The Many Faces of Greydon Clark

Wow, it has been months since I last put pen to paper and spewed out my guts to the cyber optic world. What can I say? I’ve been busy. In May and June I did a bit of skiing, the highlight being Mt. Shasta. Me and a semi-acquaintance, Alex Stoy, climbed the trade route (Avalanche Gulch). We planned on summiting and then descending the West Face to Hidden Valley, but the thunderheads had other ideas. Despite leaving at 4AM, we only made it to Red Cliffs or a little below 13,000 feet. Honestly, it was a real motherfucker of a climb. We were averaging a thousand feet an hour for six hours or so, but by 10:30 I was gassed. Still, the ski down was amazing and we raged freaky tele steeze for over 5,000 feet—slashing turns at 45 mph and whatnot. Needless to say, I’ll be skiing Mt. Shasta next spring.

For the 4th of July I was in Detroit celebrating Patriot Day and watching my mate Rob get married. At the exact same instance, my friend Ben was doing this ... Hopefully he will let me join him next year.

When I was in The D, the Ghetto Blaster was in full effect and I poured many pints of sweet Motown goodness down my throat while bull shitting with the bros. I was hyped to catch-up and rant about music, friends, and whatnot, but, to my astonishment, none of the bros owned the new Lungfish record, Feral Hymns. What the fuck? Thankfully I rectified this situation, at least on my end.

Feral Hymns… When I purchased this record, the nice looking young woman working the counter at Aquarius Records claimed it was the best Lungfish record ever and she was recommending it to everyone. Is it the best? No. I don’t think it has the power of Pass and Stow or the simplicity of Rainbows from Atoms, but it might be the best record of the post-John Christ era--maybe. Feral Hymns doesn’t have any Mitch Mitchell Feldstein drumming, druid chanting, or Jews harping; just endless repetition, fiber-optic birdcalls, multi-tracked guitars (21st Century studio trickery, eh?) and THUMPIN’ bass. I’m stoked. Buy this record on vinyl and listen to it at MAXIMUM volume when your teeth are humming and the Unholy Christ Beast is gnawing at the back of your skull. Your neighbors will love you and Higgs will make it all better.

But what the fuck do you expect me to say? I love Lungfish. Right now my IPod free ears are listening to Rainbows from Atoms, Pass and Stow, Indivisible, Necrophones, and Feral Hymns on shuffle. If you want, I can start mumbling about these records being mile markers in my life or talk about opening for Lungfish on their first tour with Sean Meadows on bass, but who wants to read that? As a band, Lungfish transcend entertainment and create art. The sea greets the sewer with a perfect kiss. The words the words the words the words…