“Greg Connors is back with the release of is his new EP Holographic Static Proportion; it’s rough around the edges, jarring at times, (occasionally even skull-rattling). This album has all the earmarks Connors has become known for, brutally capricious lyrics and a quick dark wit. As a writer, he continues to mine the rubble of human relationships for nuggets of understanding and tenderness amongst the fury and confusion. A versatile storyteller, Connors will draw you in, hit you hard where it hurts and probably give you a good laugh as well.
Where were you when that tree fell in the forest? Check out Holographic Static Proportion and see what you hear…” -Catherine Swan
To begin, the album took about a year to finish, from writing to final production. Ultimately, I think it describes a period of thawing out from a pretty deep depression. The loss of several family members, a big move from Illinois to Oregon to live closer to my sisters after graduating from college to begin processing a lot of dark stuff that was hanging over me. So this album was a product of that time, of coping, thawing and trying to navigate my way back to somewhere that would hopefully be a lot healthier.
Being a self-taught guitarist and drummer, my journey into music production started back in 2014 when I was living in Borneo, Malaysia. I was very lucky that one of my teachers, a music producer himself, showed me how to do it. Traveling around Asia, hearing each place’s tune greatly influenced the vibe of my latest album ‘Silent Scream’ which is a collection of memories from there.
Songwriters and composers, lend me your ears/eyes/brains for 20 minutes here, this is IMPORTANT and critically timely. And it affects writers globally, if your music is streamed in the US. Please take time to read this and research a bit.
I think, at heart, I was always a musician. I would always have a tune in my head and would spend my free time messing with an instrument or audio software. My heroes where rock stars. However, as I grew older, I felt pressure on myself – from both myself and from others – to fit into a certain expectation.
I wanted to live up to those expectations, so music became secondary. I pursued a degree in engineering to live up to those expectations, but I never felt like I fit in. I continued my musical development after classes as an outlet, but it wasn’t enough. Upon graduating, I realized that there was a difference between who I was trying to be and who I actually was, so I began a musical journey of finding myself.
Let’s start this with a little bit of math. What do you get when you solve the equation below:
The death of your innocence
+ the trials of adulthood
+ dark humor as a coping mechanism
That’s right! You get my album Dixie Plaza.
As someone who has always wanted to finally get myself together and make an album, I never realized that sometimes it takes your worst moments to create something that you are genuinely proud of in the end result.
When Beast Folk formed in 2018, we were not called Beast Folk. It was a melding of the minds of a few friends who frequented Darrell’s Tavern in Shoreline, WA. I was slated to play the Hybrid Festival in Everett. Being an acoustic performer engaged in an event that mostly revolved around metal was a jarring task of fear management. I needed a band.
The Artist writes his best song for seven years, suffers mental breakdowns, heartbreaks, crazy life situations, misunderstandings, self-doubt, rehabs, and other things that people might encounter in 7 long years. The song is finally ready. He records it. It takes a week. He releases it. Nobody buys it.
In the meantime, The Kid makes a beat on his iPhone; it takes him 3 minutes. He drops it. Someone buys it for $50, to rap about „bitches” over the mindless loop. The Kid buys more chewing gum.
In the beginning, a rock appeared in the firmament, and on that rock a fissure did form. An old man with youthful eyes looked upon this rock and said, “I shall call you ‘Shredrock.'” And upon receiving the reverberations of his utterance, the rock burst forth a great explosion, showering the old man with mystical properties, endowing him with the wisdom of old age and the vigor of youth. And when the phenomenon did cease, the rock told the man, “I shall call you ‘Grampfather.'”
We are Sick Bookies from Lincoln, UK. For our second album, Analogue Viral, our bass player Les drew a comic strip about our band. Previously only available as a limited edition comic book coming with the CD, we now proudly present it for the first time digitally.