We just laid down a new version of an old Nudity chestnut at our exclusive High Command Olympia studios. Elevate in Rotation. As usual, featuring a guest appearance by one-time fellow Nudity-ist Kris Cunningham on second drums. Give it a listen, and then hear it on vinyl with a bunch of other killer NW bands on the Maggot Minded comp. lp later this year!

Ned Lannamann wrote this review of our 12" record last year on the Portland Mercury's website. Shoulda posted it a long time ago, but here 'tis:

Today we examine the new 12 inch from Olympia’s Nudity, out now on Portland-based Discourage Records. It’s a single, ostensibly, with one track per side. But both sides together run the length of an album—each track is 21 minutes long. The song is “Nightfeeders,” and it’s presented in two versions: the Nudity studio take on the a-side, and a remix by Concentrick on the b-side.

I think I first heard an excerpt of “Nightfeeders” about two years ago, on Nudity’s MySpace page. Even in abbreviated form, it was instantly memorable, with a polyrhythmic 3/4 guitar part looping around a 4/4 motorik pulse. Nudity sounded like the kind of band that doesn’t exist anymore, and maybe never did—jammers who knew how to rock, who didn’t get caught up in the technical end of things, who let their songs blow like grain over vast fields, to land, sprout, and grow wherever they would. Most importantly, they were fucking heavy—heavy enough to stop the brain-damaged hippie girl from her incessant twirling, enough to instill the fear in her. So yeah. If Nudity is a jam band, then they’ve rehabilitated the entire genre, which is no small feat. I don’t think they are a jam band, though. They are a hard rock band, with an epic song that’s different each time they play it.

I don’t know if each side of the 12 inch is designed to be listened to consecutively, since it is the same song, but having the two versions side by side emphasizes the fact that “Nightfeeders” isn’t something set in stone, that it may change altogether, that your mood and whatever substances you’re on is just as much a factor as what the band is doing. I saw Nudity play at Rotture a couple weeks back, short one guitar player, and “Nightfeeders” sounded awesome, but different. Not because a part was missing, but because that’s just the way it was. It was longer, drone-ier; it seemed like the vocal wasn’t as important, and other parts may have been jettisoned to focus on the groove.

The a-side version of “Nightfeeders” on this 12 inch never feels monotonous; it never achieves the meditative sameness of that jam I saw at Rotture. It’s a fully fledged song, beginning with an incantation of flute and sitar, before the looping guitar figure comes in. The band quickly kicks into high gear, locking into the motorik pulse as firmly as Neu! ever did, at times threatening to careen into Hawkwind space-case la-la land. But Nudity remains grounded, never losing sight of the horizon, never losing control of the machine that they’ve created and revved up. There may be a guitar solo here or there, but it’s not really a guitar solo; a vocal line may be uttered and some chord changes may happen. But it’s all about providing shape to this motion rather than telling a story. It’s a physical experience rather than a mental one. Eventually, it turns into a drum solo, and fades out—a somewhat disappointing end to an otherwise stellar track, but I suppose it had to end somewhere.

The b-side is Concentrick’s “remix” of “Nightfeeders,” which is part-remix, part-reconstruction, part-overdub. Concentrick is Tim Green from the Fucking Champs, and he recently put out an album of looping prog guitar under the Concentrick name that sounded like Steve Hackett and Frank Zappa caught in spin cycle in the washing machine. What Green does to “Nightfeeders” is artful, and sends it into the stratosphere. The opening flute and sitar incantation is increased in length, with Green’s zigzagging guitar plastered on top of it. When the band kicks in, Green turns them into a palette of paint, and dashes color here, guitar there, cymbal crash there, all over the canvas that is the basic track of the song. The result may be superior to the band take; it’s certainly scarier, and it takes you further. You never get lost, though, and the peak moments of ecstasy are loftier.

At any rate, with this 12 inch, Nudity has finally provided two definitive documents of their greatest achievement, and it’s on vinyl, no less. Vinyl is the way to experience it, from starting groove to ending groove without even the option of a pause button. There are 200 copies on purple vinyl and 600 on black; the covers were individually silk-screened. It’s well worth picking up if you have any small interest in krautrock, stoner rock, metal, psychedelia… Fuck. Let me try that again. It’s well worth picking up, unless you are a pussy.

OK we're home. You're the stars! You people out there! You're the ones who make us come home alive.

I gotta take up from the last blog just in order to set things straight vis a vis Chicago:
1) Zespy is the king of the world
2) Augie! plus special guest "Kate"
3) Dave turned 35, we gave him a doll and bottle of lighter fluid, and he most definitely enjoyed himself.

We played in twin city 2, of course we are referring to St. Paul, bitter rival of gloried Minneapolis. Minneapolis does house Nancy & John, Rana, the Hard Times and the Weinery -- so St. Paul likely will never catch up on points, but we're not too good to play there. Besides, John's amazing workplace is in St. Paul, working on high-end audio electronics for a man who was given the schematics by native americans in a dream. And Dave replaced his broken guitar there -- we all respect her potential and see a bright future for her in the organization. The show in St Paul was cool. Minnesota is cool, frankly. We played with, as always in this neck of the woods, a couple of really scrappy, really tight, really good bands! Knife World was a 2-piece prog affair, like really aggro Atomic Rooster in minimal. You will remember the guitar player from last year's psychoclasmomonomaut, who I believe are actually called Synchocyclotron. On last was Chooglin', who do not sound like Creedence Clearwater Revival. They're like a prog-garage rock boogie machine with 4-piece horn section. These fellas could PLAY and they bring the shit high & tight. So St. Paul proves quite the gracious host.

On to Kansas City and union with our good good buddies Mythical Beast. Things did not get nuts as they did last year but was a damn good time as good times go. The Beast are magickally perfecting the use of space in their music, thus their music propelled me to space. They have vinyl out and are heading on the road like next month!

Denver? We got up early to get there by 8 but it didn't start til 11? Was actually two shows right next to each other? A burrito for $3.75? Outer Neon? Physical toll from tour starting to mount and tempers to fray? Was all solved by playing sweet sister rock 'n roll?! Oh Denver. You so kray-za.

Salt Lake City dint want us -- a day off in Yellowstone! Oh boiling mud, the dragon's tongue, flipping off buffalos, you name it and we were up in it. Then on to Missoula to visit with Josh & Nikki, hurl the Missoulans around, and just basically lay the groundwork for TOTAL FEST in August. The show itself was opened by the Sherlocks, teenage Velvet Underground railroaders! Just when you think the kids don't have no sense.

Now we are back in our respective nests, barely bruised. Expect us again America, and thanks for giving a good goddamn.

My goodness, did we really leave the whole of the east coast uncommented on? Is it because we all (minus Grant) caught the bug in Providence that deadens the mind and snottens the body? I digress.

Well geez where to start. Richmond was a hoot. We were sandwiched between a full-fledged 9-member brain-pan-scraping drone machine called Meditate Motherfuckers (we kinda wished they had gone with "Namaste Motherfuckers" but we're funny that way) and a kind of death-grind band called the Jefferson Plane Crash. I must say I was looking sideways at the JPC because they didn't look very frightening and were using Crate amplification (which naturally blew up during their set) but the music came out brutal and the banter was hysterical. We stayed with Maya/Maia/Mya (MY-uh) Queen of Richmond and household who are used to hosting bands and made with the nachos weed beer shower laundry accomodations most magnificent. And then on to DC, to play the most egregious of the hot sweaty rooms of the east coast, meet up with our bosom chums Vincent Black Shadow and MISS OUT on legendary Ben's Chili Bowl which is right down the street, due to being misinformed that it's open all night! I screeched and screeched but they never did open the doors. Then we tried to get gas but the gas station was guarded by crackhead with pit bull so we ran the van on fumes all the way to Baltimore instead.

Baltimore is the home of the VBSs, and guitar Dan put us up most graciously. His kitties are named Dez and Chavo; Chavo drinks beer! You can't leave yours sitting around cuz he's all up in it. And I mean from the bottle. Baltimore itself is decaying rapidly. Grant doesn't care for it much. He said it reminds him of the south, but without that good southern-ness... Food is expensive but used rekkids are cheap, there's a shop called Truevine where even collectible records don't go for more than say $8. And as to food, well my girl Sue works at the vegan rasta cafe and she set us up BIG time, thanks Sue! God damn it, what is that place called? The Yabba Pot I think? I have seen veggie rasta cafes before but this was the first one that had the local queer mags in it (hate to stereotype but rastafarians tend to be notoriously homophobic). The show itself was one of the true highlights of the tour, we always have a ridiculously good time in Baltimore, it's like the anti-L.A. Now don't get pissed, Angelenos, it's just that apart from the great all-ages spaces -- which admittedly we should be spending more time in -- your whole city treats bands like they've got some balls coming to town. Oh and Vincent Black Shadow killed. To draw another regional analogy -- this time to Olympia -- they're like Baltimore's Fitz of Depression: "Is Vincent Black Shadow playing? When will these (disdainfully) other bands be done?" More power to ya Shadows! Oh 2 -- It bears mentioning that the evening opened with a bizarro-world Stooges cover band called The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Stooges.

Then -- ooh -- Philadelphia. Hm. I kinda went off the deep end, due to (again) misinformation. Plus alcohol. Keep in mind Philadelphia has been trying to kill me for years, and my hackles get noticeably raised in the city of allegedly brotherly alleged love. Um. Well. It was in a cool lil punk record store in west Philly, the sign said they were taking donations. Actually the sign pleaded for donations ("please!"). So, after we played, Dave's guitar randomly fell over and the headstock broke off. VBS comes on, and my man Dave (luckily wed to Sue) asks for donations because of our guitar problem; a hat briefly goes around and comes back empty... By this time I'm drunk and I have the idea that this empty hat is the sum total of donations for us tonight. Now to be fair, no one tried to disabuse me of this notion, and the people running the show were downright encouraging of my efforts to hassle the showgoing populace: "hey... HEY! I seen you dancing! You were enjoying yourself! Gimme your fucking money!" I wish I was joking. This netted us the additional income of one pill (xanax. she said she had lithium too but couldn't find it). Later I find out that they were in fact collecting money at the door. We got paid about the same as any other show. Oops. Oh Philadelphia. Seriously. I apologize. (Thus ends Quitty's PERSONAL disclaimer). Anyway the houses are still beautiful there, not wide but very tall. Hooray for east coast thunderstorms, even if by then we're getting a little tired of being sweaty all the time. Dan from Vincent Black Shadow loaned Dave a guitar for the rest of the tour! WE LOVE THESE FELLAS AND THE ONE GUY'S WIFE! A lot!

New York is where we started jabbering in fake Brooklyn-ese, actually maybe fake Jersey-ese... all right just crappy bad Sopranos accents but it was amusing... Our stock phrases included "fuck yuh mudda, yuh muddafucka yuh!," "fuck yuh GRANDmuddah, ya sick bastid!" and "get da fuck outta my fuckin!" It is also where I have never succeeded in playing very well. Our worst performance of the tour hands down. BUT: stuffed my ass silly for five bucks.

On to Boston to open for... Scout Niblett? A strange bill but it was fine and I must say the staff of the Middle East tavern in Cambridge remains as luscious and accommodating as my memories have it. The Niblett's audience is shall we say adoring, shouting requests and I love yous (to her, not us) and frankly giving me the creeps, but I must say it was very very nice to play for someone else's large-ish crowd. First on were the Black Hollies, who kind of synthesized merseybeat with late-period Yardbirds guitar histrionics. We liked them and hung out a little, and at the end of the night it was drunkenly revealed that these were in fact three quarters of the old Rye Coalition, with whom we've had similar bonds in the past... We slept in Providence and there caught the bug we're all still trying to shake but that's the way it goes, my bros. We had a day off and saw the new Harold and Kumar movie. Even Dave had to agree that woah EVERYONE likes to get baked -- even George W. Bush. Wha?

Back to New York to play the Knitting Factory, which is SO far removed from its Los Angeles cousin in terms of hospitality/respeck. The sound guy was really good AND really nice? Weird. I was the sickest that day and all the gear seemed to weigh 1000 pounds, also it was all down two narrow flights of stairs. Naturally that was the day they gave us the most beer and red bull and all that, but I nay could touch none of that in my state. Deli on the other hand... I'm only human here. I cannot deny the shamanistic healing powers of 1) TIFFANY! and 2) WILLIS!, long-lost loves from the great northwest... Giggles guggles and whiskey don't heal your snot but it's good gear greasing ya know?... We stayed with Zoe in Brooklyn and her cats didn't have names. The big white one was amazingly sweet and I called it Dennis. The little shit one attacked face in the night and early morn. Fuck yuh muddah. I fail to see why everyone wants to move to Portland but I'm starting to understand why everyone wants to live in Brooklyn among sweathogs and Mr. Kotter. What a cool place.

Finally we get off the sweaty old east coast amid much downpour and make straight for Cleveland, where there's just the coolest little bar called Now That's Class. I was still really sick (more or less -- I can walk) and it really started getting to me, because they have vegan cheese steak and the BEST jukebox and we played with Plastic Crimewave Sound (Plastic Crimewave is the brains behind the amazing Galactic Zoo Dossier magazine/trading cards world) and again I can nay enjoy none of this, I can only lay my snotted befogged ass in the van and traipse in now and again to dig the mindblowing crimewave sounds and those of Puffy Areolas, these insane kids doing Stooges hyperdrive chaos (that is, more directly channeling the framers' intent than Baltimore's combo; this one not a cover band by any stretch), then go lie down again. I know it all rules but I can't live it! I'm forty! (almost). But we did stay way out in the burbs in a LARGE house with much room and generous parents -- and the police showed up immediately to inquire within. No arrests were made.

OK that brings us up to Chicago, where I now sit spoiled in yet another large indulgent pad courtesy of our buddy ZESPY, mastermind of Southern Records in America. The Southern office is downstairs, the living quarters are upstairs, and it's like the very purpose is to host bands. There's a large garage in which you can stuff your van! In Chicago that is no small perk. Played what is normally a hip-hop club with Plastic Crimewave Sound again, plus old friends Velcro Lewis and his 100 Proof Band and new friends, headliners Dead Meadow. PCS were amazing in a whole different regard this time, not dealing with hole-in-wall concrete room sound but a large club with a great sound system and believe you me it was suitably hypnotic. Velcro Lewis' band is now equipped with drummer/vocalist Hawk who is Wilson Pickett and Screaming Joe Neal combined. Think I'm kidding? Eryn: "I could listen to that shit all night every night." Got SO high with that fella continuously and he was ready to go another round. No disrespect to the other members and Velcro hisself, who turns out to be old buddies with Olympia's Jay Pat Calhoun of War With Saturn. It's a small world after all.

The veil of illness is slowly lifting. Manual and mental faculties slowly returning. Annoyances from home blocked out by the iron shield of will, which was made of soggy wonder bread when the disease had me in its clammy mucus grip. The one remaining question mark on our schedule (and there were tons this tour but that's another tale) is SALT LAKE CITY, little help for the 10th? This six week jaunt of ours has had us grumbling in some ways, but in other ways is going real good, and besides Dead Meadow's been on tour since the beginning of February. As I said to them and myself: well shut my mouth.

Kansas City here we come. They got a crazy Mythical Beast there and we're gonna get us one.

toodle loo!

Well we barely escaped Charlotte. The band with songs regarding and/or titled double anal, stupid bitch and so forth was predictably interminable. That's right -- we are the kind of band that uses several-syllable terms and phrases, such as "predictably interminable." We went to college; we like jazz. But back to Charlotte. Charlotte is, from my limited experience (two visits on separate tours), an equally seedy and charming burg. Like the Bowery of the south. The experience as a whole was perfectly nice and the Milestone (the club in question) is to be honored and respected, even if we couldn't get Antiseen's Jeff Clayton to come down and play "Walking Dead." Bartendress Jessica could barely stand, due to working two jobs all week long, but she kept them imports flowing towards us and let us know which articles in Playboy were worth reading. In this month's issue, I suggest the Bob Saget interview and the excerpt from the new Chris Farley bio coming out this month. Anyway, toward the end of the night, the depressed middle-aged alcoholic staggered in and was most forthcoming that we did in fact have a place to stay.* We instead drove two hours to Raleigh and eventually found the home of our dear friends from the Birds of Avalon. The Birds themselves are on tour and we have got their lush palace to ourselves. This is roughly the halfway mark of the trip and we're all using it toward our own solitude. Merch-girl/Miller-time-paramour Miss Katherine is leaving us in the morning, so we'll have less enlightening company and less bok choy but more room for our knobby knees in the van.

Still trying to fill some gaps on the rest of the trip: New England, Pittsburgh, Detroit? Come on now.

Back to the kombucha-guzzling contest...

*  to Eryn: "you one sexy man"
    to Grant: "is that your girl? Is she gonna come in swingin' fists?"
    to me: "aw come on"

-- V.M. Preesh

A leetle note fom the road...

It's a Sunday night in Charlotte and there's a band playing who has songs about double anal, I think that actually may have been the title of something. But it's come up more than once.

New Mexico was kind of a drag, Texas was Zack Zack Zack! Which means poor vegan Dave on the food side, as it was an explosion on the barbecue and ice cream end of things. Cereal played a central role, but not for us. Memphis is full of people who are Mad About Grant, and who can blame them?

We can almost smell the inferior ocean from here. We'll see you real soon.

We have completed the first four shows, we got the motor runnin’ and we head out on the highway just in time for... three days off in a row? Well forgive me if Los Angeles turns into a big bag of crap AGAIN. Honestly I shouldn’t blame L.A., although world famous Safari Sam’s does seem to have slipped us a dildo this year. I am all too used to traveling UP and DOWN this state and I no longer consider it a tour til we hit the interior. We got nuthin until Albuquerque in two days.

Now pardon me: the rest of the girls want to have a discussion. They phrased it as an intervention. They are ever so amusing.

OK. We’re gonna stay at Dave’s dad’s house another night. The up side: mucho de parental comfort, free food. The down side: lack of forward motion, loss of momentum. I am crossing my fingers that by the time we hit Albuquerque, the rage and pent-up frustration will hit such a peak that we will simply EXPLODE upon what I hope will be an audience. Now, a recap of the first half-week:

We were blessed with the presence of our dear friends the Birds of Avalon for three shows, they are solid, unbreakable and more pro than ever, and are about to prove it by opening for the Raconteurs for a week & a half. Wish we could spend a little more time in their company, but ah fuk it as the expression goes. The one date we got separated from them was for a punk basement show in Reno, which was shall we say rejuvenating; among other reasons because we were WAY older than everyone. Nonetheless we threw our noise at the kids and they loved that shit. We loved ’em back. Promoter Josh gave me things! Not herpes.

OK we’re off to see the sights.

Our US tour starts next week, take a look-see at the dates and hopefully we’ll see you out there somewheres. By the way, there’s some gaps still waiting to be filled. If you can help out at all, or just give us some good leads for some of these areas, we would be really grateful. The south doesn’t seem to want much Nudity these days - c’mon, loosen up that Bible Belt!
xo Nudity

Our LP - or extremely long 12" EP depending on your view of such things - entitled "The Nightfeeders," is out! Side 1 is 21 minutes of said song, featuring guest flautist Clea, guest organist Warren, and our former second drummer, Kris. Side 2 is an entirely new reworking of our recording by the wizzard [sic] of sound from SF, Tim Green, who added a lot of his own original material to the tune, as well as used a big healthy chunk of what we did, custom-tweaked by him - he did truly amazing things to it.
Discourage Records in Portland has put this out, all with screen printed covers by us, and we have made a CD version of it, not on Discourage. Vinyl should be hitting stores in the next couple weeks, and both vinyl and CDs are currently available from www.killrockstars.com, and www.krecs.com.

Hey West Coasters, check out our tour dates for some Nudity action near you in the next few days. We'll have a few copies of our new record with us, and of course "The Killer Jams."
Rest of the country, sit tight, we'll be out there in April and May.
xo Nudity