--I don't know. I used to be a writer. I'm not any more. I quit so I could concentrate on becoming a musician. Well not just a musician, a Phlegmtone. And now I am dusting off my old career in the hopes of explaining what all has happened. My literary skills has become flabby and out of shape, my writing muscles have atrophied. (Take that last metaphor for instance). And so I apologize in advance. Maybe I'm not the best person to do this. I'm too close to the subject matter. Hell, I was part of it. Had I known that this is what I'd be writing, I would've taken better notes. I'm sorry there is not a lot of dialogue - I should've been writting it down. I could've tried to make this more of a work of fiction. Crafting scenes that never happened to illustrate points that were often, sadly, unsaid. More action and less reflection. Constructing insights into the others' characters. Crafting stories to explain the way they acted, when in fact most of the time I just don't know why they did it. I wish I had probed more. Journalistically. Asked them questions about their past. Found out how they were feeling. Who they were dating. What was going on with them. We never talked about this kind of stuff. Even then, it's impossible on paper to catch the truly unique and mezmorizing way in which some of these people spoke. The words they used were not nearly as important as the Crispin Golver-esque tones used to say them. Really, this isn't a good idea. I have tried valiantly, but inevitably failed to capture in words the excitement of the actual music created. One might think I'm mad for doing some of things I did for the band, unless they actually could HEAR the songs. ALL of them. Really, if this is published in any sort of book form, they should enclose a CD anthology of these songs. Then you'll know what I'm talking about. Really a book isn't the appropriate place for this. All the sights and sounds and voices I was unable through my clumsy fingers to portray. Really, this should be like a documentary. So you could see the actual footage of our first shows. Hear what we really sounded - and looked like. Although I would happily contribute, via interviews and such, I know that I'm not the one who should direct such a project. And I'm not just saying that due to my complete lack in the necessary expertise. The story here is a fascinating one, and it's unfortunate that you only get to hear my side of it. I tried to include anything that would add an air of objectivity - but the other players in this tale were not really the literary types. Or even particularly expressive. I would like to get in contact with all the pertinent figures in this tale, and have them contribute their own asides to the project, but it's unlikely that many (if any of them) would be inclined or to take the time to elaborate in any sort of written form. Really we should get someone like say Nikki - who has seen more than any other non-participant of the events I will attempt to describe for you.
--There are other reasons I wish it wasn't up to me to capture the Phlegmtone legacy. I don't want to come off as a whiner. Complaining about all the small slights done to me over the years. But I was never a very good writer, and I'm still new at this. I wish I could capture the sheer joy I expereinced playing over the years here on these pages. I don't know. Why would anyone want to read this anyway? We were never well-known, even for a garage band. We do have our fans, not many, but there are some. But how many of them would want to go into excrusiating detail of rise and fall . . . alright, straight horizontal line that is the career of the Phlegmtones? I doubt that any of them would. Without the music was our story worth telling? I think so, but who am I to judge? And how can I convince you otherwise? I don't know, but I will try. So bear with me. My grammar is awkward and obtrusive. My desciptions vague and ill-chosen. But I am doing my best.