We’d meet when we could, sketch rough frameworks of songs, write two or three easily-repeatable, non-sequitur phrases for lyrics, and practice for 45 minutes. After the hour mark, it would almost inevitably regress into pseudo-jams made all the more abstract with each PBR consumed. Continue reading Discipline, Consistency, and Garage Rock
How could anyone become so invested in the mindless, totally-scripted trials and tribulations of beautiful TV people? Continue reading Love Island: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Trash TV
Is this even a mission statement? Who knows. I’m not entirely sure you can call it a mission statement if there is no discernible mission. Continue reading The Mission Statement (or more accurately: The First Statement)
Blakeley 