a band, pauw, was started when my composer friend said, 'i think 'pauw' is flemish for 'peacock' (my last name)...that would be a great stage name for you.' so i decided to start doing music... okay, the story kind of went like that, maybe with a different order of events... and here i am, still making songs out of things.
thanks for being my friend, and thank you for listening. more recordings coming soon!
here's a video from a set we played in philadelphia this summer...thank you to jonni greth and rachel demara sensenig, who played this show with me.
hey dear, you're name floated through some conversation in my living room last night, so i got to wondering how you are. How are you? When will Philly be seeing you again?
-Hank Aaron -John Badham, director of Saturday Night Fever -Charles Barkley -Rich Boy -Jimmy Buffett -George Washington Carver -Truman Capote -Nat King Cole -Courteney Cox -Reverend Howard Finster -Melvin Franklin, Eddie Kendricks, & Paul Williams of The Temptations -Winston Groom, author of Forrest Gump -Emmylou Harris -Gustav Hasford, author of The Short-Timers (the basis for the Kubrick film Full Metal Jacket) -Evander Holyfield -Helen Keller -Martin Luther King III -Harper Lee -Joe Louis -Spooner Oldham & Dan Penn, co-writers for The Box Tops -Wilson Pickett -Condoleezza Rice (?) -Lionel Richie (?!) -Percy Sledge -Sun Ra -Toni Tennille, of Captain & Tennille -Daniel Wallace, author of Big Fish -Hank effing Williams -Rosa Parks
SHUT UP! YOU KNOW STORYHILL TOO?! We have much to talk about, my friend. I do believe we should hang again before you leave our glorious city. Saturday evening?
While your page was loading, I could only see the first half of your album title. I thought it said, "It's the Lows That Get Me High." And I have to admit, I kinda dug it.
Now here's a poem I wrote in five minutes or less, on too many macchiatos:
"Scribbledy-scribble!" says the pen, Only wishing to scratch something new Across the X'ed eyes of his/her Fore-fathers or -mothers, Finding it imperative to declare the modernists obsolete, Deleting 1's and 0's to switch himself
on-off-on-off
spastically, Like a child raving by himself, Discarding his strobelight for the upgrade, The Holy Self, Alternating another's currents.
You sing, "10!" I screech, "11!" I declare, There are no zeroes in the New World!
I'd advise you, dear Soul, to Heed the heads of hoaxsters Hellbent on proving the non-hades, Acting out their unthemes in Absurd theatres, Scattering urnfables like man-seed along the wayside. Some sprang up along rock-n-roll, But the dirty shallows swallowed their youthery And was fed to weeds choking weeds.
Be heedstrong against the accidents! Incident is the stepmother of reinvention. You will, along the wayside, Lose every word, but: "Fuck!" When the dictionary goes to meet Webster, you Will reach into the safe And devour and vomit Your last morsel Of expression.
