I have been really enjoying my group vocal class that I am taking this term. It seems as if the other students have taken this class one or more times before. Many of my fellow students are apparently from the drama department and many are amazing singers.
In addition to singing in Italian from a vocal workbook, we each have to sing 5 times solo in front of the class during the term. Today was my first time singing under the scrutiny of my peers. I sung 'Long Black Veil', Johnny Cash-style. I felt I did okay, but it's funny how nervous one becomes when singing in front of a class of people paying rapt attention to your technique. Nervy, but really fun. I can't wait for my next turn up.

We had a really good time at our wetlands show on saturday. The Underlings' set went by in a flash, but it felt really good. Everyone stayed on track and played with guts. The fun was large.
Yoyodyne from portland were a good guy/girl power trio with an edgy, pop sound. Good songs and good arrangements. Worth checking out if they are playing in town.
The Squids and Dan kicked out their slippery jams in a Squid-like fashion. Dave's baritone guitar work laid a low-rumble oomph to their sound. They seemed really fluid and pushin' and the rock was felt.
Back to school, back to reality. Goodbye, bar dreams.

I have been experiencing anticipation and excitement for the debut of my newest Underlings. Tomorrow night feels like it could be an explosive and unique event. The energy level is high. My fingers ae sore from playing large amounts of guitar.
Today, I had my one-and-only guitar student over for a lesson. The hour before he arrived, I realized that I had better come up with something cool to teach him. I looked up "Travis Picking" on google and learned some cool pattern-picking stuff wit me fingers. Now, my right-hand finger-tips feel like they are about to bleed. I guess I got hooked on those new finger-picking patterns and I overdid it during the course of my day's guitar playing. Let this be a warning to all instrument operators out there: practice often and practice well, but don't overdo it or your fingers might regret it.
Also swam some laps at the pool today and went to work. Life is enjoyable in it's plain-ness. Every day is like unflavored yogurt; waiting for some fruit and nuts; waiting to be consumed by a desirous omnivore.

What a hoot!

Things keep happening. The repetition of events in my life is unnerving. Good and bad things happening again and again. Are all the players real, or just a re-creation of kids I knew in grade school? Is it all just some big maze I've been placed in by some cosmic being, and am I just a rat in someone else's experiment? What hoops do I need to start jumping through so that I might make it to the next level of somethingness? For the time being, I am prepared to carry on.

Snow Day! Snow Day! I get the day off from school and work. The little birds flit about the backyard. Dribbles of snow-plobs drabble off of the tree branches. Eugene is a much more pleasant place when it is covered with a blanket of white snow. The streets look pure and un-molested by leaves and debris. Small children are running around pelting each other's heads with snow balls. Today, I am grateful for nature's own slacker holiday.

A new year, a fresh start. It'd be hard to run down all of the events of the past two or three weeks, but I'll try to hit on some key points.
Our household has been enjoying our kick-ass new HP computer that Tina's mom and dad got us for Christmas. We are spoiled shits, I know. It's very nice to be able to finally troll the internet at high-speed instead of hi-speed. Hopefully I'll have more time to dedicate to using this computerized power in a creative fashion, rather than rotting on myspace, defending myself from the forceful, digitized requests of other "people"; entities in "bodies" that look out from "eyes" into some device called a "monitor" and, using punch-keys, try to input themselves upon my life via the internet. God bless this digitized representation of existence.
The Underlings have changed again. I have two new members in my musical army - Bryant Grace on drums and Dave Peterson on bass. Mike Z and Dylan did admirably as the Underlings rhythm section and their service to duty is duly noted, but I have parted ways with them. Bryant is a friend of mine from work and Dave is from the punk rock boonies of Dexter. They're both about my age and we all tend to dig the same kinds of music. Oh, and they're both killer players, too. Practice has been happening more and more often and I am feeling really good about the resulting sounds. I can't wait to share them with you.
School starts today at 2 for me, so I had better get my ass in gear and figure out what the hell I'm doing.
C-Ya,
Ed

Thanks to everyone for their kind words about Lulu.

Dori and Sydney brought some flowers over in memory of our dear departed dog. Mrs. Random blogged about it, Raenie emailed condolences, Dan phoned and many others were saddened when they learned the news that one of the pillars of Eugene dog lore had passed on to the Grey Havens. I'm sure she's there now, where a pure, green landscape folds out, illuminated beneath a swift sunrise, along with Frodo, Gandalf and my old cat, Minerva. Thanks all, for your caring and support.

Friday was the blow-out Fast Computers Christmas Show at Sam Bonds. We were among the featured singers that occured during the course of the evening, with Tom Heinl and Peter Dean hosting. I like the way that it feels like an old-style Christmas pagent that would be on tv 40 years ago. Tina and I sang 'the Sleigh Song'; I felt that I could have done better if I'd had a few drinkls in me, but I was caught in the midst of a bout of sobriety. We had fun still and it was nice to be dressed up for a pagent. Marietta, Mike Roderick, Pete Wilde & Annie, Brian P, Dan J, Dori, Lelulaserlight, Joe P, Patrick Hayden and several others sang Christmas-oriented songs; Jake Pavlak played 'Here Comes Santa Claus' on Telecaster and Jen Fox rendered 'Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer' on glockenspiel very nicely. Wish you were there. Maybe you can make it next year - or maybe not, since it was so packed that I felt as if I could barely move throughout the night.

Anyways, later days

Ed

I feel horrible, I feel sad; my sweet dog Lulu is dead. I had her put to sleep this morning. She had been vomiting blood and became more and more dehydrated over the past 5 days. She had been struggling with an internal disorder for the better part of month. The vet said she could have diagnosed her ailment, but it would have been beyond our means to afford any real hospitalization, operation or serious treatment plan. The estimates went up from $1,000 ... I feel like a cruel sonovabitch, but Lulu had had so many severe skin, ear and infection problems ever since she was a young pup, I felt like the least cruel thing I could do would be to put her down. P
lease don't send me hate mail - I really loved my sweet dog. The picture above is from a month ago; she and her best friend, Frita snuggled together for warmth. Rest in peace, Lulu. You will be missed.

Ed Cole celebrates his personal decade with Birdie Jo.


How many times have I laughed myself pissing while watching Birdie Jo? I don't really know, but when I saw them play again on Saturday night, I was definitely laughing with all the glee of a 26 year-old, self-pissing geezer instead of a 36 year-old one. Long live Birdie Jo! I have been seeing this band for ten fucking years now and I am still awed and inspired every time I see them play. Pedro, Michael and ScottK and Amy - I idolize you all. I don't know what it is you do, but you must do it good because I keep coming back.
The first time I saw Birdie Jo was the first time I had ever been inside Sam Bond's Garage in early 1996; the experience was good. I was introduced to two of my favorite things in Eugene in one night. Birdie Jo were just a three-piece band then and they sounded nothing like I thought they would. I had already met ScottK at the health food store he used to work at. I thought he was the kind of guy who would have a raging punk band. Birdie Jo was not that kind of a band. They were punk in attitude, but they played a weird brand of clanky, working-class folk-punk.
Quietly, the band rumbled along with a dis-jointed yet compelling sound. The lyrics were great - they sounded like they could have been written by either Charles Manson or Woodie Guthrie or possibly by both. And then there was Pedro; the matinee idol of the Eugene underworld.
Pedro was playing sitting down that night and had also lost his voice. He kept yelling, "I'm a twelve-year-old boy! I'm a twelve-year-old boy!", and it sounded like he meant it. He was strumming spastically at a bass with both of his hands and fingers covered with duct tape - why, I'll never know(or care) but it was funny as hell to see him strum and yell. Pedro was a spaz, but he played and sang with all of his heart and somehow that heart-felt feeling came through in his forceful, spasmoditic performances. It was often both hilarious and moving to watch at times.

Over time, many of my own bands ended up playing shows with Birdie Jo. One night in the Fall of 1996, Birdie Jo and a band I had called "Seat" or something played a show at the old John Henry's along with a bunch of other local bands for a KWVA birthday show or something. ScottK, Amy and Michael were playing, sitting down, without Pedro - just drums, guitar and cello, no bass - and this huge frat guy was very drunk and aggressive with the band. He showed his dislike of the music by standing menacingly on the stage, staring down at the band and trying to challenge ScottK to a fight.
Scott turned him down and this guy ended up being drunk, violent and belligerent
all night long, much to everyone's dismay. But I always admired ScottK's ability to send the guy on his way without provocation or hard words. He was under the power of Birdie Jo.

The other night was their annual Thanksgiving reunion show. Seeing Pedro walk in with his mohawk cracked me up. I just about pissed myself.

If you ever come and see them, wear adult undergarments.

Birdie Jo rocks! They are unique freaks of nature and prime examples of all the goodness that humanity has to offer.

Give thanks, the bird is dead...

Man, Thanksgiving was pretty mellow this year, but mellow is good. I feel well-rested and well-fed and I am thankful for that. Tina made a medium-sized turkey bird with all the trimmings. Quite delicious! I am the beneficiary of some fine-ass cooking. Zook came over and ate and commenced hanging out for a couple of hours while we watched a really crappy English movie called Love, Actually. Sucks, Actually is what I was thinking the whole time. No gunfights and no car chases; it didn't feel at all like a thnksgiving movie. Oh well, better luck next year.
Now, I am oh-so-happy to be back at work the day after, lifting the produce boxing and slinging the B.S. with my workmates. Later, I work the soundboard at Sam Bond's Garage for reggae singer Norma Fraser. Should be a good show.Tomorrow, I work the Birdie Jo reunion show, same venue. If you see me at either show, come over and say "hi".

Over and oot,

Ed

Saturday was a most amazing day/night.

I've been going pretty hard-core lately, what with school and work and band and all the other things that go into being a human resident of planet Eugene. I often think of my many friends who seem to also be pushing themselves into an exhaustive, cathartic state of art-worship and party culture that kind of defines the state of our intersecting music and social scene - Mr Random, Shawn Mediaclast, my girl Tina and many other bands and persons. Why do we do it? Work at our jobs to survive, spend precious few moments with our families some weekends, go out and play in our bands or dj gigs or performance stuff or whatever, only to return to school/work on Monday, frazzeledand burnt-out, only to do the same thing all over again the next weekend. That being said, I must tell you of my Saturday experience.
Saturday evening started out pretty well. After a pleasant family dinner of stir-fry and rice - we often enjoy a nice, healthy meal before going off to our various rock and roll events. I dropped Cosmo off at the McDonald Theatre, where the Cherry Poppin' Daddies were playing and then I was off to KWVA, where the Underlings were slated to play live, on-the-air.
Mike Z, Dylan and I played pretty damn well on the Baker's Ball show. It was totally fun; the fun was total. I think we sounded pretty good, also.
Later, I loaded some gear for Tina's gig at the Downtown Lounge and then made my way to John Henry's for my gig. Mikey and I hung at SNAFU club for a drink and then to D-Lo to hang with the Ov's a bit, finally making it back to our show, ready to play at 1 am or so.
When we hit the stage, it was like a sack of wet corn-meal splatting on a sidewalk. We played what was possibly the worst show ever - well, at least the worst show I've played since the Garden Weasel show at the Jambalaya club in Arcata circa October 1991. It was...terrible! We fucking bombed, worse than I can remember having ever bombed before. I couldn't even tell that drums were being played. Dylan broke a bass string. I forgot my lyrics and felt like I was in a vaccuum of suck-ness. What was to blame? The patron saint of unconcious drummers worldwide, alcohol? Or was it just that the stars mis-aligned and pulled is into the vomitrous nebula of anti-music? I gave up and lay down onstage and just let chaos reign. We couldn't even finish a song all the way through. It was either hilarious or disaserous or both. But at least it will make a good story for the grand kids.

Shawn and Prudence the wonder-pug dropped in to listen at Sam Bond's on Friday. How is it that I know so many cool mammals?

I like school, but I have some bad habits left over from my care-free days in highschool that have got to go. The classes I like I charge into pretty full-steam. The classes I don't like, however, I have a hard time keeping up with.
I took my career guidance class mainly to fulfill a requirement. It is terrible - the teacher is nice, but the rest of the kids in my class are half my age. Also, I am forced to examine myself - my likes, dislikes, personality qualities, etc...- so that I might land in a future job environment better suited to my skills. EEEEWWWWWWGGGHHH!!! I hate examining myself - I'd rather be an unknown quanity. Also - I hate all jobs equally! I don't want to work - I just want to be holed up in a creepy mental institution with coffee and pills and a cassette recorder and a ukelele or something. Still, I think I will hang in there in the world of school and work for awhile longer yet.

I went to see No Means No last Thursday for only the ninth time since 1989. They seemed well, although both bassist Rob Wright and guitarist Tom Holliston seemed tired. Still, they always play their own brand of complicated jazz-punk as if their lives depended on it - i.e. the only way to play.
My hero-worship of No Means No is akin to what I feel about Mike Watt or DOA - those are some of the only bands out there that have lasted and still participate in the get-in-the-van punk ethos. They'll never be rich or famous, but they are doing what they do out of love and commitment to their music. That's always what I've wanted to do when I grow up.
My Underlings played at Sam Bonds on Friday and it was good. Many work friends were there + of course Monsieur Random and Tina. That night, Dylan and Mikey became a "crack" rhythm section. They truly filled in the cracks and also played like they were on crack. All I had to do was just slop down some music and they would spread it and flatten it out like they were laying a highway or somethin'.

If you don't know (or don't remember) who Stew is, you should familiarize yourself. An artist's artist, that's who he is.

School is starting to kick my ass. Actually, that's not true; LIFE is kicking my ass, in a good way and school is just one part of that. I am working as hard as I can to keep on top of my classes but I still feel dis-organized and un-focused. I'm glad to have a chance to break out of the old routine, 'cause working the natural foods circuit has become more and more like prostitution to me. Don't wanna do it.

Come see the Underlings play with Brooklyn songwriter Eef Barzelay at Sam Bond's Garage on Friday. I think we play at 9:30.

I've actually been writing a whole lot lately; just not on my blog.

I am really enjoying my writing 121 class at Lane. All the required reading and writing is working the brain muscles that have long sat, un-used in my cranium. Exploring topics such as Tupac Shakur's educated thugster-ism and former alcoholic/writer/living person Caroline Knapp's cautionary tales of boozin'-gone-bad, I have a hunch that my teacher is forcing my class and I to examine ourselves and our own motivations and perspectives, whether through writing about Thug Life or addiction. Yikes! Some of this shit is hitting too close to home for comfort. I would highly reccomend author Caroline Knapp's Drinking: A love story to any of my interested literary friends. (Dan Jones? Mrs. Random?Are you out there?)

In addition to all my school-orientation - by the way, I FUCKING LOVE SCHOOL! - I have been rehearsing as much as possible with the Underlings. Which, actually, isn't very much since all of us are going to school and/or working all the time. We are coming along, however, continuing to fuse soul and pop songs and Ramones-y garage rock and I home some people come out to Sam Bonds on November 3d to see us open for Brooklyn songwriter Eef Barzelay .

Here are some quotes copied out of my dad's WW2-era journal:

"If one complains to you for any cause, it is more a Godsend than a calamity, for he could do more harm by complaining to others about you.

A person who has had a grievance satisfied is a better booster than one who has had no grievance at all.

Right or wrong, the complainant has some merit on his side.

First maneuver is to give ground rapidly as, "I'm terribly sorry this has happened." This is known as rolling with the punch. Allow the complainant to get the beef out of his system without you fighting back. Amongst friends and family, familiarity wipes out restraints and we are more apt to rely on vocal force and bull-headedness.

A heated assertion draws a heated retort, and when heated, a mind is hermetically sealed to reason.

It is well to avoid vituperation, personal affronts, sarcasm, glittering wise cracks and half-baked opinions."

I reckon my father was around forty years old when he wrote that. I wish he had written a book.

The Underlings' show at Sam Bonds Garage went well. The people were there to be rocked and we rocked 'em. This was our second performance and I felt it went well - it's starting to feel like a band.

I Can Lick any Son of a Bitch in the House played after us and kicked some dust up with their hairy, American-roots /punk/bar-band music. People love sincere, shit-kicking bands at Sam Bonds and the place was packed to prove it.

Third band Hillstomp I had seen years ago at the Ash street Saloon in Portland. They are a blues two-piece band consisting of two guys, one on slide guitar and singing, the other on percussive buckets, metal things, washboard and also vocals. With good chemistry and sound, they had the minmal dancefloor at Sam Bonds PACKED with sweaty, drinking dancing humans. Disgusting! Yet, spirited revelry also, it was. I was impressed.

Tina had a show over at the Wetlands (although she caught the Underlings set and took that picture) so I hitched a ride over there and watched the last two songs of the Ovulators' set. They sounded good, and the room sound at Wetlands was suprisingly full and good. It seemed like a fun scene.

Then, packed up, went home, and slept zzzzz

My school has been going good, although I should be writing a paper right now instead of blogging. Until next time...

Mission of Burma, September 17th, 2006


My heart was slain by Mission of Burma last night. The band from the past coming back with a blast. Now I see where so many noisy/artsy/melodic/destructo-bands got their ideas from. I can remember feeling so turned on when I first discovered MOB when I was 18 - I bought a copy of Reflex magazine with a copy of 'This is not a photograph' included as a flexi-disc. I dropped the needle, and my brain was changed. MOB were chemical to me in the best way.
Last night was like that all over again. I went into the show with no expectations and my mind was blown with the first chord. I could wax eloquently about how surreal it was to hear 'That's when I reach for my revolver' in such a powerful, emotional way by three guys that could have been has-beens, but turned out to be the real shit instead-but I won't. My mind has been blown again, and it's just what I needed. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

An era has ended. Not just for you, not just for me, but for all of Eugene and Lane county.

I have dispensed with my long-time associate, the red-and-white Chevy van, that has served me so well since June of 2001. I know it's been said, many times, many ways, but a man ain't a man without his van. I feel a gaping hole in my heart, where my van used to be; a hole that will take a long time in healing before it is ready to allow another van in. But someday, I will have another van. MARK MY WORDS.

For months now, the red Chevy van was in a steep decline. When we took it up highway 58 about a month ago, past Oakridge & up 3,000 ft, the van, it was overheating and finally the fan belt broke. We made it back home the next day, trying to coast whenever possible to keep the van-ship from overheating. During our recent move, the old Chicken Ship of Love was sputtering and clanking - the drive line was developing problems and the engine was running but prone to overheating.



Finally, the red Van just bit it. It started to leak water out of the freeze plugs on the side of the engine. I drove it out past the airport on highway 99 yesterday and sold it to Pick-a-part salvage yard for a mere $75. It barely made it & it was overheating horribly, spraying water, clanking etcetera, but still, my faithful red one made it.
I rode my bike back into town and that was that,




Thanks, Red Van! May you rest in pieces and hopefully be recycled into many other vehicles. Long Live the Red and White Van!

Wow!@ I can't believe I haven't posted since 8/22. It seems like things keep happening in my life.

Tina, Cos and I moved over onto Churchill st, waaaay over in west Eugene. Kind of suburban-feeling; I think I just saw the Brady Bunch getting out of their mini-van down the street - but we love our pad- plenty of room for all of us + a wonderful back yard with nice, big trees. I can't wait to crank up the Marshalls and see how the neighbors react - I have a feeling they will all grow to love the rock.

Tina is off, on her way to fly to California and then Rhode Island, escorting her grandmother back home. I hope she has a safe and wonderful trip. That girl knows how to travel, though - let me tell ya.

The Underlings will debut this Saturday, September the 9th at 9pm at Luckeys Club Cigar (located by Broadway - or 9th ave) opening for the avante-new wave of TOUCHFORCE. If you are reading this, I hope you choose to attend, because I am particularly proud of how this new band is developing. These guys - Dylan Esmonde and Mike Z - are playing the sh*t out of the material, and it's really sounding fresh and full of potential. Garage-y yet pop and smashingly energetic; we'll knock your socks off and make you eat them.

PEACE!