MOON

01. Moon 

02. X of Swords

03. Disappearance

04. All the Same

05. Prequel

06. Portent

07. Neon

08. Unknown Light (II)

09. Rising

10. In the Morning Light (II)

11. Last Leaves

12. Leaves (III)

13. Spooky

14. Moon (II)

15. Darkening

Featuring 5 previously unreleased recordings and 10 from the Japan edition of Slanting Rays of the Setting Sun (2014), Moon will be available at Bandcamp on the October 16 full moon.

LYON - Cours de la Liberté

    The front entrance of the Grand Temple de Lyon is located on Quai Victor Augagneur – a long & lovely street that runs along the Rhône from Pont Lafayette to Pont de la Guillotière.  Around back on the much quieter Cours de la Liberté are the clergy's residential quarters.  It was there that I – the atheist in the church's attic – would enter through a large wooden door and ascend a winding staircase to my living quarters.  This ascent was a daily & dreaded demonstration of the thermodynamic principle that hot air rises, with cool street level air giving way to a reality-altering curtain of heat.  Outside, activity in the neighborhood – the city's 3rd arrondissement – mirrored this principle of verticality.  Calm, grey mornings that hosted more pigeons than people in little Square Jussieu would rise up into evenings that drew throngs to drink in riverbank bars under molten copper sunsets – a ritual of altitude in reverse, tracked through a fever gaze.

Son rêve d’Hollywood et d’un rôle de princesse scandinave rescapée des flots lui revint brusquement en tête au moment d’entrer dans le passage bruissant, qui l’avala.

LYON - Fourvière

     Atop Lyon sits La Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière – a 19th century cathedral of white marble and stained glass.  More magical than even views from its terrace that on a clear day reach the Alps beyond Lyon's edges is the tumble of subtle wonders from the basilica down to the Saône.  A long road winds around Parc des Hauters and the Jardin de Rosaire, offering glimpses of city lights through the branches of trees.  Slopes of stone descend to narrow cobblestone streets that flow away from Place St. Jean, spilling out onto Quai Romaine Rolland and its curve along the river.  An ethereal cascade, unfurling sight upon sight from the tallest spire.

À l’angle de la place Edgar Quinet, beaucoup de nuit dans l’œil de l’enfant aux genoux écorchés.

LYON - Presqu'île

     Caught between conspicuous Americanness and a kind of stateless ghostliness, I almost never experienced Lyon as the Lyonnaise do.  Tantalizing glimpses down the narrow & lively streets of Presqu'île reflected back a vague sense that entire worlds were going unexplored.  Until one June night when a chance invitation to a garden party in the city's suburbs would ultimately bring about my sole encounter with its center.  I was living, for a few weeks, in a kind of dormitory for international students and travelers.  Self-conscious of my limited French language skills and ever at-ease with solitude, I mostly kept to myself.  So when a Spaniard across the hall named Sam asked me if I wanted to go to a party, I was surprised to hear myself reply, "...uh...yeah...Qui...sure...uh...thank you...Merci."  I ended up pinballing from the 5th arrondissement out to the suburbs back to a birthday party in Les Terreaux to a Jamaican bar to a jazz club in a vaulted ceiling basement to a sweaty discotheque on one of the very Presqu'île streets I thought I'd never set foot down.  It rained at sunrise, and I was the only soul crossing the Rhône on Pont Lafayette.  

C’est le corps de la ville que j’ausculte passionnément.

LYON - Vieux Lyon

    The heat in the attic would drive me out of one church on the east side of the Rhône & Saône, and into another on the west.  Cool, damp, dim, and with the sound of a fountain blooming in the square outside, Cathédrale Saint Jean-Baptiste fast became a favorite destination to regroup at.  When the square outside was especially bustling, I would attempt to go unnoticed while drawing out a field recording microphone I'd carefully wrapped in an old t-shirt from a leather motorcycle satchel and capture voices, violin, rushing water, and foot traffic over cobblestones.  On the way to & from, I loved to stop on the middle of Passarelle du Palais de Justice – a narrow red suspension bridge that connects Vieux Lyon to Place des Jacobins – and watch the light shimmer on the Saône.

Corps de Lyon comme je t’ai arpenté exploré parcouru humé enlacé, tu es le premier bitume sur lequel je me suis allongé, je t’ai pris dans mes bras, je t’ai serré contre moi – je me suis fait mal. Tout part de toi.

Voyage to the Retro Cocktail Hour

 "Voyage to Scorpion Island" will be featured on one of my all-time favorite radio shows -- The Retro Cocktail Hour -- tonight around 7:30pm CST (and forever in archive #721 starting at 31:30).  Download to Donate to the Lawrence Humane Society and help animals like William the Bunny.

LYON - Londres à Lyon

   Years later I would conjure the intricacies of walking routes across the two rivers and up leafy passages to Lyon’s summit.  Life brought me to many places, including London.  I lived in small confines on Gower Street, where chimneys cap the row of flats ranging from Euston Road to Great Russell Street, and where during the day the endless stream of red double-decker busses and black cabs produces enough exhaust to make Gower Street itself a chimney.  While all the grey & smoke at times lended a romantic quality to everyday life, it produced, at others, a weariness.  So at night I would sit & play music by a window that faced University College London's Bonham Carter House, dazed from the pace & price of the city, and sometimes drifting off to pastoral spaces.  I once spent a summer crashing on the floor of my oldest friend, reading books, playing piano in mornings  & evenings at the university, and searching for fireflies on walks at night.  My time in Lyon bore that same hideaway spirit – a simple season and easy breath after tense times in harder cities.  

Faudra-t-il toujours revenir sur ses pas, pensa-t-elle en dépassant le kiosque à journaux qui clignotait sous le bleu.