Ashland to Ashland, Dust to Dust

Oregon Shakespeare Festival Soothes the Souls of Those Afflicted by Interesting Times – Today More Than Ever Every season of Oregon Shakespeare Festival is a song cycle. Each tune thrills on its own, but take in the entirety of the album, and the meaning of its parts deepens quicker than the distrust of sun celebrations after seeing “Midsommar.” Even viewing

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Howlin in Anguish, Travelin By Beard

This isn’t a eulogy for Anthony Bourdain. It’s a celebration of rock and roll. Which in its way is a celebration of that which Bourdain loved. Rather than focus on the man who’s gone, let’s hoist a fucking chalice to the man who’s still here, Ethan Miller. Miller might not have inspired a love of travel, untold stories, or unconsidered

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Valerian and the Cinema of a Thousand Damn-Its

It ain’t over until the floating fat man soars. That’s the hope anyway. When I say “over,” I mean the debate raging in my mind about cinematic space exploration. Perhaps “suspended until a later date” would be more accurate. The fate of big-screen science fiction seems to hang in the balance right now, and director Denis Villeneuve might just be

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Let Freedom’s Ears Ring:
A Soundtrack to the Summer of Resistance

Dissent is patriotic. Music makes life suck less. I hold these truths to be self-evident, especially on Independence Day. Doesn’t matter what kind of music you’re into. Doesn’t matter who’s in office. We should all be thinking critically all the time, and we need a proper soundtrack to kick our powers of incredulity into high gear. Plus, music sends audio

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Another Green World

The Iguana Tree is empty tonight. We stand under it, searching the monochromatic foliage for bursts of radioactivity – neon oranges and greens signaling the presence of Earth’s once and future overlords. We’ve already been food-poisoned, but as with radiation sickness, we won’t know it until it’s too late to do anything about it. New Year’s Eve 2017. Woo-fucking-hoo. Walking

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Slurred Soliloquy on Cymande:
Stories of Soul Francisco

Still feeling the soul glow from San Francisco. Tony Joe White called it Soul Francisco, and that was no joke. Saturday night I felt the fire and brimstone of Heron Oblivion at Mississippi Studios, and it cast my memory back there, lord, to two weekends ago when I wandered the streets that gave birth to that bad-ass band and so

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