Mount St. Helen’s

Out west, the volcano’s at it again – last time it blew, I was in Oregon, thirteen years old and totally entranced by the huge grey plume that was visible from any given point in Portland. The ash in the streets was a foot deep. Everybody wearin’ surgical masks. It was awesome.
Here, though, in Wilmington, North Carolina — well, some things defy description. Last night we played a show without a setlist and with Scott Solter guesting on pretty much every song, doing whatever he felt like doing. At one point I played drums while Peter sang Jonathan Richman’s “I’m Straight.” I left the stage after finishing the lyric to “Terror Song” and the band kept playing for nearly ten minutes. Mr. Solter observed that the band sounded like an admixture of Gong and P.i.L., which is just about right. The transition to jam band now seems assured.*
Went down this morning and looked at the sea grasses & so on. Three cheers for the sea grasses!
*note to people who get nervous around the term “jam band”: that was a joke