Bob Wiseman

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In Duncan time got curious and decided not to move so fast. The performance space “the Showroom” assembled from good intentions and objects that refused to die. Everywhere you look, […]

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John Hammond Jr. had the kind of face that looked like it might explode while he played. Not from anger. From effort. The harmonica demanded it. His cheeks pulled in […]

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The woman selling tickets turned out to be a hotel maid. Not permanently. She told me she was graduating to become a cosmetician. Another woman was a beauty expert who […]

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Tyrant Studios in Vancouver does not announce itself so much as reveal itself in layers. You walk in thinking you are going to play a room, and then Daniel, musican/ […]

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“Have you listened to The Idea of North all the way through?” “I tried,” the second one said. “I kept waiting for the music to start.” “That is the music.” […]

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“Soundcheck in ten,” the booking agent said, checking his phone. “Try not to start a war before doors.” “We were just asking if war is hard wired,” the bassist said. […]

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“Count it in,” the drummer said, twirling a stick. “We’re not playing,” the bass player said. “We’re waiting.” “For what?” “For the singer. For the van. For history to calm […]

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“Don’t start,” the bass player said, tuning quietly. “We haven’t soundchecked.” “I’m not starting,” the drummer said. “I’m asking. Does war ever do any good?” The saxophonist was assembling the […]

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In my thirties in Clanbrassil, country silence felt like a held chord, fields sustaining themselves without resolution. I’d stand in that kitchen and think by older age this whole life […]

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I wrapped the whole horror film up today, coffee cold, brain fried. There were hours in there I couldn’t tell if I was writing for myself, the director, or the […]