Jason Goodman

We received this email the other day. I googled Jason Goodman and this is the first image that came up.

Dear Shook,

Hello greetings to you and the Company well my name is Jason Goodman and I would like to know if you do Foil and if you do email me with the price range on the types of Foil that you have Thank you

Best regards
Jason Goodman

NEW RECORDING PROJECT

Grayson not smoking

Aaron not wearing a sweater that doesn't fit

Thomas not doing dishes

Gabe not being cute

Hey guys!
Shook Foil here. Sorry we haven't blogged in a while. We're gonna be sure to get on that.
Here are a few updates:
1) We love the new house! It's really homey, and we love having a rehearsal space. We don't have to rearrange the furniture to practice!
2) We've started having practice on Fridays, starting with eating breakfast as a band. I don't know if you saw those pictures up there.
3) We're working on:
a. new material
b. a recording project that should be out by the end of the year. It'll have some of our older stuff that wasn't on the EP, and stuff we've written since. We're not sure if we're going to call it EP #2, or a mixtape, or demos, but we're going to record it live at our house with the beautiful Joel Seibel.

Rockumentary Resurgence

Greetings Stimulation Nation,
    
      For you robust record heads, here's a new tip: cancel your Thirty Rock, Harry Potter, or 1960's black and white foreign film orders on your Netflix account and start ordering some rock-umentaries. This is my new kick. From The Who to Sonic Youth, there are some really nosy and bizarre music documentaries out there.
      I was hanging out with a fellow music collaborator the other day, and he insisted I watch some clips from his favorite Jimi Hendrix documentary. I kind of thought this was pointless. But I'm young, so I did it. Equally as stimulating as the documentary's live concert footage, were the slices of interviews with Jimi's friends, lady lovers, and scenesters. I've always had an artisitic repesct for Jimi Hendrix, but I think I failed to comprehend the gravity of his art. Watching the documentary helped me understand the movement and ideology that fueled the rock n' roll of that era.
      There was one scene in the movie where Jimi was sitting cross-legged on an ornate tapestry in an unfinished building with a couple of hippies. They were clearly light-years removed from earth on some Laser Spiked Drippage. Jimi was endlessly musing about rainbows and utopia while smoke from incense wafted up around them. The scene lasted far too long. This was comforting. . .
  
(Selah)

      In an era when then line between musical artist and commercial noise commodity is often dazed, I'm one of many artists trying to find my place in this crippled continuum. Who even knows what a true artist looks like? I guess somewhere in the choleric confusion, rockumentaries have helped me find the plot again. Watching Thurston Moore, Pete Townsend, and Daniel Johnston talk about the music they live and die for, I'm learning what it looks like to be an artist. I think I'm too young to be this disillusioned, but nonetheless I'm glad the musical beacons of previous eras have left a legacy for kids like me. I'll leave you with clip from a cult-classic artist, Benjamin Smoke. He was an early 90's post-hippie freak-folk musician from Cabbagetown. Enjoy,

Gabe

Shook Shirts!

Hey folks. We're making the second batch of shirts! Although we're still figuring out which design to use for mass production, the cute tops below are gonna be at the show with Harry and the Potters on July 10th. And it's not all bunnies and waterfalls around here - I pulled my arm splatter painting the black one. This is dangerous business we're undertaking. Believe it.
ttyl8r,
Thomas

More New Lyrics

Hey folks,

Here are the lyrics to a few more songs we've written recently.

Hometown Boy used to sound like a video game soundtrack, but now it's a little more rock-and-roll. Garbage Can is silly, but sometimes it's good to write something that's a little ridiculous. Finster takes its name from the Rev. Howard Finster, who built Paradise Gardens, and is based on some ideas I got while visiting that place, and while reading "Surprised by Hope," by N.T. Wright.

- Aaron

Hometown Boy

Crossing over 75 on Decatur Street
I look at all the yellow and red lights below and I muse:
I'm not jealous of you.

Night began its descent while I was still indoors,
But thanks to all the beautiful street lights, it never gets dark,
No, sir, not in Grant Park!

When I'm old, I will live far away,
But I'll recall these as the good ol' days.
A friend says, "There's so much out there for you to enjoy,
But make sure you don't forget your hometown, boy."

Wave at strangers from the front porch where I smoke with my friends,
Sitting, talking all of these things I thought I couldn't say,
But they're okay.

When I am old, I will live far away,
And I'll recall these as the good ol' days.
A friend says, "There's so much out there for you to enjoy,
But make sure you don't forget your hometown, boy."

Brand New Garbage Can

I've got a brand new garbage can,
Brilliant and silver, spick and span,
Keeping it clean, yeah, that's the plan,
Not trashing this one.

Girl, get your garbage out of here.
Or do I need to make myself clear?
Have you ever held something dear?
Now I've got something.

Something so beautiful and bright,
I just want to keep it that way
Don't want to let you down, no,
I don't want you going through my trash tonight.

If you're coming over to my place,
I'm going to need to clear some space.
Garbage collects at a disgusting pace,
You wouldn't believe it.

Maybe I need to change my ways,
Maybe I'll say this was just a phase,
Maybe I just need a few more days,
Maybe  won't change.


Something so beautiful and bright,
I just want to keep it that way
Don't want to let you down, no,
I don't want you going through my trash tonight.
Don't want to meet you in this light,
I just want to do the right thing,
But it's so difficult, no,
I don't want you going through my trash tonight.

Finster

Found a corpse
Lying prostrate on the floor,
In the corner of a store
In my small town.
Showed around
A photograph of what I'd found,
Went from door to door,
But no one knew his name.

Odd remarks,
"I ran into him in the dark,"
"Saw him sleeping in the park,"
"He was a frightening man,"
"He used to stand
On the corner and make grandiose
Displays like, 'Hark!
The Lord is on His way!'"

So I buried him in my garden,
Marked the plot,
Took an honorable spot,
Built a paradise all around him.

His new home
Is a concrete catacomb
Of mosaic glass and bones,
In artistic dissaray,
It's a display
That will not pass away,
'Til the Lord rolls back the stone
When He returns one day.

As he waits
For resurrection day,
I've put his words on plates
And hung them from the trees.
Hopefully,
All the folks in town will see
I built my will on his fate,
And made something beautifully.

So I buried him in my garden,
Marked the plot,
Took an honorable spot,
Built a paradise all around him,
As he turns to rot,
He'll preach what God hath wrought,
And never be forgotten.

Hedgehog in The Fog

While trying desperately to procrastinate studying for my last final, I was surfing the deep recesses of the web and came across this video. The film reminded me of a Wes Anderson film, except in Russian. I'll admit that I'm not sure of all of the animator's, Yuriy Norshteyn, intentions when watching it, but the curious instinct of the hedgehog is one that leads him to nearly drown. Even after surviving a near-death experience, the hedgehog is enamored by the white horse in the fog. Is the hedgehog so compelled by the creature's circumstance he was not phased by the adventure? The fog holds things that are bound to confuse the short-sighted. Enjoy.

-Gaber

Snapshot of Consciousness

This is one of my favorite poets. His name is Seamus Heaney. This is an interview I found while working on a research paper. He says that poetry, as an artistic/literary form, is unique in that it can capture a, "snapshot of consciousness."

I often try to think of songwriting as an extension of poetry, and I think that is a good way to think about what happens with some songs. They capture a picture of what a particular person/character in a particular position in thought. A lot of times when I go wrong is when I try to capture too wide a range. Of course, a certain range of emotion or thought can be seen in any snapshot of consciousness. If, as Kierkegaard said, "Purity of heart is to will one thing," then I know I'm rarely ever pure at heart. But anyways, poetry has the ability to express that range.

-Aaron

Here's the video:

More Lyrics

Here are the lyrics to a few songs that we've written since we recorded the EP.

Sweet Potatoes

I came within inches of your face

When you reached for the same side dish that I reached for

Our hands brushed upon the ladle

I politely withdrew and refrained from eating sweet potatoes

Our eyes met and for a second

We'd not been introduced, I was taken aback

You smiled, but I turned quick away

And gave myself a bruise, ‘cause I forgot to smile back

So different, now across the room

I’ve never been quite the socialite

Hey, pretty girl, I want to talk to you

I’ve been noticing you all night

I stepped outside to clear my head

When you were making your way on to the dance floor

And I wish that I smoked cigarettes

More often than I do, because I just need an excuse to stay out here

There were too many people there

Too many decibels to enjoy a decent conversation

Sure, that’s an excuse, I don’t care

The risk of being shut down’s not worth the potential jubilation

 


The Monument

Old Grandma never did as she was told,

She could give, but never took, a scolding,

And one day I’ll be like she was.

Her mind sadly went first, simply because

Crazy is what senility does,

So I’ll build something to remind

Me of my most important times

I waited for you to step out from behind

The curtain; my dad acted to remind

Of a day-time TV talk show host,

I thought of you as I would of a ghost:

A brother’s what I always wanted most;

Both “bitter” and “sweet” were strong,

To find out I’d had one all along.

So I raise my Ebenezer,

I know something brought me here.

Is this a life-change, or a tease, or

Is it just another year?

Here’s a monument, a token

Take a moment, let it soak in,

Got a feeling I won’t want to forget this...

We climbed up on the monument to see,

What so few had seen before, the deities

Lit this one ablaze far back.

To hide ourselves from them we dressed in black,

(Trespassing’s a crime) I’ve got a knack

For enjoying little sins,

Against authorities on little whims.

So I raise my Ebenezer,

I know something brought me here.

Is this a life-change, or a tease, or

Is it just another year?

Here’s a monument, a token

Take a moment, let it soak in,

Got a feeling I won’t want to forget this...

Time, I have found to waste it is a crime

Against your posterity, but I’m

Such a foolish man fighting my fear,

That I’ll amount to nothing while I’m here,

That everything I do is just a teardrop

In the massive ocean;

I’d do great things if I could just begin.

Little Significance

Little significance, stay out of my life,

I want to mean something to somebody when I die

Mild sufficiency, “I did the right thing,”

If I were never born would it have changed anything?

Think I’ll tear this city down;

It’s not set up the way I want it.

Grow a new one from the ground

With water, seeds, and the sun shining on it.

How amazing! See its birth?

Perhaps from here I’ll found a nation!

Buildings made of trees and earth,

And better public transportation!

Vanity, vanity, I can’t help myself

I do what I do, pursuing glory and wealth

Vanity, vanity, the things I’ve long sought

I do what I do because it’s what I’ve been taught.

Bartender! Another round!

We’ll have a good time while we’re able!

The thoughts I’ve been tossing around

Are becoming more and more unstable!

I’ll sit back, let the world spin;

There’s nothing I can do about it.

How it works, to my chagrin,

Leaves me little room to doubt it

Don’t need me.

Don’t worry,

I’ll be fine.

I’ll find something,

(or I‘ll just make something up).

Safety and providence up on a cliff,

Is it truth or fiction down there in the abyss?

Sanity, sanity, come when you’re called!

If it were just that simple, perhaps I’d risk a fall.

Here I go.

Don’t yet follow.

Soon I’ll hit.

I’ll let you know.