Mun+dane - characterized by the practical, transitory and ordinary: common place [the mundane concerns of day to day life]
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Con+ti+nen+tal - of, relating to, or characteristic of a continent [continental waters, drift, shelf or divide]
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This page makes up the on again, off again recordings of Mundane Continental. Mundane like the stale winter months and the stagnant summer days. Continental like one crazy delicious early morning breakfast (or like the location in which we are located on the continent). Bon appetite mon amies.
Just to let you know, LOUDRAY is still holding church on Thursdays.
We've been holding it down there for 10 months and as our 1 year
anniversary of this residency approaches we are stepping up the
revival. For the past 8 months we've been joined by some of the finest
musicians in town (Martin Devaney, Ric Lee, Glenn Hanson, Dave Babb,
Jake Hyer, Kurt Froelich, Meg Ashling, Zach Gusa, Eric Larson, Jen Markey, Mother Banjo, Eliza
Blue, Pete Bauer, just to name a few) but for the next 2 months, it's
just going to be the classic LOUDRAY duo of Jon Stowell and Colin
Anderson. We will be digging deep into the back catalog of songs and
bringing some new light through these old windows.
We have been doing these shows in the classic "unamplified" style as of late and look to continue that trend.
So, stop in for some fellowship and true acoustic music, and wash away the week with sweet, redeeming booze.
$2.75 select taps from 5-7pm!!! Plenty of parking!!
Come on, isn't it time to slum it at the Dub!!
LOUDRAY
EVERY THURSDAY
5:30-9pm
Dubliner Pub
2162 University Ave.
St. Paul, MN 55114
awesome man. thanks for the feedback. the tracklist is. 1. Palindrome, Plain and Tall 2. Hawaii Hearts Japan 3. Meow, Etc. 4. Mr. Wolf 5. Cap Gun Calvary 6. Somewhere, Lexington 7. Emergency Surgery 8. Swing, Sway, Collapse 9. Ribbons and Pickets 10. Elephant Knees 11. Salty Skin 12. Twins 13. No No No
…And it is true that seeing is believing. But beliefs don’t equal sight. You take refuge in this contradiction for a moment as you begin to recognize your reflection. Underneath the blood, you’re entire body is numb except for the small marble sized bald spot on the back of your head. Here you can still feel her finger, hypnotically caressing in concentric circles. But she’s not with you. She’s gone. But you can still feel her hand. You begin to wonder if feeling is believing. As you stand in front of your car you cannot help but question your philosophical existence in this reality. You consider these terms as you drive forward without a destination.
You’ve forgotten about the past. She’s gone. He’s gone. You’re left alone. Unknowingly, you carry on blindly. You know something is missing. It is so sad that it makes you cry. But this amnesia is a gift; you’d never know why. At least for now, the worst parts are evaporated from your understanding.
As you walk back to your car the sun stings your eyes. In your back pocket is a birthday card you meant to give to your friend; ruined. For a moment the sun hides behind clouds permitting a mirror-like reflection from your car window. An unrecognizable figure peers at you in the glass. You are badly wounded. You ask yourself if lies are being reflected to your eyes. Surely, amongst the smears of the window, your eyes are getting the wrong reflection. But despite your hopes, your eyes work perfectly.
A is for An B is for Bang C is for Christo D is for doom E is for everyone who came to watch us play F is for the phrase quite frankly G is for grandiose H is for hache I is for inverted, innovative ions J is for yazz K is for Killa. As in "They killed Killa', B!" L is for love. Aww. M is for moola. N is for I've got none. O stop it, she said lookingly longingly, length-wise. P is for potty. Q is for Quark, or lark with a Q at the beginning as Stephen Hawking believes it should be pronounced. R is for rrrrrrrrrrright. S is for Simms snake-bites. T is for tooth. U is for youth. V is for volume. W is for why not? X is for, naturally, xylophone. Y is for why? Z can't be labeled, however.
He has you in his dirty…drunken… grips. She begs him, she pleads with him to just let you go....to let you lay there lifeless until you have the strength to pick yourself up again. But he knows that if he gives you the chance, if he allows you to have freewill, you will run away. This is the Height of Apathy, this is the absolute depths of desolation; this is mundane to the core. This is melancholy driven by excitation. You feel a tremor of life. But your senses have no apprehensions of escape. He hits you… Then again. He hits you four times to the track of your heart. As he strikes you with all of his energy he begins to speak. You can barely extract his voice from the deathblow…but it is there…it is real…and it is telling the complete and total truth. Despite obtaining complete comprehension of these words you are completely certain that what he is saying is central to his heart and manipulated exclusively by his soul…something you begin to feel intimate with.
That is the scariest picture I've ever seen of you...you know the pic of you in the "sounds like" section. Damn...those are some crazy eyes, An... crazy eyes.
Listening to Mundane Continental is like awaiting your best friend’s birthday celebration all day. At work, as you sit in your isolated cubical you catch yourself checking the clock more times then you ever have, just waiting in anticipation for the madness that the night is about to have. After convincing a quiet and pretty female coworker, whom you’ve never conversed with to clock out for you at five, you decide to duck out of work at 3:30 so that you can get a haircut. As you are getting your hair cut the barber accidentally cuts a bald spot in the back of your head. In an effort to cover up the spot, you wear a hat…something you haven’t done in years, to the party. As you get there you recognize the same pretty girl from work. After a few beers you work up enough nerve to approach her and have an actual conversation. She doesn’t recognize you with your hat on. Instinctively you take off the hat and you suddenly feel the chill of the autumn air on your bald spot. She looks hesitantly into your eyes as you slowly reach your right hand back and finger the spot in embarrassment. Almost without moving at all, she takes your hand into hers and reaches it to the back of her head. She moves your left hand through her beautiful black hair until you reach a similar smooth spot on the back of her head. You begin to circulate the two bald spots…your eyes are still fixed in a sort of primitive passion. Acting on instinct you advance for a kiss. Your lips meet when suddenly you feel a crashing blow to the temple from a fist. You have been punched to the ground. As you pick yourself up off the floor you can feel the blood running down your face and onto your chest. The girl pleads with the drunken ex to let you go. But he won’t.
Mr. Continental, We are currently looking for an opening act for a show on November 3rd of this year. An ideal act would: be an one man band from uptown, record with a four track, be able to throw a wicked curve with a bowling ball, know a lot about Europen news and culture, play tennis, and work in a cubical. We think you fit this criteria quite well. Please get y/n back to us in a reasonable amount of time and we can make this slappin' happin'.
Mundane Contental’s soundscapes created in “Early Over The Vast Ocean,” his latest release from his mid-Minneapolis apartmnet, run the virtual gamut: From a deluge of industrial mechanization, to the deftly melodic undertones of white noise, sound licks and sticks to a listeners cerebellum, allowing one a complimentary one-way tube ticket to the multi-colored waves of cacophonic vibration. The downtrodden, mahogany melodies – created by four tracks – sooth when they meet the eardrums. Part art, part background music to a TLC piece on the formation of early man, “Early” could evokes images of Brian Eno over a 64-track soundboard. MC, like Eno, manages to boil down and capture his alchemic experiments he’s created in a darkened laboratory; arresting them to 1/8th-inch tape that’s meant to be heard by those who appreciate imaginative, naturally-unnatural music. Science and nature, whether intended or not, seems to tip-toe through the sonic landscape. City life, mechanization, and vibration of life can be discovered. Perhaps this experiment was created, unknown to the author, by a mixture of keeping the volume low enough as not to disturb his razor-walled neighbor, dovetailed with the noise made by the landing pattern of a butterfly onto a bulldozer.
thanks for sharing your music with us-Love that lo-fi sound. We did our first record on an old 8-track tascam, but didnt get the intended sound-just alot of hiss!
Tight logo, man. I also really like the penguin with the guitar to the left. Looks like you are planning ahead with that River Cafe' gig....sweet action Jackson!
