Van Hunt

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Wed, 16 Dec 2009 23:25:17 -0800

The End of The Month

Sat, 29 Aug 2009 02:09:20 -0700

last night was a pristine end to our Santa Monica residency. my sincerest appreciation goes to those of you in attendance. see you on the return.

Zanzibar/Angels, Tonight!

Fri, 21 Aug 2009 08:23:19 -0700

i’ve been up 24 hours, partying with Oakland. the folks sold out Yoshi’s. wall to wall guys and dolls. i’m headed back to Los Angeles/Santa Monica. Zanzibar, if ya’ll do it like you did last week i might have to jump off the stage into a James Brown split on the floor.

* the after party is at Angels (25th and Wilshire). tapas and mojitos and torches on the piano. VH

Oakland, Tomorrow Night, Yoshi's, 8pm SHARP!!!

Wed, 19 Aug 2009 17:41:25 -0700

get your clothes out of the cleaners.

get your hair done early.

we’re playin’ @8. don’t be late.

‘cause you gets no repeat. you gets no delay.

the band is smashin’! (if i do say so, myself)

see you then!

Van Hunt Show! 8/14/09

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 16:49:44 -0700

LOS ANGELES/SANTA MONICA! i’ll see ya’ll tomorrow night! Zanzibar! no canned goods. just clunkers and car keys, please. VH

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Wed, 22 Jul 2009 19:27:35 -0700

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Thu, 09 Jul 2009 14:12:57 -0700

the stress of rhythm the young mother’s hand hardly registered the sensation of the drip of...

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 23:21:46 -0700

the stress of rhythm

the young mother’s hand hardly registered the sensation of the drip of condensation from her drink when the music started. the Jacksons were on stage. the mother sat with her five-year-old son — who had been, at nearly all times previously, unaffected. this evening held the greatest potential to reach him. by the end of the first song she noticed the boy wasn’t moving to the music like the rest of the arena; he was, in fact, encased in ice with the rhythm, as if an entangled youth. sensing the impact upon him, the mother was satisfied, but as she settled in for the rest of the show, the pounding of hertz pushed through the bottom of the boy’s seat and drove him toward the stage to the source of its power. between sliding under and around soft limbs, the child jumped to see the lead singer under the lights. “he knows i’m coming,” he thought. when he reached the pit of the audience — where the kick drum hit his chest hardest — he exploded; he jerked and tried to break his own backbone. he climbed into the throat of the beat and wrestled it to the ground. spinning his legs and splitting his legs just like the young man on stage. the audience pressed themselves together and left a canyon for the freshest dancer in the room to fan his body parts. the large formation allowed for an exhausted Michael Jackson to point joyfully to a reason to rest and ended a mother’s frantic search. only eyeing her son from the rim of the audience’s circle — because she was at once relieved to find him and afraid to touch him while he was in this trance – granted a quality to the moment.

MJ

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 07:06:11 -0700

a rare example of all the wonderful and awful things that can happen when what you were born to do changes lives

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Sun, 28 Jun 2009 12:46:34 -0700

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Wed, 17 Jun 2009 07:31:24 -0700

this life

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 23:30:16 -0700

Alone, you realize that your mother performed her best for you; but, she was prey to the same hard facts that you’ve uncovered — the ones that dupe most of us. Still, she is your hero and the only hero worth documenting. Selfishness is the most natural response to this harsh existence, so putting another’s well being before your own, as a mother does with her child, may be this life’s lone, redeeming quality.

*winks

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 06:33:08 -0700

last night the lights went out in Georgia

at the end of our first song

it was short & sweet. i enjoyed ya

before the power was gone

if you want me to come back

you must find a way to keep the generator on

i don’t mind singing in pitch black

but, not without a microphone…

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Thu, 11 Jun 2009 10:59:40 -0700

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Mon, 08 Jun 2009 08:20:42 -0700

The Science of Boxing. . . And Songwriting

Wed, 03 Jun 2009 00:32:36 -0700

writing a song is like boxing.

you could just SAY what’s on your mind, without the poetry and rhyme. and you could just KICK someone’s ass, without the boxing gloves and the boxing ring. but, when a set of rules is engaged, a qualitative standard for performance emerges. a simple act suddenly becomes more difficult to complete. a strategy is needed. “should i use brute force or finesse my way in?” either way, an art form is created.

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Wed, 03 Jun 2009 00:13:00 -0700

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Sat, 30 May 2009 23:40:17 -0700