Mi Ami
All Riotous Tumult Kicking Up Dust
Jul 5, 2009
Words by Sean Moeller
Illustration by Johnnie Cluney
Sound engineering by Mike Gentry
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Welcome to Daytrotter
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New Harmonics
unreleased
We are terrible at naming songs and keep the working titles forever, pretty much until it's time to release a record. This one was brand new when we hit the road, and is now about 77 performances deep, give or take. This DT session you're listening to fell about two weeks into tour, and since then the song has become a slightly different animal. at first I wanted the harmonics to be more bell like, but since this recording we've taken things in a much harsher directions. From a tone of mourning to a jarring exploration of the shattered psyche.
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New Guitar
original version appears on Watersports
There was a sweet Mutron phaser or whatever in the studio, so of course I had to use it. Good enough for Lee Perry, good enough for me. Press comparisons to Band of Gypsies had begun to trickle in, and although I had never thought too much about it, I really like the idea of channeling Hendrix's Woodstock meltdown through some art punk whatever the fuck or whatever the fuck. Shredding is kinda cool, especially when (like me) you don't really know how to do it. I have no interest in being in a Rock Band, just something live that works the intersection of heavy sonics and aching sexuality. You know?
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Slow
unreleased
Listening to recordings, I am frequently reminded of how atrocious my singing voice can be. I think I did OK on this session, but I seem to recall the first take was gnarly. I've had training and even sung in a choir, but I think I just suffer from a weird sounding voice when it comes to normal-ish melodic workouts. That's cool, because I like the idea of taking a leap into scary territory (a must in all art always, duh), and also what can I do? I can't pretend I never get bummed out and sad, and singing is the best when it comes to that shit. Screaming your way through melancholy = mall punk bullshit. So here's a hippy-jamming proto ballad or something, with sung vocals by me. Sung with love, as always.
These are hungry blazes. These are scary little demons wearing shredded clothing and funked out shoes, carrying torches and wooden clubs or pitching wedges. These are the peculiar times in our lives when we really, really feel as if nothing's making any sense anymore, as if the bottom has dropped out of all things sane and left us with a hand full of improprieties and ghastly wounds. The songs of Mi Ami, the San Franciscan trio made up of two members of Dischord group Black Eyes (singer Daniel Martin-McCormick and bassist Jacob Long) and drummer Damon Palermo, are covered in hypothermia and fright, white to the sight, as if they've either just seen a ghost or are the ghosts themselves - as if it really matters much. It's as if there's always a bit of evil lurking on the insides of Martin-McCormick's eyelids, giving him reminders of the badness every time he blinks during the daylight - flashing its threats abruptly and resiliently - and every time he lies down to get some healthy sleep at night. The scariness and damaging images and freakouts are pierced by wails and Martin-McCormick's one-of-a-kind vocals that remind us of the things we liked about Whirlwind Heat, even if most of the discussion would go along like a conversation about apples and oranges. The faint semblance is enough of a lure to make us sweat and worry about what's out there, what's actually chasing the guy with the microphone. What's out there that's so frightening or bothersome? Do we need some tranquilizer darts? Are there already some available, locked and loaded? Should we have gotten more of a head start in the opposite direction? We're worried and then we're lulled into these jungle-like trenches, where it feels as if we're dodging danger on the sly, crouched down and being silent for our lives as the denseness and the eerie phantoms roam hunting us off to the side, looking for us, looking for the break that will allow them to chase some more. It's all just an audio brushfire, mixing gasoline with everything flammable within reach, adding more gasoline so that it gets a whole lotta out of control and keeps it all within the confines of the dervish, without expectancy, without remorse or calm. It just rips and snorts and gives off the most jarring and racing sensation of drama that one could ever hope for. It's a stampede of riotous friction and there's no telling which side of combatants is going to leave the ring with their arms raised in what could resemble a victory. Even with a decision, the Mi Ami music feels as if it will always run scared, spreading the fever of the fear along with its tracks like the epidemic that it wants to see flourish.
Mi Ami MySpace Page
