Get A Free Song:

it’s time for a Proper Introduction: The Baobabs, pronounced (by us) as ‘Bow-Babs’, are a Thoughtcrime that Matt Jacobs and I started to Construct back in March. Besides being a hard to Pronounce band name, Baobabs are a type of African tree with crazily fat Trunks. now that we have Electricity provided by Tom Grise on his Guitar and Chris Markwood on his Drum Kit, i’m excited to let you know that we’ll be Playing many more shows and releasing some new Recordings into the World as well.

what do we sound like you might ask? when pressed we say we’re an odd conglomeration of Tom Waits, the Black Keys, Joe Cocker, and Kings of Leon. now if that description is confusing, you have two Options – you can come to our big New York show this Thursday at Arlene’s Grocery (9:30p), which is also my 27th Birthday’s Eve (just in case you need some more convincing).

the details are all here:
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=109179369138847

or you can hear two recordings that Matt and I made separately before we met: http://thebaobabs.com (check out Rocking Chair for the Full Tilt experience of Matt’s Voice.)

be well and i’ll see you on the Outside.

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hello good Folks. this blog started Appearing (in both my life and some of yours) a few months ago. i usually put together rambling stories, info updates, poems, some photos, but tonight i figured it was about time to post a song i dig.

laying Low after a deVries show at The Charleston, i heard this Righteous tune blaring down at me. i Jotted down a couple of lines: “i aint no miracle worker, oh lord, i aint no miracle man,” and so i found The Brogues’ “I Ain’t No Miracle Worker.” the band existed for One Year and recorded six songs. this gem Leans heavily on the Animals…the vocal Tone is magnificent and the Guitar solo will make you sit down and Take a Breather…

MP3: The Brogues – I Ain’t No Miracle Worker

side note – “Brogues, often known as wingtips in the United States, are low-heeled shoes made of heavy leather, originating in Scotland and Ireland as a coarse, usually untanned leather shoe.”

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tonight i thought to myself, yes yes yes i should write a Gonzoreview of the Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros concert i went to on Governor’s Island this week. but i’m in no mood to Fool around so i’m gonna give it to you straight(-Ish). Matt and Jill and i slunk down church street to the toy Ferry building, on line Anthony held a sign saying “one Extra ticket”, which corrected both our lack of Entrance and his Company.

onwards over water and under sunset, with glowing Gorgeous faces building our swarm, toward gates, concrete, Sand, and stage. (geez, i’ve already Lied to you!)

here’s where i tell you about the opening bands… … … and then Miss Kansas grabbed my hands, screaming that she could read Palms. my left Palm was duly presented, but our previously gleeful relationship turned Sour as she gazed at me with terror, whispering “i dont want to read your Future no more”. i asked her if something Horrible was going to happen, and in all serious and uncontrollable meekness she replied Yes. with Giggles and Smiles i said “maybe it has Already happened.” “No,” she said, “it hasn’t.” she kept repeating “i’m so sorry” and stumbled Away.

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros are a Tribe out on a desert Plateau Celebrating some secret nighttime happenings that we can only guess at…but the Invitation stands and so do we, arms above shooting out into the sky, Wild dancing, singing, and bodies. Jade is Maniacal and Stewart (the trumpeter) is encouraging the Pandemonium. this Abraxas inspired beach scene ends abruptly – orderly folks Vanquishing their previously Chaotic alter egos for ferry rushing body motion.

but Alex, walking out into a now thinning crowd, beckons us to Sit Down with him. after few respond he says, “tomorrow morning you’re gonna say, man i wish i was One of the Ones who sat down,” as if we had burst into his living room to find him lazing on his Rocking Chair, sipping scotch, and gently offering us the opposing seat…with this Invitation we are all in it together, sitting around him on the concrete, as he weeps out ‘Brother’. he says goodnight but doesn’t leave – it’s his Home and he has offered his Companionship until the come down is complete.

and then we began our own Glazey stretch back to Brooklyn, echoes of Prince and the late night postspectacularglow Revelers teasing my perpetual dance syndrome. bellows of Who Do You Love? (i gotta wide brimmed hat with black wire, i gotta ship full of gas on sun fire…), a late night last call mid ferry ride Partially pathetic rendition of American Pie (with Mike Kern tagging along via voicemail), and then the streets betrayed my saning Mind (don’t worry, it was Mutual.)

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after skipping out of McSorley’s at closing time, arm in arm with two good friends, singing Whisky in the Jar at the top of our lungs, the rest of the gang caught up to us near Tompkins Square Park. i was propped up on a bar’s patio, while two other renegades downed forties from a brown paper bag as they camped out on the adjacent porch. we were hollering Tom Waits and the sleeping boy in the back, holding down our table and ordering more beers, when we heard the yell.

a lunatic thin man ran down the street with a suitcase above his head, screaming his ancient barbarian warcry. before slamming full speed into the SUV in front of us his body halted, and his arms waled the suitcase into the car’s side. he picked up his load and smashed it again and again, then the suitcase was on the ground and he was off around the corner squealing with glee.

i moseyed over to investigate – no damage but a scene far more perilous: a spiderman-clad rickshaw driver (walker?, pusher?) was pulling two chortling girls as replacements for our mysterious warrior. as i approached, he let them down and became enamored with the suitcasewielding soldier story.

meanwhile one of the girls took his place and was carriaging her friend away. i guess he saw tips and i saw two women, as we rushed over the pusher saw divine promise in suddenly letting go of her charge and having her friend’s skull hurtle back towards earth. now the rickshaw was kinda open in the back and her head almost splattered into the concrete – an inch and a bit of cushion saved her – but this peril was no peril to these two – up and onwards and then whipping back down to the street in another near collision. i argued but why should they care? back i went to the bar, and off the girls went like Didi and Gogo (or maybe more like two variants of Lucky with our Spiderman enshrined Pozzo pretending to direct them).

what horrors or heavens launched these folks down our tiny street, and would the evening’s descent into morning finally evaporate my midnight eidolons?

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Local 269 has become a bit of a Home for the Baobabs. last week we had our Second show there and we have more planned for August. i handed my camera off the Mike Botier, who went around taking pictures of the evening.

thanks everybody who came out to check out the new band. and send me your pictures [evan@evanhammer.com] – i’ll add them to the set.

click to see the entire flickr album: The Baobabs at Local 269 (July 2010)

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i haven’t presented a poem for a while, and as it is a sunny Fourth of July weekend here in new york, i figured this gentleman would do.  this entry is section 1 of a longer poem, as you can prolly see from the title. i thought it a bit much to post all of it here, but let me know if you feel differently. cheers and enjoy the celebrations…

2009.05.01 – night 1

i act like a monkey
and can’t control myself,
orange tulip petals on everything.

i burnt down the brooklyn bridge
then climbed up the charred concrete remains
and read ginsberg’s kaddish from the top,
but i got bored after one line and stopped.

the mississippi can’t make up her mind.
why won’t she die already?
ryan adams can go fuck himself.

i miss sitting in the center seat of the canoe,
i miss slow mornings that last for weeks.

what if i lose my fingers or my precious feet!
some girl’s eyes make me want to leap
through the closest window and the come
down drowns my saning mind.

photo by Thomas Hawk

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the weekend before last, my band, The Baobabs, played at Figment – an art festival on governor’s island. i dressed down for the occasion – rocking viking horns and barefeet. the photos below were taken while i wandered around the island before our set.

while i was in full stride to make my evening’s final ferry, i passed a couple out on the lawn, shrieking at me to come over and take a picture. they were hysterical about my viking horns – much more enthusiastic than the helmet warranted. stories were shared, and it turned out that the lady had asked her gentlemen to choose a dinner cuisine – when he jokingly said VIKING, she replied (unconvinced by his humor) “that would only be funny if a viking walked by right now…” and ‘right now’ happened to be about 15 seconds before i topped the hill they were facing. really? really.

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