So my last place of paid employment had given me the old James Comey (this young boy, the old frog said, does things twice as fast as you and with the same number of hands) and I thought now was as good a time as any to blast up Twins (2012, Drag City) for the first time since I was in shortpants and I heard, toward the southern tip of the album and for the first time, something positively germanic in the drumwork, that jaki liebezeit feeling of ‘the funky and the cerebral’. how odd, I thought. the next night, Ty himself was playing the dinky, wonderful and live nation-owned Warsaw venue.
Last time I saw the man, he was crawling on the floor in a baby mask, yelling goo-goo-ga-ga and waving his umbilical cord around. (no kidding, that was his thing last year.) It was very anti-performance, the kind of thing I dotted down conceptually but dipped out before the encore. How could you top that, huh. So dig it, now the album he’s shilling is his second self-titled and the band he’s tooling around (dig it, the man changes bands like I change underwear) is called the Freedom Band, a funny statement in this post-patriot day era where even clickhole has gotten to calling themselves Patriothole, with eagles n’ shit. So what does Ty and the Freedom Aand mean in an america that’s gone great and back again?