As I've mentioned before, Dana Jewell's Wild Animal Kingdom Records has a really sweet Monthly Mix-Tape Club going on. This months mix comes from Ari Stern, of Underwater Peoples and Family Portrait, and is by far my favorite of the three I've received so far. His mix is a spaced out journey through the often forgotten parts of the mind, with tracks from R. Stevie Moore, Paul McCartney, Tom Waits, Brian Eno, and The Velvet Underground making up just the a-side. One of my favorite things about the MM-TC are the letters that each tape comes with, typed up by Dana on his own little type-writer. This month's edition came with an added treat: a short story by Sawyer, also of UPR and Family Portrait.
ROCK BOTTOMSo if for some reason you've yet to join the MM-TC, hopefully this will convince you to do so. Next month's mix will be coming from McGregor, so join up before it's too late!
"I guess you could say, I'm on that 'Downtown Train,' aye Officer McGillicuddy?"
"Shut the fuck up back there kid!"
Hal had never been in the back of a police car before. His natural propensity towards affability mixed with his current state of wildly drunk, didn't really suit the scene. "Shut the fuck up back there kid yourself!" He shot back. The cop whipped round in amazement, locking eyes with the disheveled kid slung over the back seat of his car. Lips pursed, Officer James Monroe conjured forth a myriad of hateful thoughts, yet in attempting to translate said fire and brimstone to words, something happened. Hal's eyes, Tom Waits voice, it all sort of got to Officer Monroe. The reality of the situation was solidifying in Hal's stomach and Officer Monroe could see that. The cop imagined Hal as bacon fat, clear and vicious when hot, milky dough when cold. Hal was milky, milky dough.
In the dark, soundtracked by Waits' trademark harsh sensitivity Officer Monroe and Hal stared at each other for at least 15 seconds. The Hal spoke, "Can I burn a cigarette?" Officer Monroe whispered back, "Sure kid, sure."
Hal stuch his head out the window, letting the cold breeze dry his tears and steal his cigarette smoke. The image, nothing short of cinematic, was lost on Hal. While passers might hear the growling and the guitar chugs as a triumphant backdrop to a cigarette-smoking delinquent. Hal just heard the line, "I know your window and I know it's late. I know your stairs and your doorway" and couldn't stop envisioning his mother, shuffling down the stairs to grab the phone.
-Sawyer Carter Jacobs