j. tillman

Friday, April 09, 2004

thanks to everyone who came out on wed. particulary phil peterson who was kind of enough accompany / upstage me with his masterful cello performance.



Monday, March 29, 2004

buttons and mp3's



buttons designed by local mixed media artist joseph findeiss arrived today and the mp3's are operational. write me if you want a button.







Wednesday, March 24, 2004

jtillmanmusic.com is up and the mp3's will be working sometime this week



the best st. patrick's day ever



this st. patrick's day i won bingo and a kareoke contest. and rosie put a dollar in a pair of pink panties that someone slipped on me while i sang "bohmian rhapsody."



Saturday, February 21, 2004

mastering



i got home at four this morning from mastering with tim at the bazan estate in poulsbo and the album is finished.



Sunday, February 08, 2004

tw walsh is going to master "i will return" at control once eric and i finish mixing.







Sunday, February 01, 2004

mixing



almost finished with aforementioned record, tentatively titled "i will return." phil peterson is finishing up the string arrangements and it soon after should be ready for mixing/mastering/entering the ever-growing anthology of unreleased j. tillman cd-r's.







Wednesday, January 07, 2004

recording again



i'm working on a new record right now with eric fisher (damien jurado, rosie thomas).







Monday, November 24, 2003

lost.



yesterday found zach and i wandering around a strange city, purposeless, in a complete state limbo. both of us drop-outs, driving around the country, spending our early 20's playing music, estranged from our parents and any childhood friends, with a whole day between us and returning to our own beds. though we eventually found our way to south street and by chance ran into damien and rosie (with whom i spent my day off at, of all places, another rock show in a bar), i know that even if we had been stuck in the abandoned jewelry store district of downtown philadelphia for the rest of the day, everything would have been fine. everyone should as fortunate as i am; to have a friend who always feels like home.





Friday, August 01, 2003

rick



rick works at the taco bell somewhere in kentucky. he rescued my copy of chesterton's "the man who was thursday" from the clutches of my obliviousness. over a cigarette in the parking lot of our favorite corporate mexican dining establishment he told me of his disbelief in reality. he gave me hope and directions (to ohio). i gave him a handshake and a light (for his newport).











Tuesday, July 29, 2003

tara



everyone, at least once it their life, should go to wyoming, iowa, and missouri. these places exist. people live and die there. they have children and raise them. they eat at taco bell and go to the wal-mart (to buy everything from tires to contact lenses to groceries). i believe all of them must work at the wal-wart as well.



it's sobering. america isn't new york city and california beaches. the majority of it is stark, plain, suburban-developed and wishing it were something more glamorous.



i'm not discrediting the value of these places. i mean iowa has the best creative writing program in the country (of which the likes of flannery o'connor emerged), and i'm sure wyoming is all over sandberg's "the people, yes" but something in me lacks the ability to romanticize the US. every town looks the same. fast food restraunts like beacons.



or maybe i'm just down because i'm in missouri.

and tired.

but i had a banana milkshake tonight and a good converstaion with a steak 'n' shake waitress working the graveyard shift who seemed to be getting on just fine.

so who am i to complain?











Friday, July 25, 2003

michael



michael had been drunk since i got to the club at 9. over the course of evening he asked me when i was going to get a haircut 4 times. he had a ponytail.

after the show, michael approched matt and i to inform us that "he knew rock 'n' roll music and that we definately were not it." we talked about this for about half an hour. michael's favorite bands are 1.) the supersuckers 2.) rush and 3.) boston.

when pressed for advice he offered that while "jamming out in the garage" i turn to "the guy playing bass" and say "what the fuck are you playing, you piece of shit?" we practiced this together a couple times until i could say it convincingly.







Wednesday, July 09, 2003

missouri = boring / arizona = hot

or

17 hours from missouri to arizona



"how?" you may ask: a lot of chocolate quik and american spirits.

i'm too hot to think right now. i always have volumes to write until i actually get in front of the computer. i'm currently in an "internet cafe" (apparently everyone in AZ's computer is broken) that's 0% cafe and 110% internet. lots of blood-curdling screams, explosions, and over-weight kids talking to each other about "killing sprees." where is micheal moore when you need him? i guess the irony is that i just spent an hour playing "mike tyson's punch-out."



matt, justin and i shared a magical evening in texas, staring out at the skyline, watching thunderstoms and humming neil young, route 66 root beer in hand. first time we got to wear sweatshirts on this trip.



tonight we're playing with american anaolg set, which i'm excited about. we've gotten to play with some great bands as of late. two nights ago was with havalina in mo. really great guys. orlando and i talked yes and genesis and wignall and i talked agnosticism / existentialism, social reform, libertarianism and wishing we could be christians during the 1930's at oxford as opposed to during the 2000's at cornerstone.



speaking of which, i don't believe i shall ever be returning to cornerstone. aside from a trip to see "legally blonde II" with stephanie and bruebaker, seeing reels of white dominate, and the veggie quesadillas the whole experience was kind of miserable. and i was even trying to be positive! it's just too hot. i think some popsicles would have made all the difference.



(kids everywhere yelling, "fuck!")















Tuesday, July 01, 2003

housesitting



currently in the house of a detroit family that has absolutely no idea we're spending the day in their magnanimous abode eating all their food, kissing their teenage daughters, leaving their toliet lids upright, not closing doors after ourselves, vomitting in their beds, operating a drug front, leaving the fridge door open for a gratutitously extended period time while we decide which imported beer to try this time, abusing their children's toys, and wearing too few clothes in front of their bay windows before we play ann arbor tonight.



being a passive intruder always fascinates me. wandering haphazardly around a house that someone slaved and toiled to achieve; the sacred refuge of two people who's names i don't know. a place that stands as a metaphor for personal success, a living organism that's lifeblood is the memories forged inside it's walls. but the place they feel the most secure is currenly where i am sitting about half naked; two sets of lives colliding in a way that they are entirely oblivious of and most likely will continue to be. this isn't to say that we're breaking things and eating them out of house and home (i embellished), but the fine line between breaking an entering and knowing someone who knows someone and feeling at home in that person's temple because of twice removed kinship (we are the houseguests of a housesitter) is a bizarre testament of inherent human trust. nevertheless, they'd still probably lose it were they to see me on their couch eating granola in my boxer shorts.



i wonder who's sleeping in my bed right now.





Thursday, June 26, 2003

south carolina alabama tennesse indiana



everything's getting blurry my arms hurt this yogurt is good i'm hot hopefullly i can buy some pants today michigan should be cooler than here that one club there has a good selection of root beer there's a coffeebar in indiana called soma that's bathroom is worth the trip i need to buy some polaroid film the north should have steak 'n' shake our waitress at waffle house (my first time) in indiana called me "honey" on request she asked where i was from upon answering i was deemed "grunge butt" the secretly canadian people are nice i'm not sure about nashville people besides beth and doni james dean is staring at me from the wall i know a lot of kids from indiana who have a thing for james dean weird i have to go wash my face it's 12:27 pm everyone's still asleep tap tap tap.







Tuesday, June 17, 2003

rant.



for those of us who do not have it all figured out, we can at least be consoled by the fact that we have friends who do and are, thankfully, more than willing to hastily deconstruct our burgeoning ideals into caricatures. i cannot tell you how grateful i am to have friends who have taken on this noble mantle of "true understanding" and deliver unto me condescending pats on the head with their scepters of righteousness.



i mean, the point of life and development and discovery is to discredit any kind of illumination as fanciful, elitist, misinformed and typical until you get to the age when the pursuit of individuality on your own terms can be easily dismissed after years of practice choking back the bile of regret.



well, i'm going to go sit in a coffeebar with a dog-eared copy of "catcher in the rye" wearing an ironic tee-shirt and a look of general discontent on my face. then i think i'll engage in several quintessential, immoral, coming-of-age hyjincs with my jaded friends who have grown cynical beyond their years by church hypocrisy and media sensationalism. i'll be disillusioned enough to think that i will always think this way and no, no, no there is nothing you can do to stop me. but secretly i'll be begging for parental guidance and spiritual sustenance.



oh, won't someone guide me?! i am lost without you, christian friends! i am drowning in a sea of early 20's, sexual frustration and salinger/camus/nietchze induced nihilism! throw me your life-saver of advice!



but if it will all pass, why are you making a big deal of it now?

















Saturday, June 14, 2003

"deeper than meaningless"



was justin's social commentary at "z-boni's" last night when referring the mating rituals of virile, hormonal 20-something social animals. these inebriated dances of the flesh are truly some of the best arguments against an intelligent creator deity.



but i'm not saying i didn't have a good time.







Friday, June 13, 2003

ok.



i realize the last post is somewhat judgemental, elitist, and narrow-minded.

please take it as what it is meant to be: 2-dimensional narrative humor.

my apologies to the backlash.







Thursday, June 12, 2003

because you're an idiot, danish-guy



"be careful (knowing chuckle), you'll turn into a republican!"



danish-guy is met with an obligatory head-nod and involuntary chuckle. taking into account that he's currently butchering the lyrics and melody to the end of "yellow submarine" and the beginning of "she says" with a condescending wag of the head that perhaps was meant to lead me to believe that john and paul used to jam out in his basement before they were any good, i am handling the situation pretty well.

the source of my frustration has been the sudden and drastic barrage of comments directed towards my reading of ayn rand's "the fountainhead." most are humorous and/or idiotic, for instance, "anarchist!" and "yeah, but have you seen the movie?" these are fairly innocent in nature, being as the that the authors of such gems of wit and wisdom are either idiots of the cinemtaic or politcal variety and thus are not-so-much-cute, but nevertheless harmless.

but this guy.

okay, danish guy (cream cheese to be exact), obviously you've read the book. on some plane you understand that the philosophy therein (objectivism) asserts that the true nature of altruism is in fact a grab for power and a desire to incapacitate people by sedating them with pity and praise. i'm sure you milled over the themes of healthy egotism, human motivators, true cruelty, humanstic existentialism and the like, but what bothers me is that at the end of that book you put it down and could not process any of these ideologies in any frame of reference other than political party affiliation. not to mention the fact, that were i to finish that book and be so indoctrinated by it that i immediately ran off and joined the young republicans i would have missed the point of "the fountainhead" entirely.

you, danish-guy, have my pity (irony ensues).



listening:

bob dylan - the freewheelin'

(careful, you'll turn into a socialist!)



reading:

the violent bear it away - flannery o'connor





Tuesday, June 03, 2003

nocturinal



so, given: women have grace, intuition, a heightened sense of compassion, and beauty, but men can pretty much urinate anywhere with little to no difficulty.

thanks, evolution.







Saturday, May 31, 2003

normal people don't think this way



being as that i was completely media-saturated during my formative years, i find myself more often then not viewing myself and my misadventures as humorous coming-of-age cinema about a scattered, awkward, and hopelessly self-absorbed protaganist whose misdirection is looked upon with grace and adoration by an audience of males who can relate to me and girls who wouldn't mind dating me. unfortunately, such romanticism exists only in my head.



i see it all perfectly: i exit the bar, head slightly bowed, hand jammed forlornly in right pocket. i light cigarette while female of interest (or FOI) comes running out of bar bewildered by my hasty and unannounced departure. i am asked where i'm going. home, i reply, curtly, but not without a hinting air of melancholy (as if to say "too bad it had to end like this. really.") would i like a ride? no, no. and why is that? at this point (after an exhale of carbon monoxide clouds my face) i weave a metaphor involving something to do with her being a lioness, being out for blood, and how i have too little of that to give (anymore - elipses). puzzled and defeated she tries to speak but is overwhelmed with a rush of what-could-have-been.



it never quite happens that way.



reading:

a portrait of the artist as a young man: james joyce

the fountainhead: ayn rand





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