Hey hey oh hai everyone! I’ll kick off this batch of Five Things, Right Now with a line from T.S. Eliot: “If you’re not in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?” Which is just my fancy-pants, literary way of saying I have no idea when I’ll actually have five new, fun things to talk about. And probably not every Friday.
1. The Vandercook SP-15 Proof Press
Meet the new engine of the synaesthesia press! After years working on my Vandercook OS 219, I’ve made the move to the legendary SP-15 — a proof press compact enough to actually fit into my new garage-studio; but, like all “Vandys”, it’s built like a tank. Vandercook introduced the SP (“Simple Precision”) line in the 1960s, and the SP-15 quickly became one of the most popular presses they ever made. Printers love it because it strikes the perfect balance: a generous 14¾” × 20″ form area, precision engineering, and user-friendly controls. This press feels like the right size for where I am now — still capable of my artist’s books, broadsides, and oddball ephemera I love to make, but no longer overwhelming the space…and about 2000 pounds lighter than my OS 219. Give or take. In short: it’s the perfect new anchor for the synaesthesia press. Expect to see new work rolling off this cylinder soon. I might even take a few jobs! Got a broadside idea you’d like me to print?
Of course you know John Coletrane. You probably know Sonny Rollins. Maybe Cannonball? How about Tina Brooks? For me, he’s a haunting figure in jazz — a tenor saxophonist who had the sound, the ideas, the compositional talent, but never an audience. Which is one of the reasons I love him so. In 1960 he recorded True Blue for Blue Note, the only album released under his own name while he was alive. I’ve been streaming it for a couple years now. It’s a remarkable session: lyrical, inventive, full of personality, and yet it sank almost without a ripple at the time. Did I mention Brooks never found the audience he deserved? Or that I love The Creative Underdog? Brooks’s life was cut painfully short. He struggled with heroin addiction, recorded sporadically, and by 1974, at age 42, he passed. Most of his music remained in the vaults until decades later, when (first) the Japanese collectors and (second) the reissue folks figured him out. True Blue is the work of an artist whose brilliance is evident, but who lived and died largely unseen.
3. Gorilla Biscuits at The Van Buren 6 Sept. ’25
They opened for The Circle Jerks. But I was there to see Gorilla Biscuits. Back in their first run (1991-ish?), I’ll be the first to admit I poo-poo’ed them. I poo-poo’ed the whole “straight edge” thing. It felt almost like an oxymoron to me, and I never gave any of those bands a chance. But I have no problem admitting when I’m wrong. Decades later? These guys shred. Their energy was off the charts, the songs tight and fast, and what’s better than people watching at a punk show? It’s a reminder that some music ages better than our own prejudices. And hasn’t punk aged well?! That’s probably one of the five things I should be writing about today.
4. It All Dies Anyway: L.A., Jabberjaw, and the End of an Era
On a recent trip to Half-Priced Books, I came across It All Dies Anyway: L.A., Jabberjaw, and the End of an Era. Essentially, it’s a love letter to a tiny, all-ages coffeehouse; but it’s known better as an underground music venue in L.A.’s “Mid-City” on Pico Boulevard. I wasn’t living in L.A. during its run, but I knew about Jabberjaw through Coop’s amazing, unforgettable show posters that made it into my local record store in Tempe, AZ, during the mid-90’s (and now go for a tidy sum). I love this book. And even though I never set foot inside Jabberjaw, this book makes me feel like I didn’t miss much… other than all the incredible bands that played there.
I’ve never met Jack Woody, but I feel like I know him in the same way I “know” Jabberjaw—through what was created. Woody founded Twelvetrees Press in the early ’80s as a nonprofit, so he could secure NEA money—back when that was still possible—and used it to publish the beginning of what would be daring, beautifully-made photo books. A few years later he launched Twin Palms as a for-profit house, and for a brief stretch between 1989 and 1992 the two overlapped. Everything Woody publishes amazes me: thick papers, deep inks, design so sharp it forces you to slow down as you turn each page. The list of photogs he’s published is staggering—from Mapplethorpe to Winogrand to Ginsberg to Herb Ritts to Eggleston and Disfarmer—and the books feel almost like Christmas Morning. Or Easter Brunch. Or a Diwali Festival. You get the idea.
I’ll end this with a humble flex: the Twin Palms summer sale just wrapped, and I managed to land a lettered copy of William Eggleston: For Now. There were a few signed copies still available(!) (which is what I ordered), but a lettered copy ended up in my library! I want to believe — somehow and some way — that Jack sent it to me himself. ‘Cause he feels my love for everything he makes…all the way from Arizona.
