#troy jones

[hyperfixationjunkie]

Very important research

[alaturkaamerika]

Tesla’da Üst Düzey Ayrılık: Kuzey Amerika Satış Başkanı Şirketten Ayrıldı

🚘 Tesla’da yaprak dökümü sürüyor 📉 Satışlar düşerken yöneticiler de ayrılıyor 👤 Troy Jones, 15 yıl sonra görevinden ayrıldı 🔻 Troy Jones’un Ayrılığı Dalgayı Büyüttü The Wall Street Journal’ın haberine göre, Tesla’nın Kuzey Amerika satış lideri Troy Jones, şirketten ayrıldı. – Jones, Tesla’da 15 yılı aşkın süredir görev yapıyordu – Şirketin bölgesel satış stratejisinde kilit rol oynuyordu Bu…

Tesla’da Üst Düzey Ayrılık: Kuzey Amerika Satış Başkanı Şirketten Ayrıldı

[just-emm]

Can we talk about this please because wow it does something to me 😮‍💨

[nojillnolife]

[tobiasreber]

New album release: Troy Jones "New Peace"

"New Peace" is the new album by Nashville-based drummer Troy Jones. It was produced by Markus Reuter and mixed and mastered by Lee Fletcher. The musicians playing on "New Peace" are Troy, Markus, Lee, Adrian Belew, Tony Levin, Alex Dowerk, Erik Emil Eskildsen, Yoshi Hampl and myself. I'm playing synth lines and electronic bells and percussions on "Cosmic Carousel", "Enigmatic" and "Suprachiasmatic Nucleus", and synth drones and solos on the title track, "New Peace" (See the Bandcamp album page for track-by-track credits). I recorded my contributions early on in the process in spring 2012, so it's a big pleasure to hear how far the tracks have come since then, and what great playing the other musicians have brought to the project!

New Peace by Troy Jones

[shakingofthefoundations]

A Road Trip

This was our last great adventure together.  We knew it, yet at the same time we were oblivious.  We could not fully comprehend how important these adventures would be for our lives and our friendship.  That’s how it always works.  We make the trip, we set out on the journey, and after a few days we become distracted by the immediacy of our situation.  We are tired. We have been hiking too long.  He is annoying me.  I don’t care if I am annoying him.  And then it is Sunday again, and we are to return back to the comfort of Anderson, Indiana.  That is how it worked every year, like clockwork.  And then, a few days after we had returned, we would reminisce over our excursions, as we sat in class, our minds back on the summit of the mountain, or on the edge of the harbor.  That is how it always worked out, year after year.  And that is why we were always ready for the new adventure next spring. 

We had driven through the cool Friday night for the third time together.  That is how we preferred it, crammed in among our clothes and gear, with the little car zooming down the inner state, squatting from the weight of four grown males and their belongings.  We would take turns driving and I always wanted the midnight shift.  There is something about driving through the hills of Tennessee and the Carolinas at three in the morning.  No other cars on the road, just you and a few lonely tractor trailers, with your best friend riding shotgun.  We would quietly talk about God, girls and school, the conversation waning on for hours, only to be interrupted by the silent passing by of some unknown mountain town in the valleys below us.  It was as if we were in our own little airplane, passing over the twinkling lights which pierced the blanket of blackness.  Sometimes the lights were obscured by the fog seated in the shallow crests, illuminating the valleyside to a yellowish glow of quiet tranquility.  There is something incredibly humbling and peaceful about the moments in which we become transfixed by things like those little Tennessee towns.  Had we passed them in the middle of the day, I think we would have been completely unimpressed; but not at three in the morning. 

However tranquil those moments may be, they cannot compare to watching the sunrise over the Appalachian giants.  By that time on this trip, I had been driving for over four hours, riding the wave of caffeine from truck-stop coffee and a few candy bars.  At about three in the morning we were re-routed by some road construction on Interstate 40.  There ended the highway leg of our expedition; it was the winding back roads of Tennessee from here on out, which made our trip to Gatlinburg all the longer.  As I drove on, the glittering blackness around us slowly started to shadow, the colossal pillars of earth rising up from the darkness as if the mountains themselves were awakening.  As the silhouettes became more distinct in the glow of the first blush of Apollo, the tinsel of fog began to reluctantly rise off the trees and hilltops.  We were winding through the backbones of the sleeping giants as the Sun awakened them.  By this time, the two gents in the backseat woke up, and stared blurry eyed out the window into the backdrop of the hills.  A few minutes later, we decided that, as beautiful of a drive as it was, we did not want to let it ruin the definitive moment of daybreak, so we pulled over next to a small bridge which protected the road from the gushing rapids which veined their way through the hillside.  We got out our cameras and quietly sat waiting for the Sun to show itself to us.  And then, in a moment too soon, it happened.  One will not fully understand the beauty of the Greek mythology of Apollo and Helios until they behold a sunrise over the mountains.  The luminous glow floods the sky long before the Sun breaks.  For a few moments even, it is as if the Sun might not come at all, as if it might not need to.  And then in one incredibly abrupt moment, Pyrois, Aeos, Atheon, and Phlegon crack open the horizon with the furious light of the Heavens tracing their canter.  It is such a sudden and immediate change.  The day has broken, and it is good. In only a few moments, the Sun has completely detached herself from the backdrop of the earth, and is looking once more upon creation.

With that wonderful moment behind us, we continued on our journey.  By then, we were talking about the day and the night and more importantly, what was in store for us in the week to come.  We stopped at a famous pancake house outside of Gatlinburg, before driving on to our campsite.  We were all tired, cramped, and sweaty.  The freedom to walk around again was welcomed.  We set up camp in a primitive campground alongside a small stream which cut through the grounds, before joining the much larger rapid in the heart of the mountains. We were in the Smokies.  After walking around and gathering some firewood, everyone decided to stretch out on their sleeping bags for a mid-afternoon nap.  I decided I was not very tired, so while everyone dozed off in the tent, I sat in a chair on the bank of the little stream, watching the water and privately rejoicing the moment.  I think we all have those moments-whether it is on vacation, or a wedding day, or perhaps any other great experience which we have looked forward to for so long-in which we stop in the moment, and are overwhelmed by the blessings of life.  In those moments, we wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world.  For a moment we are not looking to the future or distracted by the past, but are abundantly happy and content in our current situation, with no exceptions.  Those are our moments of complete peace and tranquility.

I sat there silently for the next hour and a half, with my thoughts on God and my four brothers in the tent.  The Sun was warm.  After some time I pulled out a pen and starting writing a note to each of them.  This was the first day of our last trip together, and I did not want to forget that.