In addition to being an all-around awesome dude, Patrick “Duffy” De Armas is a Renaissance man. He does it all, and does it well. Currently he commits much of his time to his artistic endeavor, Electric Coffin. With a studio situated in the ultra-hip/sketchy Pioneer Square area of Seattle, Duffy’s work has already garnered much praise and attention from art connoisseurs, hipsters, Chileans, and wayfaring bums. His work, OMG pictures, musical selections, and peculiar videos can be found at his Purple Razors blog.

The anecdote that I will share takes place at one of his shows. Duffy, playing the cordial host, sidled up to a passerby taking in one of Duffy’s compositions. The stranger shook his head and said to Duffy, “I don’t know man. I am done with art.” Duffy inquired as to what the fellow meant.

“Well just between you and me, it seems like everyone calls themselves an ‘artist’ these days. I mean, no disrespect to Duffy, but this is dumb. Duffy is dumb. This isn’t art. A five-year-old could do this with some paint and a decent amount of boogers.” Duffy nodded his head, taking the offense calmly. He thanked the man for coming, and returned to the crowd with a grin. Why a grin? Because a five-year-old had made it with boogers. But the five-year-old was actually Duffy’s pet alien and had used the boogers of a brontosaurus. Duffy had accomplished what he wanted with the piece. By employing an extra-terrestrial and using prehistoric boogers, he had made his artistic statement: that the piece was both “Out of this world,” and “DINOmite.”

Duffy defies social classifications. He is an Arizonan that loves the snow. Hence, his selection of “Cell Mates” by The Bronx is true to his nature. Mariachi, punk, and sweet and clean enough to introduce to your grandmother. Just like Duffy. “Cell Mates” sounds a bit like Vampire Weekend when played on an old radio inside of a rusty pick-up truck rumbling down a Sonoran road. Except it would be Vampiro Fin De Semana, because when you listen to an old radio while in a pick-up truck in Mexico, everything will have a tint of mariachi.

“Cell Mates” by The Bronx

let•loose•and•have•a•ham•burg•er.

Mayer Hawthorne “Your Easy Lovin’ Ain’t Pleasin’ Nothin’” from the album A Strange Arrangement.

Interesting note: The music video for “Your Easy Lovin’ Ain’t Pleasin’ Nothin’” was shot in one take.

I recently discovered that it isn’t that hard to write a pop song. My cousin has a toy keyboard with all of these preset hooks and rhythms in it. I pushed buttons for a couple of minutes, got a beat going, some simple riffs, let my fingers dance back and forth over no more than three keys. Then I started to sing about the sea turtles that were swimming around on the television. I was rather proud of myself. I told myself that I could even consider myself an “artist” if I took the angle, “Yeah, I don’t have any talent and put very little effort into this song, but that makes me cool because I did it and just didn’t care. I’m awesome, follow me on Twitter.”

Nut Brown may have made their tunes the same way. They may have been watching the same turtles on television. But my composition doesn’t hold a candle to what Nut Brown has. Perhaps it is innate talent, experience as the front-man of Vancouver’s They Shoot Horses Don’t They, or superior equipment that gives Nut Brown the edge. I don’t know. But I do know one ingredient that goes into the Nut Brown hopper. He has gusto. He is all about what he is doing. The course is set, the fires stoked, and Nut Brown is at the helm. Full steam ahead.

Nut Brown – I Need A Love Like That

Nut Brown – Welcome Back

Nut Brown has made the album “I Really Do” available for free download at http://nutbrown.net/. Get after it.

As brothers, Ian and I have many ways in which we relate concerning music. We both have a remarkably high tolerance for Irish folk music and The Three Tenors. We know far too many “Oldies” songs, and we both have reoccurring nightmares in which we and our friends are forced to listen to “A Prarie Home Companion” while being shuttled to soccer practice. We also know of those albums that the other bought during those confusing pre-teen years, and will carry these secrets to the grave.

But Ian and my musical inclinations are different as well. Despite Ian’s promotion, I could never get down with Andre Nickatina. All the cocaine, guns, and loose women were a bit too much for me.

But Ian and I reconnected recently on hip hop. He invited me to check out Mash Hall, the product of Seattle based cousins djblesOne and Ronnie Voice along with slew of other musicians and dancers. They have a sampling technique that is unique and innovative, but also has that west coast crispiness that is so easy to get pulled in by. Mash Hall gets bonus points for slick titles such as The Greatest Fuckin Adventures Of Bruce Illest – Streaks & Blurs & Shit.

Here’s the track that Ian is digging, from Mash Hall’s “They La Soul” album.

Visit Mash Hall’s bandcamp page for all kinds of goodies.

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Danny and I used to work together. I really enjoyed working with Danny because we shared an appreciation for cursing and granola bars.

Then Danny quit.

I know Danny is off doing better things which is well and good, but what an asshole. Now, I feel much more awkward about cursing in front of day care groups and talking to customers with my mouth full of some organic snack. Danny, come back. You know how much I hate being productive and professional.

Danny recommended I listen to The Hoots Hoots

and I had planned on featuring them quite some time ago. But because Danny is a co-founder of Hoot House Productions who produce The Hoots Hoots, I decided to wait on it a bit. Danny is co-founder of Hoot Hoot Productions, so I was concerned it might appear as if we at Camp Revival only promote our friends. But Danny isn’t my friend. He betrayed me, so there is no conflict of interest in my sharing The Hoots Hoots.

Hoot Hooters Adam Prairie, Chris Prairie, Leah Julius, Geoff Brown, and Christina Ellis know how to make a good song. A hearty foundation, splashy percussion to get you out of your seat, a smattering of funky guitar and synthesizer riffs, topped off with some smooth and sweet vocals. Plus, any reference to Calvin and Hobbes is as good as gold to me. Take The Hoots Hoots for a spin. And then go see them Monday June 7th at New Crompton in Seattle.

And if you see Danny there, tell him I am hurt.

‘Transmogrified’

‘all•clear’

Snowmelt

My best friend Barry and I have gotten into some sticky situations. Real sticky. And no matter how sticky things get, Barry somehow keeps his cool while I go bonkers.

The stint that Barry and I spent working in a coal mine was a very dark time for me. The working conditions of the colliery destroyed me. Hours in complete darkness breathing toxic materials pushed me to depression and insomnia. I lost track of what day and time it was. I started collecting random pieces of garbage and storing them beneath my bed. My fish died because I didn’t clean his bowl.

Meanwhile, Barry flourished in the mines. He won a lobster dinner for producing so much coal and his chipper “go get ‘em” attitude. He also volunteered at the local rec center teaching senior citizens how to play basketball. He won the lottery, and donated the winnings to some animal-helping organization. In efforts to cheer me up, he would bring an extra pack of fruit snacks to share with me. It only made my demeanor the worse. I couldn’t fathom how he could tolerate the hours we spent in what to me was a tomb.

It wasn’t until just recently that I discovered that the entire time we were in the mine, Barry had been listnening to the song “The Walls Are Coming Down” by Fanfarlo on his headphones. Bright, rich, and ornate. Uplifting choruses crescendo over swooping strings and horns. Maybe what it would be like if you could eat a whole apple pie without any guilt. Sweet.

‘The Walls Are Coming Down’

That Barry, he knows what he is doing.

Tune•out•cruise•r

‘Dark Cicadas’

Aaron has one of the most refined and discerning tastes in music of anyone I know. A tremendous musician himself, he knows his licks and knows when a song ticks. But his musical aptitude isn’t the only reason why I asked him to recommend a tune that have been doing it for him. It is because Aaron and I both enjoy being cynical. And when talking music during a dull lecture class full of Juicy Couture wearing co-eds, the potential for cynicism is endless.

So I asked Aaron for a tune, and he immediately dove into his backpack to produce his iPod. No hesitation. He offered “Close Chorus” by A Sunny Day In Glasgow, without any attached disclaimer. No modest “It’s pretty good,” or “You might not like it, but…” This was it. This was the jam.

I thought he was going to let me have a listen, but instead he queued it up for himself. Thus, I had to wait until later that night to hear the jarring chord progressions in “Close Chorus” that intrigued Aaron. Thanks buddy. Thanks for leaving me to listen to the discussion of approaches to analyzing cultural industries and whispers of scandalous Facebook photos.

Close Chorus