Mexico DF

21,000,000 people …I don’t know one of them . Some people like to take a few days alone and get into the mountains or desert or some sort of nature and quietly commune with the natural world and themselves. I , on the other hand …like to go somewhere with millions of people ..where I’m not fluent in the language and have no clue as to exactly where I am …and sit and drink coffee and trip on the idea of there being so many people and so many stories that I will never have a direct connection to . It weirds me out and makes me sad ( In a good way ) …like flying over the lights of cities and towns and knowing you’ll never know that world or those people or … I sound like I’m fucking 16 and smoking bong hits of hash and listening to Glenn Frey (or Bon Iver ) cover Far Away or that Radiohead version of Dust in the Wind … I had a bitchin iPod when I was 16…

Roma Norte
A photo posted by @cosmosexschool1 on Jan 31, 2016 at 8:24am PST
I’m staying in Roma Norte off of Alvaro Obregon . If I was 25 or Jeff Crosby ..Id move here right now. Like many megalopolises this place is magnaoverthefuckingballselectric …and for all the crazy Mexican history and current thread of violence in the news and on Netflix the place smells like love and birth and opportunity ( and like most huge cities ..shit and death and sex and garbage and smog and …well here anyway pastor …long ass side bar 1901 .my grandma Hasibi was denied at Ellis island at twelve years old sent back to Lebanon alone …she eventually ,at 13 or 14 sailed to Veracruz ( where apparently she got Mexican citizenship ..and two years later crossed into the USA illegally, Making her not only a Arab refugee but a wet back… Blow me Ted Rubio Trump … They say Al Pastor came from the Lebanese shwarma/kabob spits …usually used for lamb and chicken ..the Mexicans said “why not a pig and a Lebanese woman said ..and some pineapple ?) and voila I’m claiming my grandma Hasibi Chehadi invented Al Pastor ) …good?

Our Lady the twinkling octopus

A photo posted by @cosmosexschool1 on Jan 31, 2016 at 9:44pm PST

Where was I ? Opportunity …as in fashion and film and music and art art art . And a huge under thirty population .. It’s insane how much output there is. I was talking to the beautiful gay American Apparel kid ( who gave me his number .sadly ….I think he wanted me to pretend he was his dad for a visa ) and the lad and I were looking at all the cities on the AA bag ..I had been to 2/3rds of them …he said “I’ve only been to the DF but I’m good …it’s the new center of the world ” and for Latin America it would seem to be the case ( tho I haven’t been to São Paulo) I think a la NYC ,you could spend a lifetime walking down side streets and never see it all or walk into galleries and never take all the good stuff in or eat all the incredible foods …that said …I’ve been keeping a very small geographical circle. .. Coffee – bikram – coffee – tacos .writing – nap – coffee -dinner – coffee -bed I get too overwhelmed trying to hit museums and markets and historical sites when I’m alone somewhere for only a couple days. I pick a hood and wander around until the locals call the cops on the creepy old man in the “Roll Todd” tshirt.

There’s a weird loneliness to this. Self-imposed to be sure. As many of you know I’m sober …it’s a very very short list of places that might actually be cooler sober ( Jordan -Provo ?) the DF is not on that list …this city was built to drink in and sitting at the bar nursing a club soda and lemon just makes you look like a narc or some sexual predator . I’ve have always maintained that given the last meal of my choice choose cabesa tacos ( preferably from taqueria El Trailor in El Suzal Baja Norte ) and a shot of El Tesoro silver and a ice ice cold Tecate .

Cabesa tacos at Taqueria Alvaro Obregon

A photo posted by @cosmosexschool1 on Jan 29, 2016 at 10:29pm PST

So not fucking drinking here blows. I’d tell you about all the lovely people I met at bikram ..but it’s bikram ..a bunch of type A personalities who don’t say hi..and in this case don’t speak English ..I must add the studio in Condesa is one of the coolest I’ve been to and I know its uncool for yoga people to talk about pretty girls..but Jesus Christ dude .

Sometimes my travelogue skills lack severely because I don’t give an informative insightful and foot noted over view of the sights and sounds ..luckily there’s lonely planet and Sean Penn …who by the by I thought his Rolling Stone article was great. I would do that shit in a minute …and when 60 min gave him shit about his motives ..he should have said ..because I can and you can’t and I’m Sean Penn .. ( besides being the greatest actor of his generation ) I think what he does is perfect why not leverage your clout and balls into doing things different. I get jealous as I would love to have the unlimited bank accounts to sit around and say “what’s next ?”

Preferably with my beautiful family ensconced safely near by . I wish I had the vision when I was younger to forgo the endless “I’m going to tour and tour and hope I get famous ” rabbit hole I spent decades going down ( for a marked lack of fame and money ) and had started with the idea of “let’s just do amazing edgy shit in places where there’s no consulate ” and sometimes to get a cup of coffee , alone at some DF hipster street window and watch just how fucking beautiful and amazing humanity is.

Communique From The Western Front…

Communique from the western front Dex and me driving over the pass into butte Montana Birdy Bardot and Van the man on the box waaaaaaaaaaaaavelength I’ll never let you down no no last night tonight in mizzou long run Reykjavik to MT totally fuckin torked spikers vampire elves hot on our heels and a nagging 30 year Deja Vu hydration packets sugar free red bull tums three seasons of Ray Donovan and hunt for fairy moose dresses Bath to Morgantown Roman baths to bootleg oxy baths charm city shakes and Harrisburg double questions and tales of mountains of questionable 80s blow and problematic chicks into maximum city a two and six year old at the Macy’s balloons parked outside museum of natural history into strawberry fields no more FAO Schwartz Manhattan never being the same for Xmas Mercury arciris gold lame’cello rock staring at the trump tower with a massive how the fuck did that happen face midnight sail under the Statue of Liberty while half of America froths rabid bat drool over horrors of new immigrants whilst Americans slaughter each other over faked abortion videos viva la France from people who always hated France maps from blue ribbon sushi to cake shop sadly misplaced in Kemplers dobb kit Alex and Lake in football field sized soho apartment eating caviar pie on a table thatcost more than my house after playtime in Tompkins Square park being a very different play time then when Tommy used to camp there nyc doesn’t give a fuck what you think in the red zone and frankly neither do I anymore I miss living there terribly tho taking the monkeys on a alphabet city tear makes wrangling post Mercury lex and Joey flu bandmembers look like a candy land on Seconal session Steve Earle down here below indeed into slc more ghosts and navy seals colonel kenny making me glad I didn’t really understand what I was in the middle of in Kabul probably the one time I can personally thank hellfire missile armed drones what does one get a drone for Xmas or Eid I should mention thr jackmormons constantly slaying the fuck out of it every night and walking into places like salt lake and wiping the slate Boise to Tride my body has decided high altitude sucks out soul and the wet sex lube tubes moving more molecules sound that makes good music good people play mandolins and washboards in high altitude because because God put the soul at sea level watch me lose a entire demographic of fleece wearing bluegrass wookies without who I wouldn’t have a job meeting mr frank right now for coffee at the rocker truck stop to discuss dex and my upcoming aus NZ tour details to follow Cambodia space project rockabilly jams I would like to be clear here we have received zero bags of Jessica’s waking days blend coffee and are indeed drinking rocker truck stop coffee this hurting deeply fluid having promised kilos in exchange for releasing the loaded gun heart for the rock for trump fest in barbedwire Idaho however bruised egos aside if you don’t already have Crosby’s waking days record you should be ashamed of yourself as its really fucking good even if you’re washed up old and bald being an excellent lead in to the past few nights of dickies chickens with a aside note to self don’t eat the Kampot cowboy chocolates Montana gun owners do not make my blood boil because frankly they are all tuff enough to kick your ass just fine without a assault rifle the Mossberg is for a 800 pound grizzly douchebag not some imaginary army of little brown people threating your trailer outside Montgomery weird memories of getting shot at in billings and the nasty wasted shit brad van story into Ennis and our lovely friends with stolen zambonies rumors of a summer return to Banditos this Montana run always being a gift of love and friends but it’s time to go the fuck home me and Dex out of stuff to talk about maybe time for Kampot chocolate after all working on details for upcoming Cuba Mexico Aus NZ shows oh and records coming out and Steve James teaching us how to actually play the old stuff hwa Sweetwater and four nights of NYE moving into Will Johnson on the box and the new Coldplay and you can blow me it sounds great for what it is and I’ll take it anyday over that songless jam grass bullshit you’ve been eating Mexican molly to tired and cranky and so so so ready to be home with kids and Xmas magic and yea I’m holding on to Virginia births the black wiseman and laying under the Xmas tree with my babies looking up thru the lights and crying cause life is beautiful and as far as I’m concerned there is a Santa Claus somebody has to keep me honest ok top hat load in and I don’t know the words to fairytale of ny so the punters will have to make do with half the lyrics to silent night into black peter the chocolate is kicking in or that’s the biggest fucking grizzly to wander into deer lodge since the winter of 66 time to fucking run born is the king of Israel kisses and candy canes. Jerry Joseph anaconda mt December 2015.

Blowback Blues

Greetings from Bathshireonavononstoketwikamchurchonwhistlebogmoorshireonkentshire. It’s the last day here in the UK with the Jmos…before heading back to the US and Morgantown, WV. Bath to Morgantown being just the type of routing we’ve been looking for for some time…

It’s been enlightening to say the least…I have been trying to break into the UK for a long time…breaking into pharmacies having been a much more successful venture in my life. Slowly however, we seem to be making headway. One fan at a time. We are hoping to sell out Royal Albert Hall some time in 2058 according to our numbers. One place the Jmos always get good is a series of small shows where we need to excel in front of small handfuls of people. And for me and the Steves, it puts “why the fuck are we doing this?” very much on the table…putting our dedication to playing the music we want to play as opposed to what’s recommended…at the forefront. It’s rewarding when people like it. I had a promoter tell me Brits couldn’t deal with anything over 3 min a song…and we pretty much blew that theory into the ole bog based on our survey of the 8 people who saw us over the last week. In Bath now…one of the jewels of British cities. My hope is to keep banging into this island until we get traction or deported. Thank you to everyone here that came out and were so beautiful and kind to us.

I had a blog full of witty and untrue anecdotes from this tour…then…

Paris happened

My politics and thoughts on many of the issues surrounding the current debates about villainy, Islam, American and EU complicity and reaction, religion and (as unfuckingfortunate as it is that it has to even come up) gun control…are out there ad nauseam and easy to access and I’m not sure I have a lot to add to the current conversations (not that anyone is looking at me to add anything)…

We were talking last Wednesday about the book Shantaram (one of my most loved books, and the sequel just came out) and I was saying how Leopold Café…the expat bar in Mumbai where a lot of the action takes place…was (because of its new found popularity in western and popular culture) targeted by Lashkar-e-Tayyiba during the attacks on the city. Leading to me saying that that kind of multi-pronged attack on popular culture was going to happen in western city soon…now, I’m no Nostradamus or Ron Paul…but two days later…

And here we are…brutal and horrific and on many levels, close to home. I have been to Beirut recently and have friends and family there (my grandmother was from the Bekaa valley) and the recent bombing there was massive…I think about our friend Thomas saying…when asked about how daily life goes on in a siege environment…”Look up, Jerry…it is a very big sky…if a missile or bullet hits you out of that sky…it’s simply your time.”

Death, hatred and fire raining down on you…it’s probably hard to take solace in those words. On a Friday night in the 11th arrondissement watching Eagles of Death Metal when some, never-been-laid angry fundamentalist teenager blows your girlfriend away in front of your face. Probably even harder…I would imagine.

The question here for me…

Is this war? Hollande says it’s war…Obama and Putin say it’s war…ISIS certainly says it’s war. So is it?
(here I go…) because if it’s war…then I think it’s a different type of grieving…and all the global atrocities and human carnage and misery of this war…need to be included in the grief. Collectively.

For a variety of reasons I find the carnage easier to understand in the context of war. 9/11 didn’t affect me as much as Newton, Conn. 9/11 was a act of war…the World Trade Center being a legitimate target.

Paris…Act of War?

Lining up 21 little children and executing them in front of each other…’cause your mom didn’t make you take your meds or call the cops about your guns…or your ability to acquire guns. I’m sorry…on a scale of one to ten for horror and terror…Paris being a 8. I’d put Newton at a 100.

I say this…because we have become so accustomed to having a “them” to seek revenge from in these acts of global brutality…and…though the same (unlaid angry young) man in Newton is identifiable…there’s no “them” there (except for us liberals who think the NRA should actually go to jail).

As an act of war…Paris joins a long litany of massacre…as an act of war….I’m not sure we can call it mass murder (though it absolutely is in my mind) without calling Iraq, Syria, Nigeria and on and on, scenes of mass murder…and clearly without calling the USA and Israel and Turkey and Saudi Arabia and on…just as guilty of mass murder on a grand scale. Look…it was fucking rock concert. I can connect with that. But as an act of war?! Get in line.

Isis – al Qaeda- Boko Haram – al Shabaab – the Taliban – these lunatics didn’t come out of a vacuum.
America takes out the Sunni leader who likes you and gasses your Shia neighbors…Shia take revenge…your children are playing in uranium dosed ordinance…your dad was in Abu Ghraib…and your mother was raped in front of a American M16. I gotta tell ya…blowback is all you are thinking about. Ask a teenager in the Gaza or the Baltimore projects…one big round of “make the motherfuckers pay”
And thus…as I write, French warplanes are raining vengeance on ISIS …and you know what I think?…fuck ‘em…fuck these fundamentalist 12th century ignorant mass fucking murderers. I am by no means a pacifist. However…somebody’s kid is going to survive watching his family die in a hail of hellfire missiles….and he’s going to come for us the same way we are coming at them…but instead of F-16s…he’s a got a backpack of C4 and submachine gun and last Friday’s rain of literal death metal…will attain “small blip” status.

Then there’s social media…I could write for the next two days…just commenting on comments.

My two favorites

“If only they had guns at the Eagles of Death Metal concert”
“let’s put all Syrians in their 20s in concentration camps”

This is on my feed…dude…enough said

One parting thought…if we could have stopped Syrian immigration for the outset, my grandfather Boulas wouldn’t have been able to get into America…never meeting my grandmother…never having my father…and thus…no Jerry Joseph. If I was one of these fucktards on my feed…I would be taking that little factoid to the bank.

There’s no God but God.
Jerry Joseph. Bath, UK.

New Blog

And here we go again… my friend and social media expert Alex is insisting on a blog schedule to rival high school English homework. Sadly… I never went to high school (well, there were versions but they involved polygraph tests) so this is daunting.

Apparently the kids/public would rather read a blog than buy a record… I’m not sure what this says about kids/fans (I’m pretty sure the only kids who are my fans are my children… and that’s over as soon as they can operate their own Spotify channel)… but in the spirit of teamwork and promotion I’m diving in again. As I’ve always said “there’s no ‘your blow’ in team”… arguably… this preempts songwriting… but… see above.

One thing I’m going to attempt is to not make these things so fucking long. If you are familiar with my music and 30minute two song records you’ll understand editing myself is difficult… and it involves discipline… Humility and discipline being attributes I have been told I lack.

Landed in Reykjavik.
It’s 10:30am in Reykjavik Iceland… the sun just came up (I think… it’s been pissing rain for days… actually a version of rain they call Elf Piss) Alex championed a new laptop for me specifically for this writing… but I couldn’t figure out how to get it out of the box so I’m writing in Notes on my phone. There is a huge music festival here called Icelandic Airwaves Festival. It’s pretty amazing… front loaded with a gazillion Icelandic bands (and there are indeed a gazillion) and some great international headliners. John Grant, Beach House, Sleaford Mods… I didn’t see any of it… I had a clutch of acoustic shows in bookstores and such. And I’ve been trying to absorb non-music Reykjavik. My friend Smári Tarfur took me out the first night. Smári was a metal guitar player (as are most Nordic teenage boys… well pretty much teenage boys everywhere, I’ve found) who became a Chris Whitley (my hero) protege… now he plays… I can’t make this up… under a waterfall. He records slide guitar and waterfall and sells thousands of records ( Smári took me out for his favorite Icelandic foods…

I have eaten whale before, Japanese canned whale blubber you used to buy in Mexico… But this was Minke whale steak. As my brother Michael says… when you have 50 words for ice… you eat whatever the fuck you can get your hands on… I am not down with the whale as a BBQ item… beyond environmental morals and such… it tastes like a Porterhouse wrapped in burlap and soaked in a lagoon for two days… and not in a good way (I don’t like eating turtle and iguana… anything that couldn’t commit to climbing out of the water or staying in the pool) if the whale wants to be featured prominently on Fox Bros menus… it needs to make up its mind… fish or cow? You can’t be both bro!!!

Whale meat steak
Whale Meat Steak
And then there’s the fermented shark… fermented in its own urine… now… I’ve been there… I get it… you get fucked up and wake up days later on the floor of some Danish chick’s boyfriend’s apartment… still… you’re not claiming to be lunch. My friend Cee Digs in Berlin calls this Litter Box Shark… anyways… now I’m hungry.

So it’s amazing here… boys in pink and orange hand knit sweaters with pointy shoes and fuzzy hats with yarn balls hanging off them singing in megadeath/elf (and these are the straight boys) with their frikken Viking princess goddess girlfriends who are busy transcribing Mogwai and Iggy Pop tunes to Valkyrie lute. The fucking sun doesn’t come up till ten dude… you need hobbies. Plus everyone’s related… I have a friend here, Brooks Hood (the go to guitar maker/fixer) he’s from Alabama… and he’s already related to half the country… there’s 320,000 people total… the chance of awkward tinder hookups is very real… so they have an app… to tell you if that cute pink sweater elf Viking boy is actually your mom’s cousin (and he probably is… different rules apply on frozen volcano islands). The music industry has a way of making any cool location seem stupid and trite… I live in Portland, OR… but this scene is thoughtful and proud and having a beard is actually a thing you need to live here (and a Viking goddess for a scarf).

We reached out to the festival three weeks out… and they immediately set me up in some offsite venues and put me in their app. The idea that an American festival would do that (think Bonnamountainsierrapickasquatch… being helpful… much less hiring me) is absurd. So… this is lovely tho my coffee just cost five bucks… Bon Iver Restacks is on… I have a day to kill sweater shopping before I fly to Edinburgh… I think I’ll go try the puffin… supposedly delicious soaked in seal yogurt and Arctic fox sperm… more soon.