I forgot how to load photos on here, so if this looks janky, deal with it. For those who don’t know, I am an extraordinarily gifted harmonicker. A constituent once called my playing “fascinatingly devoid of tone, yet highly expressive nonetheless.” This is my prize instrument, the Jos. Fischer “Moulin Rouge” model made in Germany (date unspecified). It’s fairly large for an harmonica which makes it sort of like a grand piano for my mouth, and that’s how I play it… grand. I’m a grand fucking harmonica player. I’ve seen John Popper play, and despite his covetous vests, he can’t touch my shit. I prefer to let my accompaniment settle into a groove before I start playing instead of trampling on the jam. You know, like really internalize the rhythm before I try to express my part in it, my part in God’s Big Band, so to speak. Much like my forays into hip-hopera, the harmonica is merely a means to affix modern urban music’s tropes onto, what some might call, an “antiquated” instrument, and somehow, in between and betwixt eras bygone and avant-garde, create a dialogue without temporal constraints. Plus, I’m sorry, is breathing “antiquated”? Because that’s all I’m doing when I play, breathing beautiful music. I don’t remember who called harmonicas “antiquated”, but rest assured, someone has or will. I cite no sources on Libby Fangaz, sissies.