Ceschi Ramos, Moodie Black, Onry Ozzborn and Esh in Orlando

Ceshi, Onry Ozzborn, Moodie Black and Esh performing in Florida this week.

Wills Pub | Orlando, FL | Wednesday, March 21

willspub-show

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We’ll discuss at a later date the trenches of talent unleashed from Ceschi during a live performance. Word on the street is that they will be making a stop in Miami at Gramps on Thursday. If Thundercats are go, I’ll see you there!

*Could also use a ride to Miami*

Ceschi Ramos is a brilliant artist, delivering hip hip anthems of A capella punk, hugging the crowd from the depths of his lungs . He radiates melodic angst with bursts of tragedy, truth and social commentary that pull on heart strings from the third eye of each solar plexus in the room.

Songs of suffering, survival and isolation, declarations of self and soul, unite the crowd, now transformed, together, in acoustic baptism. Ceschi’s high-speed reiki rap (still trying to catch up, almost there with Same Old Love Song) is infused with intellectual irony and self-deprecation, precisely placed, in set theory, each syllable in synergy.

To see Ceschi live is an amazing experience. If you can get to Will’s Pub in Orlando today, do it.

And..

Moodie Black is amazing.

If you haven’t been listening, start. Now.

The brilliant and formidable (Noisey) Moodie Black will be releasing Lucas Acid, their first full-length in four years, on April 6, 2018 on Fake Four, Inc. –bandcamp 

Florida humans, if you’re anywhere near Orlando, be sure to catch the show!

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So long and thanks for all the food trucks

home-final

Orlando and I have officially broken up.

We had a good run and I’ll always think back on these 18 months fondly, but truth be told, it was doomed from the start.

I debated taking a 2 hour drive just to smell the ocean the very first night we spent together, alone, craving the sounds of a crashing shoreline. She just stared vacantly at her congested interstate, silently proud of the raucous and comfortably far from the beaches I so desperately missed, content in coddling her elitist hipster disciples into the wee hours of the morning.

Sometimes, late at night, if you’re very quite, between Whiskey Dicks and Graffiti Junction, you can hear the city whispering to her occupants, reminding them to throw their skinny jeans in the dryer before leaving the house for optimal results in loss of circulation.

She had her moments, “The City Beautiful.” She did. These moments provided slivers of deliverance from the time spent basking in the arrogance of her daily achievements, manifesting the daily gatherings of intellectuals who desire nothing more than making their presence known at Stardust (an awesome little spot that just so happens to attract a certain breed, henceforth refered to as “Orlando Elitists”).

Ultimately, O-Town was just too far from everything I love and not nearly far enough from what I know to create the illusion of expanded horizons or new beginnings. A lesser version of home, really… and who wants a knock off when the real thing is just within reach.

bye-orlando-publicizing

So long, O-Town.

Thanks for having me.