12:05 AM, January 1, 1967.
Lower Haight neighborhood, San Francisco, California.
The Beatles’ “Tomorrow Never Knows” emanates from a dilapidated house on an otherwise quiet street. The house’s windows glow with soft orange light. Darkness bathes the front porch. A match flame pops into life and illuminates the face of a prostitute named Sunshine as she lights a cigarette while standing on the porch steps.
Sunshine takes a drag, arches her back against the railing and exhales languidly into the night air. She can see herself perfectly in her mind’s eye, the way the curves of her body silhouette against…
Granville Automatic is one of the most unique music acts working today.
I don’t mean unique in that vapid, sensationalistic way that has become so common today that it’s not even unique anymore (face tattoos, sex tapes, shirts made out of bologna). I mean unique in a substantive, intellectually stimulating way. Unique with integrity and depth (no, those things do not have to be mutually exclusive).
Residents filled Grady’s yard in less than an hour. Some waited in line to try out for a role, others simply milled around, chattering or bragging about the parts they’d landed. Either nobody noticed that every single person passed the auditions, or else they chose not to say anything about it.
Jason and Wes carried glasses of lemonade and water around to keep people cool in the summer sun. They tried to look tough and indifferent whenever anyone remarked about what nice and thoughtful boys they were.
A buzz swept over the Sunset the next morning as news spread of the audition posters stapled to all the telephone poles. Clusters of people gathered in yards to trade gossip about the movie and about Grady’s cancer. No one had the guts to be first in line, however, until Patty Schuster and Nicky Coles, both fourteen and fearless, brazenly strode into the driveway and announced that they wanted roles.
“Great,” Doug said. He looked at the blank sheets of paper in his clipboard and tried to figure out…
Cruising the back-alleys of the slipstream via YouTube the other day, I happened upon a sparkling gem of ’60s psychedelia titled “The Days Grew Longer for Love.” How the song has eluded me until now is a testament to the persistence of my ignorance in the face of all efforts to hear every album made in that Golden Age and Golden Genre of rock music.
The talent of Adwella’s Dream is apparent from the song’s very first guitar strum. Sometimes, great musicianship comes through in the most minute gestures. Such is the case here.
There was a lot of junk…
The smell of smoke hung in the air at the spot in Stoner Woods, but the guys had respectfully stashed the wares by the time Grady and Denny got there. They all made their greetings and then stood in a circle blowing into their hands as if to warm them, even though it was over sixty degrees outside.
One by one, Grady announced the assignments. Doug would be in charge of auditions. Wes would be in charge of set construction. Jason would be in charge of promotions.
“I don’t know anything…
I’m not in the Matrix. I AM the Matrix.