love

The greatest?

It’s The Zimmers Band, starring 90-year-old Alf, from an advance clip of a BBC television documentary made by Tim Samuels to air in May ‘07. (This clip was recorded at the Beatles 2 Studio at Abbey Road studios, hence the reenactment of the Abbey Road cover photo.)

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John Cabral has put together one of the more banal approaches to the virtual world I have yet seen. Add to the banality of evil, the banality of all our market-driven drive to render a world we don’t even feel comfortable living in.

animaland home video

Artist Ursula Endlicher makes a wide variety of some of the most jaw-droppingly odd and hilarious performance based video out there. One of her projects has been to make “Web Site Portrait” performances. As she says:

She has made a beautiful Web Site Portrait Performance based on the Morex Optimo Web site. Enjoy!

Thanks, Ursula!

What’s wrong? Here’s my to do list:

# Introduce Martin Heidegger.
# Introduce Wim Wenders.
# Intertwine Heidegger and Wenders.
# Define Metaphysics.
# Overcome Metaphysics.

Then we just have to lay on some keyboard tracks, and we’re good.

What’s wrong?

To make delicious vegetable barley soup:

1 Can Vegetable Barley Soup (I’m using Amy’s brand)
1 microwavable cup
1 microwave

Open can and pour soup into cup. Place cup in microwave. Heat for appropriate amount of time (2 minutes works for me). Do not overheat. Let stand 1 minute and eat.

…otherwise I just call for delivery from M Shanghai. Want to go with me again Heather?

well, okay. i guess it’s been long enough that we can’t churlishly hold our little tour experiences to our bosoms as “current” anymore and have to admit that it’s now several weeks in the past. what kristofer said, basically. plus here are some more pictures.

yuri trying to figure out how to use his camera on the actual balcony of the actual place where roman grew up. or. where he spent his early years, it will be a sad day for all of us if he ever grows up. by the way, yuri never did figure out how to use that camera, as none of the pictures came out.

our first night we stopped in gmunden, austria. look how fresh we look. the next morning, adamant about going swimming and unconvinced by the locals who warned us not to, we jumped in the frigid traunsee…and then just as quickly jumped out, shivering and cursing. roman shook his head and laughed.

our first show, in the half indoor-half-outdoor space at the kunsthaus passage in vienna, with a beautiful viennese night scene in the background. as the roman games began their first song, a drunken mook (don’t know the austrian equivalent) started a barfight so we had to stop and make sure everyone was okay. shaken, we played the rest of the set and had to calm our nerves with plenty of beer.

yuri and heather “networking” after the show.

yuri’s nerve.com photo

next night in vienna at the socialist youth headquarters, vekks. our austrian tour manager extraordinaire, hilde, gave orders like a general and had them rearrange the stage so quickly. notice the lazy chick in the foreground, avoiding hard work as usual.

hilde, post roman games show where she literally let her hair down. Hilde is an extraordinary artist working in sculpture, installations, costume-design, and performance, often merging all these elements in various ways.

morex optimo playing on the properly aligned stage. NB: i played my best show ever here.

the palm tree is especially humorous touch since it was probably the dankest, darkest, mustiest basement ever.

the socialist youth of vienna.

then, later that night, we bolted to our next gig at the anarchist youth squat, EKH. here are the anarchist punks of vienna, watching the roman games. I played my best show here.

roman’s nerve.com photo

barango, our host in budapest. he is true, old-school punk and a geninuely kind and generous human being. and i have never seen punk rock played on a *5-string bass*!

aggi, our other host and barango’s bandmate and ladymate. playing keyboards in shades, with beer in one hand. it cannot get much cooler than that.

kristofer’s nerve.com photo (men seeking men). roman had a word with him about keeping his shirt during shows on so this won’t happen again. i say if you got it, flaunt it. guess it depends on what you think ‘it’ is.

budapst by night…and about 10 seconds before we got pulled over by cops! who made kristofer breathe into a little machine and then tried to get us to cough up 100,000 forints to let us go home! fortunately barango talked them out of it.

another view of budapest by night. and then roman– haha, nothing, forget it.

i thought this statue extremely hilarious: it was right over a garden of little impatients and the statue was a soldier with a sword and a whip. it looked like he was commanding the little flowers, under pain of death, to GROW! GROW! no one seemed to think it was as funny as i did, but they humored me anyway.

our charming hosts barango and aggi.

we drove straight from budapest to vienna, to pick up the lovely hilde again, and she took us to a beautiful house on the attersee. we sat on the porch drinking hungarian palinka and watched shooting stars. BOO-RIIING!!

the next morning, my running route. a few cows played defense but i was wily and pulled some fancy moves to manoeuver around them. kristofer was grumpy about anyone taking boring landscape pictures so we had to sneak his camera when he was asleep to get shots like this. soo boring. hey, what’s YOUR desktop photo these days kristofer? uh huh. boring landscape, right?

i don’t know if kristofer mentioned it, but we went swimming quite a bit.

kristofer writing a thank you note.

roman, ever the teacher, correcting it.

in zürich, at club helsinki. our trusty “psychedelic fur”. i came down with the flu in the middle of this set. i didn’t play my best show ever on this one.

well, we’d planned out what we’d do if kristofer broke one string (a given) and two strings (woops) but not THREE strings. here is the backup backup plan where kristofer recites rilke in german. despite our strong misgivings, yuri and i had to admit that it was kind of charming. then again i was sick that night.

kristofer with silvana, our lovely and generous zürich host.

me, flugrippy and sheepishly explaining to kristofer why it wasn’t my best show ever. he looks more admonishing than he was.

st. gallen at the very cool grabenhalle club. i played my best show ever here.

in basel, at an abandoned german railyard. very spooky environment but a bunch of very hip outdoor clubs had cropped up.

roman rockin it in basel.

hotel alpenhof, aka hotel “fa”. our friend fa (with the big hair) was up in the mountains in an empty hotel and invited us up to stay and play. by the way, fa is the man responsible for the most beautiful cross that led to my most beautiful goal ever, by the way. and a brilliant drummer and musician, a veteran of the mashup.

yuri, freaking out.

lokalmatador roman heating up his hometown rorschach. this, after 6 hours of soccer, after 1 hour of sleep the night before. and oh, it didn’t even stop here!

the elsener bruvvas, in proper nyc attire.

later, at hotel fa, with frank. this picture should be WAAY more blurry than it is.

another delicious meal, courtesy of chef yuri. kristofer and yuri are having one of their romantic “soul stares”. it was kind of charming at first, but got uncomfortable after a while.

roman games at hotel fa, the early bird set.

morex optimo’s last show. consummate tubthumber, and not expecting to play a “mellow” show, i quickly had to forage for twigs to play gently for this one.

What can I say? My tour is too small! It’s that simple!

Heather’s trusty Jeep (La Jeffa) laden to the gills, snacks from the Park Slope Food Co-op neatly ensconced in Yuri’s back pack, and I with my ultra-marine cynicism painted on the top of my eyes. Yuri resurrects tapes from the seventies and eighties while the landscape between New York City and Boston stretches and gasps, and yawns and aches it’s joints truck by truck by truck. Credit cards make good cheese slicers.

We finally arrive at PA’s Lounge, where we are greeted by the owner and told to set up our stuff in the corner by the video games. We are hungry and perplexed. Then suddenly he, and all the other grizzled veterans of his establishment burst out in a long guffaw. We are then ushered into the actual performance space, where we are greeted by a Christian jazz-fusion band doing sound check.

I find out, much to my delight, that one of my Boston friends is pregnant. (Hurrah to Brad and Jackie!)

We play a fantastic set to an attentive, but intermittently puzzled crowd, among which we are very much pleased to see our old friends from Ad Frank (we played with them at Galapagos), BJ Snowden and her entourage, local music scenesters, some friends of ours, and a woman who is clearly there for only one thing, and one thing only: BJ Snowden!

You all know BJ Snowden, right? That of which we cannot speak, we must pass over in silence.

How’d it get to be so late? Why is it darkness in the sky between the clouds, and between my temples? Why are we getting lost? Why are we driving to Rhode Island? Because we are looking for our beds. And beds they are, lovingly placed there for our late arrival by Ruth Allderige Olsen, her husband Jim, and their three sons Lorin, Noah, and Daniel. Cocoa Puffs on the kitchen counter greet us in the stillness. Individual towels, and mugs are placed on our ingeniously crafted make shift beds on two couches and a floor. Heather, the iron-willed, though somewhat direction-challenged driver of La Jeffa (her Jeep), plummets to sleep.

In the morning we are treated to a lovely breakfast, again, hand-crafted by the family, some great conversation, great home-made Macromedia Director animated videos by Lorin, and then a gorgeous springtime walk in a park. Big thanks! to the Olsens. We can’t wait to drop by again.

Then, it’s off for more knife-edge navigation of the tri-state traffic armpit of the Eastern seaboard. Somehow, once again, our projected travel times are way off and we don’t arrive in Philadelphia until we’ve been scrunched together for eight hours. But we are in good spirits, though wrinkled and hungry. The Manhattan Room opts to treat us to a nice dinner rather than the joke we received from the establishment we played at in Boston, and we’re happy to see a good rock ‘n roll crowd gathered here. We are very impressed with opening band Algebra of Need. Really hard, dirty, but precise and utterly convincing. I’m sure they can go far if only they can keep their fans from messing with their equipment on stage. Again, we surprised ourself with how much energy and love and fun we could burn through on stage in forty minutes, considering how worn out we were at this point. Something about the stage that just erases the bumps and bruises and makes you want to put the arrow to the bow and fire without thinking.

We enjoyed playing, though there were lonely moments by the swag box,

especially when we were waiting in an almost empty bar for the last band to finish their set (they had borrowed Heather’s drums). At two am we finally were able to pack our brave little truck up again and make a beeline for New York City. We dropped Yuri off at his house, and then Heather and Kristofer raced to unload our stuff at the studio in Williamsburg, but we got there far too late to make the 4am Larry Lawrence curfew.

Our 40 hours of mini-tour included: 18 hours of driving, 6.5 hours of watching other bands, 6 hours of sleeping, 4 hours of eating, 3 hours of load-in/load-out, one-hour of walking in the park, and 1.5 hours of performing. Can’t wait to do it again, but MORE next time!

Thank you to all our fans who came out to support us.

Much Love,
Morex Optimo

We had such a great time rocking the Mercury Lounge with you guys Sunday night! Thanks for bringing out your friends, and for smiling so brightly, and singing along when you could, and taking some time out of your hectic lives to celebrate with us. We can’t wait to put on an even better show!

Well, it had to happen eventually…someone thinks Heather is “not funny”. She is pacing, sputtering in utter disbelief that someone called one of her puns “not even a good one” and “sophomoric”. Read the full review here. She is currently challenging anyone to take shots on her in goal now as “soccer goalkeeper” is her last stronghold.

we just happened to be there in the background. this is the second review that uses a curseword! we are really getting somewhere.

http://www.greenpointstar.com/StoryDisplay.asp?PID=3&NewsStoryID=270
to celebrate my inaugural exhibition of single drumsticks at williamsburg’s city reliquary, we played outside where apparently greenpoint journalists roam the “beat” looking for a “scoop”. did I just type “beat”? I did. I did not mean it like that. bad girl. I am going to punish myself. did I just type “pun”ish? nono, make it stop.

city reliquary:
http://www.dhlabsnyc.com/
the city reliquary is at 307 grand st at the corner of havemeyer in williamsburg. check it out, it is one of those notfamous but amazing little new york oddities.

here is my “artist’s” statement:

Over the course of several years of playing the drums, I have experienced the unfortunate but unavoidable problem of broken drumsticks many times over. The broken stick must be discarded (or used to prop up a plant or stir paint), but sometimes its surviving mate can be matched with another stick of the same brand and type.

But drummers are notoriously capricious creatures with short-lived allegiances when it comes to drumsticks, so eventually we are left with many singles varying in brand, thickness, length, type of wood, type of tip, &c. when a stick cannot be matched. Throwing out a perfectly good drumstick, though its mating potential is nil, seems deeply wasteful, barbaric, like burning the wife on the pyre of the dead husband, a kind of drumstick Sati.

So the proprietor of the City Reliquary, Dave Herman, good soul that he is, has allowed me to display my collection of surviving single drumsticks, each of whom has undergone extensive drumstick therapy and none of whom suffer survivor guilt or grief of any type.

The crown jewels of my collection has to be the “unbreakable” synthetic Mainline sticks which I was able to crack either through poor technique or an unfortunately-landed rimshot. Is this false advertising on their part? No, it only served to make me feel powerful and macho and continues to do so each time I look at them.