Calvin Love Residency

Calvin Love is striving to be a demigod of the highway. An artist driven by a vision which seems to haunt and seduce him. That could be the word. Seduction, as opposed to the banal force of production. People make music. The person reading this probably makes music. Or maybe some other kind of art. Who knows. For you, and for me, and for everyone lucky enough to be familiar with Calvin Love is the quintessential artist as inspiration. A person who peers into himself to reveal something about the world that might otherwise go unarmed, or perhaps merely felt and never properly articulated. I see Calvin at an intersection in every city on earth, unmasking the hidden wonder, the past as construed by movies and the archetypes that populate our minds. The hitchhiker. The gentle, supple poet whose aim is to elucidate humanity for the weary denizens of the weary world. He proves that in the form of cartoon darkness there is a reality beyond that which is fully amenable to basic speech, and so must be corralled in a blind faith in a palette. All great artwork depends on a palette, on the choices that one makes in pulling the shades of that palette into ones control out of a sense of belief that I don't understand. Watch videos of Calvin practicing. Go see his shows. He is a rare gift that more than so much of what we're forced to consume offers a vision.

Prufrock had the Emperor of Ice Cream in a headlock when the roar of a '37 Triumph Speed Twin made them both forget what they were fighting about. In walked an Anglo-Cherokee-Japanese skateboarder. "I'm Korey Dane, and you're both acting like children."

He had ridden from Joshua Tree where his father was rebuilding a 1953 Chevy Hardtop. "I've put my board away, gentlemen, and I've picked up a guitar. I figure the board will never really let me say what I want to say, and frankly, nothing makes me cry like the 3 minor chord." The table was cleared for a round of Old Pulteneys as Korey Dane began his tale of woe and redemption.

"I'm twenty-five years old. My mother handed me East of Eden when I was twelve and I've never been the same since. Neither has she. Mom and Dad headed in opposite directions; academe called her name and Dad, well Dad drove into the desert until he ran out of gas. And there he hung his hat. I tumbled for a while…and grumbled. But four wheels brought me where I needed to go. I probably did a little too much of this and way too much of that, but that's ok. I'm better for it. Lera says I've still got a long way to go. Hell, she's from Ukraine, for Christ's sake. She should know.

"Luckily, I heard and saw some things; Tom Waits, Bruce Davidson, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Aaron Embry, The Beatles and the Stones, Blake Mills, Mark Gonzales, Karen Dalton, and the 'Mats. Hitching across the country is like a 72-day answer to the question, 'What's the worst thing that could happen?' Well, I've gathered a lot of answers to that question. But the best thing that could happen was going around the country until I found myself back home. Listen to me. I'm Dorothy fucking Gale!

"Home is where I decided to take a position. Orville Gibson and Ernie Ball were my earliest accomplices. The three of us were sequestered for a couple of years until we all agreed I needed to step outside. I played for a few friends and nobody hit me. I felt this might work out.

"I rolled some Legend of 91 and got to work. A hundred songs…three of them decent. Then I slept for three days. Woke up and wrote a hundred more. This time, two of them were worthwhile. This wasn't going well. After a while I met some folks. They were nice. They were encouraging. And they said, 'Surely you can do better than this.' They introduced me to a man—a cruel man—who made me do things no man should have to do. Scansion, modulation, chromaticism…he was mean and relentless.

"But here I sit. Open to whatever comes. You're both older gentlemen, now. Go home to your wives, your families. I feel ready."

The three of them went their respective ways. Prufrock and the Emperor are now long gone.

Korey Dane is standing right outside your door.

L.A.'s No Win is the solo power pop project of Danny Nogueiras (he gets help from his friends for the stage). You might know him from his time drumming in FIDLAR but if you did know that it's best if you forget it because No Win doesn't sound like FIDLAR.
No Win played their first ever show in the summer of 2015 A.D. (and have subsequently played shows with good bands like FIDLAR ((of course!)) and Quarterbacks and others I have yet to write about for I am only one man) so there's still plenty of time to get in on the ground floor of this musical goodness.

[.....] I hope you like strong melodies and solid jingle jangle and a few well-placed “whoa oh ohs" to keep things positive and sunny and bouncing. I know I sure do."

-Patrick McNamara, Oh My Rockness

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