Listen, dear readers, I want to discuss the records that exist only in my mind. You know, the ones that would be perfect if you added one key component, or the ones that could never exist no matter what, but they should. Like if you poured glue all over the shitty Zeppelin record and then played it at 45 speed while the glue dried. Or if Alice Cooper scatted over Coltrane’s Ascension.

These, then, are those records.

While numbered, this order is contextual only—it can be rearranged by whim.


Please explain what just happened.

I just came back in the cabin. I was in the forest, walking. I stopped to rub two sticks together to make a fire, but was unsuccessful. I walked back to the cabin and watched Stagecoach, starring John Wayne. Earlier today I posed for an iPhone film shoot with me lying and standing in various ways on a bunch of giant tree stumps. Nude. I figured, fuck it, I’m 45, and I still look hot. Let’s do this.


What is your earliest memory?

My earliest memory is being dropped into a pool with a life vest on.


If you weren’t a musician, what other profession would you choose?

I dunno. Something where I can be around people that make me laugh.

It’s 2005

My ’84 Chevy Caprice—a great big V6, 3.8 L, dented, gray upholstered floating sofa
Dies unexpectedly

I phone my brother in Jersey
He says he has a ’95 Toyota Camry with only 44,000 miles
He’ll give me for a great deal
The only problem is I have to fly back east to pick it up

So I find a cheap ticket, grab a flight out of LAX
Fifteen hours later, I’ve already tossed back a few beers with bro
Exchanged smiles, hugs, money
Grabbed a nap and have headed out in my new car