#moppaelliott

Repost from @nickmillevoi using @RepostRegramApp - This is the best band photo I’ve ever been in. Moppa Elliott’s UNSPEAKABLE GARBAGE plays in Philly on Friday at Buckeye Studios. We sound like 80s Aerosmith/Motley Crue/Ornette’s Prime Time. @mkekennedy Quartet will be rockin too. Check the link in my bio. . . . #unspeakablegarbage #philadelphia #moppaelliott #jazz #rock #bandphoto #badass #shred #sunglasses #beard #clicksave

#UnspeakableGarbage 2018 #hotcuprecords #moppaelliott @jonirabagon #yonkers #threebands #garbage #dumpster @gladproducts #govie #govies #pgsa4eva #govielove #clicksave

Mostly Other People Do The Killing - Live #fortune 2016 #PeterEvans - trąbka #JonIrabagon - saksofon #MoppaElliott - kontrabas #KevinShea - perkusja i elektronika

All songs end in quiet, so while this one still sounds, listen! Once our story began with a man who wandered, longing for home. Odysseus begins another story, another song, as the shores of Ithaca recede behind his boats and he once again turns his face into hard winds and the spray of storm-tossed seas.

All stories start in quiet, so listen! King Antinous's court sits in silence, watching an old bearded stranger wolf a meal. "Who are you, and what washed you up like driftwood on our shores?" "I am no flotsam, no sea glass worn smooth: I am Odysseus, Ithaca's king and victor at Troy, many lost miles and twenty years from home." The king's daughter, Nausicaa, clambers onto his knee and prompts him, "Sing me a song, a twisty-turny song…" Odysseus wipes his mouth and begins.

How big must a wooden horse be to house an army? How large a gift before you doubt its good intentions? A battalion keep silent in the horse's belly, jumbled limbs against spears within the city walls. Slowly, darkness closes on the towers of Ilium. Like stars, the soliders glint against the gates, winking into the night one by one.

Forty men unknit their bones from cramped confinement and, born with the strength of hundreds, scream into their enemy's arms. Swords break. Spears shiver on shields. Battle cries rill at cross-purposes. Viscera spills beneath rent armor. Blood clots the earth. When it is finished, Odysseus musters the battered victors and turns his face to the sea, to home.

The ship eddies in languor, the crew given over to smoking and stupor. There is no urgency in the land of the Lotus Eaters—only merry lounging wafting into fragrant forgetfulness. As the only man left upright, Odysseus must stand up his prone crew and pry them from their pipes.