Cat Casual

Louisville-based musician, DJ

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Dream

A mess of incidents- but I recall Weird Paul with other friends on a couch. As if he had gotten a job with them.

Tommy Wiseau made an appearence.

And I woke up with Blaze Foley’s “Clay Pigeons” in my head.

Hell if I know.

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Dream

I built a “piece”- that’s the only word I can label it as- which was a Coney Island-esque/carnival game attraction that said PRAYER HOLE in very classic, hand-painted, midway style. It was a large, draped hole in a large plank of plywood- which is where one was encouraged to “yell your wants and needs” into the hole. Behind it....just a wall.

Another bit of text on it encouraged people to “go somewhere else and wait for your prayers to be answered”. Brooke saw this and said “You need to have a picnic bench beside it with a few skeletons.

I was very much looking forward to being a carney-type barker with a megaphone, yelling at people to “STEP RIGHT UP, YELL INTO THE PRAYER HOLE...”

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Kick Out the Footlights Tonight.

We began shooting a video for the second single, ‘Morose Code’, the other night and only lack another short evening of shooting to get everything that we need for that. It is the artier response to the first video for ‘Asphalt’, which was just a performance-based video. The song itself started in my apartment on Meeker Avenue in Brooklyn and that demo ended up being this sorta’ muddy backing track that we built upon in the studio when we did the record. I am very proud of it as it is one of those detours that occur on the album in terms of whatever comprehensive sound could have possibly been achieved- cos I did/always do my best to fight that. (The world doesn’t need any more white dudes in glasses doing “psyche” music.) It has all grown frightfully unremarkable and boring. And so few, truly, great songs have been achieved int he process. 

Anyways, the song and video collectively have a peculiar concept, being a phone call from a prior “self” to a past love. I have always envisioned this past-self occupying a purgatory state for eternity...one ofour ,any “selves” sentenced to the past and their own respective purgatories...and that that place looks like an old, dim bar. At least MY many stoaway-selfs reside in such places; a place for thought, reflection, regrets- if you allow for such things. (I am reminded of a book by a neuroscientist that I once read: all stories about “God”, even though this scientist was- for lack of a better word- an atheist. One story was about the problem that God would have with which “you” would be in heaven: the teenager? Well, they are annoying and would just try to fuck each other the whole time. A small child? They need a lot of attention and help. Older people are nostalgic for their younger selves and not much fun. Etc. So, God decides that a person will be divided into many, many “selves”, spanning from their newborn “self”, all the way to the person they were when he or she took his/her final breath...and once a year they would have a reunion. I will research later and see if I can find this book as it has been many years.)

So the conversation within the song is a call from a past love, who is a past self. He or she is a mess; a lonely alcoholic. The opposite party only hears from him/her under the hypnosis of drunkeness and/or heartbreak. And, per usual, I feel a little icky when all of this is too obvious so I have blurred the line between who is speaking and when. As it goes with songs, you never hit the bullseye in your head so something else materializes as the finished product. I did actuslly hear it as something between Sparklehorse and Roger Waters- so I got that much right.

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Tonight has been chores associated with band and DJ obligations. The coffee began to wear off and I went down a Merle Haggard rabbit-hole which led to some smiles, tears, and thoughts on songwriting. I am always so caught up in the stress and obligations of work, jobs, and the satelliting items to promote all the shit, that I feel like I only have the head to create at a 30%-45% potential. That is upsetting. But it’s the way that it is.

I hope that changes some day.

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Dream

So many dreams of late- but the one I keep thinking about is the one where there was a pair of scissors in the bed that I couldn’t find- and eventually I rolled into them and they stabbed me.

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Dream

I am already forgetting- but it had something to do with a political misunderstanding. And I was involved in the dialogue for some reason.

It ended with me trying to stop some sort of nuclear accident- but I was too late. I arrived at the appropriate place: a console of computers, monitors, etc, just in time to see that Moscow had been nuked. My mind went to thinking about how many people just died but, also, how this plays into the Trump/Putin relationship and how there MUST be a retalliation already in the air.

The man at the console was Marc Maron. (???) He was initially amused by the chaos, then began to panic at the subsequent realities.

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I Get Around

As I send the customary messages around to book out-of-town shows, another sign of my age becomes apparent: so many of my usual contacts are now family people, “retired” from music, moved away or- even worse- passed away.

It’s true that it used to be a lot easier to book shows away from home without the aid of a booking agent. And it’s not just because I’m older. I think people were genuinely happier to hear from musical strangers before our lives became saturated with social media correspondences. This also reminds me of how much I miss letter-writing, pen pals, and the likes. Nobody writes back any more.

All of that said, I still have to say that I love doing this. I love playing, meeting new people, and all of the satelliting chores that surround it all. I love it more than I did 15 years ago- but maybe I understand myself and what I’m doing a lot more in my advanced years that helps a lot of other things fall into place.

I am currently looking for shows in Athens OH, Columbus OH, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington DC. Any and all helps and suggestions are always appreciated.

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08.20.19

From the super lows come...a feeling of serviceable normalcy.

Hell, I actually feel pretty good today. My tactic is to be busy as a hell and don’t allow any time for reflection. (Isn’t THIS a form of reflection?) I got up early and watched some of a movie. Two cups of coffee.

I began to think about how busy the second half of today is going to be so I walked down to the coffee shop. Three more cups of coffee, and I read some poetry by Sharon Olds and read a little more of I’m Thinking of Ending Things, and am quickly, deeply invested in it. (I started reading it after I read that Charlie Kaufman is directing a film version. I am a little proud of myself for reading and liking a novel that made a buncha’ fuckin’ lists...)

As I left the coffee shop, a pretty young woman walked up to me and said “You look very nice today.”

I was caught a little off-guard by the compliment. I managed something near a smile and a “thank you”, and saw the older lady she was with flash a half-smile, likely a little embarrassed by her companion’s kindness. That seems a funny thing but even I almost expected the statement to be followed by a pitch of some sort. Or something about Jesus.

I began the walk back and, about a quarter pf a mile away, had a vehicle pass me and turn into a lot. It had a Pennsylvania plate. And it was the two ladies from the coffee shop. Ha.

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I am revisiting a movie I haven’t seen in many years, In the Soup. It is better than I remembered and I liked it very much when I saw it a dozen or so years ago. It makes me miss Seymour Cassel and New York- but just the New York of my mind, largely imagined and mostly dead.

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Dreams

Terrible nightmare. My father was telling me where to drive in rural Oklahoma- down this number of highway, turn on that number highway- and was a little annoyed or baffled that I didn’t remember all of these remote routes and locations.

We stopped- per his order- and began to hike into the countryside. (In reality, my father can barely walk 20 yards these days, so I was concerned about his health.) I felt as if we were doing this because he thought that I would want to; or that the destination would be of my best interest, not his.

We climbed up and down little hills and into a treed area where there were rocks and a stream. I was very worried by this time that we were getting into an area that would be difficult for him to get out of AND distant enough that it would be too exhausting for him to return to the vehicle. We were in the rocky area, near the water, when he began to look up as a way to get out. (I just remembered that I didn’t have shoes/boots when going through the water; they appeared on me later.) He did a little hop to grab ahold of a ledge to do a pull-up, to get out. He lost his grip, fell back, and hit his head on a rock. He said “Oh no” as he lifted his head slightly and the blood began to pour. He said that with such sadness and shame. I panicked, then began to look for a way to get to the vehicle to get help- fully aware that I was lost in the country.

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8.14.19

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Dream

It was cooler weather and I was settling with the lady into a cabin in Red River Gorge for a retreat of sorts.

All of that sounds perfect right now...

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If I told you every thing that happened today- and every attendent thought and feeling along the way- you would have me commited.

Or maybe not. Maybe you’re an understanding soul. I’ve encountered a few here and there over the years...

I wouldn’t pretend to be a friend of David Berman’s. We met on two occasions that I can recall...and one of those remains pretty goddamn foggy. I remember his dark humor and his commitment to misery, mostly. I could relate to that.

I respected his art so much. And I liked him. I also, foolishly, saw both his age (being older than me; a wiser elder) and his level of respect and success as some types of flotation devices that would keep him out of the deep end of depression. I should know better by now.

A lot of people are hurting here in Louisville, and in many, many other places, I see. I know.

Tell those people you know how much you love them; how important they are. Every chance you get.

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Dreams

I was living in New York with the lady. I had a DJ gig spinning classic country music. She warned me to not get too frazzled and forget to pack my vinyl.

I then got too frazzled, forgot to bring my vinyl.

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I interviewed Sun Ra, and we hugged when parting.

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The World of Reckoning

I have already let myself down on this.

It was some time ago that I decided that this page would be a hub for thoughts, writing, musings- ya know? - that old-fashioned idea of what these blogs are all about. I used to write so often (though often badly) and that seems to have nearly halted over these past few years. I think about it all of the time and mourn the absence of that catharsis like some kind of severed limb or a lost love. Something that is nearly there…a fresh wound…a lost love that is still so near…but very much gone.

I find myself assigning blame to the chaos of my life: the irregular scheduling of gigs, hustles, and such. I do feel a steady drain and weight that is attendant with having to conduct social media obligations every single day- and that ALWAYS means having to take another look at the terrible state(s) of politics in the world.

These are items that used to drive me. When did that change?

Well, it didn’t. I did. While most changes were for the better, I want to reclaim that part of my former self. So, world, allow me to try and begin doing so today.

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I just walked over to the window and looked down upon the children playing near the bicycle rack across the street. Their mother is waiting for the bus and it is nearly raining. The temperature is a welcome reprieve from the oppressive heat and humidity that is synonymous with the Ohio River Valley…but seems to be more and more prevalent throughout the world.

The windows are now open and their laughs, screeches, and chattering accompanies the latest Wilco single, Love Is Everywhere (Beware). They work together well.

I woke up much earlier than usual. Dreams- and some nightmares- of late all seem to be addressing my past more than usual. More than I am comfortable with, I guess. I often cannot remember where I left my keys or glasses but have such a detailed memory of my childhood that I can smell the air and taste the bitterness.

I don’t have proper regrets, I fear. ‘Regret’ seems easy, actually. It is something else. I always feel behind; I feel that I can’t catch up. I was given such a late start in life that I will never capitalize in any capacity: creatively, securely, emotionally, etc. I am too late. And now I am at or just past the summit of “middle age” and a glance back begins to register some doors closing that are only available to the young. Scary stuff.

The future is malleable. And the brain- memories and all- are fallible. This slow and steady resurfacing of memories and thoughts that have long been dormant might be a natural phenomenon for somebody who spends so much time withdrawn into his or her own world. Items long buried become dislodged and float up toward the stream of consciousness and the unconscious.

And maybe I still have secrets to tell myself. Again, that is as frightening of a concept as it is inspiring.

And again: regret is easy. Reckoning is hard.

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Cat Casual

Cat Casual. 881 likes · 64 talking about this. Album out now on Gubbey Records! New album in 2019!

For shows, news, and such.

😽

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A Behind The Scenes Look at The Louisville Rock Lottery - LEO Weekly

Early Saturday morning 25 Louisville musicians convened for the third-annual Rock Lottery, a unique musical concept.

A nice little look at the Rock Lottery that I participated in this past weekend. Twas a fun, rewarding time. Xo