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Leah Ottman passed away last week at the age of 33.
Mr. Kimbrough here is from one of my favorite MN connected bands (as this song is too). Hell, one of my favorite bands in general I suppose.
The Jayhawks just released their 11th album and snuck in a quick performance outside.
A little more Minnesota music. Though, technically, the last one was someone I played for the sake of a bit for the second time now. This one though, is purely on talent.
Seeing and raising DK.
From the Private Interests’ FB page:
"Last night Private Interests lost our brother Trevor Engelbrektson. When we started as four friends in a basement he was our bass player, our arranger, our detail man, our curmudgeon, the big sweaty beard scratch hugs guy, the guy with all the stories about his kids and the only guy that really understood how most of the equipment worked. We had a lot of fun together and made some music which we think was truly great. Trevor had a unique ear for pacing, a quick turn or twist in a song and the eagle eye focus to materialize it from the creative ether. Upon reflection it seems his aim was mainly to make music he truly found exciting for himself and it shows. And so we played music and told bad jokes and drank reasonably priced beer. We drove around in a shitty van. And so time passed and with that Trevor himself passed and left a huge hole in the fabric of our world. As time goes on the rest of us will also pass and leave the fabric looking like Swiss cheese, like tattered carhartt trousers, like well worn leatherette van seats full of the cigarette burns where he used to be. And so new fabrics will be woven and new people will come and go in their own stead, they’ll play their own songs and tell their own jokes and have their own kids and grow their own prodigious beards and maybe, just maybe, one of these young new people could, in just the right light, at just the right moment, remind you of what we had seen and known in Trevor. This is not something to fight, we knew him as a man who lived for beauty, truth and great art. We knew him as a man who pushed forth and supported creativity not as a labor of love but as a natural function as common as breathing. Someday soon our fabric, our Swiss cheese, our tattered carhartt trousers will be gone, we can only count ourselves lucky to have had our world be painted by an artist as colorful as Trevor. We love you brother."
Couldn't have said it better myself. Thanks for everything, Trevroc. Gonna miss you so fucking much.
Trevor’s wonderful wife Marvel (the fronting force of the fabulous Southside Desire) consoled me a couple times this week. Both times I told her I was supposed to be the one consoling her.
Trevor and I went to school together, worked together, even lived together for awhile. I always loved hanging out with him. It's nice to see how many people felt the same.