Well, this is my 3rd time writing this, my second try at writing this on a computer. I have to put a disclaimer out; this might get dark and depressing. Don’t know, but, yeah, I just wanted to put that out here.
I write this not coming from a place of hate, but from a place of time, and exhaustion. Also, I do this so I can try to explain the songs I have released thus far as part of an upcoming album I’m working at the moment.
Hello friends. We are from the prairies of southern Alberta where it is sparse and dry, kind of like us. We don’t know what we’re doing or what we want, but we think we will continue. Join us as we try not to suck, but also don’t worry too much about being great. We’re just trying to be ok.
My second album is somewhat of a time capsule. These are the songs I wrote between realizing I needed to get better and doing something about it.
My alcoholism and dependence on other addictive behaviors (weed, sex, etc.) had progressed to a point where they had begun destroying every semblance of a good life I’d managed to build despite them. To preserve any chance I had at living well, I needed to change the way I spent each and every moment of my time. In order to honestly document these in musical form, I stripped away every instrument other than my voice, guitar, laptop, and tape recorder.
If there is anything for you in these songs, you will most likely find it outside of what I have to say about them. All I really have to say is thank you so, so much for listening. So much.
That said, in case it might inform your listening, here’s what I have to say:
I’m a musician. I used to just make and teach music, but lately I have been consumed by climate activism because I love people and nature. I can’t continue living without doing something to prevent it all from disappearing.
E. E. Cummings wrote:
“I arise in the morning torn between a desire to save the world and a desire to savor the world. That makes it very hard to plan the day.”
This describes pretty much every day of my life now.
I can always pinpoint the moment when an art form grabs me. Whether it has been music, film, or literature, I have always had that clear, definitive moment that made me fall in love. My love for each of these art forms came together when I created Bleakhaus.
Kelebek Evrimi at Menada, Skopje – Macedonia; from left to right: Monti Karus, Dejan Spasovic (guest), Katerina Dimistrovska and Umur Sadico
What happens when three traveling street musicians from different backgrounds come together into a single path for a brief snapshot of time? You get the culturally rich sound garden of the Kelebek Evrimi project.
It was the summer of 2016 (going into my junior year of high school) when I had switched from Fort Lauderdale High School to South Broward. I was in a cover band at the time with some kids I’d known from earlier on in my childhood, but I never felt too close with them.
I always wanted to be in a band where I was playing with genuine friends and making meaningful music with help from all parties. So I went searching (with the idea of finally writing music, while making friends) in my new school’s band program, I joined the jazz band on guitar and piano, while also joining marching band and regular band on the tuba. Right off the bat, I met two kids that I liked and wanted to start a group with.
Ethan Thomas Hall’s music is characterized by isolation, poverty, and perversion. No other artist quite captures the modern struggle of the straight white male to such a scathing and saucy degree, completely DIY and unsigned proletariat pop.