It all began with a 30-year hiatus. In 1993, I was living in Los Angeles. My band had broken up, and I was an acclaimed songwriter. I was sharing a house with my regular studio engineer, a house protected by an adherence to some Wild West frontier law — a legal loophole, really, that kept us temporarily in bank-repossessed homes before the hammer fell, and we moved on to another bank-repossessed home in limbo.
Diametrically opposed to the musical situation we’d left, which was a type of pastiche Jon Spencer Blues Explosion – abrasive, dynamic, feedback and polyester-driven mayhem, we were recording and beginning to assemble what we considered could be the quietest band in the world. Maybe you recall this was right in the middle of the Seattle grunge era. Those were terrible times for music. We were in the opposition. You’d maybe hear what we were aiming for these days in the likes of Timbre Timbre, but back then, in that environment, it seemed dissolute and unwarranted. And most likely unwanted.
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