Interesting Failure: the life of an outsider artist.

-
                                 "Most of the worst things said about me, I've said myself."
-Daniel Johnston

I listened to my first album all the way through, in the order i had it sequenced, when i finished it. and i think i almost beat Tommy Wiseau for the title of the disaster artist. but i have a nostalgia for the self titled album i endearingly call Mason Andrew. primarily because it was a strange idea to record  the album to begin with, at least when provided with context. i had just started the long recovery from a psychosis that lasted for almost two years. deciding that i would record as much as possible. then wait till i felt comfortable with the material and sequence it. i actually almost finished my second album songs of sara, a concept album about my therapist being god by the time i felt comfortable enough with my semi sane state to organize the mess into a coherent whole. the idea in sequencing the album was based off of two of my favorite albums. bob Dylan's - self portrait and tom waits orphans: brawlers, bawlers and bastards. i knew from listening to the songs that some of them would not stand up without a context, so i tried to position tracks so people would not think of them as individual compositions but as a commentary on a internal reality. i put a few weeks in trying to draw out the themes in a way that made some of the more questionable choices at least a tassel on the garment. as it stands it is sixty-one tracks, and over two hours long. my magnum opus of shame. it was therapeutic and i hope to redeem myself one day but until then i am not artist just an outsider.
you can find my music dharmadischarge.com

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Wayward Bound Or: a warped piano accompanying an epic f@%king poem. (Cluster one, of five.)

-
Image
        an Opera in D-Minor (Call me little horn!)   I wish I was a poet... Looking up at the Spun Sugar (The shade of clouds of the near dark) Whistling some bluegrass tune, as my sweetheart cooks our supper (Some slow cooker chili with jalapenos and banana peppers shore would hit the spot).   I wish I was a catfish swimming through the outer dark of space eating the light and swimming in the abyss. While space pirates dance in their shuttle craft with the naked women they have "liberated" as the carrier they attacked is set ablaze from the inside.   ...The maidens are never to be seen again...   I wish my bones to be picked clean by some prehistoric critter... that I may be devoured... that the loss of my life (through one hell of a struggle) would leave me content despite the meaninglessness of the pain. Because I know in my heart that things worked out.   I'm too tired to be optimistic But lived enough to know It's a thin line between b
Read more

What if Oedipus was my dad? (a reframing of the past.)

-
Image
                                          "To start with, here is a list of things I hate." -Tim Rogers.   I based my life on a lie, but the reality is there is a new mode of expression... It is irony through irony as sincerity or as it used to be called sarcasm.   Tim Rogers was my hero who I stalked (I didn't actualy stalk him I @ mention him four or five times on Twitter). then one day after a spree of @ mentions he @ mentioned me back, with a napalm bomb of reality, just the two-letter word "hi" and I was destroyed.   The important thing here isn't that Tim Rogers owned me (which he did!) it is that for some reason this articulate funny man brings out the inner troll in internet losers like me in a way that is embarrassing to the species.   It is like he inspires children to write a letter to Santa Clause and not ask for anything. His writing is rambling indirect and sometimes a blinding light to the rest of game journalism, almost as i
Read more

Grace of God make us Holy.

-
  With nothing but a pound of flesh and the look in your brown eyes. sometimes I feel a confession of hearing this prayer of delight.   hide a reaction, begging for trust that I care for the sensual... not to be consumed by this lust as you undress like a ritual.   your pale nakedness honors god. A prayer full of confusion as much as your song is a bond, please articulate this lesson...   as your spread naked to see your body has a temple's warmth. A hallelujah song of the dream inside there has been a storm.   You're the bread of this church... in gratitude, I drink the wine. there is a fire but hope hurts. You're a light leading the blind.   Your music is a heartfelt drum like a war-cry fighting darkness. Victory rests on your tung. Your wet labor will bear witness.   The reflecting light of the moon though it is the light's glory between your legs, I am consumed... by the grace of god make us holy.
Read more