This week, some interviewer interviews Decry cofounder and contributor Seth, who goes by the internet nom de plume “seth.”

Interviewer: Jesus, that interview with the Faint was up at your site for like months and now there’s nothing there.
Seth: If you’re an asshole you cant see anything there, but the interview is still there. But with asshole sensors.

I: Hilarious! Do you guys ever take a break? So&#151why the long break between interviews?
S: It’s less of a break than the fact that we’ll probably never do another interview. That was dumb luck. We’re too nervous to interview people. So we dont really do them. Interviews, that is.

I: Gotcha. So what’s next for Decry now that your interviews section has failed?
S: It’s no less a failure than the rest of the site. This was supposed to be a literary magazine. But we’ve got a site reorganization in the works, and a pledge drive. Plus I’m quitting my day job so I don’t know if I’ll have time to write for Decry any more.

I: Wait, you said something earlier about quitting your job. That means you’ll have less time for writing content? That’s crazy!
S: Yes. Work is the only time I write for Decry. My current level of output will likely decline precipitously come May 2. Notice I never post on weekends, which is when I am at home doing fun things that I dont need distraction from.

I: A pledge drive! How exciting.
S: We’re not actually doing a pledge drive.

I: That wasn’t my question. My question is, how do you guys do it? I mean, there’s only three of you.
S: There’s five, although Roscoe [Bobbin] and Bruce [Lionheart] don’t contribute as much as they could. But they’ve had their hands full with the litigation, and since the judge found out Roscoe is not a real lawyer, things have gotten sticky. We do accept submissions, though. There’s all sorts of contact information in the forum area if you poke around. To the best of my knowledge, we’ve had pieces from only two writers not under our employ. A recent piece on Urban Outfitters by Decry user Avery was very well received.

I: Don’t be coy! How do readers send in submissions!?
S: There are no readers. And if they want to send in submissions they must be dexterous enough to find the contact information on their own.

I: Bit grumpy today, are we?
S: Yes. There’s a war on, you know. Well, it’s sort of a war. An Execu-War? A Freedom Ensurance Mission? A Crusade to Protect the Innocent and Preserve Their Bodies As Holy Temples to Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ? A Quagmire?

I: Thanks for the interview.
S: Thanks for helping me fill that big white space.

Lucy and I recently had the opportunity to interview The Faint after a show. The interview was done in the true spirit of decry.org: we arrived backstage drunk, with no questions, no pencil, no paper, and no tape recorder. Here’s what we remember about our first real interview:

The show is over, The Faint are packing up their instruments. Lucy and Rob are standing in front of the stage.

Lucy: Go on, ask them if you can interview them for decry. Go, do it. If you’re not going to ask them, why are we standing here?
Rob: (to Lucy) OK, OK, shut up.
Rob: (to Faint guitarist Dapose) So, how come it says you guys are from New York on the bill? You’re from Omaha, right?
Dapose: Yeah, we’re from Omaha.
L: Can he interview you for his magazine?
R: (embarrassed, under breath): Shut up, Lucy!
D: Now?
R: Oh. Um, yeah, or whenever.
D: Yeah, if you want we could maybe do it when we’re done [packing up our stuff].
R: OK.

Fifteen minutes later; standing nervously by backstage door. Bassist Joel Petersen walks out in a scarf and hat, heads towards restroom.

L: There goes the bassist. In a disguise! I’ll go ask him.

Heads off.

L: Nice disguise.
JP: This isn’t a disguise. I’m just cold.
L: Can my boyfriend interview you for his magazine?
JP: Now?
L: Well, how long are you guys going to be in town?
JP: Good point.

Meanwhile …

R: (to bouncer) Hey, I talked to the guys from The Faint earlier and they said it might be cool if I went to interview them for my magazine. Could you ask them if that’s cool?
Bouncer: What magazine are you from?
R: Decry.
B: Never heard of that one.
R: What?
B: Ask the guy in the blue shirt. I’m just working security; he’s the publicist.
R: (to bouncer) OK.
R: (to guy in blue shirt): Hey, I talked to the guys from the Faint earlier, and they said it might be cool if I could ask them a few questions for my magazine.
Blue Shirt: Yeah, hold on a second, I’ll go ask. What magazine are you from?
R: Decry.
BS: Detry?
R: Decry.
BS: OK, hold on.

Goes backstage, returns immediately, motions me back. Guitarist Dapose, keyboardist Jacob Thiele, and drummer Clark Baechle are sitting around a small round table drinking bottles of Stella Artois.

R: Hey guys, thanks a lot. Great show.
Jacob: Yeah thanks—so you’re from Philadelphia (gestures at my Phillies shirt)?
R: I’m from Chapel Hill, North Carolina, but I went to school in Philly.
J: I think I was just talking to your girlfriend for a second—short blonde hair? I didn’t mean to run off on her, but—
R: Yeah. I think she was worried that anytime you’re a girl and try to talk to a band after a show, they’re going to think you’re … you know, a … like … um, like a groupie, or something.
J: No, I could tell she wasn’t like that. But she was standing with those other two girls (referring to two blonde girls who had been standing near the stage during the show, yelling about how much they liked the lead singer’s jacket, and dancing lewdly), and I just didn’t to talk to them.
R: Yeah, you could sort of pick them out a mile away. Where’d they go, by the way?
J: I don’t know. Away. Back to wherever they live.
R: Oh. Anyway, I just wanted to ask you some questions for my online magazine, decry.org. What sucks is that I had no idea I was going to be talking to you guys, so I don’t have any paper or a tape recorder or anything.
Dapose: Oh, it’s OK. Whatever.
R: Is your singer around?
J: No, he’s out there selling merchandise.
R: Are you guys selling Danse Macabre? I picked it up in the US months ago, but I guess it isn’t out here yet?
D: Yeah, we’re supposed to have the album with us, but somebody fucked up. I don’t know why it’s not out here yet. I think it’s supposed to be.
R: So, I already asked you about this, but I’m curious—why does the bill say you’re from New York?
D: I don’t know. “Double-header from New York”—I don’t know what that’s about.
J: This isn’t the first time it’s happened.
R: It happens a lot?
J: Not a lot, but it has happened.
R: Do you think maybe they’re trying to cash in on the fact that people here will have heard of New York and think it’s cool, whereas they may not have heard of Omaha?
J: Yeah, I’ve wondered about that a few times. It’s just kind of annoying because we really like Omaha, really proud of Saddle Creek and all that. So that’s why we always make a point saying “we’re from Omaha” during the show.
D: Yeah, Todd said it, like, three times tonight.
R: He said it lots of times. I mean, I can identify—this is the shit that pisses me off too …

Author trails off, realizing that he is in the process of telling some outlandish lie, like “yeah, it’s a lot like how I’m actually from Chapel Hill, but people always think my magazine is from New York.”

Joel Petersen walks up.

JP: Hey, some girl’s boyfriend wants to interview us. Do you guys want to do that?
D: Yeah, this is him, he’s already back here.
R: Hi.
JP: Oh.

Walks off, returns with Lucy

R: So, I read someone calling Omaha the New Seattle—I mean, Chapel Hill, we used to be the new Seattle. What’s the Omaha scene like?
Clark: I think Omaha now is kind of like what Chapel Hill used to be like in the late eighties, early nineties. We were all really into Superchunk when they came out.
J: Cursive, Bright Eyes—Bright Eyes is really big right now—Omaha’s a good scene.
R: I’m going to ask that interview question that everybody hates—who do people compare you to, and does it piss you off?
C: A lot of 80s bands. I don’t think any band likes to be told they sound like somebody else. I mean, we all like Duran Duran …
R: So people compare you to Duran Duran?
C: Yeah, we get that. We don’t worry about it. We just do our thing.
J: We really like all kinds of music.
R: Do you like hip-hop at all?
J: Yeah, some of it.
D: I really like the Anti-Pop Consortium.
J: Is that hip-hop?
D: I don’t know.
R: I used to be really into hip-hop—it’s how I first got into music. But the stuff that comes out on the radio and whatever is so bad, and it’s such a big effort if you want to find good hip-hop. You sort of have to be an underground scenester, always be searching out the new hot shit. It’s too much effort.
J: Yeah, most of the commercial stuff is really bad. But I really like some hip hop. I like Freestyle Fellowship. Even Eminem—I don’t necessarily agree with what he’s saying, be he’s just got such good flow. And, obviously, Dr. Dre is a great producer. But even if Eminem is on some track that’s just like, “bump ba-bum,” he’ll be like, “bum bum bada-babum.” The internal rhythm, the flow is awesome.
R: I totally agree with that. You’re always sort of embarrassed to say you like listening to Eminem, you have to qualify it somehow. But if you’re just listening to the flow and the rhyme scheme, the talent is unbelievable. What about Neil Young. Do you like Neil Young?
J: Um, yeah, we like Neil Young. He has that album Trans—
R: Yeah, where he uses the vocorder! I was thinking about that while you were playing.
J: Yeah. That’s a good album. The first track sucks, but the rest of it’s good.
R: Geffen sued him for that album, for making music unrepresentative of Neil Young
D: Yeah, but that’s Geffen. derisive snort
R: What’s up with Geffen?
D: Just … Whatever.
J: Anyway, he made that Trans album and then came out with some shitty rock album.
R: The one with Rockin’ in the Free World on it?
J: No, no. I don’t think anybody ever bought this album I’m talking about. I don’t know any of the songs on it.
R: (gesturing at Lucy) She and I got in the biggest fight we’ve ever had about Rockin’ in the Free World.
L: (shouting ) That’s because CSNY was exploiting all the post-9/11 sentiment to make money!
R: They had all these red, white, and blue stage lights, and the words to the Constitution were printed all over the stage. It was kind of wack, but my only point was that if you listen to the words of the songs, you realize these are not war-mongering patriot types.
J: That is kind of wack, but as a performer you also have to be careful to play to the needs of your audience. Man, people fight about the weirdest shit. I do it too. Biggest fight I ever got into with my girlfriend was over—we had to put this hook into the ceiling, you know, so we could hang a light from it. But we couldn’t figure out how to do it, the ceiling was made out of reinforced concrete or something. It was impossible to get this hook into it.
R: I think that beats my story. I don’t see any way to fight about how to hang a hook in the ceiling.
J: Yeah, well. The hook’s still not up.
D: There are definitely some fundamental differences in the ways that men and women think. Everyone fights about dumb shit. I do it with my girlfriend too.
R: So you all have girlfriends?
J: Yeah, all except Clark. For the longest time, like the entire history of the band, only three of us had girlfriends at a time. For a long time it was Clark and I that didn’t have one, but then I got one.
R: And spoiled it all. (gestures at a half-drunk bottle of Stella on the table). Whose beer is this?
J: Yours, if you want it.
D: Go for it.
R: Cool.

Young British kid in hip vintage clothes comes up, tells band they were “fucking awesome.” He says he wants to buy a copy of Danse Macabre; they tell him they don’t have any. I tell him that I’ve got one, and that I will burn it for him and send the band a check. Dapose pats me on the knee, as if to say, “Shut up.” British kid repeats that band was “wicked,” walks off.

J: We get a lot of people like that at our shows like that, and like that other kid, did you see that other kid in the tweed?
R: Right, looking like they all did their shopping at the same vintage store.
J: Yeah, and young, too. We get these young kids at our shows. I don’t think they get it. I think maybe because the see the word sex in our song titles, they think it’s cool, but they don’t get it.
R: Yeah, your song titles are kind of fucked up.
J: Fucked up?
D: You mean fucked up in a good way, though, right?
R: Yeah, fucked up in a cool way. “Agenda Suicide,” “Let the Poison Spill from Your Throat,” “Ballad of a Paralyzed Citizen.” Fucked up—bleak.
J: Yeah, they’re fucked up. But if you listen to the lyrics, it makes sense.
R: No, like I said, I think it’s great. So, I mean, how do you write your songs?
D: Slowly.
J: Yeah, kind of all over the place. It can take weeks to write a song.
C: But usually we’ll, like, get one, and then a whole bunch will come really quickly after that.
R: Where else are you going on this tour?
D: This is the first date. We’re going to London then to Europe. We’re going to Amsterdam.
R: (giving the thumbs up to Amsterdam) Amsterdam will be cool.
J: Yeah.
L: Have you ever played any shows in Philly?
D: Yeah, we played a couple shows there. Where were they? We played one at the Troc[adero] once. And this club called Trance.
R: Trance? That’s a dance club.
J: Yeah, it was totally a dance club. It was really weird playing a show there. They tried not to let us in. We were like, ‘we’re the band. We have to come in.’ And we had to change clothes, but they wouldn’t give us any place to change. They made us change right there in the hall. But the show was pretty cool. The speakers were so big, and for some reason they kept trying to fall over. So these bouncers had to stand there and hold the speakers up so that they wouldn’t fall on anybody.
R: The Troc is a cool place. So what do you guys usually do after these shows?
D: This, usually.
J: If we finish early we’ll go to a club or something.
R: What sucks is that everything closes really early here. The clubs stay open late, but all the bars close at 11:00.
D: This is the first show of the tour, so we haven’t really done anything yet.
J: I have to change. I’m just going to change; I hope you don’t mind

Jacob digs some pants out of his suitcase and changes into them. Lucy says he blatantly adjusted his nuts, but I didn’t notice. Dapose is putting his cigarettes away. Lucy tries to go to the bathroom and is told that without a backstage pass, she will not be able to get back in. We get the impression that it’s time for us to leave.

R: Well, thanks a lot you guys. That was really cool.
J: Do you have a pen? I’ll give you my email address in case you have any follow-up questions or anything.
R: That’d be great. (looks for pen).
D: Or you can just go through the website.
R: Oh, OK. And that will actually get to you?
J: Yeah, we’re really good about that. Just write that you talked to Jacob.
R: Awesome. Thanks again, you guys. Good luck on the rest of your tour.
J: Thanks.
D: Thanks.

The Faint is:

Todd Baechle (vocals, synthesizer)
Clark Baechle (drums)
Dapose (guitar)
Joel Petersen (bass)
Jacob Thiele (synth)

The Faint online: http://www.thefaint.com/
Saddle Creek Records: http://www.saddle-creek.com/

Support your local record store and buy:
Media (1998)
Blank-Wave Arcade (1999)
Danse Macabre (2001)

As a service to our associates, and in the spirit of full disclosure, decry.org is releasing the final transcripts of the failed merger talks with Robotron Corporation.

Transcript of final round of meetings

Proposed Robotron-Decry Merger

Participants:
Bruce Lionheart, President of Customer Satisfaction, decry.org
Leonard Brzozowski, President, Robotron Corporation

November 4, 2002
4:46 PM

Bruce Lionheart: Here we go. In attendance, one Bruce Lionheart, CEO of Customer Satisfaction Solutions for decry.org, and Leonard … brizzizz … Lenny Brasskey. Thanks for joining us.
Leonard Brzozowski: It sort of rhymes with Tchaikovsky, but with a B. How can I help you, sir?
BL: Call me Lionheart.
LB: How did you get this number?
BL: Call me Lionheart. When you address me, call me Lionheart.
LB: OK, Lionheart. What is the purpose of your call?
BL: I’m calling, Lenny, to put the final touches on our merger. There are just one or two wrinkles I’d like to iron out.
LB: Is this a prank call?
BL: No, Lenny, this is Bruce Lionheart from decry.org. I am calling about the merger. Now tell me, what is it that Robo-Tronics does?
LB: Merger? What merger?
BL: Your merger with us. We are looking to expand, to offer our customers more creative solutions. I thought from your name your company might be creative, and offer solutions. But your website is so goddam complicated I said, Bruce, I said, Bruce, call this motherfucker up and ask him what the good goddam is going on with Robo-Tech.
LB: This is a prank call. Is this James? You’re supposed to be in school.
BL: I told you who I am already. First things first, can you spell Robotronics for me? I have a pencil and paper ready. I also want to know what you guys do.
LB: What we do? Well, we supply induction heating equipment, mainly. And we are creative problem solvers dealing with induction heating, tube welding, induction bonding.
BL: Yessss! Score! So you are creative problem solvers! I am too! Listen, this is going to work great. Hot holy hell!
LB: It’s been great talking to you, Mr. Lionheart, but I really must get back to work—
BL: What about this merger? I thought we were going to merge and shit.
LB: I don’t know what gave you that impression.
BL: I thought we could call ourselves decrobotron, or robotrecry. Kind of like a combo of the two names. Or we could combine our names, like BLLB, or BBLL. Hot High in Hell! We have the same letters in our names but reversed! I always tell people I’m like a BLT without the T, so they don’t forget Bruce. You probably tell people the same thing, but backwards, you messed up fuck. Listen, have you considered my offer?
LB: What offer? I’m sorry, Mr. Lionheart, but—
BL: I emailed you. I emailed someone about it, anyway. I told you, listen, we’re going to give you all these free coupons, whatever. In exchange, you can say what you want at our site. We don’t care.
LB: You are from a website?
BL: Hell yes! Decry.org rules!
LB: Good day, Mr. Lionheart.
BL: In your face!

End of transcript.
4:59 PM

An Interview with University of Utah Medicinal Chemist Glenn D. Prestwich

Decry.org: Well, Glenn, thanks for agreeing to be interviewed for this piece to be published on Decry.org.

Glenn Prestwich: My pleasure.

D.o: So, why don’t you fill our readers in on what you’ve been working on.

GP: Well, is your reading audience over 18 (chuckles)?

D.o: We were just joshing, Glenn. Decry.org doesn’t have a reading audience.

GP: Oh. Well then why do you–

D.o: Let’s try to stay focused on the subject, eh Glenn? Please save your bizarre tangents for later. Wouldn’t want to confuse the readers at home, would we?

GP: But I thought you said there weren’t—

D.o: So, we read in today’s Guardian that you and your colleagues have been unravelling a question that has puzzled man for countless millenia: “what makes elephants randy?”

GP: Randy?

D.o: Horny, Glenn. Horny. What makes them want to fuck.

GP (blushing a deep crimson): Oh, well, I guess you could say that, yes. Ahem.

D.o: Geshundheit

GP: What?

D.o: Bless you, Glenn. God Bless you. So anyway, what have you and your colleagues discovered?

GP: Well, if you’ve ever seen it, you’ll know that it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that a male elephant is aroused. Male elephants become aroused in a highly visible, dramatic fashion!

D.o: We do know that, yes.

GP: Oh. Yes, well anyway, our lab has successfully isolated the fatty acid ester molecule, present in the urine of female elephants, that prompts this reaction in male elephants: (Z)-7-dodecen-l-yl acetate.

D.o: That is the same fatty acid ester molecule that gives cucumbers their distinctive smell, is it not?

GP: Why, yes! How did you know that?

D.o: We discovered it. Perhaps you should read through the Decry.org archives, Glenn. You might fucking learn something.

GP: What?

D.o: So, why don’t I get horny when I smell a cucumber?

GP: Well, people only get a faint sweet odor from this elephant ester. But it sure does something to elephants!

D.o: Indubitably. So, Glenn, how does this system work? I mean, this ester is in the female elephants urine, for Christ’s sake.

GP: That’s the interesting thing. The male Asian elephant, that’s Elaphus maximus, uses its trunk and everyday sense of smell to sniff the urine of female elephants—

D.o: Did you just say, “sniff the urine of female underpants?”

GP: What? No. I said female elephants.

D.o: Oh. Please continue.

GP: Well, just sniffing it doesn’t seem to be enough. The male then touches the urine-laden tip of his trunk to the roof of his mouth, transferring a bit of the urine to protein receptors in the vomeronasal organ, which is a foot-long chemical sensing organ that is distinct from the elephant’s regular sense of smell. If the female is in heat, her urine should contain sex attractant pheromones, which stimulate the protein receptors and trigger an erection in the male, inspiring him to mount her.

D.o: That’s disgusting.

GP: Well, no it’s not. Not really. It’s just natural

D.o: Tell me, Glenn. If your son’s boy scout leader stood up and told your son that, to get his kicks, he waits around for a girl to piss in the dirt, then picks up the urine-soaked mud and slathers it all over his face to get a boner, would you defend him on the grounds that it’s “only natural”?

GP: No!

D.o: Well then, we hardly understand how you can refer to these revolting elephants as “natural.”

GP: I hardly think that’s a fair comparison

D.o. (mocking): I hardly think that’s a fair comparison

GP: Are you copying me?

D.o. (still mocking): Are you copying me?

GP: Look, this is ridiculous. I’m a professional biologist. If you don’t want to take this interview seriously, I have other things I could be spending my time on.

D.o: Calm down, Glenn. Jesus Christ. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. Pervert.

GP: OK, I’m leaving.

D.o: No! No! Glenn, please stay. We’re sorry. Please, just sit down and let’s finish the interview.

GP: All right, but I’m not going to put up with any more insults.

D.o: No, of course not. Of course not. Well, Glenn, what more can you tell us about the fascinating world of elephant pheromones?

GP: Well, one interesting aspect of the odorant binding process is that it helps “mop up” excess pheromones, if you will. This acts as a sort of post-coital “cold shower” for the male. Without this mechanism, the sexual arousal of the male elephant would persist long beyond what would be either comfortable or manageable.

D.o: (silence)

GP: Um, I just think this research is important becuas–

D.o: Glenn, do you ever have erections that persist long beyond what you consider comfortable or manageable?

GP: OK, that’s it. Thanks for nothing. Jerks. (walks out)

D.o (throwing stapler at door, which is closing behind eminent scientist): Fine then, you jackass weirdo. Leave. But you’ll be sorry when this interview is published! We’ll make you look stupid! You’ll never work in this business again!

“During a recent peformance at B.B. King’s in New York City, members of Bone Thugs-n-Harmony confirmed that Bizzy Bone was no longer a member of the group.”

–AllHipHop.com

In his first interview since his former bandmates publicly ousted the Ohio rapper from the wildly successful Bone Thugs-n-Harmony, Bizzy Bone speaks out on life as a platinum-selling artist, the importance of reading, and the delicious taste of America’s most exciting new beverage experience, Pepsi Blue.

Decry: Mr. Bone, or should I say Bryon McCane, the news that you were booted from Bone Thugs comes as quite a shock just weeks after your new album, BTNHRessurection, was certified platinum. Talk to me about this new direction.

Bizzy Bone: It was something of a unilateral decision, as concertgoers at B.B. King’s no doubt saw. But I am thrilled to be shepherding my musical vision in a totally fresh direction. I think it was Mark Twain who said, “We are chameleons, and our partialities and prejudices change place with an easy and blessed facility, and we are soon wonted to the change and happy in it.” Despite his brilliance we all know Twain’s predilection for grandiloquence. What he means is that people need dynamism to be happy. I am ready to move on.

Decry: You make this move sound amicable, but news reports indicated that your split with Bone Thugs was, well, not exactly a mutual decision.

BB: It wasn’t, but I like to think that Providence played some role in this situation, and my relationship with Providence is wholly amicable (laughs).

Decry: For real. So what’s next Pepsi Blue?

BB: Did you just call me Pepsi Blue?

Decry: No.

BB: Well, I feel that with my albums Heaven’z Movie and The Gift, I opened a lot of doors. The tropes in those albums, both musical and content-oriented, are themes I have been wrestling with for a long time. Particularly family. I am revisiting my kidnapping at an early age, contrasting today’s family mores with those of the nuclear family in the 1950s, tackling some bomb-shelter metaphors, which seem especially resonant in light of recent events.

Decry: And you were in fact kidnapped, at age 4, is that right?

BB: I wish you wouldn’t use that fake English accent—it really trivializes the issue. But it’s true. I was kidnapped by a family member and held for a full year. I was found in Omaha after being featured on America’s Most Wanted.

Decry: That’s a long way from Atlanta! (laughs)

BB: Yes, yes it is a long way from Atlanta. Also from Columbus, Ohio, which is where I was taken. I think my kidnapping has probably driven my consuming interest in the essence of the American family.

Decry: Right, but all that talk doesn’t change the fact that Atlanta and Omaha are not exactly a stone’s throw from one another. Now talk to me about the cool new taste of Pepsi Blue.

BB: About Pepsi Blue? What is that, blue Pepsi?

Decry: I’m glad you asked. Pepsi Blue—not blue Pepsi—is a tricked-up flavor fusion of berry and cola, designed to give your taste buds a buzz of blue. But speaking of drinking, Bizzy, talk to me about these allegations of alcoholism. So tough…

BB: For MTV watchers at home, it can be difficult to see through the on-screen posturing to an intensely demanding life that places stress on every aspect of your personhood. Show business is an unrelenting, savage drug that exalts and buffets you equally—I feel a bit like Odysseus, who was both injured and made stronger by the waves angry Poseidon sent his way. And for those of us who are writers, the experience is more intense. Rudyard Kipling said, “Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.”

Decry: Right. So speaking of writing, let’s talk about some of your recent work. In the hit song “Thugz Cry” you say, “We keepin the light on at Ruthless and / I ain’t fuckin the boss / lookin at me sexy / Take your clothes off / but my dick’ll go soft!” and then the chorus, “Thugz Cry, Thugz Cry, Thugz Cry, Thugz Cry, Thugz Cry, Thugz Cry, Thugz Cry¸ Thugz Cry¸ Thugz Cry, When Thugz Cry.” Talk to me.

BB: Well, what we see here is an effort to convey how hard we as a band were working, and the kind of idle thoughts that thwart the noblest of artists. It’s fascinating how one’s own mind can be one’s own worst enemy, no? Images of sexual manipulation and dysfunction frame the scene and serve to import performance and success anxieties into the context of burning the midnight oil, if you will. And this whole set of concerns is seen through a kind of street-smart lens. The slang is an effort to address what I like to call the “muting of the slums.” To wit: those who most need an outlet for self-expression are those least encouraged to really vent.

Decry: Interesting. So we know you like drinking alcohol, but what about soda? Drink any soda?

BB: I drink some soda, yes, but—

Decry: Well let me tell you, there’s a new kid in town as far as soda goes. A scrappy, ragamuffin of a soda that goes by the name of Pepsi Blue (laughs). Now that’s a metaphor for you! Bizzy, we’re out of time. Thanks so much for talking with us.

BB: I’d like to close with a quotation, if I may. My friends say I’m a regular Bartlett’s (laughs). This is an oft-misquoted quotation from early 18th century playwright William Congreve: “Music has charms to soothe—

Decry: Thanks again, Pepsi Blue!

by Jay Kang

Phillip Day is building an amusement park. He is building it on his crumbling and erosion-friendly property on Bath Road, in West Bath, Maine. The 75 year-old Day began work on the park nine years ago, when he retired from a lifetime of building ships at the Bath Iron Works. Quickly bored with the inactivity of retired life, Day began rummaging in local dumps and abandoned buildings for useful materials. At the project’s onset, he had no plans to build any of the colorful characters that now haunt his park, the fully functional, fit-to-regulation one-lane bowling alley, the plywood stagecoach, or the UFO. He was just bored and needed something to do with his hands. The characters popped up almost on their own, as randomly and as quickly as mushrooms overnight. Day gave the park life; the park provides Day with a distraction from the lull of retired life. In the end, what he has created is an original collection of things made out
of junk&#151nothing more, nothing less. He calls it Loony Lagoon.

At first glance, Day, as he likes to be called, doesn’t seem capable of the physical labor necessary to build and maintain Loony Lagoon’s rides and attractions. His age shows on his well scrubbed but slowly collapsing face and in his sturdy hands, which are covered in barnacle-like calluses. He dresses like any other old Mainer, in an old gray Bath Iron Works standard-issue jacket, work pants, and a bright orange hunting cap. Day’s work reflects the sensibilities gained afforded him by his Maine pedigree and fifty years spent assembling the hulls of battleships and ocean liners.

Those who visit Loony Lagoon in search of found art or a certain rural pastoral hidden deep in a steely pocket of the Maine coast, miss Day’s point. Everything in the amusement park is made for use, from the stagecoach he built out of an old pair of wagon wheels and a large cache of plywood, to the merry-go-round that still creakily spins when Day gives it a push. When I ask him leading questions about his artistic inspirations and processes, he shrugs his shoulders and keeps repeating, “I don’t know, I just make them. There’s not much thought involved. Just making things that hopefully work.” This dedication towards function is apparent when Day leads me to Loony Lagoon’s Big Ben, the sundial Day made from the slats and supports of an old park bench.

I tell him that the digital gadget that I am using to record our conversation has a clock on it. After peering at the face of the sundial&#151a once-colorful jumble of numbers that vary in size and style, cracked and peeling now from six winters of abuse&#151Day announces that if my “recorder thingamajig” is correct, it will say that the time is 3:10. I look. It’s 2:25—his sundial is about a half-hour off. I suggest that the problem might come from the fact that the sundial’s plywood base is badly warped and sags heavily in the middle. As he considers this, Day puts his hands on his hips and purses his lips thoughtfully, “I’ve got to fix all this up,” he announces flatly. “All of this needs repair.”

It all does. Almost everything in Loony Lagoon is nearly irreclaimably decrepit. The sea creatures that rise out of the lagoon have rotted through and most are missing a limb or a tentacle. Day’s UFO, built into the side of a tree, looks ready to fall into the water below at any moment. Walking through Loony Lagoon’s collection of monuments encourages an appreciation for the elements. Years of direct sunlight and wet snow have leached the color out of almost all of Day’s army of vampires, witches, aliens, and overstuffed clowns. The park, once vibrant and flooded with neighborhood children, has become a study in weather beating, pastel colors, rust and buckling plywood. The bowling alley, lined throughout with an impossible number of windows, glutted with junk. Next to the bowling alley stands a chin-high pile of nails, broken wood and gutted windowpanes. “That used to be my house,” Day tells me, “It used to stand over there but I got that there trailer and had to tear my house down.” After a pause, he laughs and announces, “the trailer’s pretty comfortable, but sometimes I look over at that pile of junk and want to build another house.”

As we walk a path through the park, I ask Day where he got the inspiration to build the park. He looks me straight in the eye and says, “nightmares.” I get visibly excited, hoping to press on for more explanation. Nightmares: what a sexy explanation for Loony Lagoon. As I run through some follow-up questions in my head, I notice that Day is grinning at me. “Just kidding,” he says. “It was just something to do. After my wife died and I retired from the Iron Works, there wasn’t much to do. I started building these little things.” He pauses and purses his lips again before saying, “Everybody’s gotta do something.”