Alexander is deeply and desperately conflicted. On the one hand, he wants to look like Hemingway and live in a driftwood shack by the harbor where he wears sweaters and waits every day for the giant bird who will finally signal the coming of something… big. On the other hand, he is a fancy golfer named Ukariah who puffs pipes with industry captains and debates the state of sugar futures. As a compromise, he lives in the twisted middle, where his entire world is a Dr. Seuss hallucination. He loves cartoons and Stephen King books. They have influenced him in terrible terrible ways. He looks like a God. He feels like a God. He runs like Jesus’ cousin Mario-Duplanche. His personal hero is Bill the Cat.
Here is a story: Once upon a time, Alexander was a classical piano virtuoso; his knowledge of rock included “Lithium” and “Part-Time Lover” and that’s about it. When he was 21, while resigned to watching old Dario Argento movies in a small room, for some reason he started listening to rock music. Then he started writing music. Strange, strange, strange music. A sex-act between Debussy, Bowie, and Beck. He wrote about subjects that came naturally to him, like neon ghosts and animated bobcats riding down log flumes. It took Alexander years to get the hang of it. He says that the best music that’s ever been written is contained in the great works of Beethoven, Bach, Ravel, Brahms, and Mozart. When he is sick, he huddles on the nearest rainy rooftop and listens to Soul Coughing records until he feels better. The look of a Japanese arcade fascinates him. In another life, he wanted to design dark rides for seaside amusement parks. He still has specs and plans for these rides…. So… someday.
