Up in the Belly

Thanks to the good folks (and you, of course, forever you) at Fantasia Coffee in Bellingham, Irrelevant Prophets played to small but vocal crowd this past Wednesday, deafening those closest and amusing the barristas. Coming after an all too brief practice (literally, after), the performance was nothing short of a success on any number of levels. For instance, I received a free chai shake for playing bass.

The Prophets will head into the studio soon to record their debut EP, the better to bring you our thoughts on racism, immigration, and Dungeons & Dragons.

And we will practice before perfomance. Promise.

Doom-folk

Seattle Sound, this city's premier music clearing house, has selected The End Times' song "Days of Plenty" as their Ditty of the Day.

Read what he has to say right here.

Matt Pond PA

Is really great live, it turns out.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

This is what I was thinking of

Ethos

Farewell, profit, and be indulgent.

- Johann Joseph Fux

Mornings are worthless

Like most kids who grew up on comics, I always assumed my keen senses would alert me when in danger of attack. Villians, minions, henchmen, haters, whatever. Of course, I also thought it physically possible for special powers to develop over time. There were a lot of lies when I was a child.



Turns out my senses suck. I took the bus this morning to work, as I often do, and woke up nearly in issaquah. The QUAH. Where there's nothing but gas stations and places Isaac Brock has fallen down blackout.



The worst part (the worst part! As if waking up early to show up late doesn't bite enough) is that I'd rather be at work. I'D RATHER BE AT WORK. What kind of mixed up life am I living?



In conclusion, mornings are worthless.

Bellingham becomes Irrelevant

Prophet-style, that is.

Irrelevant Prophets, that banging face of truth, are going to be playing a show this Wednesday, and we want you there, shaking what your mother gave you.

We are the sole hip-hop act in a hard rock/metal show, so we're going on first. We'd like you to hear what we have to say, THEN get your head pounded in with 100 pounds of moving air.

Some sources say FREE SHOW, others $3, but either way, cheap date. This, a ten spot and a kiss might get you in her knickers.

Fantasia Espresso
Wednesday, March 19th
7pm sharp!

Irrelevant Prophets
Lung Panther
Ghost Dad
Into the Storm

Definitions: Thatched

Thatched (adj, noun):

1. An effective, homemade repair. "Bobby pins and electrical tape? That's thatched."
   
2. Chemically altered, as in plugging a hole where the rain gets in. "Irving, obtain the vial. We shall grok the contents by getting terribly thatched."
   
3. In reference to a person, a fixer. "Get James. He's thatch."
   

another day of de

My coworker takes
little pink capsules
gobbling by the handful
the cakepastepack from her kitty
like a grooming monkey
picking its mate

The monotony of filling
icecube tray text boxes
lifting names from pamphlets
wrapping them in electric ubiquity

I earn keep misreading
veiny ink on the forms

So today, you are Grizwial Custudio,
outdoorsman and janitor,

And you will be Elony Pritchard,
lonely housewife in an empty studio
raising your kids and voice in fear

You, Meep Masterson III,
from a long, proud line
of onomonopoetic masters
hailing from Dollar Street, Mabton
fallen into ruined drink now

I know I've filled out similar
forms, hastily dashing information

Somewhere, there's a better me
with scribbled signature bones
holding a job squarely and money
in his pockets and thoughts instead

Of naming and packing
these fantastical appellations
in little white boxes

My coworker is behind me again
closing that container in hollow gulps

Another job of mindless levering.

While on the subject

Some time ago, in a little town called Seattle, a band put together a press packet (several, in fact) and sent it off to that last bastion of independent music known as KEXP.

They had hope, determination, and years of craftiness on their side, but still they were fighting against artists with cred, ubiquity, and fame.

Well, damned if KEXP didn't add that scrappy little band, whom we might now reveal to be our heroes The End Times, into rotation and then play us a few times.

If you'd like to hear us there more, click here to make that a reality.

Commercial

So, for most of you, this will be of little interest, but in the off chance you want to spend money on something we offer for free (well, the stream anyway. These are high quality mp3s we're talking about here) on our page, we've finally made that possible. Take a gander at our Myspace sponsored band store and tremble in your high-backed chairs with the sheer heat of commerce:



In other End Times related news, we played a nice, tight set at Le Voyeur in our capitol city a little over a week ago, resulting in some new fans among the fine Olympians who made it all the way into the back to witness and a handful of artfully lit shots like this one here:



Swank, right? And since I'm talking about music and good times, Hey Marseilles rendered another stellar performance at High Dive in Fremont the other day. Some new songs made their way into the set and a few older ones were carefully rejiggered to expose some fascinating melodies. They're playing the 13th at the Tractor, and I could not be happier about the fact that they're slowly conquering larger stage strongholds with bags full of doorknobs and beauty.



I should mention that Phil, pianist and accordian player for the Marseilles men (i.e. that guy in the middle up there), serves time in another band you might have heard of: Man Down Medic. They took 3rd overall at EMP Soundoff! yesterday, a feat I'd call righteous if it wasn't so blatantly obvious they deserved 1st. Hannah: The audience clamored for New Faces; what could you as judge, or we as a culture, do but give it to them?