by Bradley Royds
Noise: How many lizards does it take to make Zaccardi-Saurian stew?
Mosey: Oh lordy… I can see what dimension we are traveling to for this gamut of polished questions. It takes three delicate saurians: Ambrose Bierce and The Devils Dictionary, an alternate guitar tuning for your everyday life and my father’s 19th century Victorian attic where the stew got a-stirring and the song got recorded.
Noise: Are all of your dreams blue?
Mosey: They were always more of a Greco-Roman sepia hue. That all changed when I resided in Portland, Oregon a couple years back to write and enter the nucleus of my songwriting. It was then when Mosey Greams floated down from the skyline offering frankincense and blue, blue dreams. I had to jump in his skin suit—I had to take the deal.
Noise: Did you cry when Bambi’s mom died? In other words, tear-for-deer or time for venison?
Mosey: It was more of a Tears For Fears moment for me. I embraced the casualty and then face planted into a homemade venison burger the proper way that vegetarians don’t. Although, there will always be a cryogenically frozen tear (in my heart) for that deer departure.
Noise: International Beer-Pong tournament, mixed doubles: Obama-Venus Williams vs. Putin-Anna Khournikova: who takes the trophy?
Mosey: Not a big fan of anything you just said. Obeenus and Putinkova can do anything they want as long as it is not in my radar. However, if you were to ask who would win a clean, sportsman-like competition of Edward Forty Hands: My little lady, or I? I would humbly admit to an ample draw.
Noise: Tattoos: art in an embrace with the human form, or garish artifice in the desperate quest for cool?
Mosey: What’s a tattoo and how does it work? My epidermis is a virgin to the ink, but I dig ’em. I am juggling the thought of getting the Pee Wee’s Playhouse blueprints inked on, or the beautiful word SisterGun—in honor of my sister, Julia. Feel free to check the Twitter account—that I don’t have—to stay up to date with the groundbreaking news.
Noise: You profess to prefer playing shows for dogs and children. What’s your take on cats, and is it a simple case of size differential in terms of whether or not they eat us?
Mosey: The music I write does seem to electrify the children and the dogs in a very bizarre way. Undivided, substantial attention I would say. That was the real inspiration behind the Children in the Park EP. When I was writing and recording it, I found myself performing for an array of children, and dogs, at random locations—primarily in local parks beneath the sunbeams of the great Northwest. I would spot them from a distance and somehow they would just gravitate towards me, sit down and watch and listen. They had these stone-cold stares [in what seemed to be] admirable appreciation. Complete concentration. It’s a real honest pleasure when people can just put the bullshit aside and listen—even if it is a dog, or a child. On another note: you can hold the cats good sir—unless I can ride one into the sunset on a saddle made of dreams.
Noise: A moment of genius: like an expensive truffle hangover or more like a cheap massage with release?
Mosey: Before I started licking envelopes in a warehouse, I mongered cheese for years and went for long walks with the swanky fungi. Therefore I am good with the truffle hangover. I would have to say my inner genius puts on his party hat with a cheap massage and a special beer. You may now enter Madame Grand Release.
Noise: What IS lurking in the muckdew?
Mosey: Muckdew. It’s the swampy muck junk that we struggle to lurk through on a daily basis. I got hold of The Devils Dictionary, I read the first page and I was beside myself—it was a gold mine. It was like being at a half-assed carnival—rolling hills of material. I’ve always been into wordplay and word placement when it comes to lyrical content, and the song “Saurian’s Lurking in the Muckdew” definitely abuses that preference of mine. Google “muckdew” and the music video is the first thing that pops up. The video was shot in Arizona by two very dear friends of mine—Matt Page of Mapache Films and Rhema Marshall—my other musical half. They’re good blokes and both were there during the birth of Mosey Greams.
Noise: Focus on the game or cut to cheerleaders?
Mosey: If the game were a musical performance and the cheerleaders were my audience, I would multi-task that beast. If you are referring to a sports game, and cheerleaders were dancing with pom-poms in regard to team spirit, I would have some explaining to do as to why I was there. I did the sports thing in a past life. That life has passed.
Noise: God: yes, no, maybe, other?
Mosey: Harry Nilsson is a god in my mind. That’s as far as I’ll go with religion.
Noise: Boys, girls, appliances?
Mosey: Give me a Bunsen burner and a box of Crackerjacks and we shall call it even. I got a good girl by my side—I couldn’t ask for more.
Noise: Do you feel it is un-American to publicly embrace a European air and/or heir?
Mosey: Absolutely not. I think we could all learn a little bit more than a thing or two from European culture. Originally, I was going to move there to pursue music, and study Italian full-time, but it just panned out differently. Who’s to say that can’t happen now, but I have a different agenda at the moment. Maybe one day I will get signed to some label, and a structured tour in Europe will be an option… Not banking on it, but it would be the cat’s pajamas. Until then I will just imagine what it would be like to perform in a European cathedral under rustic chandeliers and amongst dusty pews.
Noise: Mosey Greams, Guy Zaccardi. Hmmm… Zac Mosey, Zaccardi Greams… wait… how about Greamy Zaccalingus? Whip the whole moniker thing up to another level—sexy or wtf?
Mosey: Guy Zaccardi was a stand-up guy, but I am going to ride the masterful wave with Mosey Greams. Let’s let it marinate and see what type of tender beef it can bring to the table. Greamy Zaccalingus sounds like some sort of repulsive zucchini cream sauce that Aunt Mabel would prepare for Sunday dinner. So, “wtf” is in the lead by ten points.
Noise: Surf on through the sonic fog! Thanks!