Admiral Ted Brinkley (semi-ret.)

Big Band Leader


Are the big bands really back? What a freakin' pain in the ass ...silence really is an 800-pound gorilla under a new moon--you sure can smell it, but you try to ignore it since you can't see it...sooner or later it elbows its way into the periphery of your semblance -of-consciousness, much like this unsolicited email.

Admiral Ted Brinkley (semi-ret.) is soon to be no longer on Terra Firma. His ashen pallor, leathery scab-encrusted odoriferous flesh, and biohazard-grade halitosis all testify to his utter disregard, or at least obliviousness to, the supposed advances of Civilization (at least as manifested by the so-called modernists and post modernists alike in the endeavor of sonic emanation).

Idealists and geeks expound and pontificate, high-concept art forms labor upward, often somewhat ponderously...meanwhile, like an amphetamine-infused mole burrowing out in the yard, no-concept-happy-stupid music asserts itself semi-intrusively off to the side-- figuratively and literally flipping the bird at people, things, itself, concepts, and the void. like any self- respecting civilized being , please close your drapes and ignore if you wish. report back about your high concepts with your data and your findings--we will (pretend to) listen sincerely and take it all under advisement.

Ted Brinkley's music is gleefully nostalgic, and happily, dare-i-say militantly, devoid of any pretense of conceptual profundity. As Ted himself was heard to remark, after disembarking from the HMS Prince Hairy at Heather-On-The-Moor, "I am the musical equivalent of a guy who builds little dioramas out of popsicle sticks". He is also suspected of saying: "In the chain restaurant that is culture, i am merely the sonic manifestation of a newly-hired and soon-to-be-fired ever-pubescent busboy."