"A Table Forgotten" music video

Directed by Lara Miranda. Cinematography by Joe Stillwater, Lara Miranda and Op D.A.S. Post production by Ri Crawford and Lara Miranda. Production assistance by Nicole Redden, Michael McCamish and Penny Allman.
(c)2009 Drag City Inc.

Faun Fables is the main project of musician Dawn McCarthy, a dancing, stomping, strumming master storyteller with one of the most unusual and haunting voices I've ever heard. She, her hubby Nils Frykdahl (of Sleepytime Gorilla Museum), multi-instrumentalist Kirana Peyton and I toured the U.S. and Europe together throughout 2007-2008, and recorded "The Table Forgotten" EP for which this video (directed by Lara Miranda) was produced. We had WAY too much fun shooting this up on Mt Diablo over a series of weekend campouts in spring/summer 2008.

From a letter to a friend written during that time:

Imagine being on top of a mountain at dusk in a huge field of golden grass and ancient oaks. Sunset is a blazing pink and indigo. A thick fog rolls in underneath the peak you are standing on, so it feels like you are standing on cliffs overlooking an ocean of clouds. Night falls. Something is glowing under that ocean of clouds. A drowned city.

A huge, healthy pack of coyotes sang to us as we built a fire.

I slept on the roof of our RV and could see nothing but stars. Milky way band, the summer triangle.

Today I sat at the highest peak of a huge pile of boulders called "Elephant Rock" on a fucking naturally occurring stone THRONE. I shit you not. A throne. It was covered with lichen and moss and cradled me. I hated to leave. I have never felt so regal in my life and probably never will again.

The Galactic Gala

I'll be playing theremin and possibly bringing some other goodies to this.

Also performing:

Zoe Keating
Bad Unkl Sista
Fou Fou Ha!
MC Lady Finger of Sweet Snacks
Copper Lantern Fire Theater
Mark Growden Trio


and many more luminous beasties.

********************************************************

The Raygun Rocketship crew invites you to San Francisco's exclusive Bently Reserve Intergalactic Assembly Hall for The Galactic Gala, a fundraiser to support the construction of The Raygun Gothic Rocketship, a fully-functional neo-futuristic rocketship to be exhibited and launched from Black Rock City, NV at Burning Man 2009.

Galactic formal attire encouraged.

Costume contest!

The Galactic Gala

A Fundraiser for the Raygun Gothic Rocketship

Friday, June 5th

Bently Reserve

301 Battery St, San Francisco

8pm-2am

General Admission $20

Exclusive VIP Access to the Admiral's Chamber $50

www.raygungothicrocket.com

TALES FROM THE VAULT: The Crappuccino Incident

This diary entry dates back to early 2003, when I was still performing and recording in Jim Sclavunos' wonderfully warped music project, The Vanity Set. One of the perks of working with this luminary gentleman was scoring free tickets to see him perform with Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds. (Yes, Jim definitely has the raddest "day job" of anybody I know.)

I really wish I could listen to No More Shall We Part without the experience being sullied by recollections of their show at the Warfield last April. This poor girl standing right behind us collapsed and shat herself during (appropriately enough) "The Mercy Seat." There was a stampede, everybody gagging, shrieking and tracking crappuccino everywhere. Rock Med showed up and carted the poo lady away. One lucky Warfield aisle attendant was forced to come forward and clean up what he could with one of those little scoopy-handle thingummers. I felt soooo bad for him. Half the crowd must've offered to buy him a drink.

Meawhile, the Bad Seeds had no clue any of this was happening. During one of Cave's quieter, more tender piano ballads, I think a couple of them faintly heard the moaning and retching, but had no idea what was prompting it. The show went on. And on. And on. Three encores. (For fuck's sake, Jim took a triangle solo.)

Much later, having finally "caught wind" of the situation, Cave (exhausted from having just flown up from the LA session with Johnny Cash) folded himself into a tiny, angular ball on the green room couch and rubbed his temples while Mick Harvey fixed us groupies drink after drink, chortling "Well, now. I guess we really hit the brown note tonight, eh?"

I was smashed by that point, and behaving badly: "Thiiiis is the pooping song/the song in which we poooooop." Keyboardist Conway Savage tried to slap me, but he was even drunker than I was and couldn't quite manage it.

"And the Mercy Seat is waiting... and I think my ass is burning..."

"No More Shall We Fart...."

Sorry, I'm sorry. I'll stop now.

Ah, memories.

(Can't stop giggling.)