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preamble for calamity ( 8/8/06 As my last night talking photos for TaxLo draws near, I’d like to thank, with deep sincerity and bourbon stains of woe, all the folks who supported my original vision; a fun dance night where likeminded people could share both experimental and progressive popular music together in a safe, intimate, and pseudo-exclusive space. Goodlove, for those who participated in the fine year of ’02, might reminisce about my fumbling and frantic bartending, Great White tea lights, shaky third story dance floors, Supercult shoots, amphetamine splendor, yayo after-hours, C-Lo throws, pirate beat-ins, Gilbert’s not so going away extravaganza, the first of Entrance’s amazing performances, party drinks with candy sprinkled on top, stubborn door locks, found Glocks, Prince Charming Chaz, Big Red muffs, makeoutclub sisters, barbacks jumping out windows, bathroom photos, blown amps, scratched vinyl, and dried flasks. It was an oddity, a sight specific night filled with irony and strangeness, a Taxidermy Lodge in the middle of Canton, an up yours to Yuppies with their townhouses and attached boat slips, up in flames one Sunday morning, dead and gone forever. Post Goodlove fire, I scrambled to keep the pervasive nature of Taxidermy alive, moved the party to a smaller, more independent and deserving venue, but ultimately lost focus and interest in organizing an event that I wasn’t creatively involved in. As the party moved venues for the third time and I balanced writing with a consuming Federal career, power struggles ensued, and, naturally, to my temporary chagrin, artistic visions changed among the more motivated organizers. The rest is b-more history. I’d like to thank the mighty men who made this possible; Drew Nelson (Dolly Pardon playing Paul Bunyan of a man), Dan Rumain (my cut throat barback and uncompromising audiophile accompanying me through Guadalajara markets of headless cattle), Jason Urick (grey, gentle pioneer of secret sounds), Greg Magliacane (longhaired heshin working the Credence) and above all Mikey Singer (persevering badass, HipHop guru) who trudged, car-less, through snow and heat to plug in styluses of use to utilize. You kept us runnin’. Much love to Talking Dan, you’re a steward of up and coming talent with your heart in the right place. I, for that past few years, have been lucky to document, in both images and words, my experiences with a macro principle that morphed into a micro industry. To the true rickety rackety origins of avant foxtrots and jitterbugging hipsters, I trade in my fluorescent drink bracelet for more scholarly pursuits and tip my (little trendy Castro) hat to you all. justin sirois |
