Tag Archives: Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm

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When you’re a hammer, every song looks like a nail

September 20, 2025 Joseph

Sure was a long, long hot summer night. Wait … was that more than one night? THREE MONTHS? Jesus, I slept late. Stupid alarm!

We’re coming to the close of a very quiet summer in Big Green land. Hey, you know how it gets – you spend two years on an album, drop the mother, then you’re on to other things. Matt’s holed up in his private compound deep in the woods of Central New York, churning out songs, writing a book, feeding the beavers at Spring Farm (pictured above), and generally making a nuisance of himself.

Me? I’m flying in my taxi, taking tips and gettin’ …. wait, no, that’s not it. Just keeping the home fires burning, folks. We’ve got pieces of the next project under construction, pre-production if you will (and even if you won’t), and some tracking. It’s a slow roll, but it’s a roll.

Friends in Manila (and Jakarta)

Funny thing about our latest album, In Retrograde, is that it’s doing better in The Philippines than pretty much anywhere else. Who’s number 2 in the Big Green fan club? Indonesia, that’s who. Could have knocked me over with a feather when they told me that. Longtime readers of this blog may remember our shaggy dog tails about our Jakarta-based corporate label, Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm. If THOSE dudes find out people are listening to us over there, lord only knows what comes next.

What’s their favorite song? Far and away, it’s Matt’s “Could Be On Your Way“, one of my personal favorites on that long-ass album.

It’s a bit of a sleeper, but I like it because it makes us seem like we actually work up arrangements rather than just play random instruments about a million times until it sounds like something.

They got it the wrong way round, see?

Other groups (and they know who they are) look at us like we have two heads because of the way we work. My response to them is, yeah, we have two heads because we’re two people. What’s confusing them, though, is that we use digital recording tools – computer workstation, digital instruments, etc. – but record in a super old-school way. We’re just playing parts, overdubbing, punching in, etc., like we were running a Tascam 8-track deck. No sequencing, no virtual stuff, aside from drum patterns.

Call us Luddites. Call us cavemen. Call us anytime – we’re always glad to hear from you. Yeah, we’re set in our 80s counterculture ways, so what’s new? We may have it the wrong way round, but it’s the right way to our dumb asses. Thing is … how is it that these Southeast Asia listeners are finding “Could Be On Your Way” when it’s seventeen songs into a remarkably obscure 24 song album?

It’s a mystery wrapped in an enigma then dunked into conundrum sauce. Sounds delicious!

WTF is next, anywho?

Well, that’s anyone’s guess. We’re in pre-production for another new music project, and then there’s all the Ned Trek stuff that needs to be remastered. Suffice to say, there’s no rest for the weirdies.

Usual Rubbish

All the king’s robots and all the King’s pens

September 9, 2022 Joseph

We got another one of those notes, man. One of those neighbor notes about the uncut lawn. Let’s say they’re a little disappointed in us. I have to admit, I’m disappointed in us, too. We really SHOULD have mowed that lawn, but we were too damn LAZY and SHIFTLESS. (Please share this post with our neighbors so that they will feel validated.)

Anyway, here we are in the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, no validation in sight … not even for our parking. You know, I think we might be the subject of yet another community effort to rid the neighborhood of ne’er do wells. Frankly, I object to being termed in such a way. I may not always do well, but I certainly sometimes do well. I can’t speak for any of the other members of our entourage, but I for one try to remain on the straight and narrow. (It’s been a bit too narrow lately, though.)

Call in the lawn robots

Now SOME people I know, and I won’t say who, hire robots to mow their lawn. I’m not super comfortable with that idea. The part I’m not comfortable with, I should add, is the “hire” part. Why buy the milk when you own the cow, right? We have our own damn robot, thank you very much. His name is Marvin (my personal robot assistant), and if you Google his full name, you’ll come up with about twenty years of posts on this very blog. Or some nonsensical artificial intelligence story. Same damn thing.

Thing is, the lawn robots descend onto your property in a swarm and cut the grass in about ten minutes – just a big flurry of activity, then they’re gone. Marvin could NEVER do that. If he tried to get a job with the lawn robots, he would never get past the first interview. They would laugh him out of Utica, for chrissake. Think of that: Laughed out of Utica. Good name for a band, I think. But I digress. I can’t ask Marvin to do our lawn. It’s a matter of principle. Marvin was created for greater purposes, like vacuuming the hall. I can’t allow him to lower himself in that way.

Sign ’em if you got ’em

What Marvin really needs is a contract. We used to have one of those, with that crazy corporate label Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc., of Indonesia. It was signed in red ink, actually, though it may have been blood, now that I think of it. Those guys were kind of rough. They weren’t getting us to do shit by using Jedi mind tricks. It was more the truncheon and tire iron method. But hey, you don’t want to hear about our contract signing ceremony under duress. This is supposed to be a HAPPY occasion.

It’s actually a good thing we’re no longer under contract to Hegemonic. We can release our new songs into the wild like birds and let them fly on their own volition. Labels always make you do dumb shit you don’t want to do, then cut up your albums to make two or three. You call that value? Jesus Christmas. What an industry! Even our mad science advisor, exploiter of the intergalactic time warp, Mitch Macaphee thinks that’s unjust, and he’s crazy as a loon. Maybe crazier.

From green to red

Yeah, so there are drawbacks. And the first is no money to pay the damn bills. A smarter band would just let them do what they want with their music, but nobody ever accused us of being smart. At least not to our faces.

Usual Rubbish

I said, Oh man, God Damn that Dream!

July 15, 2022 Joseph

I told you, I don’t have the money. You can look in my guitar case – go ahead. Here’s he key to the padlock. Rummage through the back of my amp. There’s nothing in there but decades-old cigarette butts and some tortoise shell picks I never use. Hey, get your hands off me! Where are you taking me? HALP!

What the …. ? Oh. So it was just a dream. What an em-effing relief. Thank you, Jeebus. Sorry, folks – I must have dozed off in the middle of our conversation. Dreamland is a bizarro world. Squares look like circles, time collects in puddles, and people eat potato chips with a fork. And that’s just in my normal dreams. Thing is, I almost never have bad dreams, unless I’m dreaming about our old corporate record label, Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc. Which is what I was dreaming about a little more than five minutes ago (according to the time puddle).

Bad old days

I know most bands tend to reflect back upon their careers and celebrate their own youthful missteps and flights of folly. Yeah, well, that’s not us. We’re constantly re-litigating the past, and as a result, I’ve gotten at least one grisly visit from a knuckle-scraping denizen of our former label, Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc. And yes, it was in dreamland, that’s true, but tell that to my dream self – to him, it’s just land, right? Does a fish know she’s underwater? Well, does she?

Dream or no, it brought me back to those bad old days when sinners were murdered for the greater good. No, wait – that’s a song lyric. What I really mean is those days when we were laboring under the watchful eye of our multinational record label, which was actually just a subsidiary of a big ass mineral extraction company that was busily grinding Papua New Guinea to a pulp. Like most capitalists, they just squeezed the juice right out of us. And when they got tired of drinking Big Green juice, they demanded pomegranate juice, I think because of its antioxidant properties. (Capitalists are nothing if not guarded about their own well-being.)

No redoubt too remote

I’m assuming I don’t need to repeat for this audience the full details of our sordid parting-of-the-ways with Hegemonic. Suffice to say that they didn’t take the announcement of our divorce with equanimity. Turned out that a contract meant a bit more to them than it did to yours truly, and so Big Green was kind of in the soup for a few weeks … or months … or maybe eight years. You lose track of time in deep space, and the further out you go in space, the further back you go in time.

What am I talking about? Good question. Here’s a mediocre answer. When confronted with the hired thugs of our deeply disappointed corporate overlords, we turned to the one man who could help us in our hour of need: our mad science advisor, Mitch Macaphee, inventor of Marvin (my personal robot assistant), the man who closed the space warp up again (bet you didn’t know that!), and so on. With his help, we were wisked into deep, deep space where no thug would ever find us. Until now, that is …. now that NASA has uncovered the primordial star field that was our exclusive recluse. DAMN THEM ALL TO HELL!

But it was just a dream

Fortunately, we won’t need the hiding place, at least not yet. Unless Hegemonic’s dream thugs break out into the waking world. Or continue to confront us in our REM sleep. No doubt those guys are back to doing what they love best – poisoning indigenous water supplies in remote areas of the world for quick profit. That’s the ticket, boys.

BIG GREEN