Profile: Vital Cog’s Steve Stone (2003)

Staring at the Workings of The Gears: An Interview with Vital Cog Records Founder Steve Stone Originally published in Delusions of Adequacy July 13, 2003 Let’s cut through the static. Who are the voices worth listening to in indie rock? Well, push aside the soundbyte-spewing iconoclasts and the photogenic figureheads, the outspoken fanzine addicts and…

Profile: The Lesser Birds of Paradise (2004)

Originally published in Delusions of Adequacy Oct. 18, 2004 Mark Janka may have a gift for crafting frighteningly fragile acoustic lullabies, but, when it comes to spinning tales about his band’s enigmatic name, the tender-voiced frontman for Lesser Birds of Paradise admits he’s at a loss for words. “I thought I made up a lie…

Profile: Jack Endino (2006)

Originally published in Delusions of Adequacy Nov. 27, 2006 You know Jack Endino. If you consider yourself schooled in the noisy, garage-bred strains of indie-rock that made much of the 1980s and early ’90’s bearable, you’ve shaken a few speakers with Skin Yard. If you’re among those who hasn’t caught Endino’s work with Cryptkicker Five…

Profile: Carrie Yury (2006)

Originally published in Delusions of Adequacy If you consider yourself prolific or a jack of all trades, you’ve never met Carrie Yury. The California-based artist’s work is the definition of inter-disciplinary expression and feels unrivaled in underground circles. An MFA student at UC Irvine, she’s staged powerful photographic exhibits tackling subjects as seemingly disparate as…

Profile: Carrie Yury (2006)

Originally published in Linoleum Magazine June 2006 A shuffle of fragile guitars, understated percussion and somber pianos descend into a honey-voiced refrain of “You can’t break a heart into two halves/ and expect it to go on like before.” A disembodied woman is photographed scratching at a beautifully imperfect thigh, pubic hair exposed above the…

Profile: Vexed (2005)

It’s a strange place to feel inspired, you think to yourself, this noisy basement bedroom saturated with stale air and dead acoustics. The year is 1986. The month is a blur. You’re sitting in the heart of the Seattle home dubbed The Death House, a green-plated monster with a “Churches of Renton Welcome You” sign…