On rainy days, I hitch a ride to work from The Juliet Kilo. Sometimes I come offering a coffee from the local Dunkin Donuts; occasionally, the car leaks from the ceiling, both sides; and often, the “check engine” light is on. He knows the best routes to go, so I just sit back and ask him silly questions like:

How did you get that name? (The FAA alphabet, you know, Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta...),
What is a good dessert to make for a six-person dinner? (A custard-filled fruit tart in a pie shell)
Or what is Kaiju Big Battle? (People wrestling in giant foam costumes).

The other day, he mentioned he'd be performing so I went to check out his show. Sometimes you go to these things and then feel, like, Oh shit, this sucks and have trouble making eye-contact with your pal the wannabe-musician ever after (Or worse, say, "I really liked...your tattoo." True story, for chrissakes.) Fortunately, it was a great show. It's a bit Icelandic static electricity with a glacial melt into Elliott Smith, may he rest in peace. Anyway, The Juliet Kilo does this multi-media thing where along with his solo guitar, singing and pre-recorded digital back up, he projects short video clips of interesting things, like a traffic tunnel as you're speeding through it or monkey-masked children wreaking havoc on bikes. I told him the audience doesn't need the extra stimuli, and that it actually distracts from the fun of watching a real person a few feet away from you sing and sweat and strum. But that's just me. I don't get out much anymore. Listen to his music here while staring at this photo and imagine it's live.