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I moved to Burlington, Vermont after leaving California and disillusioned with my Institution I dropped out of school.  My only possessions at the time consisted of a suitcase filled with books, clothes and records, an electric guitar and a bag filled with scattered writings.  Lyric poetry which would turn into songs.  I formed The Vacant Lots in the summer of 2008 after meeting Brian who was then 15 & absolutely mesmeric on the drums.  It was his powerful singular drumming style and my fascination with Native American drumming that led us to experiment with standing up the drums to play them live.  This gave us a deeper, heavier sound more akin to the heart-beat rhythm I was looking for that inspired the backbeat on the first 2 Vacant Lots albums.  As for the electric guitar tone I wanted to express something deeper and darker so I turned to the raga & drone (sitar, tanpura and tabla) to provide the necessary inspiration, and of course, Chuck Berry.  The duality was set in place. 

                                                                                                                 Jared Artaud

They had lived by night after the flood after the wilderness before they learned to weep.  A rhythm generates coagulating into prose. Hands abused by work, minds abused by time.  Deep memories are cast from the terrible shore.  Less black the dark of night than the eyes of fate.  The hour of my sad twilight has come with the immense weight of time situated on the screen.  Close-up.  Black & white.  Fades…. exiled from love.  The scale of things juxtaposed with the (primary source of religion) existence of death.  What internal equilibrium?  when you/re dead upon the seashore after you/re thrown into existence.  The meaning of the word & our genealogy to be created & recreated endlessly.  Reinvented if necessary.  Salvation thru art.  Man awaits daily pardon.  Man's eternal dwelling place lies in his deceit.  But the oracle has come in endless streams of vomit & filled w/ a sensation of grief & boredom.  When you are far removed & distant like a planet. Now detached & disillusioned like the night & unable to discern the melancholy which penetrates the heart.  The Spirit moved.  Endless cattle w/ faces worn.  The need for survival.  Death instinct.  The senses (useless) dull.  The herd need somebody to follow?  Remember we bathed ourselves (in moonlight).  Remember we closed our eyes (at dawn).  Now seamless curtains torn & laced in moonlight at dawn.  We end up sleeping next to bodies we will never really know.  Despite the nights alone & the days on fire the end of superstitions.  Uncertainty is just another way of being inefficient.  I want to reenter life.  Out of the tomb & into the womb.  8 times.  We have arrested our senses & enslaved our attention.  Will we never find ourselves again?  Extend the voice.  Liberation is the key. The broken universe has draped over us the new dawn.  No longer a tomb for a bed.

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