This one wasn't early but it also wasn't late either, whenever 'Dale' went on the piano and found his fingers relaying a tune, he'd likely go to this song by "Adel" as he'd mapped out more improvisational pathways for it than any other song he knew. Not out of resourcefulness really, he'd just always go the tune and let his fingers slide around about the keys, was probably the nice chromatic descending colour that cycled around itself. Took two years to get this recording done, two years of pussyfooting around the pathways, not really willing to get lost in it like the woodland out in Polk. Like settling for a walk down the main street is doing just a cover, everyone finds the same stuff to see. Kind of how Bram let us down, hell, though he knew he wasn't paid by the minute, the cheque is for one session through and through, wouldn't ever argue that out of him. If you ever argued with a man like Bram you probably would have got yourself lost out in the woodlands in Polk. By the way, I do apologise about the burn, that noise on the church bell imitation sequence isn't as bad as the tape rattle against the interior of those plastic boxes, but it sure brings about a storm of a headache. You watch those volume levels just as much as I should have watched those videos on solving the eq problems. The next piece shouldn't take long to upload, see how many remember us out on this website.

Variations Of Afterth(ought, By Adel Schure & Sil Pans, Performance Dale Kleod & Bram Filke

Don't know what stopped him from just going over this and crossing it out, but it's probably more of a line in the sand.  I doubt he was even cleaning the guitar at the end, its just like raul ruiz. throws the carpet out from underneath you for a logical narative thats just invisible to the listener. Same with all the art he made, something about 2d converging with 3d or maybe he's still getting to me to. Hell, its just music.

Adels 'non De Plume'

god knows which it is, its not adel, and its not sil, but reminds of the two somehow i guess. Stupid accent in all honesty, how can their be better homonyms than the ones you know off by heart, instead of a caricature on your sleeve, looks, sounds like a stain. Either way, the song is straight forward, was used a lot as a 'standard' improvable skit, working around different versions of the same melody with lines cut out, detracted and placed into a different meaning, kind of like how it comes in the beginning. Seeing the same thing in multiple ways, whats better for an improv round a structure. It kind of translates i think, instrumentally speaking, the voice is just a hook, or anchor you know, get my drift? but the guitar goes down back alleys and corridors left right and center, I dont even know what specific parameters were considered developmentally. Maybe i would've at the time. Shame, Im certain theres other peoples recordings of it around somewhere too.

Soft Shell (unclarified Who)

sil and solomons character which might be yafferty but i cant even put two and twotogether.

The Sound Of One Hand Clapping Unnecessarily

Attacking the notion of piano is kind of like a harakiri but I don't think that it can't get criticised. Hell maybe allowing it to fall into the tinniness of the recording turns into something else. Does that leave me attacking the notion of pianos, should I be kind, its made of the same materials of a samurai sword in harakiri so what is it specifically that I am pushing against. The body in the instrument or the instrument in the body. I cannot say I have an answer but looking at this picture by virginia tentindo makes me think about

Drones And Groans

Hearing the tunnels that placate through all the mediums, one of us listened to one hand clapping unnecessarily, and would recreate its ups and downs from the ground up, through a description, to a drawing, to another drawing, to labelling gestures in the abstract lines, and then interpretation by Bram. He never made the same thing again

One Hand Clapping Not Necessarily

Elk Records never really was a company per se, just a backlog of garage grade recordings done with a mic we dubbed the tesla coil. Those that were in on it gathered that a name is worth a lot more than the music, or at least an untitled song on a blank cassette, it gives it its place in time. Well, most of them got disillusioned with pseudonyms, Adel Schure, Sil Pans, Kleod, Filke, Yafferty, all gibberish names that sound like they belong to a place in time, when really they don't get you anywhere except a hole of local obscurity and scrutiny for howling at the rafters as the neighbours chinese whisper along to the rest of the town that we're all squealing like cats at midnight around a dimly lit blue ford cadillac. Only part true really, that jazzmaster did meow when you plucked it just right, but that cadillac bounced blue strings of light onto our recording sessions which, coincidentally, tricked tommy into thinking he had synesthesia. Theres an old session where (and it was trimmed, Im afraid, damp reels don't survive well) he turned to, I think Solomon and just said "Everythings Blue". I wonder if you can hear it in the playing, I guess you've got to listen out for that particularly blue one. Anyway, minus the rambling, for those that are interested, this crap stack of audio has managed to burrow its way back into my life, and through various mis-promises that have tied me to its keeping, i have become the gatekeeper to Lousiana's worst best kept secret. And its out of sheer confidence I can say it'll happily but most importantly, thanks to the wonder of electric clouds and the like, securely remain this way till the end of time.

Park