FAILURE BREAK-UP

Here's what Ken wrote:

It is true. Failure has disbanded.

                    I'm not quite sure how to explain why, or if I should, but as I'm sure many of you will want some sort of explanation, I give you this.

                   By the time recording had started for Fantastic Planet, Failure's 3rd album, the writing process in the band had become a true collaboration between myself and Greg. A testament to this is that by the time we finished the record, Greg and I decided the easiest and most fair way to split the songwriting credits and publishing income was simply to split it 50/50.

                   When you have a situation like this in a band everything can be fine until these two people stop getting along. Even then it can be possible to tour and go about certain non-creative band activities. But when the touring cycle for Fantastic Planet ended this summer, and the discussion turned to making another album, it became very clear to me that, due to the deterioration of the relationship between Greg and myself, making another album was not a possibility.

                    I don't feel like explaining what went wrong between Greg and I, but I do want to make it clear that this is the reason why I pulled the plug on Failure. Warner Bros. had already option'd us for the next album and had told us they were ready and waiting for the next one. Also, despite the fact that Fantastic Planet didn't attain the commercial success that everyone was hoping for, I would not have found this to be grounds for breaking the band up.

                    Now for the mushy stuff. I want to thank everyone on this list and else where for being so supportive of Failure and our music. If Failure was nothing else, it was known as a "word of mouth band" which, in its own way, is perhaps the ultimate compliment. And we have you to thank for that. I can't say that I enjoyed every minute of the seven years that Failure existed, but I did have some great times that I'll always remember. I learned a great deal about music and life, met a lot of great people, and traveled all over the world. I am very grateful for all the experiences that Failure has afforded me.

                    I'm sure you've heard the expression that being in a band is like being married. Well its true, and sometimes you have to know when its time to quit and move on to new things.

Sincerely,

Ken Andrews

Here's what Greg wrote:

MY OFFICIAL OBSERVANCE/EULOGY OF THE STICKY BUNS GENERATED PRE-SHOW DREAM EPIPHANY IN SEATTLE AND ALL POINTS IN LIFE EMANATING, WITHOUT REGARD TO LINEARITY(and always in keeping with the protocol of the journey of the Ho Ho Archetype), OUT FROM THAT ONE CROWNING RELATIVITY OF INDIVIDUATION: THE PASTRY-IMBUED ART OF IGNORING ONESELF WHILE IN A CROWDED ROOM.  KNOWN MOST FAMILIARLY AND WIDELY AS MY LIFE--AS IF A CONTRIVANCE OF A WOMB CONTRIVED SAW FIT TO CONTRIVE IT-- WITH FAILURE IN LIGHT OF A LIST AND OTHER MUSICAL HANDELS, THE UMBRELLA OF WHICH IS BLOWN OUT AND GROWING WITH THE PASSING EVENTS WHICH IN THIS REALITY RESEMBLE NOTHING SO MUCH AS WIND AND ACT IN FAITHFUL REPRODUCTION OF NOTHING SO MUCH AS OUR CREATOR IN THE HOURS AND ON THE DAY WHEN HE AND OR SHE, THEY, WE, DID NOT MAKE A HORIZONTILLY MARKED AND TOPOGRAPHIED BLOWFISH{SPINELESS} EXISTING AT THE END OF AN UMBRELLA STALK. KNOWN ALSO IN SOME COMPANIES AS SLOBBELETH COUCHDOM IMBELICUSSBUUNSTIKKIILUTILLRANTIUM.  AND, FINALLY, CALLED BY THOSE ROVING THE MOSTHERMETIICALLY SEALED OF CIRCLES: TIM.

   DEAREST EVERYBODY,

                    First I would like to address myself to all those of you who have expressed a negative attitude regarding the cause or more correctly 'necessity' of the band parting.  Creative differences are really not such a bad thing, and are infinitely preferable to murder.  They imply, at the very least, a pretense of the concerned individuals to a robust and dynamic relation to creating. And I assure you, even if Ken and I were kidnapped and held at gunpoint in a studio (don't get any ideas) little else would come of it but the same frustration and anger which would, invariably, be present at a session of our own volition.  What happened between us was a process spanning seven years and I tend to not want to look upon it negatively since it really can not be (and should not be) separated from the process of our songwriting, towards which I have no ill-feelings whatsoever.  I'm sure no one is naive enough to think that there existed some direct correlation between how well the two of us got along and the quality of our work.  If anything "getting along", while pleasant and obviously enjoyable, in a songwriting partnership, is a short-lived luxury which ultimately becomes a distraction; and it is no shock to me that recollections of creating some of our best work are often times not accompanied by enjoyable emotional memories. While my fondest memories concerning Ken and I are more often than not from other than the recording and writting environment.  I can't speak for Ken, but I would be surprised if he did not at least generally concur with this.

                    But, that's all bridge under the water.  What I really wanted to say here (sandwiched by a lot of self-indulgent stream-of-treacle crap meant only to annoy you--really no different than all my posts) is how much this "mailing list" has meant to me, especially towards "the end" (specifically the Lallapalooza tour) when it often seemed that the only thing getting me out of bed was knowing that a few of you would be there to see the show (well that and the threat of Alexi blowing up my bunk)  I have to admit it: you guys really got to me, and I will miss that.  Thank you.

                    About a week ago I saw something on the news about the astronauts having to fix some of the solar panels up there.  Did anyone else hear/see this? About a half hour before I began writ ting the lyrics to Another Space Song, two summers ago when we were making Fantastic Planet, I was watching a real-time sattelite-beamed feed of an astronaut trying to fix a solar panel. I can't remember the exact details, but it slipped from his grasp and since he couldn't very well swim out and get it he had to just let it slowly float away.  It was a very beautiful shot--very similar to a Tarkovsky film—It must have lasted for  almost forty-five minutes: no sound.  Just the panel gracefully wagging from side to side and, almost imperceptibly, becoming smaller and smaller until it was just a silver dot in a black sea.

                    That same panel is still up there this minute (or whichever one you happen to be in when you read this) orbiting earth ceaslessly, fucked for every ever now and now again.  Such a sealed preservation of isolation needling a random rut through never changing tracks of everchanging space is a fine immutable union for an inanimate object (and a fine vision for manipulation as a meteaphor)  But for those of us living still close enough to the ground to be pulled back down to it (and even those who fear that perhaps it's all up and out from here), it is important to embrace every surprise encounter with the ground: study it while your down, drool on it, even dig into it.   Because if anything makes us human it's the fact that we all fall through space at a rate of thirty-two feet per second, and down here on earth every fall has a termination.   It's true, Gravity is a harsh Mistress, but you should see her as a Wife.  Much more probably than not, when the last of us having anything to do with this 'mailing list' lie on their deathbed that panel will still be orbiting at the same speed in the same fashion, only then unlike now it's solitude (If astronauts continue this trend of klutzy panel handling) will have plenty of company  to illuminate, mirror, and magnify it's ever present fate....and then far below the last of us will flatline.   Now if you'll excuse me I'm due to scrub the custodians toilettes at Warner Brothers.

     Thank you all again,

                              Greg Edwards