The Silverites at the Sidebar! Thursday, May 2nd. with Braddock Station Garrison, Birth of Happiness and Matt Robison.

The Silverites at the Ottobar, May 14, 2012--"My Little Ballantine"

Old Experiments

Came across this today among some old files. I was attempting to learn After Effects and the boys were still young enough to agree to be in some footage. Lots of chubby cheeks that have since disappeared.

2010: The Year's Pictures

The entire photo library from 2010 for Mrs. Grumble, to the tune of "Hooky" by the Silverites.

Morning Blast #6

He ignored the Road Closed sign and swerved around the barrier. The rattling of stones against the bottom of the car and the acrid smell of creosote slapped him into attention. He stopped when he could go no further, when block concrete and exposed rebar would have mangled the underside of the Civic.

He could still hear the ripples of piano from Schumann’s “Adagio und Allegro” seeping out from the open door of the car as he walked across the patchy field of rye. The dog followed without suspicion, eager as ever just to accompany, to be along for the ride. He found a spot where the scrappy, kudzu-covered trees grew thicker and he sat, scratched her chin one last time and took the gun from his jacket pocket.

Watercolor - Morning Blast #6 by Gary Riggin

Morning Blast #5

Danny woke up from a Nyquil-induced nap and began singing a song he'd dreamt. Joanne McGraw, the girl he'd kissed when he was twelve, troubled his mind and he felt the lyrics shift into place:

She had eyes that burned like the blue flame on the stove
And a nose that twitched like a mouse
Her hair was the color of the paneling
In the basement of my parents' old house

And it gave me the chills when her tongue hit my teeth
And her hand touched the tip of my spine
I'm not sure whose gum ended up in her hair
But I think it was probably mine

The tune came out like a sea shanty and Danny rubbed his eyes to erase an image. Joanne as an adult, a mother with children, mangled in a car accident on 95. Or strung out, never married, no kids, having hooked for so long she was a worn out shell, survival instincts at a minimum.

He stood in the shower and let hot water beat a soft message into his head: A paralegal in White Plains, counting days until retirement and wishing she hadn't had the tuna melt for lunch.

Watercolor - Morning Blast #5 by Gary Riggin