Cecil X. Nixxon

Youth Under Attack

2011-03-03T14:29:00.001-08:00

It's been 45 years since Dr. Leary wrote the "Declaration of Evolution" and correctly identified the enemy of Youth and Mankind. It seems the enemy is back, and in force. Across the globe and certainly in the good ol' USA, young, well-educated folks are denied decent work with living wages and any semblance of benefits. They're constantly badgered by the mass media to make their contribution to society by buying products and being good consumers. They're constantly being pressured by politicians to lower their expectations and learn to accept a future with no safety nets or consumer protections. They're constantly being derided by religions as having inadequate faith in the traditional beliefs. They are told they're somehow not worthy of inheriting their rightful place in the world, and that their rightful places have all disappeared.

And just who's doing the badgering, pressuring and deriding? None other than the "White, menopausal mendacious men" Dr. Leary spoke of. Why, you'd think these old white men would have died out by now... after all, even Leary has kicked the bucket. In fact they have died out, but did a masterfu job of training their replacements - younger white menopausal mendacious men who now look every bit the same as the curmudgeonly greedy assholes of the 60's.

But the worm is turning. Just look at how the youth in the Middle East have rejected outright the religions, monarchies, government tyrannies and monopolistic games of their masters! It's on its way to the USA, too, if our greedy puppet-masters don't wake up and realize these kids have just the scissors to cut the puppet strings.

Young or old, I encourage you to read The Declaration of Evolution, The cycle can never be stopped unless we know the players and their parts. And The Declaration is turning out to be a prophetic commentary on this cycle.

Or we can simply turn our backs on our children and feign righteous superiority. And that would be the proper end to Humanity.

A Tyranny of the Minority Owns Your Universe

2011-01-18T05:05:00.000-08:00

Democrats in power: Republicans cry foul. Republicans in power: Democrats cry foul. Both parties have fallen into a pattern of "game-ism" that celebrates winning at all costs. To both parties' ideologies, it is unthinkable that the "other" should win. With the number of registered party members reaching an almost 50/50 split, it would seem that American voters should be satisfied that one or the other political philosophies will triumph at any given time. What a meaningless distraction;, and a fundamental lie of the democratic process!

Here's the truth of the matter. Combined, the rolls of both registered Repubicans and Democrats is less than 50% of the total population of eligible voters in the country. This means that at any given time, America's political system is being decided by the minority. How? The two dominant parties virtually control the electoral process and the candidates we have to choose from. And since they're locked in a battle-to-the-death feud for ideological supremacy, they're dragging the rest of us along in their insipid game. Don't believe me? Choose the political institution of your political favor and look at their statistics. Then look beyond and beneath their statistics where the real American majority exists.

Think of the venerable bell-shaped curve. On the left and right of the curve, around 25% fall off rapidly on either side. Moderates, independents, more-or-less rational Americans are in the center and the top of the curve. That's the sweet spot, my friends, and statistically represents the actual Will of the People.

So tell me again why we allow these two minorities to make a mockery of the governance process? Why are the statistically insignificant kooks on the left and right allowed to represent the will of the obvious majority? This sure doesn't sound like James Madison's concerns that the majority will somehow dominate the minority and disenfranchise them. It sounds and smells like tyranny to me.

Fully Exteriorized and On His Way

2010-12-15T09:39:00.000-08:00

My good friend of 40 years, Lace Haug, left the planet yesterday. He was at the end stages of a horribly painful and hopeless condition. He asked me to take him to the hospital for what he undoubtedly knew was the end. And he thanked me.

Lace was a hell of a musician, a great friend, and a seeker. He was never satisfied with mere scientific or religious explanations for why, and continuously studied and searched all paths available to him. In the end he achieved a peace he probably never saw during his life.

One of his last statements to me was that he was disappointed in the behavior of humanity, especially the Western world. He said, "I can't accept the rampant bald-face lying by those in power, who only want more power and wealth. It's gotten way out of hand. If this is the way the world is evolving, I would rather die now than see it get worse." He, like I, was disgusted with greed, bigotry and intolerance. These are sentiments that my children have recently echoed as they tell me they will not bring children into an evil world.

Perhaps this is a final lesson: The gentle and pacific people of the Earth must leave and let the dull-witted and evil to inherit this existence and accelerate its destruction.

Farewell, Lace. You're already missed. And farewell to the hope for the transformation and ascension of humanity. Still, some of us will maintain hope. I just can't see how.

Pitchforks, Hell! Grab your Ankles!

2010-12-09T14:28:00.000-08:00

This is a follow-up to my last posting about the greedy rich fleecing the citizens of the good ol' USA.

Perhaps you haven't heard the recent news; During the financial crisis of the last two years, the Federal Reserve made nine trillion dollars in profit from emergency loans made to the Wall Street too-big-to-fail entities like Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley, to name just two. See the CNN Money article.

Nine Trillion Dollars. Isn't that several times greater than the deficit and all projected shortfalls? Wouldn't that provide enough money to flow back to the neighborhood banks so Main Street folks and small businesses could obtain workable loans? It looks like this: $9,000,000,000,000,000. You'd think they would have run out of zeroes by now.

Yet, it's become painfully obvious that the Fed and its buddies are totally unwilling to move that money back into circulation. They're hoarding it as if it actually belonged to them and they earned it fair-and square. The audacity!

It's hard to march on the mansion with pitchforks and torches when you're bent over a barrel getting serviced up the kiester by some fat cat bastard you don't even know.

Grab Your Pitchforks

2010-09-23T03:05:00.000-07:00

Throughout this recession, the rich got much richer, while everyone else got considerably poorer. How could this happen? Rather than spouting off some arcane and flimsy economic theory, let me put the obvious in blunt terms:

The wealthy and powerful privatized their profits and socialized their losses.

What, you say? Think about it: Corporate profits went through the roof. CEOs and Wall Street execs took the money and ran. In other words, they privatized profits, primarily by removing them off the books and putting them into their own private holdings. And when it came time to pay back small investor losses, they got the U.S. government (read: U.S. taxpayers) to foot the bill. Socialism, pure and simple.

We got fucked, brothers and sisters. Next time, I want some say in how I get fucked. Or at least get a reach-around while I'm being reamed.

Intro Level Theremin

2008-03-28T08:55:00.000-07:00

Last week I popped for an introductory-level theremin. It came from Dan Burns, and is this model. Dan express-shipped it to me in time for the C3 March 2008 show. For under $100, I'm quite pleased. There are a few drawbacks: the scale is limited to about 1 foot from the antenna and it's pitch-only so a volume pedal is required. Still in all it worked well and totally fascinated the audience. I ran it thru an old digital delay rack and beefed it up with long, cascading echoes.

Gosh, if I had ten of these at the show, I could have sold every one of them for $200 cash on the barrel. At every break, the audience lined up to play the theremin. Musicians begged me for the URL to order one. Perhaps I can become a reseller and make enough money for a high-ticket theremin with MIDI. In the meantime, the theremin serves C3 well and is a sure-fire source of amusement for all!

Echoplex Hell

2008-03-27T10:09:00.000-07:00

Acme Guitar failed to solve the bad component problem. So, the Echoplex once again sits in the basement awaiting repair. One last time: I've found a repair source through referral on the ProsoundWeb site. The repair guy said, "I will fix you Echoplex, and you will love it when I'm done."

Meanwhile I've been given a cast-off Digitech digital delay rack, old but still pretty nice. Still, it will never compete with the 'plex.

Tell me why I'm pursuing this repair again???!@$

Where's That Confounded Echoplex

2007-03-23T20:33:00.000-07:00

Well, as it turns out the Echoplex has a bad solid state chip component, and they are particularly hard to find. So I wait, and I wait. I may have to snag a spare parts 'plex offa eBay to make this thing real.

I keep asking myself why I want that Echoplex but it's like a damned biological imperative and doesn't quite make sense.

Ole Time Echoplex Rig Revisited

2006-10-09T19:51:00.000-07:00

I hope it doesn't cost me a fortune to get this thing repaired!

The Echoplex went to a doctor a month ago. There are so many Echoplexes ahead of me, I think mine may die before it sees the surgeon. Getting really hard to find a local reputable 'plex fixer. But these guys are gonna do a really fine job. Really. Their name is ACME and if you've ever seen a Road Runner cartoon you don't need further clues. Hear that, ACME? Gonna do a Fine Job? Hell, yes - we never thought otherwise!

Then my amps and monitors break down. What is it with gear suddenly all going south simultaneously after 30 years of good use? Am I expecting too much of 1970s tech?

[Voice of Reason] "Cecil! There's nothing, not a sonic signature, not a special interface, not a unique redeeming quality in any of that old shit! It's all noisy and archaic. Get rid of it all and buy yourself some nice modern stuff and an Apple laptop."

[Voice of Principle] "Watch me use these lovelies, then we'll discuss it. Until then, blow me!"

Stay tuned on the Echoplex progress. "The way I see it, Harry, this should be a dynamite show."

God's Love is Universal

2006-06-27T16:04:00.000-07:00

Bullshit! God's love is selective and capricious. Just the other day I heard someone say, "God hates fags." Now I'm not the most religious kind of guy, but I've read The Book, AKA Book One, and it says right there that Jesus smoked Chesterfields. So how come his daddy don't like fags? Maybe a little between the cheek and gum, spit anywhere you want, it goes right down thru the clouds!

Up the Conspiracy!

2006-06-19T11:05:00.000-07:00

What a delight!

C3 arrived at the festival site on the Niangua River the evening of Thursday June 15. A massive campsite with kitchen and huge gateway was set, giving C3 a whole day to relax before the show.

Friday, Ben Miller performed just before we went on stage. Ya gotta check these guys out! Their "bass player" plays a single-stringed washtub bass (amplified, of course) and stands up against the best rock/jazz bass players I know. He created some techniques for playing that one-stringed behemoth, techniques I couldn't grasp by just watching. Their trombone/drummer/washboardist was so full of energy I thought his head was gonna pop off! You can find out more about these guys at:
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=28605261

C3 hit the stage promptly at 10PM with an extended lineup: two percussionists, baritone guitar and lead, sampled and found sound aural insertion, and when Doug from Ben Miller joined in, a two-horn section. Ninety six degrees at ten in the evening, sweat rolling down, Goon Wan's video visualizations swimming across the screen, and jams coming out of the aether. It was awesome.

Next day, we had the pleasure of hearing and meeting The Discordian Society from Virginia, a slappin', slammin' jammin' group who understood where the pocket was and how to get in and groove it. Great band. Check them out, too:
http://www.thediscordiansociety.com/

As is our habit, this raw performance will be posted to http://www.ceethree.us/ as soon as we can get it mixed down, probably in mid July.

I love patchouli, hugs, and women who aren't afraid to wear dresses and revel in their femininity. So, tell me again, why are all of the so-called conservative women looking butch and androgynous these days and wearing the large economy sized chips on their shoulders? Is this what Newt, Rush, and their Christian buddies really visualized for their women and their culture? A bad translation of the King James Bible? Or could it just be a sideways homage to Dick Cheney's daughter or Bush Sr's mother (er, wife)? That's a subject for another blog.

Hippie ladies. Love them. Love our new friends. Love the conspiracy. Conservative gals need not apply.

Peace Love Dope Sex AntiMusic

2006-04-21T06:41:00.000-07:00

...and a little patchouli-stinkin' young hippie chick, if'n I can handle it!

C3 will perform the Peace Conspiracy Festival in Eldridge, Missouri on June 16, 2006. This is the summer solstice show and will take place at the edge of the Niangua River, a spring-fed Ozark stream. And hippies. Lots of hippies. God love 'em!

So, where and what is Eldridge? North of Lebanon MO or south of Camdenton MO. Off the side of the side of the side road, down to the dirt road at the end of the road. Right there. Worth the trip, my friends! By the way, all of our Russian fans will be treated to a special dinner with C3 and a place in the inner circle campsite. Here are some travel estimates:

Moscow to Eldridge: 5,590 miles
Mars to Eldridge: 142 million miles
St. Louis to Eldridge: between 160 miles and 976 miles, depending on the route.

The C3 experience is getting deeper, weirder, the visuals are transcendental, and the results are fantastic! I opened up the root chakra the other day while listening to the V12 show from December '05. Blew an 'O' ring, crapped my drawers, swallowed my tongue and woke up with a crazy grin that just wouldn't go away. My dog just sat cowering in the corner, whimpering like he seen a damn ghost!

See you on the Niangua, June 16, 10PM. And wear patchouli.

The Nixxon Story in Five Installments -- FINAL

2006-01-25T11:19:00.000-08:00

ARTICLE 5: Hear No Evil, Think No Evil, See Rock City!

It should be clear now to the student of CyberNixxonetics that Isis, the self-replicating robotic serial killer whore, is still at large. Over a year passed in dogged pursuit of Nixxon's Evil Spawn before tiredness and nostalgia overcame his spirit. A brief respite in the Betty Ford Clinic was just what the Good Doctor ordered, and Nixxon is back to his old self again! Today Nixxon inhabits a chateau in the Southeast Missouri wilderness, alternately indulging himself in the solitude of the woods and jacking-in with his 'net buddies. He has help now; a team of Isis trackers is always on alert, combing the newspapers and wire services for clues as to her whereabouts, freeing the Doctor up for more pastoral pursuits.

Now and again he performs with the proto-Modernist jazz ensemble, The Uighurs (formerly The Swingin' Love Corpses), and the too-hip-for-even-hippies C3 Psychoto-Electro Arkestra on solstices and equinoxes. And though one might believe that The Uighurs or C3 group could someday claim ascendancy to the AntiMusic throne, they are threatened by a most insidious Pink pestilence. SubGenius (sic.) "loopers" have intruded on the once-sacred stages of Devivalists, displacing the DoktorBands with a cheap, shoddy faux AntiMusique. Cheaper than a real SubGenius Doktor band? Yes. Capable of strumming the heartstrings and notochords of the True Believers? Slack-Inducing? Entertaining? Clever? Even tolerable? One must wonder!

These latter-day PinkBoy so-called SubG-Jays apparently learned NOTHING from the Nixxon debacle and are epitomizing the very embodiment of Techno Geek SubVersion. We can but dream of the day when Isis has been subdued -- when Dr. Nixxon's demons are finally put to rest -- and the Kings of Swill once again seize their Rightful Righteous Throne of Mystery Jazz. Or could Isis' insatiable blood lust be somehow redirected to home in on the disgusting Sub-Dee-Jay sample-rot? Imagine the audience's surprise when some stuck-up pansy-assed geekoid "sound artist" fiddle-farting away at a pile of Japanese sampling keyboards gets eviscerated like a yearling pig and The Corpses triumphantly hit the stage, kicking entrails to and fro as they fire up the first strains of "This is our Best Song"!

We need them now, more than ever. If not for ourselves, for the distant generations to come.

THE END ?

The Nixxon Story in Five Installments -- Part 4

2006-01-25T09:35:00.000-08:00

Even the Ugliest Monkey Can Sire a Fair Haired Homonid!

The first year with the Corpses was the honeymoon! Geniuses to be sure, but a rag-tag enclave of free-spirited artistic rebels the likes of which the world had yet to see. Nixxon once remarked, "...getting them SubG DoktorBand boys focused is kinda like herding cats". So Cecil used technology, his trusty old tool, to bring the group to what could best be described as a kind of "...gelatinous cerebral goo, dripping with the sweet-and-sour of peach jello shots...", entertaining them all the while with his anecdotal forays and curious electronic gizmos. Nixxon taught them many things; he was in turn enlightened beyond his many years and wildest imaginations. Nixxon showed them:

how to make razorblades sing like a warbling sunday-school teacher
how to weave decorative doilies and useful items from the clippings of magnetic tape strewn across the cutting room floor
all about the Internet
how to teach computers to teach themselves to compose Anti-Music®
Swillpool techniques that defied gravity and quantum physics
...and a host of other diversions.

In turn, the Corpses showed Nixxon:

secrets of mail-order sacrament dissemination
where to find half-breed Yeti "groupies", and what to do with them once obtained
intense, almost-perverse assault jazz techniques that caused vertigo and blindness in the audience
'Frop synthesis using only bathroom chemicals and kitchen refuse
just exactly who the pipe-smoking stranger really was!

Soon it was time for the first gig. A hep cat promoter from Detroit (who just happened to be one of Philo's old school buddies) responded to one of the many mass-marketing tape mailings and was so taken aback by the suave new sounds that he arranged for what has now been relegated to the history books. Packing perhaps 4,000 screaming fanatical zombie followers into a dilapidated factory cum nightclub, The Swingin' Love Corpses jammed their ever-lovin' asses off in a display of fury and compassion, hour after maniacal hour until finally the Vice Squad and at least twenty-five paddy wagons shut down the show -- 11:30 AM the following Sunday morning. The Corpses had strutted their stuff for a solid fourteen-and-a-half hours, and still had two sets left to go! That was just the way it was; a perfect synergy of technological wizardry and creative esprit de corps. Soon the Swingin' Love Corpses accompanied by their newfound member were touring the world: Sri Lanka, Dobbstown Malaysia, Chelyabinsk, Ulan Bator -- places most normal people could not envision as a fertile environment for converts and zealous fandom! As the band grew more ubiquitous, their coffers swelled beyond their means of disposing their swill-gotten gains. Nixxon, inveterate gambler that he was, continuously squandered his portion on ever-increasing complexities of sound manipulation devices. Soon his deranged appetite for layered audio intricacies brooded and hatched the vehicle of his ultimate folly -- and the band's untimely demise.

From the days of League Indigo Nixxon was preoccupied with macabre juxtapositions of traditionalist concepts and bizarre sojourns into the Dadaist absurd. Having been ego-stoked to bloated proportion in Europe, Nixxon was convinced that too much is always better than not enough, particularly regarding sound production. And although the Corpses were wild and unpredictable they were not yet ready to drown in a sea of pure solidified energy wave manifestations. They valued their individuality just a little too much for that kind of self-sacrifice. But not Nixxon. Tormented by the thread of a concept, he doggedly pursued the Swillpool technique he and his bandmates had already refined to more-than-reasonable degrees of bad taste.

Nixxon developed a hair-brained idea: It might be possible to condense so much audio format into a given space and time that it would become more than mere Musique Concrete -- perhaps by taxing the quantum energy flux and forcing a man-made vortex inside a shell of pure audio energy consisting of a mathematical approximation of an all-frequencies white-noise simultaneously peaking at all points on a given spectrum, amplified by infinity-squared one could actually make soundwaves visible -- even solid. Nixxon dreamed of gooey, glowing substance oozing from the seams of the speaker cabinets, foul-smelling little pellets cascading from brass instruments, spherical and toroidal heavy metal alloys stacking up like cordwood around the drums. Ever-increasing rations of 'Frop didn't help Cecil's delusionment much, either. The only problem with the accellerated Swillpool approach was, IT WORKED! Having proven that his overuse of improvisational overindulgence was more than the product of a megalomaniacal butt-insky, he took it further and further. Rehearsals soon became little more than the opportunity for Nixxon to a) cover up everyone else's solos with intense swill, and b) show-and-tell for the nerd geek-boy crowd. Nixxon was so damned proud of himself and the samples of some 27 entirely new man-made elements generated in the passion throes of Swillpool devices that he completely forgot about the one thing that had saved him from loneliness and obscurity -- THE BAND!!!!!!

During a brief sabbatical escape from creativity, the members of the band fretted and commisserated. How would they tell Cecil it was time for him to go? He had given them so much, yet he had become an insufferable techno-turd. The very act of holding a clandestine band meeting without him was the sign there was no turning back. When, to everyone's surprise, Nixxon hailed them over one of the many "secret" encrypted communications channels there must have been much squirming and shifting of eyes to and fro. The serendipitous tragedy that unfolded was a paen and panacea revealing a path not seen. Isis had been spotted near Corpus Christi days earlier, only two miles from the last in a link of over fifty "johns" ritualistically slaughtered in a cult-classic stylized fashion. Nixxon apologized for wasting so much time on the Swillpool device; he deeply regretted squandering the last few months with the band; but now it was time for him to track Isis down and once again attempt to stop her gory bloodbath before more unwitting whore-mongers bought more than they could bargain for! He had to try, or be forever tormented by the tragic results of yet another of his Gilbert Chemistry Set Experiments Gone Bad. Isis must be stopped! Thus Nixxon and The Swingin' Love Corpses parted ways, and the saga of Isis closed a chapter on perhaps the finest hour in mankind's relentless search for beauty and originality.

Stay tuned for the final installment....

New Adventures in Sight and Sound

2006-01-25T09:34:00.000-08:00

The goddess smiles! Lookit them dimples!

Through a fortuitous chain of events, I've been privileged to be sucked down into a most amazing new rabbit-hole of musical adventure: The Convergence Conspiracy Collective Psychoto-Electro Arkestra.

In September '05 I was lucky enough to be invited as a guest artist to the C3 Vernal Equinox show on the big muddy, right smack dab along the Katy trail near Booneville, Missouri. Knowing only one of the many participants and having relatively no idea what would come of this I struck out all intrepid-like to the venue. Sooo surreal: a campground and river landing along the Missouri River, miles and miles from the nearest paved road. I met the members of the cast and plunged into the show. It was pure freeform improvisational music. Not even a tempo or a key, certainly not a chord structure, no head, no preconceived notions. Just rear back and jam! These guys certainly gave me abundant space to stretch out. In return I did my Boy Scout best not to abuse the space. All in all, it gelled beautifully. And I was asked to join the happy fools party.

C3 performs four times a year, on solstices and equinoxes. Each show is recorded, resulting in a CD release. The full cast includes not only musicians but visual artists, jokesters, dancers, visioneers and synaesthete pilots. But don't just take my word for all of this. Check out the C3 Web site:

http://www.ceethree.us/

and surf on in to the past shows... all posted in their raw splendor in MP3.

Psyche-fricking-delic! Hope to see you at the Spring Equinox show, wherever it may be. Stay tuned to the Web site.

Streaming 2 Much Floot

2005-08-01T14:30:00.000-07:00

Hey, the kind folks at Independent Artists Company have a pretty nice offering for indie glorps. For your listening edification, check out:

http://www.independentartistscompany.com/ and search on the word 'NIXXON'.

You can then stream two of the selections from the EP. Free streaming, immediate gratification, no postage necessary. Tell most of your friends.

The Nixxon Story in Five Installments -- Part 3

2005-07-02T08:45:00.000-07:00

ARTICLE 3: An Infinite Number of Monkeys, Given an Infinite Number of Instruments, Eventually Creates an Nth-Dimensional Quantity of Swill.

As is typical in the analysis of Dr. Nixxon's life, there exists yet another gap in our knowledge of his whereabouts from the demise of League Indigo until the late-1980's. Scant clues have surfaced, however, giving rise to what are perhaps only rumors.

For example, it is fairly well-known that Nixxon was a protege of Dennis Ritchie of Bell Labs fame. Tales from scientists (then mere college grad interns) at the phenomenal Bell System invention factory corroborate a singular event that took place during 1968. Presumably disgusted with his failure to partake in the previous year's Summer of Peace and Love, Nixxon accepted a position in the computer labs where he befriended Ritchie. Some say it was his desire to unravel the mysteries of Isis' autogenic self-replication and rapid evolution into an optical-gate-based neural net "brain" that led him to the labs; some say it was merely a convenient place to hide out. At any rate his friendship with Dennis took an historic turn. Late one night, while working with a frustratingly inadequate operating system called MULTICS, Ritchie threw a beer can at Dr. Nixxon who was reeling from too much LSD-laced No-Doz® pills, and said, "You, yah, You, Nix'... get yer psychedelic butt outta that funk and help me with these wires." To which Nixxon was said to reply, "...wow, uh, YouNix, YouNix, he he he, YouNix YouNix....", and of course the rest was history. To this day few people in the inner circle of systems development can claim knowledge of the arcana associated with the birth of perhaps the greatest non-acronym known to modern technology.

It didn't take long for such a great mind as Dr. Nixxon to become jaded and bored with the Labs and the offbeat O/S that now blazed a path of glory through the departmental beaurocratic maze in Jersey. Disgusted with the "weenie-weenies", Cecil set out to find his runaway experiment and disable her once and for all. History testifies this has not yet occurred. The trail of blood Isis has left along the Gulf Coast over the last decade proves such a rumor rings hollow. And Nixxon resigned his fellowship at the Labs.

It is believed that Dr. Nixxon met up with a secretive pipe-smoking individual locals say was made practically in the image of Ward Cleaver. They spent several years in the Adirondacks camping and telling stories. These series of Tall Tales Told by Giants Among Men still circulate amongst the grizzled oldsters Up East. Could it have been that Nixxon, knowing the connections this grinning comrade held with the supernatural, might have held the key to tracking down and finally pulling the plug on Isis? We may never know. One thing's for sure; a sketch found scrawled in charcoal on the wall of a weathered privvy near an old hunting camp clearly illustrates that Cecil and "The Smoker" were thick as thieves; comfortable with each other's company as a friendly old pair of slippers.

Nixxon re-emerged from the Adirondacks hairier and somehow far more youthful than his sixty-ish countenance should have betrayed. The experience must have rejuvenated him, for he immediately went to retireve the old trombone from storage and re-established his standing in the Musician's Union. Shortly after Nixxon had built up his mighty chops he established an experimental electronic music studio, locating it in a nondescript suburban hovel near St. Louis, Missouri. Cecil longed for musical companions -- musicians not unlike the League Indigo boys who were not afraid of foraying well outside of the boundaries of musicianship, convention, and good taste.

Then the unexpected miracle occurred. After receiving his divination at the hands of Reverend Stang in '87, Nixxon started receiving flyers spouting ostentatious brags about what could only be the answer to his dreams. Could it be, a real-life SubGenius band of fellow doctors? The Mavrides poster, his friend hanging by the neck, stratocaster unplugged and swaggering akimbo, and that name -- THAT NAME!

The Swingin' Love Corpses

Nixxon was immediately thrown headlong into psychotropic flashback reverie. But pulling his aura up off the floor and shaking it out vigorously, he resolved to meet these fellow Doctors. This he did indeed, on a warm summer evening in 1989. At the Little John's Pub, a seedy Northside St. Louis tavern, Dr. Nixxon met and befriended The Corpses. His mentor Stang did not steer him wrong! For several years this was to be one of the most productive eras in Nixxon's long and prodigious career.

Stay Tuned for Part Four....

The Nixxon Story in Five Installments -- Part 2

2005-06-22T07:15:00.000-07:00

ARTICLE 2: The Monkey with the Golden Collar has the Saltiest Nits for the Picking

In the gray, misty, nether-time of Dr. Nixxon's Lost Years few facts are known about the angst surrounding the Isis Debacle and the good Doctor's sublimation away from pure science and his eventual fortuitous foray into the origins of AntiMusic®. But this much is known:

Dr. Nixxon disappeared for over three years, a protracted wake mourning the death of his good friend "N.T." and the subsequent government theft of certain patent sketches on loan to "N.T."

Dr. Nixxon traded his last cache of laboratory-grade platinum for a nickel-plated Metzler Model "D" trombone and pocket change from Feinstein's Pawn and Loan in Cincinnati; the change quickly converted to canned beans, cigarettes, and other unspecified/unwholesome substance
Nixxon was asked to "sit in" on a jam session at the Blue Bottle by a man Nixxon's notes referred to only as "birdie". The mysterious "birdie" heard Nixxon's heart-wrenching trombone flourishes in the Cincinnati Municipal Park and was apparently captivated by its poignant beauty.
The fateful jam session launched a brief but productive career -- Nixxon and members of the Wednesday Night Jam Club from the Blue Bottle traveled extensively in Europe in the early years of the 1950's

The now-legendary jazz group League Indigo performed in cabarets and colleges across the landscape of Europe from 1952 through 1957. Those fortunate enough to share in the live music experience consistently reported a hypnotic reverie induced by the clash of standard jazz/swing idioms and the cacophonous, sometimes ferocious licks emanating from that old nickel-plated horn. Music reviewers were at first aghast, then captivated by the unbelievable scope of this new art form forged of sadness and mystery. One reviewer from the London Daily Bop described it as, "...Mystery Jazz, the colours of the rainbow infused with the flavourful madness of Absinthe...." Such accolades were not uncommon; and as The League gained notoriety in Europe the word spread like wildfire back in the States. Soon an entire generation of Beat Artists were swept up in the heady intoxicating freedom the iconoclastic League introduced.

An untimely automobile accident involving two members of the jazz combo and a herd of stray dairy goats several kilometers from Brussels brought the era of "The League" to a close in the sweltering summer of 1957. Though little recorded material remains to chronicle the combo, one recording has managed to survive. The German Label Katalog Globale released the compendium, Catatonic Nights: League in Motion, of which the haunting song Dark Mantissa stands out as perhaps Dr. Nixxon's defining work.

The world will well note and long remember that from the crucible of pain is often forged the implements of creativity; Dr. Nixxon's legacy lives on as the crown jewel of the Jazz Generation.

Stay Tuned for Part 3

The Nixxon Story in Five Installments -- Part 1

2005-04-05T21:02:00.000-07:00

ARTICLE 1: The Monkey is always Hairier on the Other Side of the Cage

It has been said that The Swingin' Love Corpses, seminal Acid Folk Huckabilly pranksters, have forged a legacy of improvisational wizardry and sheer creative vitality unparalleled in the history of modern popular musicology. Those who dare challenge the notion risk dashing their credibility, nay, their very intellectual rigor, against the rocky and tumultuous shoreline of the worldwide cultural acclaim these latter-day geniuses of aural manipulation have garnered.

But what can be said of these living legends may be more often the evidence of their omnipresent effect on the tapestry of humankind. By analyzing their followers and the myriad folkways spawned in the ecstatic throes of adulation and careless abandon they exhibit, one may but view a mere glimpse of the pervasive influence these artistic giants have had on the landscape of contemporary civilization.

It may be the childlike squeals of delight as mindless "Bobbies" swarm to their rusting yet colorful sticker-adorned urban assault vehicles as they prepare to head out on the open highways and byways in a Kerouacian pilgrimage to some far-flung SubGenius devival. The sounds of the Swingin' Love Corpses cry out like some lonely yet fond remembrance of a distant train whistle echoing in the wind, reminding us of the innocence of youth and better days gone by.

Or perhaps the low-frequency rumble of a single-stringed electric bass instrument throbbing like the thundering impact of the collosal loins of prehistoric beasts coupling in the dark and fetid cityscape, somewhere under an interstate overpass. Or the acrid smell of brewery waste by-products spewing into the night in a hulking edifice once home to long forgotten industry now converted to the sleaziest of juke-joint; joy-jumping, gyrating geeks and jezebels gimbal wildly under ethanol influence, often made more maddening and complex by the wafting odorless treachery of polychlorinated biphenyls illegally slurried down a clandestinely architected sump deep in the bowels of this corner-market of social depravity.

Or the smarmy, self-righteous attitudes of unwitting subjugates; government-within-a-government jack-booted thugs poring over the unintelligible layered noise tone-poems craftily inserted backward, even inside-out between the tracks of seemingly insignificant snippets of jam-sessions perhaps decades-old, now surfacing in the ocean of media -- uncannily finding their way into the firewalls and spam-snag-algorithm directories of the Conspiracy's ever-intruding "Homeland Security" computer systems where it they perform their magic by leading the dupes of chaos down the ever dwindling spiral of misinformation.

Thus even the least credible soundbyte garbage heap becomes the scion of hope spreading tentacles of influence into the composting rot of authority. Yes, even this is the herald's trumpet of the Heirs to Humanity. Dare it be denied?!

But how would Dr. Nixxon come to join up with this mythical band of gypsies? Where would this strange, yet destined alliance move the currents of emotion and shatter so many popular illusions? And how would such a seemingly perfect union be sundered by the foul unseen forces of NeeGhee?

STAY TUNED FOR ARTICLE TWO....

That Ol' Echoplex Rig

2004-09-21T19:34:00.000-07:00

Do I hear an echo?

Who said you can never go back again?
What if you never left?
What if the only thing standing between you and ecstatic release is a blown bias generator?

That was a heck of a road rig. I put it together in 1973. It held up until 1998. It's on the bench right now. Bad bias generator. I have an offer to overhaul it and install new tape for a great price, and I might just do that. This post might just prod my conscience bad enough to move me to action. Help me out, folks... this is sort of a survey. In a way.

The rig consisted of a Gibson Echoplex vintage 1970 I bought brand new from a music store for $100, and a Barcus-Berry flute system. The store specialized in school band instruments and couldn't sell it, so they had it seriously marked down. By a fortunate circumstance I was in the store shopping for a flute, trading up from a student Artley to a better student Gemeinhardt. The Echoplex got my noodle rolling, of course. I had experimented with the Conn acoustic pickup system in the past with trumpet and trombone. I knew I could use the same system by drilling out the head joint and installing the pickup fitting, but the pickups were so awkward. And I really didn't care to have yet another hardware mounting hole in an instrument.

The store happened to also have the Barcus-Berry system for flute in a little box down on the bottom shelf of the display case. The kind where the pickup replaces the head joint cork assembly, and drives to a preamp. Flute, pickup, Echoplex. I forked out all of my cash and took my goodies home.

Later I added a volume pedal which came in very handy. The outputs usually went into a small stage PA or a guitar amp stack. This rig served me well several nights a week for many years. I came to appreciate the "old school" analog echo as the years passed and really good digital time delays came around. Once control became all digital, real-time device changes became gawky compared to, say, moving a sliding bar or turning a potentiometer. Like comparing a MiniMoog (normalized knob noodling) with a DX7 (electronic calculator math). But that's not exactly a valid comparison. And I digress. But the best digital time delay is still not fun to play with. It's just a means to an end and not an extension into the tactile experience. That's where the ecstatic release thing happens.

Oh, the cascades of scales and trills overdriven to sustained echoes! The hard-edged quick slapback effect on brash solos. And the auto-accompaniments a la Chet Atkins. The flute just soared into space with a clean electric pickup and an Echoplex. I loved that rig. But it was not without a few rough edges. The Barcus-Berry preamp used a nine-volt transistor battery. If accidentally left on overnight, the battery was completely drained. That was a constant pain in the ass. The patch cord from the pickup to the preamp was a flimsy affair. It took a 1/16 sub-mini mono plug to a 1/4 standard mono plug. The sub-mini plug forced the gauge of the patch cord to be extremely small. Therefore flimsy. Well, you can't just walk into your neighborhood Radio Shack and get a sub-mini to quarter patch cord like that, and if you have to wire one up on a gig you better have high-quality low-heat soldering apparatus.

The preamp is blown now, and the Echoplex has as I mentioned a bad bias generator. But I could resurrect the rig. Coupla hundred bucks. Do you think there's still a place in the world today for that old time echo flute flava?

Jethro Who?!

2004-09-15T10:50:00.000-07:00

People often ask me, "you must really like Jethro Tull, don't you?" I guess they presume that anyone playing a flute in a rock context must actually be an Ian Anderson cover-boy. Now, don't get me wrong; I certainly appreciate what this progressive brit rock band has done to improve a flautist's chances of getting laid after a bar gig. But Anderson-emulation was never my goal -- just a means to an end. I always tolerated the terminally lame saloon customers screaming, "Locomotive Breath," knowing that the lead guitarist would soon suffer a similar level of degradation when it came time to request "Smoke on the Water" for the third time in a two hour span.

To say a jazz-rock flautist naturally draws upon Ian Anderson for inspiration is tantamount to saying all jazz-rock guitarists have a John Scofield fixation. If all you've ever known is vanilla, a neopolitan cone probably isn't the first thing that comes to mind. For me, Ian Anderson is a rich, creamy gourmet french vanilla with whole vanilla bean imported from Zanzibar.

Some background: Flute is a second-language. I picked it up after years of brass instrumental proficiency. It seemed like a good way to impose myself on four-piece ensembles. And it worked. But my role models didn't even play flute. First, I wanted to (eventually) trade blistering leads with the guitar. Jethro whatsisname didn't do this. Second, I could wrap my puny little prefrontal lobe around blues and freely improvise. Again Jethro presented a plethora of styles but the blues flute was somehow never exploited to its logical end.

And then I heard Don "Sugarcane" Harris. Wow! Who'd've thought you could play soulful, playful bee-bop and tasty blues on a violin? Soon thereafter I heard the SF seminal band, "It's a Beautiful Day" doing their tribute to Don Harris & Dewey Terry. But rocked up a bit. Double-wow! Suddenly I realized my goal was to play flute like that cat plays fiddle, and never mind what the neighbors say. He and Dewey had developed a synergy, and achieved what was eluding me. For Don & Dewey, the fluid ability to cross over into another instrument's domain and share its soul was for me the example I had been striving for.

Fast forward: As my flute proficiency increased I pissed of one lead guitarist after another. There can be only one lead guitar, you see. Unless that guitar is a flute. I can't count the number of times on all fingers and toes when a really great guitarist told me, "I love playing with you, you energize me, the combination of guitar and flute leads is fantastic," only to be fired from the band later that evening by the drummer (who was of course put up to it by the guitarist.)

Flash forward: It has taken over twenty years for me to learn to lay out and listen, and an equal number of years to present my style gradually rather than abruptly. It has saved many relationships with guitarists. And with all of that new-found silence, I can actually think ahead a bit and avoid the inevitable lead instrument contests. But make no mistake about it. The flute is my voice. And when the strongest voice in the choir is playing an electric instrument, I make my tubular acoustic axe coexist in the sharp-edged and aggressive atmosphere of guitardom.

Now, if I can only get my guitar playing friends to start thinking like a flute ;')

Rhythm for non-Rhythm Instruments

2004-05-13T13:24:00.000-07:00

In his response to the 2 Much Floot "attitude" description, Baba Ray Hey (rayhey.blogspot.com) gives good suggestions on how one can support a soloist in a freeform improvisational setting. His two salient recommendations: Play rhythm or lay out. Sometimes concepts as simple as this are easier said than done.

One way I've found to provide that "percussive" additive without becoming too imposing is the use of double- and triple-tongue embochoure techniques. Yes, I know, you formal woodwind or brass players will likely respond, "That's not what that technique is for - it should be used to add accuracy and velocity to melodic lines." Listen to the last minute of Phunky Floot. I'm working the obvious (tonic, 5ths) and using percussive double-tongue'ing to accent the beat laid down by bass and drums. In this mode, the technique produces a short, explosive staccatto that is quick enough in duration as to blend into the rhythm layer. Mere notes would hold too long... and the effect would no longer be percussive but would add a distracting counter-solo instrument and mush things up too much. You virtuosos may gloat over your superior technique but I'm willing to bet you would initially have a difficult time being a clave or cowbell with notes.

Lay out. WTF?! Who, moi? Yep, friends, here is the really hard part. How can you avoid flowing right back into the frenzy, especially if things are turning into a free-for-all? Besides, you're the best there is, God's gift to [your instrument goes here]. Yup. Freakin' note-packers. Two things you need here are self-confidence and distraction. The more comfortable I become with my ensemble-mates the more relaxed I become - and that restless ego settles down and quits vying for attention. As Todd recently said, "just get over yourself." Or distract yourself. Go into a listener mode. Don't worry that you're gonna miss that golden insert point. Mix up a martini. The shaker can be used as a brief maraca effect anyway. If you really have something musical to say, don't whore it in everyone's face - make the audience wait for that statement - they'll savor the tasty brief bursts of enlightenment far more than sitting through a well-executed yet tedious bible-thumping sermon anyway.

2 Much Floot

2004-05-11T10:28:00.000-07:00

an Extended Play project by Cecil X. Nixxon

In an attempt to capture the essence of Nixxon's style and improvisational strategy, the EP 2 Much Floot moves into limited test marketing mode June, 2004. The EP will be distributed on a per request basis to Nixxon fans.

Nixxon's style has been attributed to at least the following personality traits:

Incessant noodling around on the flute before, during and after anything

Over-enthusiastic attitude bordering on ebullience

Inappropriate pre-adolescent behavior unbecoming of a fifty-something

Thoughtless disregard for the solos of others, particularly guitarists

2 Much Floot leverages these attributes and showcases the multi-instrumentalist's most disruptive behavior as it emerges straight from the head-joint. As Cecil Nixxon is so very fond of saying, "Just let 'em try to get a coupla notes in edgewise and see where that gets 'em!"

2 Much Floot features the legendary Nixxon, along with a cavalcade of all-stars including Ray Hey, Mojo "Skippy" Butcher, Tex Einstein, Reid Ganz - and a very special guest appearance by none other than Dr. Philo Drummond. Also included in the project but not specifically assigned to a musical instrument or idiom is Zero "Zip" Zelch of the seminal Pop-a-billy band, Mr. Resistor and his Mystery Sister.

Titles include:

Blow it Out Ya Head Joint

Three Blind Mice

'Frop Martini

Phunky Floot

Sax, Dregs 'n Rock 'n' Rye

To be considered for inclusion in the test market sample and receive your own very special limited version of the EP, 2 Much Floot, e-mail your request along with surface mail address to: 2 Much Floot Test Market Fulfillment . Be sure to specify who you are and why you think you qualify as a fan.

You'll regret you did!