Newsletter No. 43: WITH THIS COCK I THEE WED "Even when lovers twist their naked bodies, skin against skin, seeking the position that will give the one the most pleasure in the other, even when murderers plunge the knife into the black veins of the neck...it is not so much their copulating or murdering that matters... - Italo Calvino "THE WHITE HEAT OF HIS ANGUISH BURNED ALL ANGUISH AWAY, AND CLEARED THE AIR..." - GIACOMO LEOPARDI It is a joy. It is a rapture. It is the drunken escapade of folly. It is the stoppered gun. It is what happens to you when you drink beyond your ability to contain that drink. It is The Cat Was Away Time. Eugene was in Germany and everything was A-Fucking-OK. There was no muttered detailing of shadowy plots. No frontside mirror speeches about His Handsomeness. No self-pitying diatribes on the decline of appreciative pussy. No. None of these things. There was, however, in his absence, a raft of suspicious discovery: video of unsavory couplings. A bag that contained nothing but a mask, a roll of duct tape, gloves and an icepick. A book about gay Nazi skinheads (perhaps in preparation for his European sojourn). And of course now he's back. Mention none of this to him. Consider it our little secret. Read his mini-tour diary (BELOW) and forget none of what we've just said. For our sakes. NOTE: Many of you asked about last month's teaser that read NEXT MONTH: WILL BE A WEEK LATE BECAUSE, BECAUSE WE'RE....PREGNANT!!! AND IN GERMANY WITH EUGENE. WITH SOME SERIOUS FUCKING PATERNITY QUESTIONS. There were some of you who misread the elliptical nature of the game and assumed that someone somewhere is pregnant. And while someone somewhere is most assuredly pregnant it is not by any of our cocks. The reference was to this newsletter being late. And now that the joke's been explained to you, doff your cap to the ruination of yet another bit of drollery. SHOW ME YOURS OXBOW is playing: 1) The EAGLE on Thursday, SEPT. 16TH w/ ROPE and THE ENABLERS. 2) The SILVERLAKE LOUNGE in LOS ANGELES on Saturday, SEPT. 18TH w/ROPE 3) The EMPTY BOTTLE in CHICAGO on Weds., SEPT. 22nd: This is part of the WIRE Magazine-sponsored Adventures in Modern Music Festival. OXBOW will play with Boom Bip, A View From the Window featuring Axel Dorner, Franz Hautzinger & Keith Rowe, and Leafcutter John. Show starts at 9. Don't expect us to be nice. 4) NOVEMBER 11, 12 & 13: LOS ANGELES, POMONA, and SAN FRANCISCO with oh mighty ISIS. Where? Unknown as of yet. THE BASIC RULE OF MISTRUST: TURKISH PIZZA "My name is Eugene Robinson. This is what I am writing you regarding the following shows 1. HAMBURG, GERMANY, AUGUST 29TH w/ with pop sensations THE REMINDER And 2. BERLIN, M-CLUSTER FESTIVAL, Foyer/Studio, Hanseatenweg 10 at 8 pm on SEPTEMBER 4TH with MANUEL LIEBESKIND on Electronics I make no claims of accuracy, fairness or equanimity." Here is a scenario: Me: jerking off. I stand up at table's edge and spread the catch cloth out in front of me, smoothing it as I take a deep sounding of what it is I am in the mood for. This could be anything. If it's a brown hair day and you have brown hair, this could be your day. Or at least the day I work myself into a state of turgidity over the brownness of your hair as it works its way through my fingers as I fuck your face in my mind. AND JUST AS PAINSTAKINGLY AS IT HAD BEGUN, IT FINISHES WITH A FULL CINEMATIC FLOURISH OF CALCIUM WHITENESS AND NIGHTNESS AND ME SCREAMING AS MY KNEES BUCKLE AGAINST THE DESK. My point here is: even though all the faces that go in, do so looking different; all the faces that come out look exactly the same. Translation: getting to Germany this time was like getting to Germany every other time. 1) They tried to kill me. 2) My seat was fucked up. 3) KLM Royal Dutch Airways should not run an ice cream stand nevermind an airline. The whole way over I thought about THE REMINDER and our sensitive pop ditties about love lost, regained and ultimately escaped. I gave extensive thought to my spoken word pieces. I slept fitfully. I listlessly pitched woo at the 58 year old sky slut stewardess. No OXBOW is always weird. Abandoning me and SAL'S porn site, www.skullgame.com, for a few days was weird. My priorities are fucked up. The plane lands and MANUEL and his now semi-pregnant girlfriend have arrived to help me navigate NaziLand. "SAY. HAVE YOUR TITS ALWAYS BEEN SO BIG OR IS IT THE PREGNANCY?" THIS WAS GREETED WITH THE USUAL SHOCK AND AMAZEMENT THAT AMERICANS ARE ALLOWED TO WALK FREE IN THE CIVILIZED WORLD FOR ANY LENGTH OF TIME AT ALL. But eventually after much couth-destroying back and forth I find out that they have gotten larger as a result of the pregnancy. "She looks like, um, ALEX...you know...around the mouth." Yes yes, I am BACK. BACK IN BLACK But there is a problem. The problem is that so many people have read the tour diaries that everyone is hyper and painfully conscious of what they say to me and as THE REMINDER's bass player says to me at one odd point with a glint in his eye, "I bet this is going to end up in the tour diary, eh?" TO WHICH I SAY "WHO KNOWS?" BUT THERE'S ONE THING I DO KNOW: MORE OF ME AND LESS OF THE WORLD IS A SURE PRESCRIPTION FOR SUCCESS. SO DON'T COUNT ON IT. But I have terrific jetlag dreams. Sex dreams. Deliciously filthy fucking sex dreams involving Norwegians, SNOG BOGGEN: The Flemish Ex-Pat Snow Creature That Roams Scandinavia Bringing Joy To All The Boys and Girls, and Turkish pizza. You see I have a fever and I shiver in Ratso Rizzo-like rhapsodies. My eyes are hot hot and it's all so confusing. And then it ended. And I am sad. Love is love, love. THE SHOW: HAMBURG It was great. Made even greater by the presence of coked up Germans, crying Germans, German girls making out on the dance floor, Germans fucking outraged that I have a swastika tattoo, German fans who've recorded this show like they recorded our last three OXBOW outings in Hamburg. And yes this is all as great as it sounds. Minus the excessive and continual smoking. But the songs sound great. (THE REMINDER not OXBOW). I did a spoken word piece about JOSEFINE NAUCKHOFF. If you know me, well, you can imagine. It was enjoyed by all. I mean they laughed. At me? With me? I have no idea. But sex stories seem appropriate and the presence in the audience of IMKE'S preacher man father cements this: I use the word COCK with unrestrained glee. He seems delighted. Perfect. NOTE: these will be atypically short because I drunk like a drunkard's drunk at all of these outings and so while my memory is usually ironclad in regards to shit, in this case there's just NOT a lot of shit to report other than me: staring, smiling, drinking. And people staring mutely at me while I perform all the above. THE SHOW: BERLIN This was one for the books though. First of all, guys in rock bands who have not thoroughly appreciated what a genius boondoggle ART is and MODERN MUSICAL art need to know that with a little recasting of image they too can be affixed, tick-like, to the capacious bosom of state-sponsored art at Carnegie Hall-like venues where whispering and smoking men will place envelopes of cash to the tune of thousands of dollars in your hand BEFORE the show, and when only 60 people show up, everyone is overjoyed. Take note. The shows and the performers in this show are all American with an odd smattering of Euro-filler. The Americans all instinctively distrust one another. LEROY JENKINS, MARK TRAYLE and the harpist broad ANNE something or other, while confirmed in the belief in their personal genius it seems are careful to guard the tit from outside intrusion. Well, the racket is safe with me because you see this is the show where I WAS FOUND OUT. THE DEVOLUTION OF MY SPOKEN WORD You see at first I used to read them, POEMS, off of paper. I read one to LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI and he grimaced kind of like I grimaced years later when I had to lie to him about one of his crappy paintings (that's OK. It's OK to suck at canasta when you play killer poker). Then I started doing set pieces. Like stand up stories: part comedy, part minstrelry. Then I started telling stories. Then I started just making the shit up ON THE SPOT. And this was exciting: no net. No plan (no book to sell post-show but that's neither here nor there). Nothing. THE HAMBURG PIECE WAS LIKE THIS AND IT WAS A STERLING EXAMPLE OF GENIUS IMPROV WITH ITS DETAILING OF LOVE AND FUCK AND MURDER FOR HIRE. GENIUS. BERLIN? Well according to THE DOCTOR (and not THE DOCTOR from SKULLGAME, but the one from tour diaries past who gives me LSD in Paris), "it didn't make any sense. And I SPEAK ENGLISH." "Yes it did." "Well you made a connection between arson and ass-fucking that seemed to consider the theological connections between the two but then you started talking about the theological connections between Jesus Christ and SpiderMan and well, this doesn't make any sense." He looks at me like I just robbed him. "You pay to get in tonight?" "Nope. It still doesn't make any sense though." And then silence. Well it would have made sense. I left out about three to four minutes of the story that would have weaved it all together. But I forget it. And for this there is no explanation outside of the fact that sometimes a Wallenda falls. But even more noteworthy then HIS general hostility regarding THE LOST FOUR MINUTES was the waves of hostility from the audience. "I kept waiting for the irony," said one perplexed and angered German. "But there was none. I am disturbed." YOU SEE APPARENTLY STORIES ABOUT ARSON AND ASS-FUCKING THAT ARE JUST STORIES ABOUT ARSON: BURNING DOWN BUILDINGS. AND ASS FUCKING: ASS FUCKING. ARE NOT TO THE LIKING OF SENSITIVE GERMAN AUDIENCES. Audiences who are expecting to be ENTERTAINED. Well, entertainment is a slippery concept and I say here for all to read that the stories I tell are bereft of postmodern ironies. They are sometimes, apparently bereft of sense. But they are chockfull, most certainly, of true-life shit that's happened to me that is significant for no other reason than that I've chosen to be paid to tell it to you. If it is funny, fine. If it is NOT funny, fine. It's like listening to your friend's crappy dreams except MY LIFE is much more disturbing then any of your friend's dreams about kissing his sister. But there WAS a SINGLE fan there, however. A 62-year-old American Ex-pat woman who worked in the theater for years who said to Manuel, "it was genius. As a theater piece I found it compelling. It was well-acted and as fine a piece of work as I've seen the whole festival." Doesn't stop the modern MUSIC fans from feeling like they've been abused. Which at this remove of several days, appeals to me more and more. I mean MANUEL's musical contribution was pure genius but the fact that mine was not and was in fact little more than drunk Eugene ranting is almost as pure a genius as might be imagined. THE DOCTOR studies the history of quantum mechanics. He knows very little, in actual fact however, about Jesus Christ OR Spiderman. I take the money and return to the Berlin café scene where I consort with the men of TV ON THE RADIO who are now my best fucking friends in the world and solid guys besides who are also knowing of my sister's genius animation and OXBOW familiars as well. I drink red wine. I get the swivel neck. I eat cake. I come back to America and rush over the bank to get greenbacks for my Euros. ART fucking pays. MAIL SCROTUM "I GOT THE VIDEO IN THE POST TODAY...WHAT A SHOW! The closest I have come to seeing Oxbow live thus far; I loved every minute of it, although I can't understand what everybody is saying - must be those weird accents. But the music is great: Eugene, if ever you guys decide that you need more musicians for Oxbow I will move to San Francisco in a minute and play whatever instrument is deemed appropriate if only I get to play. Christian, I don't know what to say to you but thank you for making this film. You asked me for feedback but if you mean stylistically, I'm probably the wrong person to ask because I was so enthralled by the music and the atmosphere; thus, I think you can do no wrong. All I can say is that I love you guys for doing this; it makes the world a so much more interesting place - THANK YOU VERY MUCH! By the way, is it meant to be black and white? I sometimes get the same effect when I convert NTSC via Toast...but no matter, THANK YOU FOR THE MOST ENJOYABLE HOUR I SPENT WATCHING OXBOW PERFORM. It only heightens my anticipation for things to come... My favourite quote: 'The first time I saw them, he put his hand in his underpants all the time. The second time it was uhm ...not so often.' [sic] But, perfect? Let me tell you a story about perfection: I was introduced to Oxbow's music three years ago on the way back from tour; we almost got killed on that tour and only the skills of our driver saved the band from being buried under a juggernaut (Thanks Vincent - I owe you one!). On the way back I was driving the van from Italy to Britain accompanied by your music; everybody apart from Alex was asleep as we listened to SERENADE IN RED over and over again. AN EVIL HEAT later I'm back working with Alex and he recommended that I check out your website. Your newsletters made me smile a lot and your music makes me smile even more - thank you! If and when you come over to Britain I would be more than pleased to organise a gig for you in Oxford. I will personally guarantee prompt payment, luxurious accomodation, and an ample supply of pharmaceuticals. I can't wait to see you over here soon... -- JAN OLIVER VON MEPPEN A MAN NAMED MARC Hello Eugene, hello Oxbow, hello love boat to hell That was a good read, this first newsletter I received. About 'showing the, euhm, penis', last weekend there was the yearly Gay Pride canal (not anal!) parade here in Amsterdam...hundreds of gays on boats (oversized kettles from hell...) dancing and showing off and all that, just one restriction, they were not allowed to show their, uhm, y'know, genitals. oops! on one of the boats (because there always will be SUBVERSIVE individuals/groups etcetera) they wore fake, uhm, penisses, as a protest, wow man, first the police was shocked, but(T) when they noticed they had to laugh too! So far so bad for freedom of expression. So what is this about 'loathing' people? what did Bukowski say,"I dont hate people, I just feel better without them?" he had a mild moment there... so next time Oxbow plans to destroy Holland, let's hop on a boat (battle into the kettle) together, we of PLASTERED love you and you without a doubt will love us (or hate us, it's all the same) so far for now or never Marc A PLAYA HATER No shit: "I can't even believe the fucking hype. oxbow sounds like a bunch of drunk idiots whining/screaming like they have been papercut on their dicks and doused in saltwater. after all the shit everyone says about how great they are, I'm really pissed I listen to you idiots and wasted a cdr and hd space on the biggest piece of shit excuse for a band I've ever heard. I want my fucking 38 cents back for my blank cdr." He sounds disappointed. Cheers, Elliott Toronto Ontario http://69.20.13.41/phpbb/viewtopic.php?t=67584 A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND "greetings!, I'm going out on a fucking limb here, but I have received a reply from a club called Local 506. Kind of a shitty little hole in the wall, (local freak coven). If you are interested (false hope) they would like to here from you. I can either send them some shit to arouse their intrest, or you can contact them at Glenn co/ Local 506 506 W. Franklin st. Chapel Hill NC 27516 919-942-5506 or, I can drop the whole thing, and stop wasting your fucking time. I did try though. best wishes, Justin Jones by the way: I'm going out of my mind over here, I'm sure you have assloads of assholes trying to communicate with you, but I am in desparate need of intellectual stimulation. I enjoy Kurt vonnegut, Jean Paul Sartre, Tom Robbins, Throbbing Gristle, Justin Broadrick, Helios Creed, self mutilation, Punk Rock, Jon Spencer, etc... I am stuck here in redneck country. I am trying to build my own studio, but the language is largely Sanskrit to me. If you are interested in friendly(?) conversation, call (252)617-3040 although, my phone is currently broken. should have a new one by Tues. tell me what you think, or tell me to fuck off, whichever. EUGENE & A BEASTIE BOYS STORY "I ever tell you about the time I roadied for my friends in the Beastie Boys? they played this hoity toity KNITTING FACTORY art place in lower manhattan. and as they were leaving the guy from the club came out and said "hey....we seem to be missing a marshall amp. any of you guys see it?" and they said "fuck no, man." and there was this mexican stand-off during which this art fuck had to weigh the present consequences of his actions vis a vis asking to search the van and catching a beating or bitching out by calling the cops. he did neither. he took his burgle like a man, shrugged and went back inside. so it goes: the naked face of larceny. this is what I'm about. because like Perry said: it ceases being a felony when they GIVE you the money. you just wait." NEXT MONTH: I WILL GET TO YOU NO MATTER WHAT. NO. MATTER. WHAT. [ Newsletter ]