Hussalonia Song #7: I Can’t Tell the Difference Anymore

The recording of "I Can't Tell the Difference Anymore" on "Ernest Evans Hussalonia" is very minimalist; it includes nothing more than voice, guitar, and the same voice overdubbed at a certain point to create a one-man duet. I may as well stop adding to my list of favorite tracks; at this rate, nearly all of them will end up on there if I do.

The first, most striking thing about the recording is that lovely background noise, which, if I'm not mistaken, is the cassette tape hum. I happen to be old enough to remember using cassette tapes as a primary format for music-listening, and I have a nostalgic fondness for that kind of sound the way many people who are older than I am have a fondness for the hiss and crackle of records (in recent times I've bought a few records myself, and I've discovered a fondness for that sound as well). The official album descriptions that of the tracks that comprise it, created between 2000 and 2003, some were recorded on Tascam 4 track cassette. I know little of the technical side of music production (nor, really, any side of it) but this sounds to me like it is one of those cassette recordings. In any case, I find the resulting sound most endearing.

A night-time ride, a warning to keep hands and arms inside the vehicle (despite having nothing left to lose, a line that seems at first funny to me, and then intriguing, and then sad), and falling asleep are the primary images that stick out to me in the song. I particularly love the description of the narrator's head cutting through "the starry night, like a speedboat does to water." It is an effective bit of imagery, one that really takes me into the action described in the song (though I haven't figured out what the vehicle referred to is supposed to be; it may be obvious to anyone else).

The overdubbing of another voice track onto the primary one during the asking of questions ("Is this love or is this depression?") could potentially break the intimacy of the song, yet it fits perfectly. The questions asked are followed by a comment at the very end, not really an answer, and it is the title phrase. That is where the song ends. It is a sad and beautiful ending to a sad and beautiful song.

This is one of those songs that seems to be intended to capture a moment and a mood, one of those little everyday instants that, due to some external reminder or just some wandering thought, brings to mind a memory that inspires a mood, or else just the mood itself. It is the sort of moment that, melded to that mood or feeling, sticks out in your memory for years afterwards, perhaps for the rest of your life. It might reoccur but, if not in the same place, then likely you will only remember that first time in that original location. Riding through the night, a passenger, falling asleep, stars above you, and some strained and maybe painful sense inside you, some conflict, all of this comes together, each thing meshed with every other, and it crystallizes in your memory. I can't help but feel a sense of admiration and gratitude to an artist who can capture one of these often-unspoken occurrences in a work, and especially in a song so unassumingly simple. As retrained as it appears to be in terms of production, it is incredibly rich in feeling, in emotion.

I would say that it is a fairly sad thing to imagine one who has lost the difference to tell the difference between love and depression, yet it isn't difficult to imagine at all. I may have been there myself once before, some years ago. It is difficult to remember these things, no matter how intense they may have once been, if something in particular doesn't inspire remembrance.

With this entry, I am at the halfway point in writing about "Ernest Evans Hussalonia" and that means that I am at the halfway point of the first album that this little blog has ever covered! Though often a challenge, I am finding this blog a pleasure to write. I look forward to the next seven songs and beyond!

Hussalonia Song #6: Peggy Sue

As noted on the album's official description, "Ernest Evans Hussalonia" makes many references to pop music of the 1950s and 1960s, yet sounds very little like that type of music. That certainly holds true, yet I think that "Peggy Sue" might be the track that most reminds me of the music that it references. Musically it is still quite different, but the repeating lyrics in the last half sound like they might have come from the late 50s or early 60s. In fact, if my memory serves me well, a rhyme or two might even be the same as one or two used in the original Buddy Holly song with the same title as this track.

I mentioned in an earlier entry that my personal favorite tracks on this album might be "Chubby Checker," "Limbo Rock" and "What Will Become of Me?" (tracks that also happen to appear in succession). Already I must revise that list, in this case to add "Peggy Sue." A benefit of writing this blog is becoming apparent to me, namely that by forcing me to listen repeatedly to songs I may otherwise not have listened to as often, and to listen to them closely, I am learning to appreciate much that I had been overlooking before. "Peggy Sue" was one of those tracks that I didn't dislike but nonetheless never paid a great deal of attention to before. For whatever reason, it just didn't stick out in my memory. Now, however, having listened to it several times to prepare for this writing, I am enjoying it more and more. I can't help but feel that if writing this blog has no other reward then developing a greater appreciation for some of the Hussalonia songs I didn't take proper notice of before, then I am more than amply rewarded. "Peggy Sue" is an absolutely beautiful song!

I confess that, yet again (get used to this, kids) I'm not really sure what to write about this song. I've given it multiple listenings to prepare and yet each time I hear it I find that it washes over me so quickly, and makes such an emotional impression, that I'm not sure how to properly express my reaction to it. As I continue to acclimate myself to writing this blog, I am faced, with each entry, with the question of exactly how to go about writing something about each song that does it justice, expresses my personal reaction to it, yet doesn't rely too heavily on interpretation and traditional music criticism. After all, my aim here isn't to imitate "Rolling Stone" articles or bland documentary interviews from VH1; it is to give a little bit of exposure to one of my favorite musical cults while maintaining a format closer to that of a personal diary than that of typical journalism. General interpretation may be a part of my personal reactions to the music, and I definitely mean to include the personal interpretations that are a part of my reactions, yet I fear that relying too heavily on interpretation might have too much influence anyone who might actually read this stuff. I would encourage listeners of any music to try and experience music, at least their initial listening, with an open mind, and not get caught up in the interpretation of others. I speak only for myself here, but I feel that music, like most things, ought to be an individual experience, first and last. I want to express my individual reactions here, but I don't want to ruin your own. Besides all of that, I have a long history of misinterpretation when it comes to understanding an artist's/author's intention with his/her works. While I strongly support people forming their own personal reactions to art, I'm not a fan of the whole "Death of the Author" idea either. I'm an author myself, and, like most living things, I don't want to die.

With all of this in mind, I hope you'll forgive me if what I write about "Peggy Sue" is a little vague and brief; the same goes, likely, for a lot of future entries that I will write.

The lyrics that make up the first part of "Peggy Sue" are quite obscure to me. They speak of escape, and also of returning to someone who, in the last part of the song it is revealed, is the title character. I do not really understand the meaning of these lyrics, that is to say, what the intended meaning was. They do bring to mind some personal thoughts and memories for me, however, though this may have nothing to do with what the song is really about. I am reminded of those situations in which one is torn by and between loneliness and the urge to be alone. I can imagine that the eponymous character here, Peggy Sue, is the subject of the affections, and perhaps the simultaneous lack of affection, of one who cannot make up his/her mind about what they want out of life in regard to relationships. The escape, the call for Peggy Sue to look away, and the sense of testing things out all bring to my mind someone trying to figure him or her self out, varying between a commitment to a relationship and an urge to escape from it, or else a commitment to solitude and an urge to escape from it, or, once again, both at once. Not, admittedly, very fair to Peggy Sue, but all's fair in love and war, they say. Are they correct? I have no idea. The repeated rhymes that draw the song to a close imply at first that Peggy Sue doesn't really understand what is going on in the narrator's mind, and what they are going through emotionally, and, at the end, it implies that the narrator has decided to choose the relationship over the solitude. I can't say I relate to the conclusion in this scenario, but the situation is one that is quite familiar to me. It brings to mind the idea of falling in love with the idea of someone rather than the actual person; appropriately, there is another Hussalonia song with the title of "I Love the Idea" of you. Again, this is something I'm quite familiar with, a subject I've given much thought to over the years. The song doesn't really describe a setting, but the combination of music and lyrics, and the way that I interpret them, give me a rush of memories and imaginings of days spent at the beach and a series of ambiguous telephone conversations, swirling around with sunlight, a dream that wasn't mine, and seemingly endless uncertainty, hopes and disappointments.

Again, I can't emphasize enough that I don't really know what the real intended meaning of this song is, and that what I've written here is really a personal (in fact, quite personal indeed) interpretation. Whether you share my interpretation or not and whether my or your interpretations reflect the real, intended meaning or not, I can say one thing very much in earnest: this is an absolutely beautiful song, beautifully recorded. In other words, this is classic Hussalonia. The vocal is breathtaking, and instrumentation is lovely, and the rhyming section is quite catchy, something that is in keeping with the tradition of the 50s and 60s pop music that this album makes so much reference to. If, like me, you heard this song only to find yourself not paying it close attention and moving on to other tracks that you initially find more memorable, I urge you to give this one another listen. I passed it over too quickly on my initial listening, and I'm glad that, in writing this blog, I rediscovered it and was able to appreciate it. If nobody else gets anything out of this blog, at least I got something out of it!

Hussalonia Song # 5: The Locomotion

Vindication! Recognition! A blurb!
I would like to begin this entry by thanking Hussalonia founder for announcing the presence of this humble little blog on the official Hussalonia news page! Once again, traveling back to the Hussalonia Internet Concourse for a bit of fact-checking for the purpose of writing this blog, I was greeted with another welcome surprise. It seems that lately every visit to Hussalonia's website has provided me with some such unexpected good news. I am honored to have my written ramblings recognized by Hussalonia!
I would also like to mention that [The Hussalonia Founder] has recently posted on the website (though he'd alluded to it once before in the Hussalonia newsletter, which you would know if you subscribed to it; what are you waiting for?) his intention to release at least one project per month for this entire, grand old year known as 2010. I congratulate The Hussalonia Founder on his forming of such a plan and I wish him all the best in following it through! I, for one, greatly look forward to the prospect of new Hussalonia material each month, and I very much hope that the project winds up a rousing success. Viva Hussalonia!
Now, it is time for me to return to this week's entry, track number five off of the "Ernest Evans Hussalonia" album, "The Locomotion."
This is the first Hussalonia recording I am faced with writing about that isn't a traditional song at all, but more or less a full-blown sound collage. I fear writing about these a bit, as sometimes, to be honest, I do not have much of a reaction to them, and even to the extent that I do, I'm not sure that my writing skills are capable of capturing the very mercurial thoughts and feelings they inspire. I imagine that these probably aren't instant-favorites with most listeners. I, however, do have a soft spot for them, even when I don't really know what to make of them. Elsewhere on the official website, it is mentioned that [The Hussalonia Founder] collects old recordings, and these often seem to wind up in sound collage, and occasionally in the more traditional songs as well. These are used to great effect on both counts, though it will be some time before I am able to write about some of my favorite examples. For a bit of background on exactly what the nature of these antiquated recordings are, I give you a quote from the official description of the 2008 public domain sound collage release "OMG LOL WTF." It reads: "[The album] is comprised of experimental instrumentals and sound collage compiled from home-recordable, Wilcox-Gay acetates dating to the mid 1940s/early 1950s." I know little of acetate collection myself, but I imagine it is quite a fun hobby. It certainly appeals to my magpie-like urge to collect things. These recordings, explained elsewhere on the website (I admittedly forget where), contain everything from audio from radio and television to people just goofing around for the fun of it. "OMG LOL WTF" even includes some rather hilarious audio from a record designed to teach parakeets to talk. However, I must pace myself; that's quite far ahead! I must get back to the matter at hand.
The first thing that strikes me about "The Locomotion" is that it isn't "The Loco-Motion." To be more specific, it isn't the well-known pop song originally performed by Little Eva. In case you wonder, yes, I did just search online for who the original performer was and yes, I've never heard of her before now, despite being quite familiar with the song. In an odd side-note, my late great-grandmother was good friends with someone called Little Eva. Looking back, for all I know, it might have been the same person. In retrospect it was rather like a reoccurring gag out of a sitcom, in that I heard the adults of my family reference Little Eva, and my great-grandmother would talk to her on the phone while I was around, but I never saw her or even heard her voice. It reminds me of Wilson on "Home Improvement," or Carlton the doorman on "Rhoda." I half-remember this Little Eva supposedly having a sister named Big Eva, though I can't imagine why two siblings would have been given the same first name, unless it was not a sibling but a mother or an aunt or something. At any rate, my great-grandmother passed away several years ago and I've heard scarce mention of Little Eva since. How very odd that is, now that I think about it.
Oh, wait; I was supposed to be writing about a Hussalonia track, wasn't I?
As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by my own memories, short attention span, and the complete disregard for your precious time that prevents me from editing out the superfluous and unnecessary text, when I listen to "The Locomotion," no matter how many times I hear it, like Pavlov's dog I instantly expect to hear "The Loco-Motion." I'm not really sure why, but I always feel a bit disappointed at first that this isn't a cover of that song. This is especially strange considering that I never really liked "The Loco-Motion" all that much. I recall being made to listen to it, and, I think, dance to it in elementary school, probably in the same music class that ruined "This Land Is Your Land" for me. It conjures memories of some faded music textbook with bland pictures of a smiling cowboy clown next to the lyrics to "Home on the Range."
At any rate, after I settle down from the shock of not hearing "The Loco-motion," I find myself listening to a very intriguing little sound collage. It begins with some singing. Who is it? I have no idea. I think that the words are "When you're alone on the street of regret." It sounds quite mournful, buried though it is under distortion. Before long what appears to be a recording of the hymn "Angels We Have Heard on High" (if I'm not mistaken) comes to the fore, with the instantly recognizable "Gloria in Excelsis Deo" chorus. This has a lovely quality, yet as it sounds fuzzy due to age, it has kind of a ghostly quality as well. As if to accentuate the creepiness, dubbed over the rest of the track is a single sound: it appears to be a man sighing or grunting "uh." This sound, coupled with the relentless repetition, makes me quite uncomfortable. It brings to mind the feeling of being spied on by some perverse and inconsiderate voyeur. Before you ask, I have never knowingly experienced that, thankfully. Hearing that "uh" sound makes me imagine all too vividly what it might very well be like, though.
By the end of the track there is the sound of children babbling and repeating a phrase. It sounds like "taffy," or "coffee," or "Cathy." Each syllable is spoken separately but I still can't quite tell exactly what they are saying. I find the creepy "uh" sound mixed with the carefree sounds of children especially disconcerting.
What can I say about this track? I couldn't begin to interpret it. I have covered what each element of it makes me feel. Perhaps I should conclude by making a solid attempt at describing the overall impression that the track leaves on me.
When I listen to "The Locomotion," I am given a feeling of childhood, a certain part of childhood that is rather dry, boring, and, at times, vaguely unsettling. It is a feeling at once of smaller, country, churches and at the same time of larger cathedrals. For one moment I feel as if I'm at an uncomfortable Christmas Eve service, surrounded by candles; at another moment I feel as if I'm in some regular, typical Sunday service, being pressured against my will to sit on the altar while somebody gives me a sermon that I know full well I won't listen to if for no other reason than that I'll be too distracted by feeling nervous about having to sit up there to listen to it. I am reminded of the character "No-Face" in the film "Spirited Away" and that "uh!" sound he makes when he holds out his hands to offer gold, and how, in high school, a friend of mine liked to imitate it to be intentionally bothersome and disconcerting. Lastly, the track gives me the feeling of being in Sunday school, surrounding by construction paper and safety scissors, or else at some birthday party where everyone wonders why I don't feel compelled to hit the piñata. In either case, I am driven primarily by the urge to go home.

Hussalonia Song # 4: What Will Become of Me?

This song presents a problem for me in regard to this blog. The problem lies in the fact that the song appears thrice on this album. Each track contains some variation. I'm not entirely sure, however, if I can think of much to write about each one individually. That isn't to say I don't enjoy the repetition, or that I discount those variations between each version; I think that it does add something to the feel of and overall experience of listening to the album that this song is repeated. I'm just not entirely sure if my reactions to each version are different enough to inspire three full, separate entries on this blog. Then again, there's no real limit on the minimum or maximum length of a post here (well, there might be technically, but I haven't imposed any on myself as a part of this project). Perhaps my entries on the second and third versions of this song will just be very brief. We'll see what I can do, though. As best I can, I want to live up to this blog's title and write something about every Hussalonia song (though, more specifically, every Hussalonia track/recording).
While, in my current state of sleep-deprivation and poor habits of eating and exercise, my memory is a bit fuzzy and my thoughts are a little unclear, and therefore I'm not really recalling the other tracks all that well, I think that the triad of Chubby Checker, Limbo Rock, and the first appearance of this song might be my personal favorite tracks on this album.
This song brings to my mind anxiety about the future, a most relatable feeling for most, I imagine. The lyrics reference building a nest, only for it to become infested with violent bees and ruining the comfort that it was supposed to provide. [The Hussalonia Founder]'s vocal here seems to me to tread a fine line between triumphant and despairing, especially around the halfway mark when it really seems to reach a high point that I find both beautiful and tragic. I'm not really sure if that sense of triumph that I imagine has any basis in reality, but somehow, nonetheless, I get this near-triumphant feeling when I listen to this track. I emphasize the "near," though. Despair seems to pervade the lyrics and the delivery; I sense a struggle going on. It all comes back to that title: What Will Become of Me? It is one of those phrases that seems to capture an entire mood very well, and since I've bought this album, whenever I've had the feeling that this song gives me, the title phrase, without my really thinking of the song in particular, seems to loop in my mind.
Anxiety over the future plagues me fairly often and has been the cause of more than a few depressive episodes. I've noticed that sometimes I experience a phenomenon that has only begun to occur in the last few years, and I wonder if it is the reason I feel this nearly-triumphant aspect of this song even though it may not really be intended. What I'm referring to is when, in the midst of a depression, I suddenly experience this kind of snap-back in which I feel suddenly exuberant, likely for no particular reason at all. It may last until it and the depression dissipate together, or the depression may return before the episode is over. I cannot explain this; perhaps someone with a decent knowledge of psychology or something could. At any rate, I am always grateful for these times, even when they are temporary.
This track brings to mind a certain loneliness I feel. I do not get along well with most people. I have few very close friends and few very close family members. I can get along with many people I meet on a shallow level, a small-talk level, but it is difficult for me to form deep relationships. I feel that my life is perched precariously. I fear losing loved ones. I feel nervous now, just writing about it, as if by writing about it I will upset the balance somehow.
Why is it that a song so associated with my worst fears and deepest anxieties be so enjoyable? I'm not sure if "enjoyable" is the correct word to use. Perhaps a better word would be "cathartic," but I'm not sure. At any rate, I do take some kind of odd comfort in this song, even if it doesn't seem intended to offer any in particular, at least as far as I can tell. For all I know, I might be looking at it all wrong in the first place and missing the point. Nonetheless, it is what it is to me, and I am glad to have it. When those anxiety attacks hit, somehow thinking of the title of this song, while it doesn't erase the problems, somehow lassos them and labels them, and somehow that does ease things up, if only slightly. It is a phrase that expresses great uncertainty, great fear, and great apprehension; yet somehow condensing those negative feelings into that phrase creates some kind of peace, though small: what will become of me? If you've ever wondered that yourself, or if you've only had the feeling that the question seems to convey, then I believe you will enjoy this track, or at least take some kind of comfort in it. I know I do.

Hussalonia Song # 3: Limbo Rock

Well, don't say I didn't warn you. That is, I believe that I did mention that I'm prone to frequent procrastination. If I didn't mention this, I probably meant to, but never got around to it.
It has been exactly one month and a day since my last entry on this little blog. Let us not be downhearted; let us believe, against all rationality and good sense, that we have all the time in the world.
Before I begin to write my reaction to the song that is this entry's subject, allow me to make a few announcements pertinent to this blog in varying degrees.
First of all, I mentioned in my introductory post here that while the idea for this blog came from nowhere more profound than my own mind, much inspiration in the execution of this idea came from the similarly-conceived and much more brilliant blog "Every Bob Dylan Song." When I began this project, that excellent blog appeared to have gone on an indefinite hiatus. I am pleased to announce that it is now up and running once again! Author Anthony Ling is once again hard at work writing about each and every one of Bob Dylan's songs and I strongly recommend you check it out. That link, once again, is: http://everybobdylansong.blogspot.com/.
In even more relevant news (to this blog, anyway) is that an album I've wanted to hear for quite some time now has finally become available to me. Mentioned also in the introductory post here, "Skaros [Name Redacted by Order of Nefarico] and Wild" is a single album by a one-time band featuring Hussalonia founder. As previously noted, the link on Hussalonia's website associated with this album has been broken since I first discovered Hussalonia in April of 2009. While checking the music page recently, in preparation for entries on this very blog, I just happened to notice that the "LINK COMING SOON!" message had finally gone away! I was lead to a website that, after signing up for an account, allowed me to download all seven tracks from the album for free. While I haven't listened to these tracks yet, I plan to include my thoughts on them here, if there are no objections.
Finally, yet another new Hussalonia album has been released! It is Hussalonia's 30^th release, in fact, and it is quite unusual. I've only listened to a couple of tracks, but I look forward to listening further. It is a most strange and wonderful album indeed. It is titled "Dear Hussalonia: Letters from Animals, Mostly Ducks." I like ducks quite a bit, and many animals, just as I enjoy national anthems. Hussalonia has been good to me lately. As with the previous release, this album has been dedicated to the public domain. I hope, in the future, to appropriate some of this album into some obscure project of mine.
Now, on to the actual subject of this entry!
The third track off of "Ernest Evans Hussalonia," "Limbo Rock" is one of many Hussalonia songs that I associate with the clash between staying true to one's self artistically and the need to get by; in other words, it is the ideal versus the practical. It is a subject near and dear to my own heart. In "Chubby Checker" I got the sense that the persona (perhaps or perhaps not [The Hussalonia Founder] himself) of the song is viewing Chubby Checker as someone alienated from him. Checker is the rock and roll ideal, living the high life, doing what he wants to do, and the singer is stuck trying to get by, paycheck by paycheck. In "Limbo Rock," however, the singer faces an altogether different figure: the Devil himself, who takes his soul. With "the hands of Liberace, and the voice of Nat 'King' Cole," the Devil plays a bizarre concert in which he takes requests and everyone is dancing "like contortionists." As the song "Unforgettable" is played, the singer observes how his younger self would never have imagined nor desired to "be a party to that song, but now [he sings] along." I'm not really familiar with the song or with Nat 'King' Cole (shall I be ignorant of everything referenced in Hussalonia songs?) but from what little I do know, I think I get the picture of what is going on here. Cole and the song both represent something much more mainstream than what the singer would like to be a part of; I imagine that by singing along and joining in with the dancers, he is losing himself, as the Devil has already taken his soul, and becoming just another face in the crowd. The theme here reminds me more of art theory, or philosophy of art, than of any actual spiritual or religious matter. Still, I can't help but feel that the theme could apply in such realms; after all, art is not the only form of human endeavor and experience. It certainly means a great deal to me personally, however, that this song brings to mind the struggle over art as personal expression versus art as crowd-pleasing, commercialism and practical value.
I sometimes wonder if art simply isn't for making a living, no matter how you look at it. I wonder if it isn't arrogant, or greedy, or deluded to think that one can, or should, attempt to make a living "doing what one loves to do," as it is so often said. In my writing, I have certain things that I want to say and certain ways that I want to say those things and I fear the scenario in which an editor or whoever wants me to change anything. This is, I think, the typical complaint of young authors, and seen often as a mark of arrogance. However, I do realize that in refusing any or at least too much outside influence, my writings will be flawed. I am so very fond of flaws, though. Nothing, to me, seems more human, and without them, I fear that my individuality might be erased from what I create. I realize that flaws make a book less pleasurable to read (in most cases at least) and therefore less marketable, less profitable, and etc. It would be arrogant of me to presume that my writings will sell, that they will be beloved by many or any, and that by carrying out this philosophy of strong individual emphasis and retaining-of-flaws I'll earn any practical reward. I am arrogant in some ways, but even I don't believe that any of that is likely in the least. That would be ideal, but I'm not sure that it is the ideal I should pursue (as doing so would certainly be in vain). The ideal that I should pursue, and that perhaps any self-respecting artist should pursue, is to be as true as possible, flaws and all, and make the art that they want to make or feel that they ought to make. If you have to do something else to support yourself, that's unavoidable; do what you can. There's always the route of doing strictly commercial works as a means of paying the bills and doing personal work on the side just as you would with any other job. That's the route I'm currently exploring.
From what I know of the Hussalonia founder, having read through an interview or two, listening to his music and reading a blog he kept, he and I differ a great deal on many subjects, some most essential to a person's worldview. Though our reasons may be different (a subtle difference, perhaps), though, we seem to be in agreement to a fair degree on this subject of maintaining art as something individual and honest and not subjecting it to commercialism, to making a living, to what anyone or everyone else thinks. Songs such as "Limbo Rock" strike me as a reflection of that, and [The Hussalonia Founder]'s comments during the interview section of the "Live In Allen Hall" seem to express much the same opinion that I've expressed in the preceding paragraph. If [The Hussalonia Founder] and I truly have one thing in common, I think that this subject is it, and in large part it is what attracted me to Hussalonia in the first place. Having the will to make one's own art, apart from any reward, praise, criticism or influence of any kind, and making it available to all for free, is an endeavor I cannot help but respect and admire. While I continue to make fiction with the long-distant aim of mainstream publication and commercial success, merchandising and all, I hope that I will be able to take a similar approach to that of Hussalonia when it comes to my "real" works, the things written for someone, for some reason, even if I never know who or why. I'll see how that goes. In the mean time, I will continue, sporadically, to write this blog, and I hope that someone somewhere will find it, discover Hussalonia as I have, and be inspired in much the same way, in addition to enjoying some most excellent tunes.