DON'T DIE

Tim Morse: what's the word my friend?
Not Tim: the words for today? Don't get fucking caught. As usual.
TM: I'm a bit cluttered now.
Not Tim: that's okay. That just means you have something that needs to be done. Which is always good. Never GETTING it done is something else. A soul disease maybe....but not one that I have...yet.
TM: Can't find a work.
Not Tim: welcome to a Bush world...I was in the same position when his fucking father was raping America...it was tough times and people who tell you it has nothing to do with the office of the president don't know what the fuck they're talking about...take strength that as bad as it could be, traditionally it has only lasted 4 years...
TM: It's a cruel world out there.
Not Tim: agreed.
TM: My daughter just had a percussion show at school. What a kid, wants to be just like her old man, ( oh great!) I should take her out on fathers day but all I want to do is stay in my room. Not Tim: take her out...there'll be plenty of time later on when she'll be glad to let you stay alone inside...enjoy this other shit NOW, my friend....because death is around every corner...believe me...
TM: Life, it's a killer.
Not Tim: and I wouldn't have it any other way....
TM: yeah, I'm taking her out in the morning. fuck it I was just feeling a little sorry for myself.
Not Tim: feeling sorry for myself is a great personal pasttime...however I remember all of the time I spent in high school being fucking heavily depressed and while I find myself indulging now I do it for nostalgia and not because I feel like I can't captain my ship...so it's just an avenue for pleasure primarily these days. I know I'm getting dangerously destructive when my mind turns to, yup, you guessed it...crime.So do some fucking pushups...preferably to exhaustion...and remember that there are people out there who need killing and the person who might be there to give them what they need could be YOU!
TM: Thank you! When I'm at my darkest I thank god I have a person like you in my life to put me back on track.You are a true giant and a good friend. My daughter and I had a great Father's Day. We went to my practice space and jammed for a couple of hours. Fuckin' awesome! That kid is gonna be a fuckin' hell of a good drummer.

We hate the word "fan." It seems to presume a lot about celebrity, art, culture and blowjobs that has very little to do with the process that's involved here with hearing about our music, buying (or stealing) our music, listening toour music and enjoying our music enough to want to tell us about it. It seems that Biafra has "fans." It seems like OXBOW has listeners. And it also seems like the most ardent OXBOW listeners, allowing for age, race, geographical and religious affiliation, tend toward one common factor: they will soon be dead.

And I mean dead as in no longer living.

So to honor some of the biggest OXBOW fans around we are building a matrix whereby we can keep track of our living listeners, estimate how long before they become dead listeners and for those amongst the still willing to wager, small bets can be placed regarding who will be most likely to move from Column A to Column B, and exactly how quickly. Let the betting beginS�But first the OXBOW Hall of Fame.

Who: Karl first bought an Oxbow record in Florida where his family had moved him from England. He taped it, scratched the record and returned it for a full refund. He hated the record. Multiple listenings convinced him that FUCKFEST was the soundtrack to his life. Karl moved to Northern California, tracked us down at a show and appointed himself our official videographer.

What: Karl loved OXBOW. Karl loved OXBOW a lot. But what Karl loved even more than OXBOW was crack cocaine. And Heroin. And 16-year-old hookers.

How: Karl, after four successive tries in as many days (one in which he handcuffed his girlfriend to the bed because he didn't want to die alone), succeeded in purposefully OD'ing. He died listening to his Walkman with FUCKFEST and KING OF THE JEWS, along with Terminal Cheesecake.

Who: Dan Melnick had an inherent understanding of OXBOW song structure and thematic underpinning. He knew all the words. He was also insane.

What: While interned in a mental institution Dan had his eye yanked out by another inmate he had attacked a few days earlier who had accused him of being a Fed. He subsequently sported an eye-patch and branched out from OXBOW to enjoy bands I've never heard like TYPE O NEGATIVE and PANTERA.

How: While shopping at Albertson's Dan had an "incident" with a woman shopper that resulted in him leaping to a counter-top, fending off store employees while hurling barbecue chicken at them, and screaming invective. Nearly the state I discovered him in at 3:30 in the morning when we were roommates. He was singing PANTERA at the time, I remember. When the police showed up, a scuffle ensued, and Dan was delivered to the local emergency room dead. An investigation is still pending the results of an autopsy.

1) Who: Mickey R. Ex-cop, skateboarder, man about town.

What: After an OXBOW show Mickey got into a fight with his girlfriend, she jumped from a moving car, a high speed chase down one way streets ensued. His car crashed upside down into a lot. He punctured the gas tank and blew the car up. He called the car in stolen and went home to watch TV and await his girlfriend's return. He was later kicked off of the police force for pistol whipping a bar patron while off-duty. He attributed the exploded car to OXBOW.

Odds: Mickey, while possibly open to the blandishments of rap rock and that ilk, has enough ready access to firearms and friends in the police department that he's our odds on favorite for moving from COLUMN A (LIVING) to COLUMN B (DEAD) amongst OXBOW fans.

2) Who: Christopher "Fozzy" H., musician extraordinaire, general contractor

What: Fozzy's inclusion is noteworthy because of the complete lack of anti-social activity in his dossier. Which means, as far as we can tell, that he's way overdue.

Odds: Fozzy is the dark horse candidate and is more than likely the most likely to live a very, very, very long time, however the Travis Bickle-like absence of a steady emotional focus in his life could be the straw that breaks the camel's fucking jaw.

3) Who: Tim M., graphic designer, former drummer for Anal Cunt

What: Tim has also failed to exhibit major acts of anti-social behavior, however Tim's failure to obtain a steady work (as shown in the above email exchange) is the destabilizing factor that could light the fuse that sets him out like a flaming roman candle into the obsidian and narcotic night of blood and fiery explosions.

Odds: While he's paused in traffic sobbing only once to OXBOW music (the song was GAL from LET ME BE A WOMAN), a lovable and loving daughter is his one tether to life among the healthy.

4) Who: Nick B., musician and shadowy hulking figure

What: Nick is a collector extraordinaire. You want to hear it, he's got it. He likes OXBOW not so much because the rhythms match his mind but because his mind matches our minds. While former drunken escapades might seem to rank him high on the scale of likely to explode his insight and awareness of the continued need for "The Even Keel," a decent girlfriend, a decent job and a modicum of ambition means that he'll probably outlive ME.

Odds: Of going out in a blaze of glory? Low. But don't discount him; anybody described as a Gentle Giant by his friends is just a mall rampage away from happening.

5) Who: Chika S., graphic designer, former OXBOW-manager

What: A deceptive choice. Women usually are. While fooling the rest of the world with the "Demure Japanese Woman" routine, Chika is not fooling us at all. She left Japan to come to the states to MANAGE OXBOW. Enough said.

Odds: Men she's beaten in the fit of unexplainable rages? Too many to count. Her boyfriend? A former competitive bodybuilder, computer professor. Place your bets.