"Pills" A Brand New Track From The Mole Suit Choir

With fiddle help from Geff Stiubhairt of The Baltimore String Felons.

A New Band Is Born

 I must start this post with full disclosure:  one of the four musicians above is from my same cursed blood line, one - when not foolishly shaving  his skull to the bone - has a lustrous shiny wig that I would go all Wayne Gacey on to have it rest red and gooey on my lumpy head,  a third person here I am happy to work with and the fourth owns a comfy "Campus" zipper sweater of the kind I have been seeking out for over two decades since the breakup between me and the girlfriend who owned a bunch of them and lorded over her collection like King Faruk and his gold toe rings.


That being said, me and my wife came back from the beach to find these four making some refreshing music down in our basement.  Sure, there were Natty Bohs sweating on top of $1,000 books I have up on ABE and Amazon, and with each funky fresh beat of young Amanda of Sea Coucht on the her overturned bucket another one of my priceless Hummel figurines vibrated off a shelf to a fragmented death on the cement floor below and our aged cat Peanut was trapped beneath said bucket, but they were creating a nice concoction that seemed to blend early Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine with electrified country Delta blues. 


Three of the members - Fletcher, Dan and Geff - were part of a long ago big group called The Jumping Off Point and are part of the Soulgasm Records collective, also known as The Pasadena Mafia.  Geff is part of the gritty futuristic mountain punk country group The Baltimore String Felons, which is on hiatus as their percussionist Megan is making field recordings of Gregg Allman's liver.  Dan and Amanda perform together as the wondrously sublime Sea Couch.


This new conglomeration, known as Documents, which sstarted as a way for Dan and Amanda of Sea Couch to get their rock on with their pal, eccentric reclusive author Fletcher, soon began to have a life of its own and ramblng Geff of the Felons got caught in their meticulous whirlpool when he returned from his months long tour.


Look for Documents at a venue near you soon, plus keep an eye out for their zine arm, going on its second issue, which publishes micro-biographies that blur the lines between history, dream and tallish tales.

I Am Almost Weeping - The Most Comprehensive Write-up Of Shattered Wig Night & Review

Photo by James Hodges Shattered Wig Review 15 December 2010 (What Weekly) http://www.whatweekly.com/2010/12/15/shattered-wig-review/ Rupert Wondolowski Frequently, literary performances are confined to coffee shops, libraries or the odd gallery so it’s refreshing to see an event where the words were given a stage and an interesting venue in which to breath. Last Friday the 14 Karat Cabaret hosted the release party for one of Baltimore’s best literary magazines, The Shattered Wig Review. The event was hosted by the publication’s editor, Rupert Wondolowski. Photo by James Hodges, story by Dylan Kinnett.

Photo by James Hodges Ryan Walker featured in the current issue of Shattered Wig Review. Shattered Wig has been around for a remarkably long time, judging from its issue number, 28, and the editorial, which alludes to a recent two year hiatus. As it turns out, the publication has been in print for 22 years. That’s an impressive run for an independent venture of any sort. The first performer was R.M. O’Brien, an editor of the interactive literary magazine WORMS, which occurs monthly at the Bell Foundry. O’Brien’s stage presence is comfortable, casual and ideal for a first reading. His work is often an amusing and intelligent commentary on contemporary pop culture but he also reads the works of others. Tonight, he read a poem by Gregory Corso. Photo by James Hodges, story by Dylan Kinnett.

Books, Live Music, Art Gallery and more! Same block as Windup Space, across from Joe Squared. Plenty of room inside for your bike; FREE street parking for your car (well plug your meter before 6, after that its free anyway) come on over… 30 West North Ave. Baltimore, MD, 21201

Photo by James Hodges Becky Hunter - “I like the venue. I come to whatever I can, here.” The evening continued with a reading by Ryan Walker, whose untitled poetry is published in the new issue. He commanded the audience’s rapt attention with his playful series of stream-of-consciousness observations. Photo by James Hodges, story by Dylan Kinnett.

Photo by James Hodges Chris Toll In the latest issue of Shattered Wig Review author Chris Toll describes a magical encounter between Edgar Allen Poe and Emily Dickinson, involving a time machine. Exploring this notion, by itself, is worth the price of admission. Photo by James Hodges, story by Dylan Kinnett.

Photo by James Hodges Justin Miller There’s something uniquely independent about this publication. In an age when computerized desktop publishing has yet to reach the legal drinking age, the Shattered Wig Review holds true to a print sensibility that is rapidly fading. Its pages look and feel like those of a good ol’ zine, the kind we loved before blogs, with staples on the spine and strange drawings in the margins. Also reading this evening was Emily Peterson Crespo who had been a regular performer at the now-defunct “Speak Your Piece” series in Mount Vernon. Her performance this evening was an intricate blend of poetry and prose with all of the deliberate diction of the former coupled with the scenic detail of the latter. Photo by James Hodges, story by Dylan Kinnett.

Photo by James Hodges Ed Foster of The Baltimore String Felons. It wasn’t all words at the 14 Karat Cabaret during this event. The music began with a performance by former members of the band, Madagascar. The new band, called Nests took their current project out for a test drive for this, their first ever performance. The lineup retains much of the minimalist qualities of the original band though the new sound has more in common with contemporary ambient electronic music. The evening concluded with musical a set by The Baltimore String Felons. The Felon Family are a unique group of contemporary folk musicians who are making a strong case for music made with hand tools. Photo by James Hodges, story by Dylan Kinnett.

Books, Live Music, Art Gallery and more! Same block as Windup Space, across from Joe Squared. Plenty of room inside for your bike; FREE street parking for your car (well plug your meter before 6, after that its free anyway) come on over… 30 West North Ave. Baltimore, MD, 21201

Photo by James Hodges Geffery Sof’ Serve of The Baltimore String Felons. Don’t let the DIY look of the publication mislead you. Here, you’ll find sophisticated literature, with allusions to the visual poets, surrealist, automatic writing and stunning poetic lines like Stephanie Barber’s “one conducts electricity or symphonies, big bands or / trains or themselves with restraint.” There is plenty of worthwhile reading material in here all for only six dollars. The new issue, as well as a subscription, is available for purchase from Normal’s Books.. Full details are available on their website. Photo by James Hodges, story by Dylan Kinnett.

Shattered Wig 28 Revealed Among Nests and Felons, Bearing Great Love

It had been two years since I last cobbled together a Shattered Wig and I was feeling it. A bunch of all nighters to meet the "deadline" of the publication party while the new comforts of home and marriage called out to me: "Silly old man, look at you cut and paste like a 12 year old. Who will read your Wig? Put it all down, walk away from the scrap covered floor and get under the winter blankets with that new printing of that crazy Charles Williams pulp novel you got. Or think about how long it's been since you've seen "Clockwork Orange". Pop in a little horrorshow. Look how warm and inviting Everly is there despite how she loves to keep the window open in 30 degree weather with an industrial strength metal fan two inches from her head. You are a near broke, near old man - you might as well be well rested."



I went to bed around 3 a.m. the night before the show without having written any introduction, which I like to have for future reference, each issue being a little buoy floating on the ever rougher surface waves of my consciousness. I jumped up the next morning with just enough sleep not to feel completely like shit, but not enough to let my body realize how much more it desired. Got right down to the coffee and introduction and by 12:30 it was done. I quickly called reliable Rob at wonderful Work Printing (762 Washington Blvd off Martin Luther. They are suspiciously friendly and helpful!) If they didn't exist, neither would the tiny Wig.



"Hey Rob, I finally finished, can I bring it over now?"



"Sure, no problem. Just be careful."



"Careful? What do you mean?"



"It's snowing outside."



Panic! My old pal and bedrock Shattered Wig contributor Blaster Al's arch nemesis - the dread white substance that lines the street and renders shoes useless: snow. Then I had to chuckle. Here it was the melancholic first Wig Night with Blaster now living back in Texas and it was snowing. Last year he said he felt as bad as he did back in Vietnam being penned in by all the snow and ice.




And of course a big enough snow can be a "promoter's" nightmare. Hard enough competing these days for a crowd in overbooked Baltimore without competing with Nature itself.


Luckily, it was just a little scare and a cosmic joke to get me laughing with Blaster. As Rob, Debbie and I devoured some fine pizza and the Wigs rolled off the machines like a backwards slaughter house shooting out unslaughtered pigs, the snow became a brief dusty memory left by the slate gray sky.

It felt good to be back at the 14 Karat Cabaret, a brand new issue piled high on the rickety old card table that erstwhile soundman Ronnie had already set up for me. The crowd started up early and there were a lot of new faces.

Originally, Neoist plotter, anti-science buff (but highly erotically charged lover of Der Kindle) John "Pego" Berndt was going to bring a little Blaster Al to the proceedings by reading some of Blaster's new poetry that he's written since taking the Southern plunge, but John went down with one of the many flus that seemed to hit hard and early this year. In his stead, which was supposed to be in Blaster's stead, I opened the show (to a nice crowd of 70 people or so) by reading Blaster's letter in the new Wig about his epic Greyhound trip from Baltimore to Austin.

R.M. O'Brien ("Bob" to his arresting officers) took the stage next and whupped up and loved on it. He is not only the curator of the diverse and well attended WORMS reading series, but a great poet and performer. He mixed a nice Gregory Corso poem into his mix as well as one by an old friend of his. Inspiring stuff and well received.

Following Robert was Emily Peterson Crespo, world traveler, linguist and co-founder of the Follow the Buffalo Workshop and reading series. She read poems about and/or inspired by her trip to Egypt and I definitely think there is a novel or travel book in there. She made many references to the fine bottle of wine that she and her hubby Joe had had to wolf down at the restaurant before the show, not wanting to be wasteful. She told me Saturday that not only did she have a good time, but that she was hungover. That is all I ask of these shows - that at least one of our performers wakes up the next day with a big old rubber sack on their back. In the old days when my hair climbed toward the skies making even Gene Wilder scared, I wouldn't crawl out of bed after a Wig Night until about 3 the next day. Shame!

Above is the mischievous enigma known as Ryan Walker. As I said that night when introducing him, I always suspect there's something he knows that he's not telling us. Always that small quirky shadow of a smile. He has a great reading style of something like Steven Wright reading the nightly news as written by Zippy the Pinhead. Often he will stop and laugh at what he has just read, as if he has seen it for the first time.

One of the bonuses for me of Shattered Wig Nights, are surprise guests like Mary of an old group I was in called Groovy Like a Pig and Andy of the group Red Dogma from the early '80s. Red Dogma actually could have gone places, except two of the members went to a place indeed - Australia, when they married. Andy has since had the pleasure of playing and recording with Roland Howard. Mary is a bounty hounter.

This Wig Night had many facets of joy. One was the reunion of sorts of the group above. That's Michael and Tony Lambright, formerly of the much loved Madagascar group. This night was the first time they played on stage with Justin, also of Madagascar, as "Nests Revealed". More of an electro ambient sound this time. Great to hear these guys again.

Ah, then there's the unwashed wild straight outta Westport antics of The Baltimore String Felons. I've had the pleasure of hearing these hobos many a time and not just because the stringy wild-eyed fiddler is my genius nephew Geff. They have brought old country and Americana music into the seething weirdness of the modern world with their very own sound. 98% of their songs are their own, but they have a quality of a really detailed strange hand carved thing that you always saw on your grandmother's cupboard next to her dandelion wine. They have an album already recorded and in the can, so I hope someone with a few dollars and some distribution contacts hook them up. I know we'd be able to move quite a few hot units of it at Normal's Bargain Cobbley World.

And so ended another Wig Night. The lovely bundled up Madame Drogoule retreating out the door with her strict taskmaster Buff Joe Medusa, who still dangled some hope before me that one day I may get to play the Richard Burton part in a stage version of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" directed by him. And the cherry on the cake of the fantastic evening was that the new issue flew off the table, as well as quite a few books. Nothing makes me happier than the thought of people sitting down at night to a Wig. I truly love the writers there-in and wish them all the luck and readers in the world.

Baltimore String Felons and R.M. O'Brien to Foist Joy Upon The Shattered Wig 28 Publication Party

The lineup for what I hope will be the Shattered Wig Review #28 publication party (I would have gotten a hell of a lot done two Fridays ago if not for the damn BGE outage!) is almost nailed down. It looks to be a fine night of rapture.

Of course this being modern day Baltimore there will be tons of other cool things going on, including a Sea Couch and Forks of Ivy show (traitors), but we will have a shiny new issue sporting the menacing front cover you see smack dab in the middle of the top of this "page".

And although I truly have grown to hate the ubiquitous "Boh" man, I can stand him with a top hat and a banjo.........

Here is the lineup for the December 10th Shattered Wig party at the glorious, glamorous, forbidden, luxurious, decadent, legendary 14 Karat Cabaret:

R.M. O'Brien - poet, emcee/curator of the fantastic WORMS reading series
Emily Crespo - - poet, traveler, alchemist.
Ryan Walker - D.C. poet extraordinaire, friend to all.

The Baltimore String Felons. Fantastic timelessly weird old American folk music with a punk edge. It will Mikey the lead singer's birthday so don't be a weenie - buy him a beer!
Tests. Music featuring two members of the dearly missed group Madagascar.

Here is what the City Paper had to show about a String Felons show they did a while back with Balti Mare.

Earlier in the night, the Baltimore String Felons offered their own unique twist on folk traditions, theirs being more distinctly American. And what’s so refreshing about the weirdo folk acts in Maryland, as opposed to say New York or California, is that we’re not so far from Appalachia that the musicians seem more connected to those influences, and more likely to have actual family roots. The String Felons, with their fiddle and banjo twang, have a definite mountain sound in their so-called “inner city doomgrass,” even with its oddball twists, including songs that detail the assassination of JFK or choruses that howl “please don’t kill me.” And like Balti Mare, the combination of tradition and playful irreverence is what makes the String Felons work.

Another Reason to Love My New 'Hood: Invasion of the Hopping String Felons

Walking three or four blocks from our new house on a Friday evening and climbing the darkened but decorated stairs to the Hamilton Alliance to hear the wild unwashed sounds of the Baltimore String Felons was just what I needed to shake the lurking spectre of death that has been hovering the last six months. Even at the glorious backyard book release party for Adam Robinson's new book editor Justin's cat had just returned from the vet's with a prognosis of impending death. The next day after the all the glistening dogs had been eaten and the firepit had cooled the cat had left us to nibble at the great arse of Godmouse beyond.

Then last Sunday Everly and I were returning on a beautiful sunny day from an unnamed house repair/supply giant with a brand new mower - a red and black gas monster, baby! I will step up my recycling and good deeds to make amends - and new "Hep Green" paint to makeover some porch furniture and our porch rail. Excited about the coming of Spring and lighting up the drab exterior of our house - the former owner was what you might call a Pint Bottle Shirker, who didn't even plant a shrub or tree - and when we opened our car doors there was a double keening. One high pitched and frantic, the other low and guttural. I looked up the street and saw a young girl bending over as if in pain and yelling and an elderly woman half running backwards up the street moaning "Somebody help me". We went toward them as did our closer neighbor who as it turned out luckily was with two friends who knew cpr. The older woman hysterically wrapped herself around Everly, putting her in a chokehold. Meanwhile the young girl had ran off down the street with someone else who had popped out of one of the houses. The older woman calmed down enough to tell us through broken breaths that her eldest son was on the floor inside, that an ambulance had come for him an hour earlier but he refused to get in it.

Everything happened so quickly and was such a 180 degree turn from the sunny home repair mind we were in that we were stunned. I think if Everly hadn't had a hold on the older woman or vice versa she would have run into the traffic in blind grief. At least a half dozen other faces appeared at the door of the woman's house, most of them shouting into cellphones. The neighbor closest to us and her two friends went inside the sick man's house to try to help. It only took a few minutes for the medics to show up and one of the neighbors who had administered cpr to the son said he had moved and breathed on his own.

We drifted back into our house, hauling our shiny lawnmower and paint. The next day Everly ran into the older woman on her way to work and found out the son had died. Now when I paint on the porch or run the circular sander I feel a guilt and a hovering presence.

But all it took was an instant of the hopping unwashed Baltimore String Felons, the City Paper calls them crust folk, to take the stage and then abandon it to wander closer to the crowd to banish the gloom from my mind and put me back in the wash and spin cycle of no holds barred life. Mikey the banjo player and singer has truly gained his own voice, which is saying something as young as he is and in the field of "Americana" music or old timey music or whatever you want to call it. Country jazz? Weirdo folk hop? And I love the band not just because my talented multi-instrumentalist nephew Soft Serve is in it. He whipped up on the fiddle most of the time, but also played some mandolin and even a clean mean crisp ukulele.

After the Felons a group traveling from New York called Spirit Family Reunion, not to be confused with Spiritual Family Reunion, which is what Chris Toll and I were familiar with and thought we were going to hear, played. Pretty good. Tiny Woody Guthrie-like guy playing a nice brown parlor acoustic and a willowy double jointed banjo player with a good voice.

All that plus a quick heaping bowl of authentic Maryland crab soup at Clementine a block away beforehand. I love my neighborhood.

JUST IN: Found this nice review in the City Paper of the String Felons live when they played with Balti Mare.

"Earlier in the night, the Baltimore String Felons offered their own unique twist on folk traditions, theirs being more distinctly American. And what's so refreshing about the weirdo folk acts in Maryland, as opposed to say New York or California, is that we're not so far from Appalachia that the musicians seem more connected to those influences, and more likely to have actual family roots. The String Felons, with their fiddle and banjo twang, have a definite mountain sound in their so-called "inner city doomgrass," even with its oddball twists, including songs that detail the assassination of JFK or choruses that howl "please don't kill me." And like Balti Mare, the combination of tradition and playful irreverence is what makes the String Felons work."