This cassette has 2 unreleased demos for the upcoming Abronia record called called “Shapes Unravel” which is set to come out. 02/20/2026. They were recorded at Red Lantern Studio down on Russell Street in Portland, OR. Band members are Robert Grubaugh playing the big drum, Danny Metcalfe on bass, Rick Pedrosa on pedal steel & percussion, James Shaver playing guitar, Keelin Mayer playing saxophone singing. And I play guitar and sing backup vocals.

We needed a poster for a show when we were playing at Turn, Turn, Turn, and I asked my mom if she wanted to do one. I don't know if I even told her or she just came up with a lizard on her own. I don't remember. Watercolor and ink on cardstock. 03/05/2022. Abronia, Zebra & Idaho Joe Wilson at Turn Turn Turn in Portland, OR.

I made this piece during a time when i was touring a lot with Ghost To Falco around 2010. It began as packaging for a limited-run CDR that I sold on tour, and I kept going with the art after the discs sold out. The cardstock probably came from my mom’s house in North Carolina. I’m pretty sure it’s acrylic paint. Instead of brushes, I would pour a lot of paint onto the bottom of a metal pot or sheet metal, press it onto the cardstock, then lift it so the paint pulls into little veins. After it dries, I add another color. The method has grown more involved, and I’ve made larger works since, but this was the genesis of the process. I’d rather not say what I see in it—I like to leave it open to interpretation.

Thos cassette holds two unreleased versions of a song called Softer and Slow. I wrote it walking between my house and the bar over a few nights; that weird part came after the bar. It’s got the Grateful Dead Festival part as the bridge. I’d kicked it around for years and finally recorded it at Scenic Burrows in October 2025 with Cory Gray, with Dan Galucki on drums and Sunny Galucki on boxing gloves and background talkery. The tape cover shows a salmon I caught while fishing with Cory.

This is another alternate cover for the Sportfishing USA record “So Long”And this photo is this is me standing looking out on the Pacific Ocean. This is on the trip when I first moved to Seattle in 2015. And it was just a beautiful spot somewhere in Northern California or Southern Oregon, I think. I can't remember where exactly it is. Midwestern boy sees the ocean for the first time. That is the first time I saw the ocean. And Sport Fishing USA was a band with my brother younger brother, Brendon, and our friend David Byrne, a power trio. We played in Ohio for years, and it was my first band where I played songs that I had written, and this is thr last record that we put out. “So Long”

This is a digital print of a photograph I took in Northern California. It’s from the same photo series I used for the Sport Fishing USA “So Long” album cover. I had originally planned to paint the lettering onto an album-sized blow-up and use that as the cover, but I abandoned the idea; I still have those drafts. The paint on the print is acrylic. I don’t know the exact location in Northern California where it was taken.

On this cassette is an unreleased track that was recorded after I got back from a tour playing a lot of country rock stuff. I basically wanted to do my take on Henry Flynt's "Lonesome Train Dreams" with some Joe Meek style producing. Since my full name is Enrique, I decided to call it "I am Henry too" as a homage to Henry Flynt.

This is a mask made from various things, including some old rulers from Fred Meyer and finger joints from a box for the teeth. The eyes are just old fir with some staples in them, some random pieces of hardware, the nose and jaw are bone. Got some decorative hinges. The background wood is oak. I believe that oak came from the Stoller winery. And it is from a tree that was fell there. I either made it earlier this year or late last year. I can't remember. So late twenty twenty four or early twenty twenty five. And who is this person? Oh, man. Whoever you want it to be. You know? It's like, I don't know, man. Is he sizing you up? Is he really? I feel like he's kind of sad, but, also, maybe has stuff to make him appear more intimidating.

This painting is the cover for my solo record Too Heart, Too Earth, coming out on November 2. It’s a painting I worked on over 2025 for the FarSound project. The surface is, I believe, an old cabinet door from a good old house I picked up, with stained plywood serving as the background. The medium is acrylic paint—just plain acrylic paint. I painted the entire piece myself, truly all by myself.

I thought a circuit board would be the coolest thing for an album cover, just because a circuit board itself looks cool. At the same time we were building all these different synthesizers to bring on tour. As we were developing them and they were getting crazier, I realized I could match those ideas: we could develop a synthesizer similar to what we’d take on tour and make it so you could build it at home as the album cover—you’d have your own synthesizer. Once we realized that, we said, “Okay, let’s do this.” We were about halfway through recording, and we decided we had to put that synthesizer on every song on the record. So we scrambled to get prototypes built in time to record it on every track. The ‘Synthesizer’ album is a complete idea, and in the Grammy mix for Best Recording Package and Best Alternative Music Album.

This is the supersonic fuzz gun schematic, hand-drawn by me. Unfortunately, there's no date on it. It includes all the markings and was even used as print filler paper, which we used to clean out the silk screens. We always hand-drew these from what we were putting in solderless breadboards, arranging all the parts. This was my language to describe the parts using rectangles and squares, helping us build these things. It was all wired together on small perf boards, with wires connecting all the parts, assembled by referencing this drawing. Everyone constantly referred to it as the guide for building. It was insane to think about, and you could see changes or clarifications made to the parts. This provides insight into the beginnings of Death by Audio.

This is one of the earlier Death by Audio pedals I made. It combines a brass master clone with a boost drive circuit. I built it while working at a toy design place, using metal boxes from fake chemical kits they sold. This pedal is unique, sometimes glitching out, but the sound is incredible. It has sharp edges and a bit of craziness, showcasing the madness wired into it. The sound is unparalleled, and the ability to switch the octave and change the tone is fantastic.

This Blueberry Pie Candle was used in the film HERETIC, which I co-directed/co-wrote/co-produced for A24. This candle was featured on screen in a pivotal scene with actors Hugh Grant, Sophie Thatcher, and Chloe East. Multiple candles were produced, and new ones were used each time the scene was reset. The Blueberry Pie candle played an important part in the film - without giving away spoilers, the candle recontextualizes the safety of the situation that Chloe & Sophie's characters find themselves in. A24 loved the candle so much, that it became a major part of the marketing for the film, being featured on the teaser poster, trailers, television spots, and it even became an item re-produced and sold in the official A24 store.

This is the desk chair used by Hugh Grant's character (Mr. Reed) in HERETIC, a film I co-directed/co-wrote/co-produced for A24. Our art department sourced this chair somewhere in the greater Vancouver region where we filmed, and it was used throughout principle photography on the sound stages at Golden Ears Studios in Pitt Meadows, British Columbia. The chair was featured in the scenes that took place in Mr. Reed's library. Hugh had several pages of dialogue he had to deliver while sitting in this chair. After the shoot wrapped, the chair was transported via a semi-truck to our storage unit in Iowa.

This is a 35mm film reel from HERETIC, a film I co-directed/co-wrote/co-produced for A24. While the film was shot on a digital format by cinematographer Chung-hoon Chung (DP of Oldboy), my filmmaking partner (Bryan Woods) and I wanted to make a 35mm print that could be screened at various venues, including the Vista Theater in Los Feliz and the Music Box in Chicago. We were concerned that some of the colors would have a difficult time translating to 35mm film, so a test print was made of the last section of the movie, which is what this item is. This film print accumulated some scratches during production, but it was shipped to us in Iowa where we ran it through a 35mm projector at The Last Picture House, the theater that Bryan and I co-own in Davenport and made sure the colors were satisfactory. Please note this is only Reel 6 of the movie, which is about a 20 minute section of the end of the film. We chose this section of the film to test as it contains the darkest and brightest sections of the movie.

This once-unrecorded song is now captured for the first time, recorded with Cory Gray at Scenic Burrows in September 2025. Cory also plays trumpet through my pedalboard. It’s about a number of things: the creative process and life in general, how I get to the unknown places I want to go and what it takes to arrive there. Sometimes that’s alcohol—often—that’s part of it, part of what this thing’s about.

This is an original ink drawing on plywood I made for the liner notes of my 2020 album 'To Build Afire'. I recorded part of it here in Portland with some friends in a basement and part of it at Mr. Pink Studio in Bastrop, Texas. It was used inside there; that's all I need to say about it.

This painting is called Bigfoot's Chores. I could say a million things about it. I think it's funny; I like the idea of seeing Bigfoot in this really domestic sorta situation. There's something I identify with—you know, internally feeling like a wild animal, but then being trapped in this landscape of chores and really bizarre sort of society we've created. I’ll leave what the chores are to the viewer; I see it multiple different ways myself. Very common daily chores come to mind: taking out the trash, carrying some water, all the things tied to the system we live in, even though we like to think Bigfoot doesn't, that he's the only free one. The piece is a mix: acrylic and house paint with a cedar frame.

This song's about a barfly, and I like to think of him as an alcoholic amnesiac where every morning he wakes up, and he's like, “oh, dude. I feel terrible” But then he drives by the bar, and he's like, “what's that spot? I wanna go check that out” He's sort of a helpless sour man. It's about this bar in Oregon City, nearby where I live called Rodder's that’s just is a place where dreams go to die. And this recording was done at Scenic Burrows in a couple hours in September 2025, recorded by Cory Gray, a kind of one instrument at a time in rapid succession type thing. Just quick fire and then dumped to this cappuccino swirl colored tape cassette, and this is where you can hear this unique recording.

This is a 1of1 lacquer cut of a song I was commissioned to write for a fundraising campaign in 02/2012. This guy Jason hired me to write it so he could us it to break up with his then-girlfriend Joanna. I recorded it alone at my house on Gantenbein in North Portland: a couple vocal tracks, two guitar lines, a bit of bass, and hand percussion. It’s a mellow, meandering minor-key tune—little sad, little pretty. Adam at Telegraph Mastering cut it while I watched, ran it through his machine, and handed me the record.

This is a song I wrote for my grandma. I grew up in Sacramento, California on a cattle ranch, and this tune is a kind of celebration of springtime—those crisp mornings moving cattle and branding back in the nineties when we did those things, afternoons at fishing ponds, being a kid in a beautiful place—and how my grandma was there for every bit of it and still is. She liked the song a lot; she was a good audience. I played it for her in her living room, and she sat patiently, listened, and really enjoyed it- i think. I recorded it in 2012 in my little studio at my house in Portland. On side B there is a version if “Break Up Song”

This tape cassette has some recordings never heard by anyone before. Two are me singing some Delines tunes, and one is a Richmond Fontaine tune that was never released called “Why You Like That, Brother?” These were recorded by Cory Gray at Scenic Burrows and put onto this tape just for Ghostnote. The Delines tunes are “Mr. Luck and Miss Doom” which is the title track off our last record, and then “Kid Codeine” which was on a record of ours called Seadrift. And they're both played the way I wrote them originally. Kid Codeine was a kind of folk tune, and Luck and Doom has always been a song I really liked. And “Why You Like That, Brother” is just a kinda misfit Richmond Fontaine song that never went anywhere, and I forgot about it. And and then when I was playing around with these, I suddenly started playing it so I put it on here.

Wake Up Ray is I'd been working on a short story for months about a woman that that gets mad at her husband and takes a birdie bought her and threw her out into the the little bird out into the snow, and it just didn't work as a as a story. And so one night, I wrote it as a song, and and it was on the last Richmond Fontaine record. And it's probably one of my favorite tunes. And this is just you writing it writing out the lyrics? It's an old it's an old version. I used to write out the lyrics, you know, on a on a good piece of paper when I was done with them. It's kinda marker, and that's this. And what record was did this come out on? You can't go back if there's nothing to go back to. Cool.

“The Pull” is a song about alcoholism. It's about a guy who goes into AA and, once he's sober, realizes he knows absolutely nothing, so he quits talking. His sister asks why he stopped, and he says, "Because I don't know anything." The pull of booze makes him so mad he starts boxing. He borrows his sister's car to get to and from fights, but after he detaches a retina he has to quit. The pull still won't leave him alone, so he starts running every night until he can't think, just to escape the pull of tequila.

I think it's like how I look at introspection, just looking in on myself and trying to figure out why and how I deal with things. I'm staring at the holes I'm digging, learning to handle problems in a healthy way, recognizing my own issues and my frequent inability to confront them.

Scrapheap is kind of just a representation of ideas in my head that go unfinished. Like these piles of stuff that I start on and I rarely, if ever, come back to. And just kind of like the the quilt of garbage that I collect and and don't know what to do with, really. Tombow brush pen on paper.

Passing a bodega, the lone window sign—giant letters spelling “milk cigarettes”—flung me back to my adult youth. My brother, our friend Gordon, and I were holed up in a shitty punk house after every roommate bailed, forfeiting the security deposit. Three depressed chain-smokers, we never cleaned, looping Lee Hazelwood’s “Requiem for an Almost Lady” while sulking over lost girlfriends and jobs. A repossessed car sat outside; inside, every table held bowls of milk turned ashtrays, every container stuffed with butts, cereal, and mold. Yeah—those were the best years of my life.

It was a drawing in my sketchbook I did several years ago that I always dug. During artist week at the Sou’Wester I recreated it large. The original is 8.5x11, but this one runs 14.5x20.

I did this drawing some years ago at my ADX studio in Portland for my friend Beth Haidle, creative director of the kids’ illustration and comics magazine Illustoria. I occasionally do work for them, and this piece was an illustration for the magazine.

This drawing eventually landed on my book cover, The Tigers They Let Me. It isn’t the final illustration, but one variant I made while working it out. I retraced the image, scanned the line work, colored it, then photocopied and enlarged it onto thin colored paper I’d salvaged from the Portland city dump during a six-month Glean residency. I’d come away with stacks of that paper—stuff I really dig. While preparing pieces for the residency show, I ran this tiger image onto one sheet and typed a poem over it. I’m not sure the poem exists anywhere else. Its lines circle back to the book’s themes—very memory based, very love based.

This is a screen-printed poster for Jenny Don’t & The Spurs 2023 Far East tour—hand-screened by Jenny and me, numbered out of 100, with this copy marked as number three. This tour poster serves as a keepsake of the journey that carried us through Australia, New Zealand, Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Philippines. A cool artifact that commemorates that unforgettable tour. This poster was designed by famed graphic artist Scott Sugiuchi, whose work was featured prominently on releases from Washington State's Estrus Records in the nineties and early two thousands.

This is one of my favorite western shirts, self-cut for that rock-and-roll flare. I wore it while drumming with Pierce Arrows and later with Jenny Don’t & The Spurs on our debut self-titled album released in 2014.

This is an 18x24 silkscreen-printed poster from a February 2008 Pierces Arrows concert in Minneapolis. It’s hand-numbered 32/50 and bears the artist’s stamp on the back.

This is my very first chain-stitch embroidered patch. When I was learning to use my machine to make western suits, I needed something to practice, so we got a shark—a great white. I was gonna make a Jaws suit. Maybe someday it'll still happen.

After one of our three-month monster tours, I needed to decompress and stop thinking about music for a minute. I painted this using acrylic and a small piece of wood I found in our driveway—no paintbrush, just that wood. I call it “The Perfect View” because, to me, nothing beats the sight of a blooming cactus; it signals summer is about to start, or has already started.

I made this outfit completely from scratch: went to the fabric store, found the fabric, and constructed every piece myself. I chain-stitched the donkeys and the stars, then hand-rhinestoned the entire thing. I wore it when we first played The Chapel in San Francisco—our debut at that place—and it’s also featured in a duct-tape wedding present Kelly and I received. I'll add the photo. From top to bottom it’s all my handiwork.

Rini: I found this song about a month ago; it sounded familiar, and for days I couldn't get it out of my head. I texted my dad asking if he could learn it on guitar or piano because I loved it and really wanted to sing it. He said yes, and since you were already planning to record something, we came out here today. The song is 'I Knew You Well' by Art Lown

These are the lyrics to a song called “Drone” from our album “Space.” I wrote it in 2013—twelve years ago, three years before the 2016 election. It’s about drones, drone warfare, and how people normalize atrocity. When I played it for my band mates, nobody said anything. We never played it live, and no one’s ever mentioned it. I always thought it was a good song.

This is the original drawing for a show poster, at the High Watermark in Portland, Oregon on October 18, 2014.

This song came from not knowing what to write about, mixed with loneliness and an addiction to scrolling. Peter Nevins was with me at a fire while I was writing it, and he told me to pause before the last 'in the river.' Every time I reach that part, I think of him, though I never pause long enough. The robots know me better than anyone, which makes it hard to put down the phone. This was recorded to cassette by Cory Gray at Scenic Burrows, Vancouver, WA on August 26, 2025.

This guitar, I made on my housemate’s skill saw two summers ago. I cranked out about thirty of them, sold them at the bar, and they’re almost practical. I went to the hardware store for thin wood; the sides are balsa cabinet trim I bent around and hot-glued in place. Little nails and wire for strings and knobs, and I added a strip of leather for a strap. It isn’t patterned after any particular model. I’ve done dark-brown ones, sun-bursty ones, bright yellow ones, even six replicas of Taylor’s Mickey guitar. I hung on to this one because it stood out from the rest.

This is Corky Gibbs. There was a guy in my grandparents’ church called Corky Gibbs, and I just love that name. This doll was originally a marionette, but his strings broke, so he broke free. Wendy at the Thirst gave me oven-bake clay—Sculpey—and I used it for his hat, hands, and shoes. His body is fabric I cut and hot-glued together. I built him just for fun; he’s not in any stop-motion, he simply exists as a friend. He used to dance on his strings, and I hoped to get him to play music, but marionettes are harder than I expected. I really like him. Thank you.

This is the spray-paint and stencil version of “The Face” I drew everywhere. This piece is more complex than the lithograph. I used multiple stencils and, by barely pressing the nozzle, stumbled onto a speckled spit that gave great texture—maybe a glitchy can, holding the nozzle part way down. I leaned into it, layering colors and watching them react wet-on-wet. Different papers let the paint sit on the surface so parts looked enameled, almost like cloisonné. Hours went into fine-tuning pressure and distance, turning the studio into a test lab. It was a cool, fun way to work. Around ’91–’92 I’d just switched from oils to spray paint and stencils, even working with huge canvases that took over the whole studio and had to have another person around to help position the stencils.

Back in the late eighties, early nineties, Absolut Vodka was running an ad campaign with cool artists—Andy Warhol, Keith Haring, Kenny Scharf, maybe Basquiat. All my favorite artists had done an Absolut ad, so I wanted one too. I went ahead and made mine just for fun using spray paint and stencils on paper.

This is a face I used to doodle everywhere when I was supposed to be taking notes in anthropology class or whatever requirements I didn’t do very well in. I used to do paintings of this; I’ve kinda obsessed on this sort of thing. It started in college: I was in art school. I started with oil paints, then did spray paint and stencils and some very big, like eight-foot square paintings of the same thing. This is a lithograph. I painted onto a polished piece of stone with something oil-based, which etched the stone, and then you print off that. With oil paints I would spend way too much time trying to make things perfect, so I kept trying to find ways of making things more spontaneous, so I couldn’t dwell on it and fuck it up. This was one of the ways; the spray-paint stencil was another. The paper’s just thick ripped paper. It was probably on a big roll or came as big sheets, and we cut it down by just putting a straight edge on it and ripping it. The face itself doesn’t mean anything specific to me. Maybe it’s some idealized kind of beauty—the cheekbones and the pointy-ish nose. I don’t know. It’s just something I keep coming back to.

I’ve always thought this was one of my better songs. It was tracked for a full-band record that was supposed to come out in 2007 —but it never saw daylight because the band broke up before finishing the album. That session is still the only time the song’s been recorded. I wrote it on piano, but here is an acoustic guitar version. One take, no fuss. The really crazy thing is the vocal mic here is the same as the 2007 full band version. The old Type Foundry gold Lawson. (This recording was made by Cory Gray at Scenic Burrows in Vancouver, WA, Aug11, 2025)

I started playing at The Landmark Saloon shortly after they opened in 2010. Around 2012 I took the first Mondays slot; it was a strictly country bar, and I was hesitant because I didn’t want to mess up their country-only vibe. They liked me, so I asked for their worst night—first Mondays—and settled in. After a decent run I moved to third Thursdays. Emma Allen created this artwork for that series—she’s a talented artist, singer, and songwriter. I kept third Thursdays until music ceased during pandemic. Since they started having music again I now play first and third Saturdays. In the artwork, Horsey—the little plastic horse I used to photograph—appears in the shot. Portland loves its old horse hoops and chained plastic horses; this image also depicts the condos rising around our little Landmark Saloon.

This poster is from my years with M.Ward. I toured with the band 2006-2018, and was the primary engineer for the records 2002-2018 . This poster is from one of our shows at the Sasquatch Music Festival, probably the second or third— I think we ended up playing there three times. This one is from May 27, 2012. We were supposed n some big stages back then, and this was certainly one of them. It was always beautiful: the sun sinking behind the stage, over the gorge spread out below. Those festivals are the only times I’ve ever been up there. I’m not much of a festival-goer, but the catering tent was always a highlight.

This picture somehow says it- the guy is sitting at the end of the pier calling out across the ocean, into space, for his love to come come his way. And then there's this wave that's coming too- it's gonna be a lot, you know, when it comes, but he still wants it. And so that's how the illustration came about. The tune is the cry of the wolf into the the void, really. It can also be, like, you're waiting for your lover to come back and you're at the bar, and they said they're just going away for a minute. But come along, you know, make it soon before I'm gone. I mean, not that you'd leave your love, but it also has it has a lot of life and death. Like a big call for big romance. It was recorded at Cory's studio up in up in Vancouver, and it was a really unexpected recording date. The idea for it happened a couple nights before, I gotta say, to be honest, a super stony night and and on a next level. And so it seemed like a cosmically good idea somehow to say yes, when very high, at like one in the morning, he said there was a cancellation the day after tomorrow. And we may not be, like, in shape or anything, but just do you wanna come in and record a song? And so Taylor and I have a few tunes worked up and because we've just played the other night. So this is an honest snapshot of the beginning of a kind of a duet. And the way these tunes were recorded were as if some bar bar owner might understand in some little town down in the wild woods of California or something. It's so good to see what we're trying to say.

This is based on a song called Tam Lin, a very old song that a lot of the greats have done, and this was released in support of when Anais Mitchell and Jefferson Hamer collaborated on a record, and it won the BBC folk award, folk record of the year. And it is it tells how a woman's lover gets kidnapped by the fairies, and they turn him into all kinds of terrifying things. And she has to keep holding on to him through all these transformations. It's pretty good metaphor for romance, I gotta admit. I tried to make it perfect but there’s something about the way it’s uniquely off register that makes the eye dance. It’s on an oddly heavy, extra toothy paper.

This was the first thing Gillian asked me to do, and it was based on that song, “Dear Someone”. I had the vision for it while listening to her play the song at the Fillmore in San Francisco, and then she came off stage, and she walked right up to me and said, “Pete, I wanna ask you to do some artwork” And I said, great, I have the idea already. I was moving to New York the next month, and my first thing I did in New York was go find the coolest silk screen printer in Brooklyn to crank it out. And it became a hot merch item for them on on tour. This is in 2006. I had to re redo it later using the concepts, but this is the very original from which many things have come. And it's signed in pencil. And it is it's signed Signed by the artist. It is one of the only things I'm still proud of from back then.

As a cyclist, I have a million things to plug in that all need charging. That was definitely the reason I wanted to make one of these, because I wanted one central location where everything was right in the mix and bright green so you couldn’t lose any of it. It’s a plywood base with a bunch of USB charger things fixed to the top and a tremendous amount of Great Stuff and airbrush paint decorating.

When I make something, I kinda fall in love with it—that’s a problem I have. I make things thinking I’m gonna sell them, then just wanna keep them. I made these during the pandemic; they’re scenes from working from home. This one’s very real estate: lots of money, Perrier, a comfy chair, making deals, booking appointments, some coffee. I have no association with the sofa fabric; I actually like that it’s nondescript, feels like a hotel lobby where I’m waiting for everybody to come downstairs.

This is a hand-carved leather merchandise sign. I try to make one for every tour; I haven’t managed every time, but I’m always happy when I do. This one was pretty limited. I had three things to sell: whoopee-cushions, songbooks and vinyl- but I snuck in some real estate by adding a magnifying glass zooming in on the Sydney Opera House lawn with a “sold” sign. People wanted to buy it at every Australian show, but I couldn’t let it go. I love these signs and have a few; they look great collected, yet I’m not going to sell just these items again, so someone else could have this, I guess.

This is a representational piece, like my landscape work, but more about a representation of an exploration of something—I'm not even sure what. I didn’t know what to do with it until my friend Michael Nau asked if I had art he could use for his new record. An idea came up to combine elements of this piece and parts of another painting. My wife, Melissa Castellano, art-directed it all from there and laid it out beautifully for Mike's new full-length album “Accompany”.

I've done a few art jobs for Mike over the years, making posters when we go on tour, shirt designs and also album art. This painting was used to create the cover art for his newest full-length, “Accompany” which came out about two years ago. He asked if I had anything that might work, so I showed him this piece, and my wife and I combined parts of it with another painting to design all the artwork for the album. The piece uses gouache, a bit of acrylic, and paper on wood. There are some surfers catching a party wave, the recurring double-eyed dog, and people kneepaddling through the cloudy section.

This is a hand-drawn cover for my solo album Under the Ghost, recorded in a trailer up on the Central Coast in 2009. We ran power across a stream through some trees, and the whole thing was a two-week process. A bunch of Central Coast friends are on the record. I’ve done different drawings like this for almost every vinyl copy of the album, so each one is unique and one-of-a-kind. I just buy old records, find empty sleeves, recycle them, turn them inside out, and draw on them to make my album art; this one used to be Jim Nabors’ Kiss Me Goodbye.

This is a tape cassette recording of my cover of “O My Stars” by Michael Hurley. I learned the song for a Michael Hurley tribute show which I did a few weeks back at this great venue in LA called Scribble. And yeah, I absolutely love this jam.

This is the mix reel from the 2017 session that I did with Steve Albini at Electrical Audio in Chicago. It was a little bit of a trade from doing his charity called Letters to Santa that does a twenty four hour show every year. And I did the show and he offered some studio time as a little reward. And I happily accepted. He put contact mics on my guitar. We recorded four songs: 1. So Sea Came to Shore 2. Shuffling Stoned 3. August. 4. Little Lost, which is an Arthur Russell cover. All of the the top three came out, but Little Lost I haven't released. These were alternate versions, but the songs came out on my record “August”.

This is a set list from my first time playing in Ireland on 04/26/2023, and I played at the Cobblestone in Dublin. And it was a significant show for me. I'm incredibly Irish and just to play there felt so correct. And I had done an Anne Briggs cover with my friend Devra Hoff, and I got to sing it there. It was just the best. That's a lot of songs, Europe likes you to play. I think that was probably that was maybe like an hour, hour and hour and ten. I think the longest set I ever did in Europe was 30 songs in a church in France. They're so patient there.