April 29, 2012: You might notice that the sun and desert imagery (or analogies) keep popping up in my songs. “Hate The Sun” (1999) bleeds into “Gift Of The Sun” (2011). How difficult would it be to avoid these if you lived in Los Angeles and make rhythmic trips to the High Desert? LA for me spawns uneasy poetics, a matrix of concrete sweat pockets and air-conditioned human cultures, spirits encamped upon fortified microclimates in their fragile neon tents. You can’t help but take it with you experience of the vast desert. You don’t belong there. While NY with its VU still holds the ground for me, the Easy Rider now meets the Blue Bus shifting gears, impulses, and speeds, making for an inevitable Motorik phenomenon. It’s about the lift-off without any giant buildings in the way. The cacti wave hello and the sands weep ecstatically, energy abounds.