Mount Wilson Writers

I’m back in Bangkok after my two weeks in Ko Samet. In a word Bangkok is overwhelming. It’s filthy, it’s crowded, and seeping with sin. I’ll be glad to bid it farewell tomorrow. Ko Samet on the otherhand was all I expected; white sandy beaches, luscious fruit, crystal clear water, and relative silence. But I am back to reality and slowly adjusting, though the beach buzz still lingers. Currently I am staying near Khao San road, the main tourist hub. It teems with foreign faces, but if one cares to walk two blocks in either direction the tourist crowd can be left behind. Thats exactly what I did last night for dinner. For some reason I feel more comfortable wandering down dimly lit back alleys, bronze thai faces sticky and shimmering, and watching the rabble and listening the babble. To me its not much of an experience to stick to the main touirist district. And I dont know why, but I dont feel safe there. Most tourists I believe to be trustworthy and honest but here in Bangkok I get a different vibe all together.
Tomorrow I move onto Malaysia where I was originally to meet my friend Charlie, a fellow English teacher in Korea, but for some reason his plans fell through and I am left riding solo again in a country I know very little about. But I can tell you one thing. When I arrive in Kuala Lumpar Im gonna get a nice hotel room for a couple of nights complete with hot water (a novelty) and a television (also a novelty). I’ll be there for about a week before I move on to Hong Kong on the 12th of October. Im sure Malaysia will be enjoyable but I am certainly looking forward to China, where my trip will culminate in Beijing visting Mark.
Wll, thats the update. Today Im gonna wander around the city a bit and buy some trinkets and knick-knacks.

yes still here on the island of Ko Samet in the Bay of Thailand, far enough away from the military pileup mentally but close enough physically. I wont be passing into Bangladesh, India, or Pakistan, at least temporarily. Although Ive heard Afghanistan has great weather in the northern mountains at this time of year. I can just picture Bin Laden sunning himself, his harem of women fanning him with palm leaves, smoking hash out of a peace pipe. certainly sounds idylic.
Anyhow, all is peaceful here. I have settled into a bit of a routine over the last week. Usually up at 9am for breakfast on the beach, then a morning walk, then I attempt to write for a two hour span between 12 and 2, somewhat successfully. At 2pm I have a light lunch and then head to the shoreline to nap, read, swim, et al until the sun goes down. At which time I take a quick shower, apply mosquito repellant to my apparently tasty flesh, and head back out for dinner and a few drinks.
I have also done a few hikes here on the island. While the outer edge is obviously shoreline dotted with bungalows and resorts, the interior is a national park. It seems that no one ventures beyond the beach, and one can’t blame them, so true solace is found among the trees (as it usually is).
It seems that I have arrived here at the same time as the rainy season, which has advantages and disadvantages. The disadvantage being, of course, the rain. The advantage is that I have seen the tourist flock slowly filter out. At my resort the foreign population has gone from about 12 to 3, including myself. Though a bit lonely, it is a true experience to sit on the terrace overlooking the water during dinnertime, and listen to the family who runs to hotel jabber away in Thai, while their little ones scamper about, sand oozing out their mouths.
well, i guess i could write more but my time is limited. Ill be here another week and then on the malaysia.

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Although this past week has been a harrowing experience for all involved, I wanted to let you all know that at the moment I am safe and sound in Chiang Rai, northern Thailand. As the world prepares for the war that will most likely wipe us all off the face of the earth, I feel suprisingly relaxed in this Buddhist enclave. Though it’s difficult to focus my thoughts on anything but home, I have been attempting such.
This last weekend was full of adventure. I believe I mentioned to some of you the mini-trek that I embarked upon. This began with a one hour canoe ride up river to Karen village, a group of traditional, indigineous Thai. The little girls hawked homemade bracelets and the old men sold knifes (nice looking but probably wouldnt get them on the plane), wood carved elephants, and opium pipes. After being chased down the street by the little girls with their goods we arrived at the elephant depot. I tried not to think about the fact that these huge beasts were shackled at the foot. I asked my guide, Anan, if there were any wild elephants in the regions but, alas, the response I expected was forthcoming. “there used to be a group of elephants roaming this area, but the farmers didnt like them trampling their crops, so they domesticated them. There are currently 35 elephants here in Karen villiage, but they are far from wild.” I assumed as much. Nonetheless, how often do you get to ride elephants in Thailand?
We stopped for a quick lunch of rice and vegetables and then hopped on top of the big ol’ mammals. I suppose the last thing one assumes is that an elephant ride will include a degree of comfort, and this assumption was instantaneously confirmed. My back scraped against the wooden seat, and my entire body jostled to and fro. The ride took about two hours, first adjacent to the rice patties which glistened in the noon sun, past palm tree shacks where natives sheltered themselves from the awful heat. Eventually we began to wind our way up the hillside, the elephants huffing, snorting saliva from their trunks, and slapping their giant ears against their rough exterior in an attempt to cool down. I was also sweating profusely, without working and without weighing anywhere near a ton or two or three. Though the ride was arduous, the scenary was magnificent. Grey clouds settled at the tip of far off mountains, shifting slightly. The entire afforded view was green hillsides and rice fields, apart from the river that snaked along the edge of small villages.
When we finally arrived at the top of the mountain, in the Akha village, the elephants were glad to be rid of the burdensome weight. We needed a rest as well. The hilltribe people gathered around us in their brightly colored dress, their hats laden with silver coins, their teeth and gums black from a root that they enjoy chewing. Of course, the first thing offered to us was Coca-Cola (what a surprise). I drank heartily and snapped pictures of the women and children. Most of the men hid in their huts smoking tobacco, marijuana, and opium.
After about a 20 minute respite, it was time for a hike to the waterfall. The destination that our group of four prized since the journey’s onset. We climbed gently over a slight ridge for about a 1/4 of a mile, before declining steeply down a gorge on the other side of the hill. More elephant trekers past us on their way up. We made it into the valley, and then up and over another small ridge, to the elusive waterfall. At this point I was soaked in my own juices, perspiring from the sun’s punishing rays. As soon as we arrived at the waterfall, I stripped down to my boxer shorts and jumped into the lagoon, about twenty feet wide and about ten feet deep. The force of the waterfall dipped me under to the bottom. After about 20 minutes of splashing and lounging it was on the road again. This time a short stop in another hilltribe village and then a fifteen minute walk to a waiting jeep. In another hour we were home, showered, with Singha beer in hand.
The next day was also an adventure but this time purely by car. Ben (my friend from Korea and traveling mate up until today) and I rented a guide a jeep to take us to the Golden Triangle. The Golden Triangle is reknowned for, among other things, the largest opium and heroin trade in the world. Standing in Thailand, looking northward to the fork in the river, Burma is visible on the left and Laos on the right. The Thai army on occasion has been battling with the Burmese drug mafia, or more appropriately junta, that continues to smuggle illegal substances across both borders of Laos and Thailand. From what I’ve heard it’s much eaiser as an American to gain admitance to Laos. I suppose it’s possible to get into Burma as well, but don’t expect to get out. This jeep tour, though enjoyable, couldn’t compare to the previous days adventure. Nonetheless, it was interesting to view the beautiful hillsides of all three countries. On the return to Chiang Rai, we visited a few wats (temples) and another hilltribe village, who were obviously used to tourists because they asked for 10baht ($0.25) to take pictures. Indigeneous capitalists. Can’t blame em.
That evening turned into a surreal event. Ben and I entered a bar slash restuarant that we had been in before. We choose this place because it was inside, there was a live band, and the waitresses were stunning. We proceeded to buy two bottles of Thai whiskey and three bottles of Thai soda water, the apparent drink of choice amongst the patrons. As we sat at the bar, we notice a table with two western men, three Thai women, and an apparent Sikh with turban wrapped around his head. Feeling somewhat beligerent Ben and I began calling him Bin Laden, which probably didn’t sit too well with the other customers. Anyhow, it turned out to be his birthday, and the waitresses brought him a cake, and the band sang Happy Birthday to him. When asked by the bandleader where his was from, the man responded by saying, Afghanistan. All I could think was how extremely lucky he was to be out of the country. As the night wore on, the band broke after an hour set, and came to sit near me. We began discussing music, though their English was limited. Finally they asked if I would sing with them, and being myself intoxicated enough to do just about anything, I agreed. We finally conferred on a few songs which we both knew, including “Hard Day’s Night,” “Twist and Shout,” and “Dont Cry”(by Guns and Roses). I cant say that I am completely familiar with all the lyrics of that last song, but luckily we were in a bar where spoken English was spoken sparingly. After the first two songs, the Afghani, complete with turban, approached the stage, shook my hand, and asked if I would sing Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the USA. We never got around to it, nor do I know the words, and unbeknownst to most average citizens that tune is far from pro-American.

The intense mugginess of the late summer Bangkok air has forced me inside, finding refuge in an airconditioned internet room. Its just past four pm on a scorching Thailand Tuesday. Myself and my traveling partner, Ben, have been here just over two days. My mind is completely frazzled by initial impressions of the Thai capital. One point is certain, foolishly, I did not anticipate the sheer bulk of tourists that descend on this city. I am currently staying on Khao San road which looks like a 1970s timewarp. Hipsters from all points of the globe hunker down here, backpackers mostly, buying overpriced Thai jewelry and clothing, or getting the two week tattoo. This place is honestly overwhelming and not too enjoyable to start.
When we arrived on Sunday afternoon we were immediately pounded by a steady storm, shielded inside the safety of a taxi cab. Ben and I both agreed that the scenary reminded us of Tijuana. Food vendors lined the streets, cars clogged all arteries, tuk-tuks skirted about, and sweat rippled on the dark Thai faces.
Im finidng that, in reality, there isn’t loads to see here. We’ve toured the wats, which are the Buddhist temples and schools. These are by far the highlight. Brightly gilded in rich colors of orange, red, green, these ornate structures define the skyline, and subsequently provide the ambience, for the entire city. Yesterday was reserved for Wat Pho, the largest and oldest of the cities plethora of wats. While there, we each received a half hour session of traditional Thai massage, in which the masseuse cracked bones in my back I wasn’t sure existed. Another feature of Wat Pho is the “Reclining Buddha” that is housed in one of the structures. this gold statue measures approximatley 100 feet in lenght and 40 feet in height and emulates the Buddha on his ascent into nirvana. Its a overwhelming sight.
Sampling the food has also been a highlight and perhaps the main reason that tourists get stuck in Bangkok. The food is relatively cheap and my impression is that the street vendors cook it up right. Most of my meals so far have consisted of a plate of rice covered by spicy vegetables or equally spicy meat. a late night snack in which I have indulged the last two nights is also a dish catered by vendors. This consists of a thin pancake, more appropriatly a torilla, fried on a skillet, with slices of banana inside, this dessert is topped with a condensed milk, and chocolate sauce for an extra 5 bhat.
tonight we plan to see some Thai kickboxing and have a few beers enroute. I’m looking forward to my trip up to Chiang Rai, a city in the northern most province. I depart from Bangkok on Thursday and head to the hills of the north to do some treking and elephant riding.

bip,
corncoppled trouble pistol whipped by a vasectomated monk crandfromdugglepie taking turns riding rythym waves of chocolate psilocybin lost in the quicksand desert hondas stuck in solitude please dont tell todd about us it would hurt too bad plates flying through proverbial space like overcooked rice in rivers of uncut eyes and alibis of crippled no footed dad raping seizemagography matthew mark luke john acts on the romans and hebrews and smoked ganja in dingy basement bars with longhaired shadows on the alabaster coated walls johhny pissed his pants in second grade and now hes serving 10 to life in folsom a transvestite camel slipped under my sheets last night and i spent hours sipping water out of his humps through a straw made of recycled sand paper gog and magog floging frogs in backalleys asphalt triggers on pennsylvania rifles like pistiol whipping a deaf composer with a violin bow dont cha know sweating kimchi pock marked porpoises laugh outside my window in the dead humidity of middle night gibberish floors lay themselves around my head like a toilet paper turban shifting smiles on balboa and 40th drunk koreans in dirty gutters americans trapped in maifestation of pusscaked destiny blending daquiris at backyard barbeques while the world chokes through the toxic fumes of industry urchins with grubby hands and faces stealing bread from the kings table.

The genesis of Tea Leaf Green is entrenched in the environment in which
the band members were raised. From the pastoral vineyard blanketed
surroundings of the hills of San Jose in the north to the glittering dreams
of the Sunset Strip in the southland, the origins embody California,
the land of hard fought progression as well as lazy days in the eternal
sun.

Guitarist Joshua Clark and drummer Scott Rager were childhood chums,
brought along in the positive and enriching environment of a Los Angeles
suburb. The two first began playing together in 1995 in a classic rock
inspired outfit by the name of Parmalot. Rager brought to the fold the
experience of playing to sold out audiences at both the Whiskey A-go-go
and the Roxy Theatre in Hollywood, with his then band, Salty Onion.

After high school, Scott packed up his leaving trunk and headed for the
lights of San Francisco, where the grass is much greener. It didn’t
take long for him to encounter bassist Benjamin Chambers on the campus of
San Francisco State University. It was a chance meeting at best, but in
hindsight, the destiny of both players. Chambers was also a
transplanted Los Angelino, thus the roots ran deep.

The two musicians, spurred by a mutual desire to start a band, met
casually for instrumental jam sessions in Ben’s tiny bedroom in a back
house off Church Street. This period together allowed both to get to know
each other personally and artistically and the foundation of a stellar
rhythm section was solidified. The musical interests were similar, yet
diverse enough, to spark interest at both ends. Scott introduced his
crisp rock drumming to Ben’s funk inspired basslines.

Not long after, Josh also made the move from the San Gabriel Valley to
The City. Clark brought to the table lightning fast fingers and an
intrinsic ear for his art. A trio was instantly formed. The group, though
each adequete songwriters, still lacked a true tune-smith. A handful of
singers, guitarists, and hanger’s-on made their way through the
threshold at Church Street, but none were able to supply what the three
desired so badly, a fourth, and equally potent, wheel to get the car motoring
down the highway.

One night, at a warehouse party, a young, blond, bomber-jacket clad,
keyboard virtuoso named Trevor Garrod caught the boy’s performance. He
asked if he could play with them. After hearing what Trevor had to offer,
quick hands and melodic chord progressions, they readily agreed to
allow him to join the band.

Trevor delivered an instant jolt to the outfit. Songs poured from his
banks like an endless pitcher of beer. He presented his own musical
numbers and helped complete the solid, though unfinished, arsenal of songs
the band already possesed. The foursome soon cut a rough demo that,
while antiquated now, was a glimpse into the greatness and complexity
currently associated with the group.

As any musician will tell you the only way to improve and progress is,
simply, constant gigging. This is what the lads set out to do. They
provided entertainment at studio parties, art shows, small clubs,
backyards, and anywhere else that would allow them to plug in and jam.

Before they knew it, they had a small, but extremely dedicated,
following. A fanbase developed in San Francisco, on the campus of UC
Davis, and in the Los Angeles basin. Soon the band was performing at clubs
like the Paradise Lounge, Boomerang, and the Hotel Utah. As the fan base grew TLG held down a weekly spot at the famed Elbo Room in the City’s Mission District. Over the next half decade ceaseless exploration musically and a vault of original
material help propel them to a more visible plateau. National recognition began to take shape with the band’s initiatory performance at the 2001 High Sierra Music Festival, where the boys have been a mainstay ever since with performances on the mainstage. Four years into life on the road, Tea Leaf Green has compiled an impressive resume of performances from the Knitting Factory in both Los Angeles and New York to the massified fields of Tennessee that is the Bonnaroo Festival, from a string of sold out shows at San Francisco’s Great American Music Hall to a slot on The Gorge Side Stage in Washington State in support of the Dave Matthews Band.

The band continues to improve with each performance, showcasing a
stunning array of sophisticated material that explores the sonic landscape
of progressive, experimental rock music. From the Doors to the Grateful
Dead, from Steely Dan to Yes, from the Jayhawks to Frank Zappa, from
The Allman Brothers to Phish, The Band to the Black Crowes, the list of influences is endless. But more importantly, the music is distinctly their own definitive vision. Such songs as “Warm Up Jam,” “Taught to Be Proud,” “Freedom,” “Deathcake,” “Precious Stone,” “Sex in the Seventies,” “Professor’s Blues,” and “Las Vegas” reveal each member’s individual brilliance as well as a cohesive understandinding painfully absent from today’s music scene. Currently the band is putting the finishing touches on their third official release preceded by the albums “Midnight on the Reservoir” and “Living In Between.”

There is no limit to the band’s future. As new fans discover the awe inspiring quartet, as old fans shake their heads in understanding, as girls whirl beneath the psychedelic overtures, one aspect can be confirmed and agreed upon- THIS BAND ROCKS!
originally written in September of 2000, updated in 2005
originally published on tealeafgreen.com