Dave walked closer to me, his dark eyes combing my every move. "Do you always hold your guitar like that?"
I dropped my pick. "Do you always shop at Hot Topic?

I have a dream.
And in this dream I’m under the covers in bed, just a few scant inches away from Carter’s body. I stare at his prone form lying next to me, the greenish-blue glow from the alarm clock on the bedside table providing just enough illumination for me to see the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The sheet is draped low over his hips as he sleeps peacefully with one arm flung over his eyes and the other resting on his taut, naked stomach. I slide my body ever so slowly across the bed, careful not to disturb him, until I’m so close I can feel the heat from his skin warming me from head to toe. I pull my arms out from under the sheet and my hands reach out towards him. I connect with his smooth, muscular chest, slide my fingers up his body, and…choke the ever living shit out of him.

I’m forever near a stereo saying, ‘What the fuck is this garbage?’ And the answer is always the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

It is music developing on its own terms. It's the 'music now' concept - what are musicians doing now as opposed to a string quartet playing Brahms. It's music that's delicate and justifies presentation in a special format. That's why we wanted a creative space to justify it.

Since music has never had a Rembrandt, we have remained nothing more than musicians.

If musicians don't do any music, then there isn't any music. Musicians are very tricky and can be quite elusive.