing house music.
