MySpace a place for friends

I moved to Burlington, Vermont after leaving California and disillusioned with my Institution I dropped out of school.  My only possessions at the time consisted of a suitcase filled with books, clothes and records, an electric guitar and a bag filled with scattered writings.  Lyric poetry which would turn into songs.  I formed The Vacant Lots in the summer of 2008 after meeting Brian who was then 15 & absolutely mesmeric on the drums.  It was his powerful singular drumming style and my fascination with Native American drumming that led us to experiment with standing up the drums to play them.  This gave us a deeper, heavier sound more akin to the heart-beat rhythm I was looking for that inspired the backbeat on the first 2 Vacant Lots albums.  As for the electric guitar tone I wanted to express something deeper and darker so I turned to the raga & drone (sitar, tanpura and tabla) to provide the necessary inspiration, and of course, Chuck Berry.  The duality was set in place. 

                                                                                                                 Jared Artaud

THE NEXT WAVE MUST COME

they had lived by night  after the Flood  after the Wilderness…before they learned to weep…a rhythm generates coagulating into prose. 
hands abused by work. minds abused by Time.  deep memories are cast from the terrible shore. less black the dark of night than the eyes of Fate...  the hour of my sad twilight has come.  the immense weight of time...situated on the screen.  close-up.  black & white.  fades.... exiled from love. the scale of things.  the existence of Death was a primary source of religion.  internal equilibrium.  dead upon the seashore. thrown into existence. the meaning of the word. Genealogy to be created & recreated endlessly. reinvented if necessary. Salvation an end in which there was no means save Art.  man awaits daily pardon.  man's eternal dwelling place lies in his deceit.  the oracle has come in endless streams of vomit...filled w / a sensation of grief & Boredom…far removed & distant like a planet detached & disillusioned like the night unable to discern the melancholy which penetrates the heart. the Spirit moved...endless cattle w / faces worn. the need for survival. death instinct. the senses dull useless.  the herd need somebody to follow.  remember we bathed ourselves (in moonlight) remember we closed our eyes (at dawn).  seamless curtains torn & laced in moonlight at dawn. we end up sleeping next to bodies we will never really know. despite the nights alone & the days on fire the end of superstitions...Uncertainty is just a way of being inefficient.  what if edgar poe wrote a rock n roll song.  Aeolian procession in midnight flight a feeling you can hear. there is always something new in the development towards an undetermined end.  I want to reenter life.  out of the tomb & into the womb.  (or is it the other way around?) 8 times the vowel O appears.  Listen…we have arrested our senses. we have enslaved our attention. will we never find ourselves again?  we must reassume our dreams in the infinite night where life is no longer continually lacerated.  extend the voice.  liberation is the key.  the hour has come. the broken universe has draped over us the new dawn. no longer a tomb for a bed. extend the voice.  there may be no other passage thru time...

CLICK SLOWLY AND SEE