Speaker 1: Cool Media. Hello and welcome nichols On Media book Club,
Speaker 1: the only book club where you don't have to do
Speaker 1: the reading, because I do it for you. We are
Speaker 1: doing our summer beach read wherever you find the beach,
Speaker 1: I often find it at creeks, and during our summer
Speaker 1: beach reads, we read something that's a little longer than
Speaker 1: we normally feature, so you can bank up a few
Speaker 1: episodes for a road trip or a summer hike, or
Speaker 1: sitting by the creek and watching the creek, which is
Speaker 1: nicer actually when it's not painfully horrendously hot out, which
Speaker 1: it is right now. I'm really excited about how in
Speaker 1: the future we're only going to have two seasons summer
Speaker 1: in hell Mouth, nine months of summer, three months of Hellmouth.
Speaker 1: That's what we have to look forward to anyway. But
Speaker 1: right now we are continuing our read through a Locust
Speaker 1: House by Adam Gannatti. This is part three. Locust House
Speaker 1: is a novella about the San Diego punk scene and
Speaker 1: the fucked up but still empathizeable people that you find there.
Speaker 1: It's part three of four. You should listen to the
Speaker 1: first two parts. I'm not going to tell you have to,
Speaker 1: but I'm gonna tell you you should. Last week we
Speaker 1: met two people partners, James and Francis, who got a
Speaker 1: lots and ran into their other friend, Joey, who's been
Speaker 1: kind of going off the rails lately. Then they rendezvoued
Speaker 1: with their other pal Tyler and decided to go to
Speaker 1: the closing party of the East Street House aka the
Speaker 1: Avocado Club aka Locust House, so named because the members
Speaker 1: of an electrifying grind core band called the Locust they
Speaker 1: all live there. And that's where we'll pick up for
Speaker 1: this week, with James narrating. I mean, I'm narrating, but
Speaker 1: you know, it's a sort of interviewish format this particular
Speaker 1: part of the book. The book is written in a
Speaker 1: lot of different sort of interesting formats. Here we are,
Speaker 1: this is James. There's this line from Costaveti's great film
Speaker 1: Opening Night, where Gina Rollins character says, when I was seventeen,
Speaker 1: I could do anything. It was so easy. My emotions
Speaker 1: were so close to the surface, finding it harder and
Speaker 1: harder to stay in touch. That's how it was. I mean,
Speaker 1: I wasn't exactly young Francis was. I wasn't. But here's
Speaker 1: the thing. I was a ghost. In high school. I
Speaker 1: had no friends to speak of, and my everyday plan
Speaker 1: was survival. I wanted to live through the day without
Speaker 1: confrontation and get home so I could hide in my
Speaker 1: bedroom and what I don't know, draw, read magazines, stare
Speaker 1: at the wall. My youth was a total shit storm.
Speaker 1: After elementary school, which was great, and so was my childhood,
Speaker 1: a good, ideal, sweet one where I felt loved and
Speaker 1: safe and respected, I hit middle school like a piece
Speaker 1: of hamburger dropped on a grill. Walking the halls of
Speaker 1: peb Middle I felt like a fox hunt constantly in
Speaker 1: a world where no one had ever seen a fox,
Speaker 1: but really intensely wanted to eat one on a bun
Speaker 1: with bacon and mayo. I hated bacon and I hated mayo,
Speaker 1: but more than anything, I hated myself. Of course, as
Speaker 1: it goes, people hated me because I hated myself, and
Speaker 1: because of that, I was scared of my shadow and
Speaker 1: inarticulate and full of heavy, awful weapons, great anxiety that
Speaker 1: sabotaged me at every step. I wanted to die because
Speaker 1: I knew I was nothing, and I wanted to die
Speaker 1: because I knew no one would ever care what I
Speaker 1: had to say. My life was powerless. I saw the
Speaker 1: future as a bland, stultifying thing that looked like those
Speaker 1: horrible shtheads from friends sitting on a couch and some
Speaker 1: fancy ass well lit New York coffee shop trading mild insults.
Speaker 1: Hated them, and I hated that the future, my future
Speaker 1: was headed that way. At the time, I had no
Speaker 1: other frame of reference to tell me life could be
Speaker 1: something else. What I saw, what I knew, was what
Speaker 1: I was given by mainstream media, and if adulthood looked
Speaker 1: like must CTV, I wanted out no future, no fun,
Speaker 1: no hope, no beauty. I was wrong, of course, but
Speaker 1: at that time my true youth I was a dog
Speaker 1: that had been kicked so often I flinched at every tremor.
Speaker 1: I didn't have that impressionable, romantic, idealistic teenagehood like a
Speaker 1: lot of people that came later. It came in my
Speaker 1: early twenties, and it came when punk rock found me
Speaker 1: in the audience of that Cha Cafe show and dragged
Speaker 1: me in. It was a moment that arrived when I
Speaker 1: least expected it, and beyond giving me good music, it
Speaker 1: told me life could be shaped however you want, as
Speaker 1: long as you work hard and dig for new options.
Speaker 1: The important thing was to fight every day to make
Speaker 1: your life what you wanted it to be. I had
Speaker 1: so many people telling me life had to be this
Speaker 1: one set thing, and finding out that I didn't have
Speaker 1: to listen to them, that I could come up with
Speaker 1: my own way to live busted my world. And two,
Speaker 1: which is to say, I fell head over heels in
Speaker 1: love with the brutalist, smartest, meanest kind of punk rock.
Speaker 1: And it opened up life like a giant window with
Speaker 1: all the sunlight in the world streaming in. And that
Speaker 1: all led to the final house show A two four one,
Speaker 1: one E Street, the Avocado Club, the E Street House,
Speaker 1: the Locust House, whatever you called it. The place was
Speaker 1: an epicenter for things free of bullshit, a burning atomic
Speaker 1: center point to the neighborhood and the scene and punk
Speaker 1: rock in general. Francis. One of my strongest memories of
Speaker 1: that time has less to do with the party than
Speaker 1: the aftermath. Everyone moved out of the house right and
Speaker 1: as soon as they were gone, the new tenants hung
Speaker 1: an American flag from the second story. It went suddenly
Speaker 1: from the cool house on the block where the best
Speaker 1: bands lived to the fucking White House. You have to
Speaker 1: remem this was just a year after nine to eleven,
Speaker 1: and a lot of us had some pretty ugh, I
Speaker 1: don't want to say, well yeah, okay, anti American sentiments
Speaker 1: at the time. We were angry and we felt let
Speaker 1: down some of us, a lot of us were sure
Speaker 1: our government had cost it. Even if it wasn't an
Speaker 1: inside job like some people say, we were at the
Speaker 1: very least responsible for waging constant global war for money
Speaker 1: and calling it justice. It's an awful thing when you
Speaker 1: grow up thinking that you and your country are the
Speaker 1: good guys, and then you find out it's all bullshit.
Speaker 1: The day I realized we weren't as noble as I'd
Speaker 1: been told, fuck man, it was a crushing moment. It
Speaker 1: changed me. I've never been the same from a very
Speaker 1: young age. I've been looking for community. Most of the
Speaker 1: time you were let down, but sometimes, if even for
Speaker 1: a short while, it felt like we were all in
Speaker 1: it together. That's how our scene felt, and losing that
Speaker 1: house was a huge blow. Maybe not for everyone, maybe
Speaker 1: not even for the bands or the people who lived there,
Speaker 1: but for me it was a symbol of a better, smarter,
Speaker 1: more ethical life. It seemed firm and substantial. It felt
Speaker 1: like something that couldn't be taken away from us. That's
Speaker 1: one thing I've learned. People say that there are things
Speaker 1: that can't be taken from you. Everything can be taken
Speaker 1: from you the place you live, your friends, your family,
Speaker 1: your health, your youth, your sense of self or your dignity,
Speaker 1: your freedom, your confidence, your spirit, anything. There is nothing
Speaker 1: in you that's yours to keep. If someone else wants
Speaker 1: it bad enough, you try to hold on to it.
Speaker 1: But life is inherently unfairly violent. From our scene, and
Speaker 1: even more so at that last party, I felt a
Speaker 1: kind of togetherness that was like what we experienced in
Speaker 1: the weeks following nine to eleven. People were suddenly good
Speaker 1: to each other, and it seemed like we were, oh,
Speaker 1: please get that, and it seemed like we were all
Speaker 1: closer than we were before. Of course, that was over fast.
Speaker 1: In both circumstances, the party was shut down by the
Speaker 1: cops and everyone left. People stopped watching the news after
Speaker 1: the attacks because they couldn't take the footage, or because
Speaker 1: they had to live their lives to get by, to
Speaker 1: keep moving. I understand that. I remember sitting on the
Speaker 1: couch at my mom's house with James and my sister
Speaker 1: Sadie and Rebecca, watching the news reports with the towers
Speaker 1: burning and people jumping out, holding hands, falling, falling, Ugh,
Speaker 1: and us sitting there crying all day, so scared, so uncertain.
Speaker 1: Around dinnertime, a couple of my friends showed up with
Speaker 1: a fucking pizza. They wanted to hang out and then
Speaker 1: go to a show at the Chay or the Epicenter somewhere.
Speaker 1: I was like, what the fuck. I didn't say what
Speaker 1: the fuck, but I did say, haven't you guys been
Speaker 1: watching the news? My friend Timmy Willetts, standing in the
Speaker 1: doorway holding the pizza box, shrugged and said, kind of,
Speaker 1: I know something happened, but like, but they didn't care.
Speaker 1: People move on or they don't feel something as deeply
Speaker 1: as they should. I thought that after nine to eleven
Speaker 1: there should be some kind of greater togetherness in our culture,
Speaker 1: just like I felt as though the energy of that
Speaker 1: party would carry on. In both cases, I was wrong,
Speaker 1: and it was incredibly isolating. Situations like those are moments
Speaker 1: of innocence, and once innocence is replaced by cynicism or
Speaker 1: even a lack of concern. It can deal a heavy blow.
Speaker 1: You experience closeness, but then it's a temporary closeness, and
Speaker 1: once you realize that it's over, then things start feeling
Speaker 1: pretty lonely. I've always wanted people to join together in
Speaker 1: their neighborhoods they're scene, or in their families, whatever it is.
Speaker 1: But the fact of the matter is Americans are bad togetherness.
Speaker 1: We're afraid of it, or we label it as this dangerous,
Speaker 1: subversive thing, this toxic kind of discord in the face
Speaker 1: of rugged American individualism, which is nothing but bullshit and
Speaker 1: self sabotage. Or we find it and it feels so good,
Speaker 1: it feels natural. But just as soon as we're brought together,
Speaker 1: we either let go or allow ourselves to be pulled
Speaker 1: away from each other, or we stop caring, we find
Speaker 1: other things to take up our interest, We get distracted.
Speaker 1: I wanted to take the flag off that porch and
Speaker 1: burn it, just like I wanted to kick George W.
Speaker 1: Bush's grave, half smirking monkey face in. I wanted to
Speaker 1: take the flag in order to keep the house alive,
Speaker 1: which wouldn't work. Of course, the end happened. It was over.
Speaker 1: People go on with their lives, and sometimes what they
Speaker 1: do next is even better. Or people forget, they allow
Speaker 1: themselves to be caught up in something and then they
Speaker 1: brush it off. The house was not the house anymore,
Speaker 1: and it never would be again. I knew that, but
Speaker 1: I had to do something. I had to act. I
Speaker 1: needed some sort of pure driven cleansing to happen. I
Speaker 1: had to burn the flag. There was no other option.
Speaker 1: Much like dear listeners, the compulsion we feel to throw
Speaker 1: to ads, and trust me, I do wish there was
Speaker 1: any other option, but no, I feel compulsed. Here's the ads,
Speaker 1: and we're back. For months after the party, James and
Speaker 1: I had a vague, sort of unrealized plan to steal
Speaker 1: the flag. We talked, talked about it often, but like
Speaker 1: most of our plans at the time, it never got
Speaker 1: off the ground. One night that summer, James, Tyler, Sadie
Speaker 1: and I stayed up late drinking this big jug of
Speaker 1: Carla Rossi Burgundy and listening to Hella's newest record over
Speaker 1: and over again on both speeds, like Tyler loved. At
Speaker 1: some point four am, no later, maybe five, I knew
Speaker 1: it was time I got up off the couch. And
Speaker 1: shushed the room. Sh Okay, listen, okay, guys, let's go
Speaker 1: capture the goddamn fucking flag, I said, and then everyone
Speaker 1: was excited. We trooped on down there, sticking to the
Speaker 1: alleyways in the darker side streets, stopping to sit on
Speaker 1: curbs or garden walls and drink the last of the wine,
Speaker 1: all full of noble purpose and what we thought was righteousness.
Speaker 1: For Tyler and Sadie and maybe even James, it was
Speaker 1: more a fun, crazy thing to do. I wanted them
Speaker 1: to feel like I did, but I knew they didn't. Still,
Speaker 1: they were caught up in the moment, and I let
Speaker 1: myself imagine that they felt it just as much as
Speaker 1: I did. I needed to believe we were all doing
Speaker 1: this thing for the same reason, even if they were
Speaker 1: faking it. A little felt good to be together. It
Speaker 1: scared the hell out of me to think James, of
Speaker 1: all people, didn't feel this as much as I did.
Speaker 1: Knowing I would later find out that he didn't care
Speaker 1: as deeply as me. That he didn't have the same
Speaker 1: ideals was heartbreaking. We're not together anymore, but we're still friends.
Speaker 1: I wish he was more like me, but maybe he's
Speaker 1: happier because he's not. I'll give him that. I can
Speaker 1: understand wanting some distance from the shitty evilness of the world.
Speaker 1: I don't know, maybe I wish I was more like
Speaker 1: him Back then. I lived for parties and believed in
Speaker 1: having fun above all. I still do, but my work
Speaker 1: keeps me away from enjoying myself a lot of the time.
Speaker 1: James has always been optimistic, and he let thing slide
Speaker 1: off his back. We've been that way before, but I'm
Speaker 1: not that way now. Anyway. We took our time, talking
Speaker 1: a lot, saying big things, and letting the grandness of
Speaker 1: what we were about to do color our speech with bold,
Speaker 1: wild ideas and words that would sound preposterous. The next morning, James,
Speaker 1: who was happy drunk, kept saying, I feel like Robin
Speaker 1: Hood and I did too. We had a purpose. We were
Speaker 1: going to strike back for the neighborhood and the scene
Speaker 1: and win one for the good guys. So we got
Speaker 1: to the house and there were cops everywhere. The place
Speaker 1: was a mess, a fire truck and ambulance squad cars
Speaker 1: with lights spinning and flashing on the line of houses
Speaker 1: and parked cars. What said Sadie, She just kept saying
Speaker 1: it over and over again. What what? What? A couple
Speaker 1: of EMTs were on the lawn working on this older
Speaker 1: woman in a torn, open pink bathrobe, full on CPR.
Speaker 1: Then the which was a horrible thing to see. The
Speaker 1: paddles pushed down, the body flopped up, then the paddles again.
Speaker 1: We stood there and watched them try to bring this
Speaker 1: poor fucking woman back to life. And we stood there
Speaker 1: and we stood there, and we stood there, and they
Speaker 1: weren't having any success. But by then Tyler and Sadie
Speaker 1: and I were crying and Ugh, I hope to God
Speaker 1: they'd save her. Nothing happened. They kept working. We turned
Speaker 1: around and walked home. The sun was beginning to come
Speaker 1: up over the housetops to the east, and the four
Speaker 1: of us walked together and no one said a thing.
Speaker 1: It was like a death toll ringing the final toll.
Speaker 1: Not just for the woman. I hope she lived but
Speaker 1: I never found out, but for this thing I wanted
Speaker 1: so badly to be a greater part of my life.
Speaker 1: We never went back. Tyler. It was good to hang
Speaker 1: out with kids like Frankie and James, because that was
Speaker 1: really not me. I wasn't searching for myself like they were,
Speaker 1: and I didn't need the same things they needed. I've
Speaker 1: always had a plan, and these days I am exactly
Speaker 1: where I hoped I would be. People change, but I
Speaker 1: haven't changed much. The wild, manically drinking, drug guzzling Tyler
Speaker 1: Monahan isn't much different from doctor Tyler Monahan because I've
Speaker 1: always been on this path. Frankie and James they were.
Speaker 1: They are, impulsive, naive, emotional. Everything they did they did
Speaker 1: last minute and reckless, and most of the time what
Speaker 1: they tried to do didn't work. There was no premeditative thought,
Speaker 1: none at all. It was on the fly and unexamined,
Speaker 1: and you've got to be very good or very lucky
Speaker 1: to succeed that way. Frankie and James believed in things
Speaker 1: I enjoyed but didn't necessarily have to have. They believed
Speaker 1: in the bands, and they believed in the scene. They
Speaker 1: believed in finding community and in people joining together in
Speaker 1: the name of something bigger than them. I was around
Speaker 1: for all of that, especially the shows and parties. But
Speaker 1: really this sounds more dismissive than I'd like. I was
Speaker 1: just blowing off steam. Things like that party were fun,
Speaker 1: but they were just parties. My prime directive was getting
Speaker 1: shit done. The rest was just. The rest was all diversions,
Speaker 1: great fun, thrilling diversions, but it wasn't all that important
Speaker 1: to me. You don't dwell on the past. You move forward.
Speaker 1: And if you do that and plan well and make calm, rational,
Speaker 1: deliberate choices along the way, you'll find the present is
Speaker 1: a lot better than what came before. We all make mistakes,
Speaker 1: and we all lose things. But if you spend too
Speaker 1: much time looking back, we'll never go anywhere. Much like
Speaker 1: dear listeners, how the ad transitions aren't going anywhere. They
Speaker 1: never look back. They continue forward as they consume, much
Speaker 1: like you will. Here's ads, and we're back the wild.
Speaker 1: Tyler Monahan didn't exist on weekdays. I studied. I spent
Speaker 1: long hours in the chemistry lab, and I tutored, and
Speaker 1: I moved toward my goal at a nice, even keel.
Speaker 1: When I got there, it happened faster than I thought.
Speaker 1: I found I was happier than I imagined I would be.
Speaker 1: Were least contented, secure in my place. I felt a
Speaker 1: little lonely because it was still is something I did
Speaker 1: on my own. Frankie and James have both had, well,
Speaker 1: to be honest, much harder lives than mine. I feel
Speaker 1: bad for them, of course, but when we get what
Speaker 1: we work for, and that's that's what they got, I'll
Speaker 1: always stand behind them and have their back. I mean
Speaker 1: this is serious. I'm serious. I'd give my life for
Speaker 1: those two, and I say that without exaggeration. But I
Speaker 1: know what I am and I know what they are,
Speaker 1: and we're different animals. I get sad thinking about them sometimes,
Speaker 1: and when I do, I feel old. I feel creaky
Speaker 1: and lonely and kind of kind of maybe cold, yeah, cold,
Speaker 1: But then I remember the good things I have, the
Speaker 1: fact that we're only how would you say this, only
Speaker 1: very tangentially involved in each other's lives. These days, it
Speaker 1: is hard. Sometimes. We've talked about that the three of us.
Speaker 1: Some fantasy part of me would love it if we
Speaker 1: all lived in the same house one day, we could
Speaker 1: grow old together, keep each other company. But I know
Speaker 1: it's just that fantasy. We're far too different now, just
Speaker 1: as it was back then. Sometimes I think we are
Speaker 1: truly a lost generation, not in the romantic literary Paris
Speaker 1: nineteen twenties way Frankie always hoped, but lost in the
Speaker 1: sense that America is this huge, vast, enormous place where
Speaker 1: everyone you know lives so astronomically far away from each other.
Speaker 1: There's a deep, sad estrangement in Americans. We're also spread
Speaker 1: apart and isolated, living these remote, far flung lives. We've
Speaker 1: chosen this. Maybe we could have chosen differently. I don't know,
Speaker 1: but this is what we wanted. I am not at
Speaker 1: all nostalgic for those days. I believe in living right
Speaker 1: now and being the best, happiest versions of you that
Speaker 1: you can be, and the past be damned just the same.
Speaker 1: I'd be lying if I didn't say the wild Tyler
Speaker 1: Monahan and he's still there. Wouldn't love to step back
Speaker 1: into the madness sometimes and feel all that all that
Speaker 1: energy bursting around him, energy that was not really his,
Speaker 1: but that he enjoyed nonetheless and was caught up in, and,
Speaker 1: if only for a short time, feltly substantially alive. James.
Speaker 1: The first few hours of the party were spent moving
Speaker 1: room to room, watching whatever band was playing. At that point,
Speaker 1: my bottle of mad Dog was gone, and I was
Speaker 1: floating along stupidly in a way I never would again.
Speaker 1: Seeing the sights like an astronaut on a new planet
Speaker 1: or a tourist in my own neighborhood. The later it got,
Speaker 1: the more people arrived, until you could barely get through
Speaker 1: the holmes. At some point we ran into Ted Boone
Speaker 1: in a leather jacket and a very dirty Joy Division shirt,
Speaker 1: who was visiting from Portland, and dragged me, Tyler and
Speaker 1: Frankie out behind the house and made us do shots
Speaker 1: of brandy with him while he told us about his
Speaker 1: plans to join the seminary. You guys, I'm doing it.
Speaker 1: Next time you see me, I'll be Reverend ted Boone.
Speaker 1: He made the sign of the Cross in the air.
Speaker 1: Tyler shook his head. I don't believe that. You There's
Speaker 1: no way you hate Jesus. I think that's really sweet,
Speaker 1: said Frankie. Ted Boone smiled pleased. Yeah, yeah, I like that.
Speaker 1: It's sweet. You really believe in God, I asked, handing
Speaker 1: the bottle back to him. Is that trick question? Because
Speaker 1: I'm pretty sure you told me different, like many many times,
Speaker 1: Tyler laughed and took the bottle from Ted Boone. That
Speaker 1: bumper sticker on the old Boon Mobile, the one that
Speaker 1: said executing Jesus, for treason is the reason for the season.
Speaker 1: I remember that Ted Boone laughed and shook his head.
Speaker 1: I believe in whatever will get me where I want
Speaker 1: to go. It's kind of fucked up, I said James
Speaker 1: Tyler Francis, welcome to my world. Drink more brandy. You
Speaker 1: will start to believe in many things great and small.
Speaker 1: Drink now, because I am in a grand, amorous mood,
Speaker 1: and I must find sexual companionship of the young and
Speaker 1: firm breasted kind, or I will wither like the vine
Speaker 1: without shade. You're kind of a villain ted boon. You
Speaker 1: know that, right bank on it, he said, with an
Speaker 1: evil grin. I took the bottle from Tyler and unscrewed
Speaker 1: the cap. After that, I was fucked. And dear listener,
Speaker 1: that's where we're going to leave it today, right as
Speaker 1: the party gets going. Obviously, you'll notice that this is
Speaker 1: not a story about a party. I mean it is,
Speaker 1: but you know it's not a story about a party.
Speaker 1: It's a story about our lives and who we are
Speaker 1: and who we used to be and all of that. Hazel,
Speaker 1: who helps behind the scene, says, quote, I really like
Speaker 1: how this novella plays with time scales, stretching a few
Speaker 1: hours into a whole book and compressing a lifespan in between,
Speaker 1: the way that Adam writes about punks growing out of
Speaker 1: the scene is really relatable to me. We can't burn
Speaker 1: bright forever and what do you do with yourself once
Speaker 1: you've burnt out? And it's sad, but it's also like fine.
Speaker 1: Life has phases, and this book so perfectly captures what
Speaker 1: it's like to be young and what it's like to
Speaker 1: have been young once. Really good shit, Thanks Adam. I
Speaker 1: guess I would say that that's how I feel about
Speaker 1: it too. I really think by showing different people's perspective
Speaker 1: on that particular thing, I think it does a lot
Speaker 1: of good. Or the story's good because it shows that
Speaker 1: I am not feeling articulate. It has been a long
Speaker 1: day of smog, not small wildfire smoke. But I really
Speaker 1: like the like balance of nostalgia non nostalgia, right, Like
Speaker 1: a lot of the characters like, aha, it used to
Speaker 1: be kind of crazy. That's kind of shitty, right, and
Speaker 1: other people are like fuck, I thought we all meant
Speaker 1: it when we said we were trying to do this
Speaker 1: like revolutionary shit, And you know, other people are like, Yeah,
Speaker 1: this is always just the stage. This is always I
Speaker 1: was going to be and uh, that's how it is,
Speaker 1: you know. And I think that's like one of the
Speaker 1: main things about being young is thinking that you're going
Speaker 1: to enter a static thing, that adulthood is the static thing,
Speaker 1: and you're gonna you know, your friend group in your
Speaker 1: early twenties is the only friend group you've ever had
Speaker 1: in your early twenties, and it feels eternal, and then
Speaker 1: people burn out or die or drift away or you
Speaker 1: do these things. You know, I don't know. That's why
Speaker 1: this book stuck with me. Like I said, I read
Speaker 1: it all in one night the day I picked it
Speaker 1: up out of my stack of Adam Ganotti books because
Speaker 1: I did what you all should do, which is I
Speaker 1: found when Adam Gannatti was speaking. I actually didn't know
Speaker 1: his work particularly well yet, but I went to go
Speaker 1: see him speak and was pretty blown away by the
Speaker 1: reading he did. And so then I just bought his
Speaker 1: entire collection of books, because that's what my brain says
Speaker 1: is the thing I should do. But who is Adam Ganatti?
Speaker 1: You might be asking. You're probably not asking, because I've
Speaker 1: read his bio twice before on this thing, but I'm
Speaker 1: going to read it again. Born in San Diego, California,
Speaker 1: Adam Gannatti now lives on a six acre farm in
Speaker 1: rural Kansas, near the towns of Lawrence and Tonganoxie and
Speaker 1: a half hour outside Kansas City, Missouri. On September twenty sixth,
Speaker 1: twenty twenty six, the Numero Group will reissue Gannatti's two
Speaker 1: thousand five debut Talking Songs record Run, Hide, Retreat, Surrender
Speaker 1: on twelve inch final. In October of twenty twenty six,
Speaker 1: his fourteenth book, Wild Horseshit Horseshit's Two Words will be
Speaker 1: released by Brett and Roses Press in conjunction with three
Speaker 1: to one G. Recent works have included the Home and
Speaker 1: Away Quartet and the Talking Song's collection The World of
Speaker 1: Today and the World of Tomorrow, issued on cassette in
Speaker 1: twenty twenty one and Layethe Cut CD in twenty twenty six.
Speaker 1: Gannatti's work is published and issued by Brett and Roses Press,
Speaker 1: three to one G. Hello America Stereo Cassette and the
Speaker 1: Numero Group. And I'm your Host, Margaret kildoy Ana. I
Speaker 1: have music. I don't know if I plug some stuff
Speaker 1: I don't plug as often. You can find my black
Speaker 1: metal band Femino School, which was me and several other
Speaker 1: amazing musicians. We haven't put out anything in a long time,
Speaker 1: but it is real good. And you can also find
Speaker 1: my sad Girl Beepboop electronic music at Nomadic war Machine
Speaker 1: and other sad Girl electronic music a two piece band
Speaker 1: called the Lathe. You can find all of these things
Speaker 1: wherever you listen to music. Band Camp is a good one.
Speaker 1: I'd recommend that over Spotify. I will be back next
Speaker 1: week with one more Locust House. And don't forget about
Speaker 1: our girl Agnes from the first episode. She will be
Speaker 1: back and fighting until then. Carry the words of Ursula
Speaker 1: k Legwin. We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable,
Speaker 1: so did the divine right of kings. And yeah we
Speaker 1: can and we will imagine a better world together. Bye everyone.
Speaker 1: It could happen here as a production of cool Zone Media.
Speaker 1: For more podcasts from cool Zone Media, visit our website
Speaker 1: Coolzonemedia dot com, or check us out on the iHeartRadio app,
Speaker 1: Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can
Speaker 1: find sources where it could Happen here updated monthly at
Speaker 1: coolzonemedia dot com. Slash Sources thanks for listening.