Jan 4, 2013 - Daytrotter Studio, Rock Island, IL
- 1 Welcome to Daytrotter
- 2 Kaleidoscope
- 3 So High
- 4 Tambourine Girl
- 5 Two Girl
The Hours That Are Muddied In
Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered and mastered by Sam Patlove
There's a fine line between the state of inebriation, of having downed the number of beers that takes you to the breaking point, and the state that's going to leave you ralphing in the toilet for a good hour and feeling like a hot turd for most of the next morning. It's always so deceptive, but the latter usually involves some quiet room, a twisting, swirling ceiling and that frantic, zig-zagging sprint to the bathroom. It involves that sad and pitiful helplessness that you vow you don't deserve, but there's no going back on the bargain now. It was struck and it's now time to pay the piper, flushing the currency straight down to hell when you've emptied your contents. This all happens when you don't win, when you've gone too far and done it again, you fucking idiot. The former, in this equation, is what you'd always like to achieve - the harmonious effect of vice on body and mind. It's at that point, when the blood is thumping expressively and you're almost someone else, but still in modest control of what you're doing. You're ideally lubricated and the times, they are good.
It's right there, in that potential intersection of the blackout and the pre-blackout, where the result is in a bed getting a deader-than-a-rock sleep rather than getting one in sub-zero temperatures in a gutter or alley, that Austin, Texas' Ringo Deathstarr does most of its damage. It's that place that you can get to where you know that you're in no shape for much, other than sweating out the poisons and seeing if that's any fun. You're woozy and you're getting delirious, but slowly, pacing yourself toward delirium. It's approaching the pits of blackness that are coming closer, drowning out all other colors, but those soberly lining the dangerous streets, now that the taverns have released all of their patrons out onto them. These are the hours that are muddied in, strung together with no clear motives, just Hail Marys and why the hell nots. It's when indecision would be smarter, but there's always a sway in walk and we stumble ourselves into something exciting for the time being.