Overview

It's hard to listen when you're being yelled at. Subtlety always works better. So when they threw Chris Leo into prison in Atoka, Oklahoma his band still played the show without him that night in Denton, Texas. When his van crashed en route to the Reading Festival on the M-1 outside of Manchester, sending most of his newly formed Glaswegian rhythm section to the hospital, he rented another bus, picked up fresh lads in Leeds and didn't miss a bill. When label upon label, ten drummers, and eight bass players picked...
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White Pigeons

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Overview

It's hard to listen when you're being yelled at. Subtlety always works better. So when they threw Chris Leo into prison in Atoka, Oklahoma his band still played the show without him that night in Denton, Texas. When his van crashed en route to the Reading Festival on the M-1 outside of Manchester, sending most of his newly formed Glaswegian rhythm section to the hospital, he rented another bus, picked up fresh lads in Leeds and didn't miss a bill. When label upon label, ten drummers, and eight bass players picked him up and subsequently dropped him, it never occurred to Chris to wonder "maybe it's me." Neither angry INS officials on Rainbow Bridge threatening to refuse him entry into his own country nor Basque thugs who stole his tour van and held it ransom in San Sebastian could drive the point through his stubborn skull that his calling laid elsewhere. In the end, it took but a gentle kiss of a front fender against a rear bumber outside the Holland Tunnel one Fall morning on his way to band practice with his Philadelphian rhythm section that whispered a crack just loud enough to pique the Transit Authority cop's interest: an accident on a suspended license is bad bad news. Fortunately, it swept Chris' sea legs out from under him for long enough to do what any of us would have done if mired in a similar situation. He quit his bartending job, closed himself off from the world, holed up in a basement flat in Jackson Heights Queens, played and played and played, wrote and wrote and wrote, until eventually he emerged with White Pigeons, a novel and an album. In this seriously solid vision, no note, preposition, article, or flub is unaccounted for. Chris is as meticulous with his placement of profanities as he is anachronistic with his lofty ideals. Finally the wind beats at Mr. Leo's back rather than pounds against his chest. He's found his path and Fifth Planet Press is proud to offer you White Pigeons as proof.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781880855218
  • Publisher: Fifth Planet Press
  • Publication date: 11/14/2004
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 164
  • File size: 3 MB

Meet the Author

Do not read Chris Leo's writings if you are looking for a beautiful summation of our melancholic state. Do not read Chris Leo's writings if you are looking to develop yourself for the next stage. Do not read Chris Leo's writings if you can remember what you ate for dinner last night. Do not read Chris Leo's writings if you mind being interrupted by strangers while you try to read. Do not read Chris Leo's writings if it's necessary for you to love or hate the author, protagonist, antagonist, seat you are reading in. He is not that kind of writer.Chris Leo is the author of three novels: Feathers Like Leather (Heartworm Press, 2008), 57 Octaves Below the Middle C (Fifth Planet Press, 2006), and White Pigeons (Fifth Planet Press, 2004). His work has been anthologized in Blackbird/VCU (2011), Volume 1 Brooklyn (2011), 23 (Heartworm Press, 2009) and Santi (Black Arrow Studio&Press, 2008). He is also the voice and guitar on over ten albums with his bands The Van Pelt, The Lapse, and Vague Angels.

Marcellus Hall is an illustrator/musician living in New York. His illustrations have appeared in The New Yorker, The Wall Street Journal, The Atlantic, and Time, as well in American Illustration, the Society of Illustrators, and Communication Arts annuals. His first cover for The New Yorker was published in 2005. Hall has illustrated children's books for Abrams Inc and Simon&Schuster. As a musician Hall has made recordings with bands Railroad Jerk and White Hassle and has toured the United States, Europe, and Japan. A solo album, The First Line, was recorded by Hall with accompanying musicians and released on Glacial Pace Recordings in February 2011

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Read an Excerpt

Met a girl on the highway while on tour with my band The Breaks. We were gradually making our way back north on Interstate 95 when our paths unfortunately crossed. On a previous tour I made love to Georgette, a pharmacist in Atlanta going through a divorce. When I received an e-mail from her a few months later telling me her man wan no longer her boy I booked another tour down to Atlanta and back. Philly, D.C., Chapel Hill, Atlanta, day off, Charleston, Richmond, Baltimore, home. It takes a couple months advance notice to make these things come through, though, and by the time I was in Atlanta again I was already embroiled in a retry romance in New York with an ex, making this whole trip seem pointless - for it' love and only love I'm after, reader. Let's establish this early on. If it should ever appear otherwise, understand you're wrong and take this leap with me.

OK. It wasn't always this way though. It began around the same time I'm describing now and just kept getting worse. I was trying new things out. I had forgotten how to eat, or maybe I never new. Food went on plate, food went in mouth, once it had gone in it was gone. Savory then sweet, either starving or full. The best chocolates have just the right hint of vanilla, duh, and Thai dishes come with two condiments, chili peppers and sugar. I didn't get it. I was missing something so I was trying to eat only fortified cream. My new thing was savoring: Holding in a piss all day long or drinking single malts instead of cocktails, at least that was the theory. Yes, when I saw Georgette I wanted to f*** her through the flimsy sheetrock wall of the art gallery we played in, but I was convinced if I held out, sex with my former ex would be that much more fantastic upon my return. She'd smell the p***** this week-long woody passed up and know hers was the only one good enough for it. That, and I give girls way too much credit. I believe they know things. So if I had sex with Georgette sex with my former ex upon my return would be considerably worse also.

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