Not the Radisson, daddy-o

So it's that time of year again. Oh man.

THE 7th ANNUAL HIGH MAYHEM EMERGING ARTS FESTIVAL

Dan over at Soundslope swears it's totally cool to still say "stoked," so okay then, I'm stoked. There's been a certain amount of pissin' and moanin' around here lately, a certain perhaps overly Jeremiah-like ululation and wailing and renting of liner notes and gnashing of CDs. The annual advent of this uniquely extra-planetary, supernally and sempiternally wicked rad blast of searing sonic and visual adventure generally tends to restore my faith in...things.

I trek to The City of Holy Faith Tuesday, rehearse with Chris Jonas' Rrake ensemble, perform at midnight (just like a real crazy musician) on Friday, meet with the Mad Drummers for my "project," Traps, Saturday. The six of us get to our six drumsets at the magic hour of 6 PM on Sunday. There are so many xenophiles I'm looking forward to hearing and seeing at the fest as well as offstage.

Check out the unbelievable list of performers, among whom it is more than an honor and a privilege to be counted.

Anyone who reads this broadside and can get to Santa Fe for the weekend needs to go. Go, go, go. Go to the High Mayhem Emerging Arts Festival. Go. To the High Mayhem Emerging Arts Festival, go. Go.

If you live too far away or are infirm or do not, for some other reason, GO, print out the poster and put it up all over your town. It will, at least, confuse the no doubt already-addlepated citizenry.