Moist is five musicians, cloaked in an air of uncertainty, a healthy dose of
self doubt, several thousand pounds of gear and flashing lights, a large supply
of antidepressants, two cases of neo citron, and a disembodied voice with a
British accent that never seems to tire of berating the mounds of technology
that surround it with the kind of vigor and righteous anger that would make
even the meanest boot camp drill sergeant on earth sink to his knees in slack
jawed awe, take notes and weep in shame, all packed into a small, dark,
airless room chewing their collective nails, second guessing anyone foolish
enough to have a dissenting opinion, and playing a seemingly endless game of
"I'll show you my inner demons and hapless self loathing if you'll show me
yours", while summer in all its rich sun dappled pageantry passes us by with
nary a glance or a spare beam of sunlight to cast into the pit we've gladly
dug for ourselves.
Mind you were not complaining were just shaking off the dust and frustration
that's accumulated over the past 12 months while we've been hiding in various
darkened rooms writing new material, throwing it away, reworking it, throwing
it away, taking isolated bits and pieces from six or seven song ideas and
frankensteining them together in an ill advised and hideous mockery of a song,
listening, staring at each other vacantly, throwing it all away, etc.....
As to where we've been, what we've been doing why you haven't heard from us
and what it all means, well...
Moist put a symbolic end to three years of touring in September of 95 after
the whole labour day in tuktoyaktuk with Metallica and Hole thing and have
spent the majority of this past year (with the exception of several mini
tours/transparent money grabs) in quiet contemplation peppered liberally with
the odd blind, mind shriveling bender which leaves us asking the age old
musical question "what am I doing waking up in the ym/ywca at nine am wearing
a fur lined mumu and where did I get this tremendous hole in my head". In
mid-September and for the first time in three years the band rented apartments
in Vancouver as vain attempt to rediscover their personal lives. For some of
us this required...adjustment.
After two weeks of grotty linen and sudsless showers it occured to us that
fresh soap and towels no longer appear magically each day along side our
morning paper, and BCtel operators take a decidedly dim view of people who
call repeatedly in an attempt to order room service and set multiple wake up
We did settle in eventually, much to the relief of my downstairs neighbours
who seem to have grown a wee bit tired of me showing up in thier kitchen at
8:30 every morning petulantly demanding immediate access to the breakfast
buffet and ranting incoherently about the value of quality service.
Having little patience or liking for stability, joy, peace, quiet, good
living, and regular hours, Moist decided (in mid bender naturally) that late
December would be the perfect time to relocate to Montreal, slog through
three feet of snow in sub-zero weather, desparately looking for new apartments
and exploring the time that lies between two and four a.m. more thoroughly.
Challenged and inspired by the possibilities presented by a new city, new
language, a civilized 3a.m. last call, and triple fermented beer (gleefully
endorsed by the devil himself) we threw ourselves into final writing and
preproduction for our second album. Five obsessive, fun filled months later
we began recording with producer Paul Northfield at Le Studio Morin Heights
and Silent Sound in Montreal.
And so they recorded...
Our second album, CREATURE, is the product of this union and several months
of pain staking soul searching shot through with a quantity of self obsession
so great that we felt it necessary to share it equally with our producer, our
record company, our families, our friends and any poor unsuspecting soul who
stopped us on the street to ask when the new album was coming out. It involved
the renting of many typically unpredictable bits of technology and the
creation of five sets of several thousand constantly changing and thoroughly
meaningless lists compiled as a result of hours of redundant life sucking and
rarely accurate speculation. and will be yours to experience, sans pain and
suffering October 1st, 1996.
Actually it wasn't all that bad. It just took a little longer to record than
our first album so there is no need to send flowers and get well cards just
However, this puts us in mind of an interesting point. Jeff. Jeff is not
sick. Jeff is well. He had the flu. In early 95. It lasted a week and a half.
It's gone now. CUT THE SYMPATHY. Thanks for your concern, but enough already.
He's beginning to get all frail and paranoid about being sickly and that
bothers the rest of us... Immensely - unless its our doing... and besides, why
should Jeff get all the pity and all the get well cards, just for being the
biological equivalent of a four star hotel for pestilence. What does David
get when he's sick? A couple of good swift boots to the spleen from a giddy
and vindictive guitar player. And Kevin? How about the usual "your not sick,
you're faking!! stop resting! entertain me!". And Paul? Well... Paul gets
even. Incidentally, Mark doesn't get sick. He is so impossibly slow that any
passing virus that comes within sneezing distance of him is immediately
stricken by an overwhelming fear of commitment and buggers off in search of
someone with a faster metabolism.
And while we are here...in response to a recent letter from a writer who
expressed disappointment that we didn't respond personally to a thirty page
"I love you, I hate you, I hate to love you, here's a list of everyone I
would like to kill and why and by the way shouldn't you guys be taking more
time out from writing, touring, and recording to develop a truly intimate
relationship with some of your more unbalanced fans?"
...Hello...I'm sorry...I'd just love to sit down and pore over your grisly
obsessions one by one...By all means. Lets do lunch, tea and crumpets...Let's
hold hands and skip through a landscape of bitterness and frustration with big
happy smiles, inwardly sneering at other passers by...And maybe later we can
escape into the late showing of "Free Willy 3-My Dinner with Ahab" before
sinking back into the malignancy and torture of modern urban life. Uh huh,
right. I'd rather spend some quality time with the voices screaming in my
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