Bad ideas, with art by Joakim Drescher
by Joakim Drescher Paul used to say—like if I suggested going up to the G sharp and ending the song there—never returning to D— he’d crash the cymbal and cry, “Bad thinking— let’s try it!” One advantage of our band aligning itself with Dadaism was how experiments tended to stick around, fermenting into pearlescent, ginger liquor that could thrill or sicken audiences. My squeezebox case is closed these days, and my creative output picked into friendly, nit-free execution. It’s been years since I grabbed a trout and whacked it against piano keys in passions of Art. The cleaning staff hasn’t minded, it seems, the less explosive expression of my most dissonant, fishy notions.