On the Coldest Night in Minnesota

We were in a van, headed to California...

As usual, this is just one man's take. One of four mans, each of whom has a slightly different story on the situation...But I thought it would be interesting--without giving too much away--to offer the "masses" a little insight into the genesis of the whole Kill The Vultures thing.

December of 2003, we had just finished a 60+ date tour with Atmosphere, Brother Ali, Micranots, and DJ Bird, and decided to save up some money by living with the collective ma and/or pa dukes for a few months (before relocating to the Bay Area, California). For me, the basic mechanics of life were great. No rent to pay. Homecooked meals. A quiet Minnesota winter. The Wolves were in first place. But musically, reflecting on the past three months of touring, pushing our product, and playing Oddjobs songs to death, I felt like I had just ejaculated into my own hand.

The past few months felt like a lot of yelling, a lot of fun, a lot of entertainment...but not a lot of meat for anybody to sink their saberteeth into.

Comparing ourselves to our tourmates proved useful. We didn't have anything close to an Atmosphere-type fanbase that really cared what our next move was or that was just waiting to call out, "JUDAS." And if those people did exist, we certainly weren't catering to them in the first place. Despite having met thousands of people at the over 200 shows we had done since 2002, I couldn't really identify our fanbase...It was the perfect time to start over.

And I can't really remember who initially made the point, but I think we agreed that a lot of the best music, or at least the shit we enjoyed listening to, came from people who didn't know what they were doing...so we decided to do the same, forgetting everything we knew about our "process," to make something better...

Next thing I knew, Steve-Anatomy was listening to a lot of Morphine, James White and the Blacks, and The Cramps. We built the dinosaur skeleton for the album in his parents basement, and put the finishing touches on it in a stuffy Berkeley bedroom with no air circulation or electricity. There was a lot stomping, veins popping, rootbeer floats, and red lights.

Someone else, pick it up and fill in the details...