Elegant Space Gentleman

With the final flight of the Space Shuttle, conspiracy-minded Fogelfoot assumes that NASA has successfully tracked Jesus Christ to space, where He is working as a hands-on relationship counselor.

With a nod to both David Bowie’s and Peter Schilling’s interpretations of Major Tom as well as that not-un-Space-friendly Pixies, “Elegant Space Gentleman” brings these diverse themes together, adding an element of W.B. Yeats’ “The Second Coming” and finding a workable rhyme to “geosynchronous” in the bargain.

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Elegant Space Gentleman

In Progress: “Hope Boat”

With the economic and environmental realities facing 2011, it isn’t surprising that a Peace Train is no longer a viable conveyance of strummy, acoustic idealism. But a Hope Boat, on the other hand…

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Hope Boat

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Fogelfoot and The Artist’s Way: Knowing one’s audience

Fogelfoot plays one show at a desert biker bar and delivers songs that evoke the longing for the disappearing West, the tug and ache of patriotism, and mezuzot. Three days later we play another show at a trendy Hollywood fleshpot and sing about self-expression, erotic freedom, and mezuzot.

This is what makes Fogelfoot America’s Only Band. Continue reading

It’s Been Good to Know Ya, Uncle Tina

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As this week marks the 35th anniversary of the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, and the song of the same name was a signature hit for the man who is referenced in 1/3 of the syllables of our band, we are proud to share with you, fellow Internauts, a song that most likely will never be played onstage. Continue reading

Now Playing: Wednesday Gets Its Own Song

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Doubtless you’ve wondered why every other day of the week but Wednesday has a popular song dedicated to it. “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” “Monday Monday,” “Tuesday Afternoon,” “Friday on My Mind,” and a dozen songs about Saturday spring immediately to mind. Continue reading

Bucephalus in a tub

For four years of high school I did not clean my Baritone Horn once, nor my trumpet, nor my trombone. I was what is known as a “lackluster musician.” Now, that million$ are at stake, I made the connection between the otherworldly, Cthulhu-summoning sounds emitting from Bucephalus and the notion that perhaps the horn was innercaked with years of sludge.

So I learned on the Internet how to clean the thing, and above you see Step One: Bathe That Shit. 36 hours later my horn is loud, sweet, and clear, slathered with essential oils and greases, and rid of decades of Only-the-Los-Angeles-DWP-Knows-for-Sure.

See you this weekend at Pappy & Harriet’s.