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Frogs in France

i am on a train cutting a path through the beautiful french countryside going faster and faster. today i am traveling from a village outside of lyon, france to paris. it is a high speed train and now the meaning of high speed is becoming clearer as it shakes like a space shuttle. this is an odd way to travel through such a slow moving landscape. the country rolls and sways in patches of sunny green and yellow with gentleness. the word beautiful does not do it justice. perhaps the the french words for beautiful, belle and beaux are so short because there are so many things in france that need to be described this way.

when i arrived in lyon i was greeted by Jérémy, a longtime supporter of mine and a big american music fan. if not for his thick french accent i could have taken him for an ohioan–he wears cut-off tee-shirts, sunglasses and sandals and walks with the casualness and unhurriedness of someone who lives in the country. he is average height and about my age. from the airport we drove to lyon, the second largest city in paris although maybe you haven’t heard of it and i really hadn’t either.

we took a funiculare (that is the italian word but i cannot remember the french word) to the top of a mountain and looked out at lyon from the foot of a the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière, a castle-like cathedral that can be seen from anywhere in the city. lyon (pronounced kind of like lee-own) is sprawling and not very tall, the way most old european cities are. it has one or two or three skyscrapers and a river snaking through many clay roofed buildings looking like tan and red-orange legos dropped onto a green shag carpet fading into the hills in the hazy distance. french cities and villages look a lot like italian cities and villages and when i noticed this Jérémy reminded me that italy is not far–they are both southern europe. the language and culture however, could not be more different. in europe you can travel less than an hour and find that everyone speaks a different language and eats different food and even in the same country they greet each other with a different amount of kisses and in a different order from left to right. in america, i told Jérémy, “you can drive for 20 hours and see the same stores, meet the same kind of people, and speak exactly the same language.”

we found our way to the art museum in downtown lyon kind of by accident. Jérémy had never been to the art museum and didn’t know where it was. i just assumed as we were walking that there would be an art museum and it would be a good one since we were in a large french city after all, and the french impressionists and post-impressionists had made arguable the most important contributions to painting ever. sure enough, in the most historic area of town we found it. unfortunately the beautiful old stone building did not have air conditioning, or the air conditioning was out of order. on one hour of sleep (as i had played a late acoustic show in london the previous night), the heat was quite uncomfortable. but i was in france dammit, and i was determined to see some great paintings. we wandered through room after room and made our best conversation considering Jérémy has only some interest in art and my tiredness made it difficult to communicate anything with enthusiasm.
“i will sleep when i get to america,” i told him when he realized how short the previous night must have been. between blinks of sweaty tired eyelids i saw some monets and pissaros and vuilliards and bonnards and other artists that i know a little more about than a lot of french people. i thought about trying to make a list of all the art museums i have been to in the last two months and realized what a daunting task this will be.

so i can name some french artists and what their main contributions to painting were. that is the only thing that prevents me from feeling completely ignorant in the company of french people.
“do you know our president?” Jérémy asked me and i responded “no” with a little embarrassment (it’s Nicolas Sarkozy, btw). but that is why people travel, right? to learn things? later that night his friends and family members would ask me questions like
“do you know our music?” or give me the name of some french singer or movie star who i could not place. france, we wikipediaed, is about the size of texas, although maybe the french know much more about texas than texans know about the french. i think that is a safe bet, if george w. was any indication. i told them that austin texas, is a current american center of progressiveness and that there area always exceptions to stereotypes. as as sidenote, the french have never heard of grey poupon.

these kind of conversations, not unlike the conversations i had in germany, holland, and england, were nearly constant for the next two days as we ate and drank and wandered around the beautiful old towns and villages of saint-clair-du-Rhône, Saint-Pierre-de-Boef, and Chavanay, described by the official website as a pleasant village at the foot of Mount Pilat. the Rhône river weaves through the area and is so blue-green it is like a ribbon strip of water cut directly from the fabric of the ocean.

Jérémy lives with his wife blondina (a local name) who is one of those people who glows warmly like a sun, and two beautiful daughters in a typical french house with stucco walls and the red-orange roof, a house they built themselves recently. sitting in the backyard you can see vineyard-covered mountains. every inch of available hillside in this area of france is covered with grapevines. over the weekend we would spend many hours in the backyard eating bread, cruissants, pork, frogs, snails, duck, more bread, patte, drinking local wines and watching the sun set behind the vineyards.

Jérémy’s friend jeff is the most french man i have ever met. maybe i am not qualified to make that kind of assessment as an american. but with the limited knowledge i acquired in three days i think it is true and i said so the other night and nobody at the table argued. jeff is pensive and stoic, with a knowing smile, very dark hair and a stubbly face. he is a jazz piano virtuoso and an amazing chef.
“everything jeff does, i do,” i said as jeff applied a large amount of homemade mayonnaise to his duck medallion and i did the same on my plate. i would follow his lead in matters of food and wine pairings throughout the weekend.

jeff’s father grows grapes and jeff worked on a nearby vineyard for three years when he was younger. the vineyards that cover the Rhône-Alpes area of france are planted on extremely steep mountainsides and hillsides that makes harvesting hard work, work that is more akin to mountain climbing–complete with a pack on your back of sticky bunches of grapes–than it is farming. it is hard to overestimate the importance of wine in french culture.

the weather is the greatest enemy of all farmers and winemakers are no exception. in some areas of france, upon the first signs of hail–which would utterly destroy a crop, authorities will launch missiles into the air to break up the ice balls. yes, missiles. i guess this is called cloud seeding and is used for various purposes in different parts of the world, but i cannot imagine a defensive military maneuver being a component of winemaking in the united states.

jeff’s father has thousands of bottles of homemade wine locked away in a cellar, bottles which would be illegal to sell on the french market since the vineyard is unlicensed.
“then what will you do with all of it?” i wondered.
“drink it. we are hoping that maybe we will inherit some of it,” jeff said. “when i was sixteen i learned about wine. i kicked the door open with my foot and stole some bottles. you can still see the…on the door. what’s the word?”
“footprint,” i said.

my acoustic guitar, which was lost in London by the airport, eventually found its way to Jérémy’s house. saturday evening i played a living room concert for Jérémy, his wife, jeffs wife nathalie and their daughter Charlotte, a wide-eyed fifteen year old who wears a lot of colors and is quickly learning english, and a handful of other friends. Jérémy plays the guitar and teaches guitar lessons, his wife blondina is an excellent singer and toured with a choir, and their friends are music teachers and pianists and clarinetists et cetera. i was a bit intimidated in a room full of musicians but i played well enough and everyone seemed to enjoy it. afterwards, they played some of their french and english songs for ME and we played some cover songs together.

“good bread, good cheese, good wine.” those are the perfect ingredients for a happy french person according to Jérémy. that combination made for one happy american too and last night my happiness was mixed with the knowing sadness of the impending end. Jérémy and company told me that maybe the french as a romantic people was just a stereotype. but that night with Jérémy and his loving family and friends with our stomachs full of the most amazing food and drinks, lying on our backs looking up at a clear warm sky translating words like milky way and satalites to french and english as we spotted shooting stars, i cannot think of a better word.

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tastes of england

i am sitting in a holding pen on a runway on lyon, france. i flew on the low cost express airline easyjet across the english channel from london. easy jet is not at all an easy way to travel although it is a jet, as far as i can tell. you can only bring up to 20 kilograms of luggage, it can cost over 100 euros to check bags, and they make you wait in line after line in the airport of departure and now on the runway where i have arrived. i’m in a white tent with other passengers; it is as if we have some disease and have been quarantined. i have never waited so long on a runway just to enter an airport and i’m now realizing the wait must be because of customs and i guess they are actually worried that we might have a disease. but i do not.

*** update the airports or airlines have lost my acoustic guitar. i was forced to check my guitar and it has not arrived from london to lyon. we shall see how this shakes out. but the day is a beautiful day and the sky is a perfect blue to white gradient, a vast improvement from dreary london.

i try not to stereotype. one stereotype i had hoped to disprove is that the british do not have good food. in every place i have visited i have made an effort to try the local cuisine and england is no exception.

on the front cover of the menu at wetherspoon pub, a successful chain of pubs perhaps equivalent to applebees in the states, was a beautiful photo of a dish called a Ploughman, which includes a Melton Mowbray pork pie, a special kind of pork pie which comes from a specific region of england. the picture on the menu is the classic restaurant food picture: the light is perfect and the depth of field is very narrow allowing the focus to be on the pie while the side dishes have a bit of atmospheric blur as if all the components are in some kind of dreamy food heaven beckoning you to taste. i was confident that the featured entree at one of the most popular restaurants in england would be delicious.

when it arrived it was cold, which is the traditional way to serve it. okay. but it tasted slightly like sausage, except with almost no flavor. i thought maybe sausages were just flavorful by nature, as they are in germany or the usa, but i guess there is a way to make pork into sausage while making sure no flavor accidentally sneaks in. maybe they have a strainer which removes the flavor. between the cold pork substance and the cold crust there was a layer of what appeared to be some kind of industrial window caulk or perhaps animal fat that had congealed into a hard murky gelatin. in short, weatherspoon’s Ploughman was one of the worst entrees i have encountered in europe. but i ate almost all of it because i was hungry and i slightly enjoyed the humor in it, knowing it would at least make a good bad food story later.

having little luck with restaurant food i turned my search to grocery store cookies and candy. one of the most popular cookies here in england are “digestives”. the label says “Digestives” in white lettering against a bright red background and underneath “Dark Chocolate”. “Digestives” has got to be the worst name for a cookie i have ever heard. for me, and i don’t think i am alone here, digestion is what happens after i eat. before i eat, i don’t need to think about digestion. if you’re going to call your product digestives why not take it a step further and call them “poopers” or maybe “excramentives”? i guess it’s hard to know where to draw the line, but where i draw it is with chewing or before. charleston chew–acceptable. charlston esophogus slider…eh, on the cusp.

i did have one delicious plate of fish and chips, naturally. but i think it is safe to say that england is not known for it’s cuisine.

however, none of this is or was the fault of my kind british companions tom and joe, two brothers from Bushey, just outside london. tom and joe cannot singlehandedly affect the food taste crisis their country seems to be undergoing, but they were kind enough to put me up at their place and show me around. tom introduced me to “revels”, my new favorite candy. they are like american whoppers, milk duds, raisinettes, chocolate orange, and one other thing that i cannot remember all in the same package. and it is a surprise which flavor you will get! so for someone like me who enjoys surprise and adventure, it is a wonderful mini taste odyssey that is predictable enough to be pleasing but unpredictable enough to be exciting, the same way a great pop song works. after talking for two days, tom suggested that i buy some revels for my band mates john and dan. my bassist brian ives, however, gets the more consistent tasting “Maltesers” because of his occasional aversion to fun.

we spent one evening with tom’s parents and found that we had a great deal in common. for my sake tom’s father did some independent research focused on Bushey’s rich art history which included Von Herkemmer, a german immigrant who was a painter and filmmaker and founder of an important art school in Bushey, and Lucy Kemp-Welch, the illustrator of the original edition of the classic equine book, “Black Beauty”. the next day at the very small Bushey museum, i saw several enormous canvases of masterfully painted horses, and one smaller quick painting by Lucy Kemp-Welch of a horse and horse owner near the Santa Trinita, a bridge in florence italy where i studied art last month. my eyes saw the painting but i did not feel it until my heart recognized it as florence and a bolt of something came through me, one part longing for florence and one part appreciation. the painting is actually just a sketch for a larger work, and although the sketch is lonely and nearly forgotten in a dusty corner of a small town museum it is masterfully executed in a fresh, quick style, which i prefer to her larger canvases which occasionally feel belabored. but me as an american looking at the little painting of florence italy executed by an english artist who was trained by a german i felt a connection with all these different places i have been and times i have studied and the entire history of creatively minded artists and adventurers and in this moment i knew for certain that i was on the right path.

that night i played an acoustic show at the Dublin castle, a famous bar in london which hosted acts such as Madness, Travis, and Blur as they were getting off the ground. i played one of my better acoustic sets in a while, complete with one-night-only trumpet and trombone accompaniment from tom and joe, respectively, for the song “mitral valve prolapse”. tom and joe are both extremely talented university trained brass musicians. unfortunately, i started the song a half step too low but i just went with it and forgot to let tom and joe know. joe is one of the rare human beings with perfect pitch and knew immediately my mistake while tom, who like me does not hear pitch as well as a robot, was left to struggle through the first chorus until it became clear to him what i had done. but by the second chorus everything came together in a triumphant brassy rendition that was truly special.

i am here in lyon, france for three days.

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We are in ohio now. getting ready for the show tonight in covington at the madison theater. guess what? Xavier won last night. If they win against Duke this weekend, that’ll put us on the Xavier campus playing a show at soupies the night before the final four game. it would be our own rock and roll pep rally. i really hope that happens. go musketeers!

Here are some photos of the show yesterday:

Thanks so much to Q, Katie, and Ris for these. they rock. Also thanks to Dave Stevens for running lights and making the stage so colorful and cool.

T and i got up at 9:something to get ready for the Stage TV with Chris Line.

we co-hosting a retrospective episode and talked a little about our plans for this year and Golden Eye 007. Chris is a goof. and an old friend of ours. in addition to hosting the stage, he is a DJ for WZZO, and played a DJ in Jack Black’s School of Rock. i usually feel tired around him. am i in slo motion or is he fast forwarding? probably both. we love him.

we went back to the hotel to pick up the guys, then drove to bethlehem for a tour of a new studio, Angel Mountain. it was very nice, although rather stark. they have one of the new SSL consoles (i think it’s K Series). i am told there are only ten or so in the whole world. Ben Grosse also has one, out in L.A. at the Mix Room where we recorded much of our album.

after angel mountain our manager greg took us to wegmans (ritzy grocery) to get sandwhiches.

and drinks.

we are still jiggling the battery cable to get the van to start. i am jiggling, trav is turning the key. the cable connections are loose, and the battery is really weak anyway. probably because of the ten things that are constantly hooked up to the cigarette lighter jack. here is an illustration:

obviously this is not the best example of my artistic abilities. but i really wanted to get this drawn out, for posterity. i’m not making any of that up. the front of our van is a tangled mass of cords and cables and little green and red lights. sometimes the AC adaptor gets angry and lets out a “squeeee” sound to let you know it’s giving up.

anyway we hit the road late, and the drive home was a long one. first sun

then rain

and rax. i didn’t know they still exist, but i guess they do in some remote parts of northeastern oh. on the rax reserves. in other areas they are exstinct, mainly due to natural predators like the McDonalds.

that’s all for now. maybe we’ll see you tonight!

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blue and yellow

hola again. careful not to confuse hola (spanish. pronounced “O-lah”) with hollah (black slang. pronounced “Holl-ah”). i don’t think i can get away with hollah. people will say “what the hell is that skinny white guy doing saying that?”. justin timberlake can beat-box, so i guess that gives him some extra wiggle-room. he’s probably never said wiggle-room either.
i think i can get away with hola or adios, as they’re words that dorky white guys of all ages have been saying for years and years, for whatever reason. mexicans, and perhaps especially chicanos, are probably desensitized to it. correct me if i’m wrong.

and now for the news. the last week has been writing, and practice, for me. we moved into a new rehearsal space. it rocks. the last band painted the walls blue and yellow. we thank them. i’ll get some pics up here soon.

in case anyone’s been at all concerned: as i mentioned in a previous entry, we’ve discovered fans in Oklahoma, and we now have JFKArmy members there too. that leaves only TWO states. We just need street team members in Wyoming and Iowa, and we’ll have all fifty represented. areas marked red are in need of immediate attention:

if you’re out there, and haven’t signed up, i’ve composed a short poem to help inspire you:

O farmers, O cowboys,
come to our aid.
Iowa, Wyoming,
we need you so.


so i’m thinking of creating a fan of the month section for the site. i’m kicking around the idea of expanding the main page, to include a couple quirky things like that. what do you think?

a couple more days of practice, and we’ll be heading east again. i hope some people make it to the Vertical Horizon show in philly this thursday.


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Protected: JFK Rulebook (Sam)

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tonight we went to UC to be on bearcast internet radio. we were late getting on, due to not being able to find the place, and some technical difficulties. these difficulties persisted during the show, but that’s kind of what happens at college radio stations. no offense to UC’s, of course.

us with michelle.

sam with lots of non-working headphones.

so that was fun. we talked about the show tomorrow, sex and transportation, and cleveland. and we played some songs.

after the show, we went to york street in newport for a little while. chasing zen and chase lounge performed. both very talented bands.

i haven’t been posting on here much the last few weeks. here’s some reading material to make up for it. when we started playing with new bassists, we realized that we were in need of a definitive guide to the unspoken regulations concerning one’s personal involvement with July For Kings. recently, we’ve been trading e-mails, writing the first installment of the JFK rulebook. this is basically a large collection of inside jokes. we said “hey, what are we going to do with a bunch of jokes that no one else will get…i know–post them on the internet for everyone to see!” and that’s what i’m doing, even though it’s stupid. as i say from time to time, this is our website, and we do whatever the hell we want here.

i went through and took out everything that may get us in trouble with people we know (or people we don’t), and some of the more vulgar stuff. it’s starting to look like a U.S. government document about Saudia Arabia. we are a rock band, and perhaps we are slightly more sensitive than say, the San Fransisco 49’ers, but we’re still just a bunch of guys. and guys will be guys. if you you’re under 18, or under some delusion that we’re always well behaved and friendly, save your misconceptions and don’t read this:

JFK Rulebook.  (password vice77)

the eve of sam’s last show. (it’s late–i’m still up–it’s “eve” to me). i will try and save the sentimental sappy stuff for tomorrow; i don’t really want to think too much. i want to do a show just like we always do. i don’t want to be all crying and silly.

i hope to see lots of people at the picnic tomorrow (friday). for info. we don’t have anything special planned. mainly your usual picnic stuff. so i hope no one is expecting a surprise show with pyrotechnics. it ain’t happenin. just hot dogs and frisbees. i can’t wait to throw a frisbee. we are some mean frisbee throwers. as mean as one can get while throwing a frisbee.

and then of course, the big show.
talk to you soon.


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falling in love with you (Joe, T, Amos, and Elvis)

hey guys. trying something different today.
today’s journal is audio. click here to listen.

this is the new elvis number one collection.

this is where we played.


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pic poker

rain. rain! rain everywhere, everytime we come to pennsylvania. clouds follow us. i hope the natives aren’t angry. we recently arrived here in allentown, and just like the last few trips, we’re using this as a hub for all the shows this week. i drove the last shift tonight, through an awesome thunderstorm. when we arrived here at the hotel, half the parking lot was flooded. travis went wading out to this partly submerged vehicle:

then from out of nowhere, as we were taking photos and having a good laugh about this, the owner of the car approached us and just kinda glared.

now, we’re playing poker (texas hold ’em) with guitar pics. i was doing really well for a while. then i quit. and here i sit. i’m only showing Amos’s face, since the rest of us look pretty awful from sitting in a van for ten hours.

Amos is somehow unaffected by the wear and tear of the road. i think it’s because he exfoliates. with “a loofah”, whatever the hell that is. he also packed SIX pair of shoes. wow.
Amos is sitting in with us on bass for a while. he is cool.

tomorrow we’re playing at the Grape Street Pub in Manayuk. cool town, cool club. i’m looking forward to it. goodnight.


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wet ‘n wild

today i received some photos of T and i at wet and wild, being neither wet nor wild. but playing music. i have never played acoustic guitar at a waterpark. here’s what people thought: “hey. those guys have all their clothes on. why do they have guitars?”.

afterward we signed some stuff.

and hung out with the Mix people. they are nice.

that’s it for now. i have a killer video of six hour drive from the big july 4th show. i can’t wait to put it here on the site. soon, hopefully.

thanks again to andy for taking lots of pictures.


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the last room

hey. we’re in memphis. we listened to the buzz (94.1) coming in. those are our friends. we’re looking forward to seeing them (and saliva) tomorrow.

we have the last room at this particular hotel. we booked a room with two doubles, but somehow ended up with one large bed. T’s meeting us here tomorrow, and getting his own room with his girl. but for tonight, it’s four guys in one room. the last room. the dreaded last room.

they hadn’t given this room to anyone else because a.) it stinks like **** and b.) there’s water all over the floor, due to a leaky air conditioner. we can only assume that there is a direct correlation between the moldy smell and the water on the floor. that would be bad enough. but for us, it’s particularly annoying, since half of us will be sleeping on the floor.

(sam) And it goes on and on and on and on…

The saga of the Worst Hotel Room in Memphis continues. Travis advanced the plot by shouting from the bathroom, “The toilet won’t flush!”

“What?” ask the disbelievers.

“It won’t flush! I don’t know why, it’s just not working,” Travis replied.

“Trav….did you go number one or number two?”

“Oh no, oh no…number one.” Thank the gods.

Nathan’s cell phone just rang and the TV went bonkers. I was trying to watch The Lost Boys (Corey Haim, Corey Feldman, 80’s horror classic? Ringing any bells?) and the TV went haywire. I’m assuming that the cell phone signals are messing with the TV signals. Either that, or this hotel room really is a gateway to hell. Now I’m listening to Nathan talking to his girl and the TV is a rabid machine.

Update from Trav – “Guys, to get it to flush you have to reach into the crapwater and pull this little black thing. Come here and check it out, I’ll show you how.”

I think I’ll pass. Tonight is going to be a long night. And now…back to your regularly schedule journal update.

(joe) me again (me=joe). if you haven’t picked up on it by now, the (name) system is something we implemented a long, long time ago, to help you distinguish between band members.

so the room is a little sub-par. it’s okay. we don’t really mind.

the good news, is that our new friend Jerry, the night security guard, is keeping a watchful eye on our van and trailer. Jerry helped us find a parking spot. he’s a little upset about missing the big fishing trip he had planned the for the weekend. they made him stay and work due to so many guests being here for the weekend.

we’ll write tomorrow. it’s getting late. hopefully we’ll see some of you memphis folks at the show.

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