So there’s a reason you’ll almost never see me doing interviews; sorta my version of “front-row ballet” syndrome, I s’pose. Dig: I could give a fuck about the mechanics of creating music – I want to enjoy music as a part of my (self-created and maintained) environment, divorced from it’s “reality” as a performing art.
Basically, most musicians are ugly and stupid.
Heard/felt as pure sound, Hibernaculum is a glorious fucking dream, huge clouds of candy and brine and soft, fat lips, continuing Dylan Carlson’s Americana experiments, but more realized and assured and more fucking MORE. But the accompanying DVD kills buzzes savagely. In various interview segments, Dylan reveals himself to be the most amazingly objectionable combo of burnout and art-fag. Dude, you play slow because you’re HIGH, not because you’re Phillip fucking Glass. It’s disgusting enough to make me turn sXe. But, God, I’d miss the cocaine, so … nope.
