Colin STETSON: News

"It is by will alone I set my mind in motion. It is by the juice of Saphu that thoughts acquire speed, that lips acquire stains, stains become a warning. It is by will alone I set my mind in motion".

So, I'm pretty sure it wasn't the juice of Saphu that I was drinking last night, but whatever it was, it left me looking like the emperor from star wars and feeling thin, like butter scraped over too much bread. I think I'm gonna go eat some bacon, as bacon has become my new answer for everything. Yep, glorious bacon, fixing hangovers and headaches and the pain of a broken heart. Filling our hearts with gladness, taking away all our sadness. You ease my troubles, yes, that's what you do, bacon.
You should try it! Go ahead, let bacon work for you.

p.s. the first person to email me the correct sources of ALL quotes in this passage gets a prize!

Feel free to write whatever you want in the crazy box, people. Granted, most of it gets deleted for being just too damn hot for TV. But, those of you who've slipped by the censor police and get your comment up on the "big board", congrats. Now, we here at colinstetson.com are particularly fond of messages like Rebecca Anderson's "you are by far the hottest sax player on earth" (aug 6/05) or the simple but effective, "love you much!" by someone named "MOM" (Dec 31/05). But our all time favorites have got to be those like Feb 5th's "KARMA". That's right you sneaky little leavers of single words, bravo. We love that shit. We just sit back and ponder, hhmmmm.... I wonder what miss all-caps karma was trying to say? What can it possibly mean!? That is, we'd be asking that if we didn't already know the answer! That's right, this is a fucking computer, people. We know who you are and what you mean, cuz it does. It's in the html, dipshit. Next time you feel like getting cryptic, try getting REALLY cryptic and leave something like "FISHSTICKS" or "GERONIMO!!!!".
mmmmmmm..... fishsticks

I guess I shoulda knowed, but it was daytime, I was nursing a crunchy little hangover and there's nothing better for those saltless times than a $4 hot dog, ginormo cherry coke and a matinee! So off I went. Now, I know it looked pretty shitty in the previews, but I was feeling hopeful, and Tilda Swinton's on my "to do" list, so I went. And OH, how I went! I mean, I read that shit when I was a kid, but I didn't remember it being the incessant whine-fest that proceeded to get all over me for the next two hours. And so I sat there, hot dog to my right, super coke to my left, nachos in my lap (didn't mention the nachos before, yummm...) while Walt Disney screamed pain and craziness into my heart as he shot wave after wave of torturous acid semen out of his whining, british, flacid, lion penis. Fuck you Asland, and fuck you "mr. Timnus" you shitty horse monkey. But most of all, fuck you Peter. Now you can be the reason I hate children AND brits. Just kidding, I don't hate brits.
I love you, Tilda Swinton.

Awsome. Photos are here! Not much really, but I have adopted a new habit of capturing the moment so as of tomorrow we'll start to see the things that go on around here. And by "here" I mean "me". I'll also be showing you pictures of people I like, love, and maybe even a few who deserve my fervent hate. But it's not just pics coming.... nope. New music is on the way (old music mostly, but new to you(maybe)). So thanks for peering in to my pile of doings. Please come again.

Sycronize your watches with Excitement!!!

So, here are some bits of now and just before and after:

1. It's beginning to look a lot like christmas.

2. I'm almost 31 years old and this month I moved into my first "just me" apartment. sweet.

3. Said apartment is awsome, but I have no couch. Do you have a couch?

4. Mango juice and milk is a delicious drink. So is club soda and bitters. Also, both can be made into "drinks" and become even "better".

5. I still haven't eaten Rattlesnake, but it's right up there on my list.

6. I got my bike fixed.

And Lucky number 7. This coming wednesday, November 23rd, I'll be performing another solo concert. This time at Zebulon in Williamsburg. I will be joined later in the evening by my newest team of fellows, TRANSMISSION (east). Playing music from several of my last CDs, this band of hero type woodworkers possesses wondrous powers.
Jeremy Wilms (bass) was born in a tank just outside Philly. Blessed with long life, this 247 year old man can bend time and space to his advantage and to the advantage of all if he wishes it; Twin brothers Chris Vatalaro (drums) and Ryan Feriera (guitar), their pasts veiled in mystery, possess the ability to talk to walls, make ice happen, and have what is referred to in many circles as "the Remembering"; Matt Bauder (tenor sax) who, with his mind, can bend pencils, sharpen bricks, and call off the order to attack; and lastly, special guest saxophonist Alex Hamlin, apparently a product of genetic tampering, can run through ground, stand atop the tall grass, and convert air into a substance known as "Muke".
Together we'll run fast and hard, occasionally lying down to bask in the warm glowing warming glow.

10pm, Nov. 23rd @Zebulon. (Wythe Ave. between N. 3rd and Metropolitan) FREE

President Bush has nominated White House legal counsel and longtime aide Harriet Miers to the Supreme Court.
Harriet Miers has served as counsel to the president since last February, and for many years has been a devoted advisor to Mr. Bush.
She was the president's personal lawyer when he was governor of Texas, and has served in various roles in the White House since 2001.
If confirmed by the Senate, Ms. Miers would replace retiring Justice Sandra Day O'Connor.
Mr. Bush said Ms. Miers, who has extensive legal experience but has never been a judge, will be fair to all Americans.
Since Ms. Miers has no judicial record, her views on controversial issues that may come before the court, such as abortion, are virtually unknown.
-voanews.com

What the FUCK?!!??

Take a look at Harriet Miers and John Roberts.
Fuckin' Reptiles, man.

A wonderful sunday. Definitely a great way to spend the precious hours of any day in these, the days of the Time Crunch. So, in an attempt to bring joy to those who've brought so much to me. I thought so hard it felt as though I might never stop. Today, however, I have. Or at least, it's slowed considerably, leaving me with just a feeling. A feeling that maybe, just maybe, I've done some good with this one. Maybe this time, I've shown you what you're worth. Cuz I can't do this on my own. I need you. Always have. And I'll be working for you in every day I have, as these days turn small and eventually disappear altogether.

So, there I am. Morning. A little worse for wear, but nothing a little hydration and a pile of eggs and rice won't fix, and I feel that familiar call from the Commander, beckoning me hither. So, as no one wants to miss that particular call, failure to do so would result in the absence of a good "window" for maybe hours. I arrive on the toilet, and here I am surprised. Cuz this time, I crap a Mummy.
Now, he didn't come out whole, kinda all unraveled. But he's certainly whole now and not going anywhere. He smells foul and his jokes are SO ancient Egypt. Convinced that because of the tragic fact that I gave "birth" to him out my ane, He hangs around at all hours and insists on calling me daddy. Well, now, who's your daddy, Mummy? It certainly isn't me.

"The kid came back and took the battery out of the boat again. It happened late in the afternoon, the second time in three days.
The first time he took it for money--which was dumb, but at least I understood it. The man was a fishhead, a creature without many cells. He was like one of those big lizards that never feels any pain when you rip off its tail, or one of its legs--or even its head, as they do down in Chile--because it will all grow back by dawn, and nobody will know the difference."
-Hunter S. Thompson, Generation of Swine

So I had a dream the other day. I was sitting in a comfortable chair, in a cozy office, well lit considering it was by torch and candle. Books lined the walls and I was seated in front of a massive desk of dark stained wood. Across the desk was the Reverend Al Sharpton, who was speaking passionately over a soundtrack of Soundgarden's "Rusty Cage". He explained to me that he had always enjoyed my music and believed in it and in me. But, I needed, he said, to get it out to the people, that more needed to hear. His sermon climaxed with the Rock and as Chris Cornell faded quiet, so did Reverend Al, and I was left with one thought in my tight little mind... it must be Go Time.

Dogs shit on the floor because they HAVE to, Cats shit on the floor because they WANT to . Having said that... It continues to twist and turn in my brains, this concept of identity and the Self for self and the Self to everybody else. It seems to me that everybody's got this one idea about who they are, the things we're proud of, the things we'd like to change, and the amazingly Fucked fact of the matter is that so rarely is that Idea of Self the Self that others see. Why is that? Is it that we try to project that person that we'd like to be more like? that we're successful in said attempt and are thus, viewed as we projected? And that ultimately we realize that the shit we attempt to change is actually what we're most comfortable with and, for lack of anything more fitting, "who we are", and so remains our Self image, tucked away from all save a few who truly Know. Trust those few. They will save you from Fire and Mountain Lions and cancerous thoughts, and ask for nothing but the story in return.

"It's a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat shit and die. A fat man will feel his heart burst and call it beautiful. Who knows? If there is, in fact, a Heaven and Hell, all we know for sure is that Hell will be a viciously overcrowded version of Phoenix--a clean well-lighted place full of sunshine and bromides and fast cars where almost everybody seems vaguely happy, except for the ones who know in their hearts what is missing....And being driven slowly and quietly into the kind of terminal craziness that comes with finally understanding that the one thing you want is not there. Missing. Back-ordered. No tengo. Vaya con Dios. Grow up! Small is better. Take what you can get...."
-Hunter S. Thompson, Generation of Swine

Truly. A Horrible, spine bending beast that threatens to snap me in two, or at least cut off all blood flow to my brain, silencing that useless fucker once and for all. But is it all his fault? The Thinker? Or maybe it's the Ticker. Not sure who to fire, but somebody's not doing their job right. Anyway...
The Bass Saxophone is an unforgiving Bastard who, at this point, doesn't understand what's good for him. I asked for it, I guess. The Abuse. The finger numbing, brain bruising, spine fucking, mouth crushing pleasure of it all. That's right. It's Fun. He's an Asshole, but I think I got him beat in that department. It's an embittering process, daily battles with an inanimate object. But my Mind is made. These quarrels will soon turn to sweet love, once it's will is broken. That, or we learn to see Eye to Eye. And this will all come to a Head on Thursday, August 18th, 8pm @the Stone in Manhattan. My first official solo performance in NYC, and my first public appearance with said Unforgiving Bastard. Those of you who can, please come see what happens. Those who can't, there'll be Photos up shortly after.
So, until next time, be well, keep your heads up high, and your hands where I can see them.
-colin

So. Friday again and I write to you all from inside the Lucky Cat in sunny-ass/balls-hot Williamsburg, Brooklyn where I am currently gainfully employed as a tender of the bar and all around maker of things drinky and otherwise. Needless to say, the hours from 4-8pm are quiet ones, hours I spend practicing, reading, and generally putsin' around on the intra-net.
So, the NEWS for this week?
1. As always, walking with Hunter S. Thompson makes me feel the way I think we should all be feeling these days. You know the feeling.
2. Million Dollar Baby is the Super-Ball. Love it. Makes me want "My Two Dads" to be back on TV only, now I'd be the girl and Clint and Morgan would be my Dads.
3. Zecharia Sitchin is fucking with my head.
4. Still awaiting the arrival of the newest addition to my saxophonic family, Grandpa Bass, but it looks as though it'll be here by next week. Excitement I cannot express fully in the words. I can, however, invite you all to come to my solo show at the Stone on the 18th of August. It'll be the debut performance of said crazy-horn and I trust it will be worth your while, or at least I'm busting serious ass to make sure that it is.
So, thanks for checking in. Say hi if you want and check out the upcoming shows.

So, after several years of website paralysis, I have resurrected it and it will now be something of use to those who wish to use it.