And, as part-time punk: Ileana
The Bearded Woman
Vocals, Harmonica, Glockenspiel, Casio, Kazoo.
Influences
Bob Dylan, The Mountain Goats, Iron and Wine, K.K. Slider, Will Oldham, Donovan, Leonard Cohen, Neutral Milk Hotel, Woody Guthrie, so on.
But there are other things. Chiron, namely. The Rose and the Nightingale. Belsazar's dreams. Medea and Snow White. Death Stars. The weather. All those mourning ghosts that rise from E. A. Poe's dust-stained pages. The brides of Hokusai. Cthulhu. Poor Geryones. Young Inuyasha. Einstein opening up another deck of cards. The month of May. Tanuki. Kitsune. Dogs dressing up for Halloween. Robots hailing from outer space. March hares and tea pots. That very short period of time when the jasmine glows white and green next to the old apple tree (which is moss-bearded but still grows delicious red fruits each summer). Thyme and rosemary. Wrecked ghost ships. Howl's Moving Castle. Blood on the moon. Travelling. Nowhere special. Nights by the open window, when you can already smell the first leaves falling. Old celluloid flapping in the projector reel. Werewolves. Pokémon. The smell of books and black ink. Things lost and other things found instead. October's spider's webs. I wonder. ~
Sounds Like
I don't know. Rain. Maybe. Maybe not. You will decide. Anyway, these little songs are tranquil and not very up-tempo. Some guitar strumming. Some guitar picking. Shy layers of pianos, somewhere in the distance, seemingly preparing to head south before winter's first grey, snowy clouds hit the land. A little bit of scrambled, warm tape noise, just enough to make you feel at home. Headphone music.
Sad Moon. Playing spooky little slo-fi folk tunes. Songs about water and ghosts and rain and sparrows. Love songs, some people say. Suicide tragedies some other people say. Whatever.
I've been writing songs for quite a while now, mostly singing them to tape recorder audiences exclusively. But i sneak out of my little foxhole now and then to hide some tunes in secret places. So be aware. There are some new recordings waiting in the old cardboard box under my kitchen table. Maybe you will find one or two. Somewhere. In a chestnut tree. Or in a forgotten suitcase by the side of the road. You never know.
By the way, i've been asked if i would be playing live. And yes, i would. So if you got a stage (can be a small one) and enough time for a few songs, well, drop me a line. Will play for drinks.
But for now, stay a while and listen. You are welcome here. And if you think you've seen enough, aha, go find the swallows or get some cherries.
die guten whistles reisen ja leider eher weniger im süden herum. ich nutze also den anlaß des woody bash festivals, um euch ein wenig neidisch zu machen, hoffe aber, daß ansonsten alles geradezu hervorragend ist.
Muchas Gracias por los felicidados belatinhos... mi es mui bien y caputto par el travajo son un caballero grande... otra vez y buenas noches y dias... ton amigo, el whippoorwillo
