OH Vermont!


I shoot a look to Jake, “Do women ever stop talking to you?”

Jake smirks back as if to say, “I’m sorry dude… but not really. Not so much. LOL.”

Not that I am entirely surprised that twice in the span of ten minutes some random cute young twenty-something has interrupted our quest for a glorious H&M suit. Nor am I entirely surprised that whilst standing next to Jake I am reduced to the human equivalent of a neutered cat.

“Would you be interested in being a hair model?”, I couldn’t help but notice how the freshly colored locks of the young woman traversed perfectly along her jaw line accentuating an extremely coy gaze. She was completely and clearly in some sort of True Blood vampire glammered state.

As I waited for awkward suit feedback under the patient and vacant combinant hum of the flourescent lights and air conditioning, all I could think was, “I need shoes”. The suit I picked out fit perfectly and I am seriously convinced H&M uses my 5’9″ proportioned frame as a model for everything they stitch. Particularly in the butt. I hate saggy-suit-butt.

A good suit is just something every guy should have. I have two: a DKNY 3-button pin-stripe that I fear is now extremely dated (twelve years in the making) and an all-purpose dark gray suit that looks like it is ready for its first job interview, and then possibly a nap. (It was actually a required purchase for a recent groomsmen appearance.) Neither will suffice for a party… (read this next part as if it was Oprah Winfrey announcing a free car give-away) …on the mezzazine of the Liberty Hotel in downtown Boston!!!

But I digress.

The band recently took a trip to Vermont where we performed at a… well, I’ll get to that. But, the main theme here is that I am truly never leaving New England. Not to say I won’t travel, or enjoy a part-time residence on the Skagen coast of Jylland, Denmark. But after wrecking my skin in the desert, suffocating my lungs in the South, challenging my liver in Montana and depriving my collective conscious as a child in (and of) the Midwest–I feel somewhat completed in New England. The problems I face as an individual are now my own and no longer a symptom of my environment.

I wrote a song last autumn appropriately entitled, “Never Leaving New England”. I really couldn’t think of a better way of saying it. Basically the song is a break up letter to my previous residence of Tucson, Arizona (a decade in the making). I wouldn’t say the lyrics are as obscure or abstract per my norm–and I don’t want to give too much away, but I am pretty sure the song is going to be blasted at Fenway on a regular basis. It’s sort of my “Rocky Mountain High”.

What’s funny, too, is I didn’t think the song would take. Meaning, I didn’t think it would pass the Lagoon audition.

A little insight into the Lagoon “new song development process” (or NSDP):

Usually, but not always, I will introduce a mostly written song (melody, lyrics, chord progression).

“Shush! Don’t try and play along yet!”, I demand as I do my best to articulate the prose to my peers. [Side note: I am not a nervous performer type. Oddly, when introducing a new song to the band I become slightly anxious.]

Eventually we jam on it and depending on the collective mood of the room the song is either destined for instant greatness (immediate return on investment) -or- the song is carted off to the Lagoon compost pile where eventually it decomposes (pun intended) and produces some sort of external function–possibly a fertile B sides “David the Tornado” side-project?

“Never Leaving New England”, for whatever reason, gelled within a few run throughs. Instant-fucking-pudding.

I would love for it to be our “Wicked Game” forever cementing a Chris Isaac like following. Seriously… that guy could record the sound of himself shitting at a truck stop and then go on tour crapping on stage in a disco-ball suit and guarantee a sell-out tour. (I do love that man and I love the fact he is performing the True Blood theme at his shows since it is fairly obvious he was robbed. Really Jace Everett? Really?)


It’s been awhile since Lagoon has had a sleep-over date. Of our “summer tour” Burlington, Vermont was our longest trek–albeit our only trek.

the bus driver

One of the things I love about being in a band, especially this band, is that there is never a moment void of some sort of ridiculousness. We absolutely have to fucking start video taping our existence, I know it is far more ludicrous and entertaining than “The Hills”. Is that a reality show? Is “The Hills” some sort of reality show…? I just sort of guessed based on information I have pieced together from Robot Chicken and The Onion.

There was some confusion about our departure time on saturday morning. I let everyone know that we should leave at 11, ensuring we would hit the road by 12. I made the mistake of telling Pat “we would probably end up leaving at 12″ which he then took to mean we wouldn’t be leaving until 1.

We left at 12:30.

Our first stop was filling up for gas which took us all of the way to the edge of Roslindale (our hood) barely crossing into Jamaica Plains (the hood we want to live in). It was a “must stop” as the sliding door of the band van was in need of some good old fashioned foot stompin’. Normally the door is never opened; however, much like Pandora’s box, once opened it doesn’t close (and additionally lets out Jake’s noxious gas). [Take that cute haircut girl! He farts nonstop!]california omelette remnants

I filled up the red beast (exactly $78) and Jake and Pat demonstrated their best judo kicks to safely secure the door… mostly so no one would have to listen to Marisa complain about being able to see the moving pavement. Like, so what if you don’t have a seat belt and the door could fly open and there is no arm rest to grab onto and you and your high-hat stand could go flying into the Audi in the next lane. Such a freaking wuss.

Second stop: “I’m hungry! I’m hungry!” Seriously, and I’m the High Maintenance band member.

We stopped 30 minutes into the drive at the “dueling random diners of The Second StopInterstate-93″. I wish I could remember the name of the town and diner, but I cannot.

Everyone went for the breakfast buffet but me. I ordered the “California Omelette”, it was cheaper and only took slightly longer to arrive than the self-serve feed trough.

It just seemed like a lot to pay for a lot of meat I wouldn’t eat–and buffets gross me out.

I was scoffed at until the bill came.

I should point out that we had a stow-a-way on our adventure, Kate, whom I believe to be a reincarnated 1970’s Scandinavian popstress.

ME: You kind of remind me of… I don’t know, the blonde chick from Abba.
KATE: That’s so weird, because I just performed a skit at work where I played the blonde chick from Abba.

Our third stop was just within the New Hampster border at the glorious duty-free liquor depot. It’s always interesting to see what each band member selects as his or her poison:

Marisa – Ketel One – solid stand-by
Jake – Some random scotch no one was familiar with (i.e., not “one of the Glens”) – adventurous
Pat – Jameson (12 year) – upgraded stand-by
Me – Blueberry Stoli – couldn’t make a decision and then ended up with flavored vodka (D’oh!)Kate and Pat

“Seriously you guys, I snore… I get up a lot. I’m not going to sleep well with five people crammed in a hotel room,” this was my plea, my argument for getting my own room. I know I can be a prima-donna… it’s a fairly obvious band stereotype straight out of Spinal Tap. But my intentions were only half self-obsessed. And I was going to pay for it of course.

“The room before tax is $129 a night,” the desk person informed me as I pressed my credit card between the knuckles of  my middle and ring finger shuffling it like a poker chip.

“Maybe I should suck this one up,” I pondered.

I went up to the band accommodations to drop off my accoutrements. I looked out the window and I could see everyone in patience like rainthe van waiting for me as the rain pounded down.

Back in the van Pat asked, “Are you really getting your own room?”

“It was really out of respect for you guys… I snore really loud. And no I didn’t get my own room.” I just kept thinking about the wretched night of sleep that awaited me—and how no one believed my snoring bit.

And then I was thinking about how I am getting old. I’ve become a cranky old man that snores. When the fuck did this happen? Ohhhh right around 32.

I digress.

We drove to the approximate location of the Venue, The Radio Bean, and after circling around the block seven times we realized that we had driven right by it (seven times). We parked the van and ran down the sidewalk in the pouring rain to what is (without a doubt) the smallest venue Lagoon has played to date.really?

We crammed into a booth and were surrounded by hippies thoughtfully tilting their heads to various acoustic solo acts. Completing the picture was a wet dog blocking the entry way of the bar/coffee hut.  We all simultaneously exchanged silent glances that read: “what in the fuck are we doing here?” Only food and alcohol could console this situation.

Back into the rain, Marisa and I make a charge across the street to a Japanese restaurant with a covered patio.

Flo Fong, a good friend of Marisa’s that also attended the same micro-biology program at the University of Arizona, recently moved back to Burlington and met us out. (It’s always good to know a local.)

We pretty much had the veranda to ourselves with exception of two well-groomed men sipping on sugar encrusted lemontinis.

Soaked and bewildered by our predicament we contemplated our next move. I can’t remember if it was my idea or someone else’s but I thought out loud, “perhaps another band has cancelled at a more apropos venue in Burlington and surely fate will steer us to said venue. Furthermore, I must run errands that do not require your presence.” Wait, I didn’t say that last sentence. That was Bill the vampire.I think this look says it all.

Pat and I began dialing on our Jesus phones while huddled over our exceptionally small “large” Sake.

No dice.

Somehow my sushi and sake ended up being $52. For me. One person.

The rain storm broke and we decided to just get the show over with. We gathered our equipment outside the entrance along the sidewalk and determined we could maybe, maybe, fit a third of it inside. Full drum kit? No way. Bass cab? Are you kidding? My amp… Yeah right. So basically it ended up being Jake plugged into a house amp that fluctuated between barely working and not working. I plugged my acoustic right into the PA, Marisa striped her drum kit down to snare, one tom, bass drum and hi-hat and Pat, well Pat played with his normal set up. Someone had to keep Lagoon sounding like Lagoon.tight fit

Honestly, it sounded half-decent and I know for a fact that every single person in the audience: Kate, Flo, the bartender (who until my request had never made a martini) and the gentlemen that played before us, all really enjoyed our fractured take on modern life.

We spoke to the guy that performed earlier (let’s just call him “Guy”) and he was really impressed. There was something about him… I’m trying very hard to remember. It’s like he… Spent some time in Berlin? Or something? I just remember that he was living in Berlin. He was a part of the Berlin music scene. In Berlin. He lived there. In Berlin.

One of the code of band ethics I strive to uphold is staying for all the on stage at the radio bean bands on the bill no matter what. (Even if the other bands aren’t borrowing our shit).

As an artist I am very open-minded and by nature I am very interested in all aspects of the fine arts. When the saxophonist and xylophonist set up I thought, “Huh. This has potential.”

The sax player began with an avant garde soliloquy of trills and random sax farts. Cool. Interesting. It’s the notes in between.

That is when I lost it. Completely.

The xylophonist started flailing his limbs with ridiculous exaggerated movements, falling on his xylophone with spastic herky jerky palsy-like fits. This was accompanied with a small cymbal and metal bowl that he pushed across the xylophone bars like a ouija board eye.  It was totally ridiculous. I pretended like I was getting a phone call because the pain of with holding my giggling was painful.

I broke through the doors and vomited with laughter. I wanted to ask them, “So… Really?

I would have named this duo, “The Asshat Experience”.

Seeing as we had the whole rest of our night free we decided to explore all that Burlington had to offer in the nightlife arena–possibly scout out a normal venue. Flo offered to pick us up at our hotel which was most gracious.

After freshening up in the very cramped room with some Blueberry Stoli and tonic, (and some scotch for the fellas), we piled in the back of Flo’s little car like silly little clowns. (If my memory serves us correctly Jake was the only one affected by the pre-outing imbibing and made the trip fairly entertaining.)marisa and flo

Burlington seemed fairly bustling… lots of bars. Lots of people out. Lots of cover bands, reggae and jam bands. Bachelorettes getting on stage… some hand dancing.

I’m not completely convinced we didn’t play at the right place after all.

Everyone was pooping out so we headed back to the hotel. I was dreading it. Dreading my night of no sleep.

Marisa took the cot, Pat and Kate took the fold-out couch which left Jake and I on the king sized bed. With the exception of Jake waking up every 45 minutes–I SLEPT GREAT! I mean I slept really fucking great.

And here are the reviews:

PAT: Oh my God… DUDE! You fucking snored all night long! Ugh… I got no sleep!

MARISA: So, uh… when did that start?

JAKE: You really need to have that checked out.


For lunch we met at Flo’s mom’s Chinese restaurant where we were treated to a personally prepared meal of various authentic dishes. It was really incredible and it’s amazing how when Lagoon travels we always seem to have very fortunate experiences.food glorious food

So, you know… just a peek into a typical Lagoon outing.

Oh, I almost forgot. We took a tour of the Ben and Jerry factory. “Made by hippies, mass-distributed and marketed by a heartless corporation”.

I recommend asking the tour guide if all Ben and Jerry’s is made in Vermont with real milk from Vermont cows.

(hint: it is not.)

follow me on twitter: twitter.com/davidtornado

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Lagoon Update: First song to LA, Birth Control?


A Milestone has been reached

So, yesterday we sent our first completed and arranged song to LA to be mixed. The track name is “protocol,” and for those of you who have been to our live performances will know that this is one of my favorite songs (I tend to jump around a lot). Ok… Lagoon is cruising. It is amazing how much more you can accomplish when you focus on one thing and don’t have to deal with all the crapola that is associated with playing shows. Don’t get me wrong, playing shows is what I live for, it is like a drug; the only drug I know of where they pay you to take it. Also, we’ll be playing shows again starting in September. Don’t cry. It’ll be ok. And if you do cry, save your tears because I LOVE bathing in tears, and rubbing sadness in every pore of my body until I burst.


Ok, on to the shenanigans


I have no idea how this came up in casual conversation, but I still find it amazing that one popular brand of morning after pill is called “Plan B.” I have only had to use this on one occasion (Actually the girl used it. If I did I would probably look different. MAN BOOBS). However, it occurred to me that the name is really horrible. The morning after pill is only Plan B? I figured it would be farther down the line of preemptive maneuvers:

Ok, for example:

Plan A- Abstinence

If you don’t have sex you wont have a baby, this is 100% effective

Humpy no humpy


Plan B- Condoms
Cheap, effective, smell awful

Latex smells rancid!

Plan C- Use Birth Control

Get tested for STDS, get on birth control, and screw like rabbits… ahhhh
(Fact: Actually, the morning after pill is the same hormones as birth control just in higher dosage.)

Pushy Pushy

Pland D- Diaphragms

I don’t know how these work. I only know they look like gnome hats


Plan E- The Pull Out Method

I personally cant do this, I struggle.


Plan F- Pray

I have heard if you pray for a baby to go away it will

Dear lord de-fetus me


Plan G- Morning after pill

Realistically, the morning after pill should be further down the list. Not only is it embarrassing to buy, it also makes the person who takes it pretty sick… like vomitty sick. I have decided that I will write a letter to the makes of Plan B. It will include the previous plans, but also will expand further in more detail:

Plan H- Keep the child put it up for adoption

I am sure someone would love a child from my glorious genetics

I love you billy!!!!!!

Plan I- Keep the child, gain custody, raise it

Take the toothless prostitute mother to court after you plant drugs on her (if she is already addicted to drugs that makes this easier)

Your mother was a whore billy!

Plan J- Get the child aborted at a reputable clinic

 Many doctors will do this for you, if that is what you choose

Plan K- Coat Hanger

No doctor will do this for you unless you are in Tijuana

for clothes only

Plan L – Sell the child on the black market

If the child is a boy you can demand a premiun in Asian markets

Helicopter lift off!!

Plan M- Sell the Child’s body parts


oooo, ground human meat!

(Please note that plans H through M, as well as some earlier are jokes, I don’t want to step on at TOES here, or any babies for that matter. Ahahahahahahaah)

Until Next Time

I know that Dave is finishing up a blog pretty soon about trip to vermont and our awesome fourth of July. If any of you guys have any questions, suggestions, or just want to shoot the shit, feel free to drop me a line either on twitter or Facebook. Oh ya! we got our new facebook URL too: www.facebook.com/lagoonband (creative right?)

 I cant tell you guys how excited we all are about the new album! booya!

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Gulls, A demonic presence, News News News?


Hi friends. I know it’s been a while since we talked, but that’s ok. I am sure you will eventually get over it. I was going to do this blog in video form, but I felt like writing. Too bad for you.


Ok… I gotta talk about the News.

A lot has been going on recently. In fact, it is INSANE, how many stories there are about Michael Jackson. I am convinced that most news companies have simply found a way to put his name in taglines just get readers. I am happy it is almost over, but I could not help but notice what happened on TV the night MJ died:

ABC news planned a special episode of 20/20, it was tastefully done, somber, heartfelt.

NBC did a two-hour dateline on Michael and Farrah. It outlined some of their greatest accomplishments

Most the other networks did life and times of Michael Jackson, in-depth stories, live witness accounts, performances.

So what did the Fox network do? What ingenious, artistic, wholesome way did Fox honor one of the most talented artist of our time.
It re-aired the American Idol Michael Jackson Special….
Really Fox?
That’s what you came up with? Other far less talented people performing, or raping rather, Michael Jackson songs.
I remember tweeting about this when it happened; it is like having trained apes performing Bible miracles. I would rather watch a young child get punted like a football than have to sit through David Cook ruining Billie Jean. Really… that’s the best you could do? Why not show Michael Jackson performing his own songs… How he intended… is that not a logical thing? Or perhaps American Idol is so starved for cash and attention… oh wait… It’s not.


And Iran, Iran so far awayyyyy…..

Whenever a country uses the word “crush” in any political statement in regards to their OWN population, their citizens are not free.  Run away.

Oh ya, and Flock of Seagulls RULE!


Demon Guitar and more on Iran


I recently purchased a 1985 Rickenbacker 4003 Bass guitar. I am in love with it. Seriously, my fingers are barely able to type at this moment because I have been playing so much. However… there is something a little bit worrisome that I found on the internets.


So… is my guitar possessed? Am I doomed to Disappear? Or, like some accounts have said, is Lagoon now destined for fame, glory, and so many suitors that I’ll only be tantamount to an Iranian Supreme leader.

But wait… where was I going with that? OH YA, probably the greatest thing I’ve read recently about Iran… Why does Iran hate Britain? I mean… they did nothing but drink tea, eat crumpets and play cricket? Or football, which is soccer. Beside the point. So apparently the supreme leader, Supreme Ayatollah Ohcrapheap Coalminer, hid all his money guised as state funds (~billion) and put it in BRITISH BANKS. Ha. Gotta love when they seized that. I am sure that is enough to make any power-drunk leader a little Coo Coo for some revenge. Oh I seriously love the Brits.

Supreme Suck

Band News

So, I figured since this is the BAND BLOG, I should mention something about it… We are really close to having a couple of the new songs done. It’s really exciting to hear our plans come together ( I will be tweeting and blipping the crap out of this stuff). We found out the hard way how difficult it is to gig-out AND record an album at the same time. So after our upcoming concert in Vermont, we are going to be taking some time off to really focus on recording, and finishing up all these loose ends. Ha, loose ends, I always giggle when I say that. I dont think we’re crazy… but…


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