In January, 1990, over breakfast, a half-an-hour before we had to go to work (L.A. Free Clinic & Women's Yellow Pages), Robyn looked at me with this gleamin in her eye and said, "Why don't we quit our jobs, sell everything we have, and go be musicians in Europe?" I took a bit of cereal, crunched a couple times, looked outside at a low-rider BOOM-CLACK-BA-BOOM-BOOM-CLACK-ing by, listened to the distant gunfire, and said, "Okay". Four months later we landed in Amsterdam with our guitars, backpacks, a lot of hope and energy, and not much money.
Now it's early 1997 and we're still travelling. We never stopped. We never went completely broke or completely nuts; we still like each other and we still like our lives; we don't know the future but we're never ever bored; we're rich because we do what we need to do and we're happy. All in all that ain't bad. How did we get from 1990 to 1997? And what exactly is a Bright Blue Gorilla? First the ape: We've both been in plenty of bands, Robyn and I: punk bands; avant garde noisy things; middle-of-the-road rock dinosaurs; poppy catchy candy bands; dark dirgy garage bands where it was more acceptable to slash your wrists and die on stage than to smile. All these groups we've been in have one thing in common: they all went sour. All the fun went out of them. Either they took themselves too seriously or the style was too limited or they were too trendy or they were too cool for their own good; each of them budded, flowered briefly, withered, and fell to earth. So. In walks a 1000-pound Bright Blue Gorilla. He grunts: "I do what I like, however I like, whenever I like. Or if I want, I just sit and do nothing." Who can argue with a 1000-pound gorilla?
This is our group philosophy, to make any kind of music in any way at any time we feel is right, or to not make music and just sit. Or go to India. Or sail around the world or whatever. In short: no limitations of style or coolness or posing or trends. We think it is a good philosophy and besides: who can argue with a 1000-pound gorilla? But how have we done it? Am I the son of a millionaire? Is Robyn, like, the daughter of, like, a world famous surfer dad who, like, made billions selling sun tan lotion with, like, his face on the label? Like, uh, no...
We sold everything we had and lived without a permanent apartment for seven years. We lived simply. We don't buy stuff unless it's edible or immediately useful. We (dig this, Father Flanagan) don't drink, smoke, or do drugs (that's, like, the balance part, like, you're like, balanced on a surfboard?). In short we live as simply and as focused on our goal as possible, that goal being: to travel the world as self-sufficient musicians, writing songs, recording, and performing. The funny thing is, it works. It works and no one is more amazed than we. I'll summarize the details (the Devil's in the details as well as the probability of boring the reader): booking phone calls; hours in the copy shop making promo kits; finding funding for recordings - or finding ways to record free; really-truly-16-hour-days much of the time; once in a while blissful travels with no work at all to do; practicing, practicing, practicing; writing, writing, writing; show your work, show your work, show your work; love rejection, love rejection, love rejection; trusting the Cosmic Friend to give you what you need (not necessarily what you want); thinking, concentrating, meditating (work smart...don't waste time and energy on dumb ideas); by all means follow sound business practices, and follow methods of caring for body mind, and soul which appeal to you. That's the details. That's what we do. That's Bright Blue Gorilla - or as much as I can get across with a pen right this minute. (By the way, this was written on a train, from gig to gig from Gent to Utrecht, while Robyn sat beside me and figured out booking phone costs for the past 4 months. There's no business like show business!)
