Recorded back in 2006.  George Faughnan on voice and words.  I do all the back up stuff.

Reincarnation Instant Breakfast

Owed To Plastik

Remix of Intergalatic by the Beastie Boys (dadabrain remix)

Intergalatic by the Beastie Boys (dadabrain remix - perhaps final)

satie & bowie

Samples culled together from different sources.

David Lynch Sleepwalking, Again

A  soundcollage wherein the premise was to use no drums.

tunnelcurving

Drum patterns that phase against each other create new patterns, that at first shouldn't work together,  but then do. This is an experiment. Anything that sounds strange is intentional.

they taught me to fly

Kurt Schwitters' Ur Sonata & Jaap Blonk's Popocatépetl as interpreted and performed by the Performance Gallery of Cincinnati, Ohio.  May 12, 2012.  The Top Shelf of Dad's Garage, Atlanta, GA.

Ur Sonata & Popocatépetl performed in the Top Shelf

A cowboy robot meets a computerized dildo synthesizer.

Cowboy Robot

Donald's Pleasant

Made in 1998, this is the only known recording of this monsterpiece.

Jazzmo

I was that little kid who enjoyed Revolution #9.  

I used to broadcast a radio station (circa 1976) with my Radio Shack walkie-talkie. The truckers passing by on I-95, would key their CBs and scream, "Hey, kid. Get offa here! It's illegal for you to be playin' music on here!" I'd play two different records at the same time, sending out a mush and web of sound. I called that station, "DOUBLE-U, DOUBLE-U, DOUBLE-U!" 

I'm not a trained musician. I am a collage artist, and I make sound collages on my desktop. Everything heard is a sample. The samples used have been chopped up, and then fused back differently, they've been stretched, slowed down, sped up, resampled, effected, reversed, etc. 

Nothing I make is perfect, nor is it desired to be. It's exactly what I wanted to make. It's the discovery along the way, the manipulation of other's work, or my own work, into something altogether new that keeps me at this. 

When I was little, I watched my Grandad care for his roses in the garden. He would prune the leaves, cut off old growth, care for, and tie branches together so they would grow in different directions. The roses were never show-worthy. Some, however, were gorgeous, and smelled divine The smell is time travel for me. 

He wasn't growing them for anybody to enjoy but himself. I enjoyed all the iterations of his garden.

So in his spirit, this is my garden. Listen if you want. I dig feedback, just like (most) everyone else.  Be kind, or be gone. I ain't got time for that.

I look forward to listening to other people's work. send me your way.

dadabrain

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