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| Ty Stone: Mojave Marinoia & The Desert Dream |
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 Our muse on the road, Ty Stone, has returned with a tale about getting out of L.A. for a while, driving deep into the Mojave Desert to meet a total stranger in the dark (wondering if he's going to come back alive) and, if all goes well, returning to L.A. with a music video in hand. But Ty finds more than he bargained for in the mysterious desert where Jim Morrison ate peyote buds and wrote surreal poetry. Click "Read More" for a homeboy's southwest desert adventure.
Mojave Marinoia & The Desert Dream
by Ty Stone
It is Friday, October 11th, and I have safely returned from a trip into the desert. I went to the Mojave for the last few days to shoot a video for my song Heroine. I think it's going to be a masterpiece (even though my contributions to the video are limited to, ìmaybe we should use that turtle!) Anyway, I don't want to blow this whole thing out of proportion, but over the last few days I have had one of the most relaxing, reflective, and enjoyable experiences in some time, and I think that itís worth sharing with anyone who considers themselves an artist.
I have driven through the desert a few times, and always suspected that it had some sort of mystical powers of healing and cleansing. It's the human equivalent of an ultraviolet lamp that disinfects barbershop brushes. It mysteriously strips away all of the crap that life attaches to us. It all started on Tuesday.
As a backlog, let me explain that during the previous weekend I drank enough Tequila to wipe out a whole cheerleading squad. I felt totally charged because D-Lux and Kettlewell had come from Detroit to see my show last weekend, feed me, and take me out partying hard. I dropped Kettlewell off at LAX in the morning because he decided to go to Vegas for a few days while I was shooting my video. Then I headed into the Mojave Desert
I met Nick a month ago at one of my first concert at Molly's. He told me that he had just finished doing a movie on his ranch in the Mojave Desert, and said that it was the perfect place to film a video. He said that he really dug my performance, and told me that he would be interested in having me out to the ranch and trying to shoot something cool. Now you have to understand that I might take 10 phone numbers a night, and probably give out just as many cards of my own. The amount of phone calling here is about one percent of the total amount of phone number exchanging. But contrary to the usual protocol of LA networking, Nick picked up the phone the next day and called me.
"Yeah I have the ranch all cleaned up and ready, so you should come out here next week with my wife and I, and we'll shoot some great stuff in this old abandoned shack on my property."
Somewhat surprised, I say, "Yeah, that sounds like a great time." Next thing I know, I'm cruising into the vast and unknown desert to meet up with total strangers 2500 miles from home. Morrison did it, right?
Over the next few hours, my "Marinoia" starts kicking in, and I start thinking about all of the crazy shit that happens to people in the desert on TV. Am I going to get murdered by a Scottish filmmaker and his psychopathic wife? Will we be killed by leather-clad motorcycle marauders, who are looking for our last drops of gasoline? Will I get lost in the dunes and lay frying in the sun while vultures pick at my bones? What in the hell am I doing? Then I remembered that I was going to film a kick-ass video in the desert, baby, and life was good. (Insert favorite Rock & Roll howl here.)
As I neared the Double-Dogsville Ranch, my nerves started to kick in. It was totally pitch black outside, (and I mean I hadnít passed a light in 15 miles) and there were no street signs or addresses. I shit you not; his address was something like 825,453 Old Indian Trail. The other 800,000 addresses belonged to vacant buildings preserved by the arid climate of the desert. It was a little shady feeling to say the least. As I pulled into the gates, Nick was standing there with a grizzly desert beard, and an open beer for me. (Apparently, the desert inspired the beard, but the fact is that I barely recognized him totally freaked me out.) As soon as he handed me the open beer, I thought, "Donít drink it. Itís definitely got a couple of roofies in there."
As we started taking the tour and talking, I started to drink the beer. I could hear my subconscious repeating phrases like, "I'm totally dead. I'm totally dead.î I kept smelling it, and looking at it against the moon to see if there was any powder residue around the mouth, or in the bottom. (marinoia again) It was a total mind-fuck, and I needed to catch a buzz in the worst way.
Unfortunately, there was no GHB in my drink, but there was a spliff on the table, and Nickís wife had just cooked a really great chicken stew, so we all sat down, got high, and ate dinner. I remember letting out this huge sigh as I finished up my meal. Once I was pleasantly stoned and full of warm food, Nick, his wife Kristina and I started talking. They were laughing when I told them about how I was freaking out on the way out to their cabin. We started joking, and philosophizing about art and life, and talking like old friends. It was probably the first time that I've been able to just sit down and converse on that level in a while. All of the sudden, I felt like I was in the middle of an artist commune. I have to admit that it felt very liberating.
Nick is a budding filmmaker who is Scottish by accent, but has lived all over the world. (Brazil, Hong Kong, India) He seems to be a little excited at first, but it quickly becomes clear that his enthusiasm is what makes him so apt to see the intricacies buried in the simplicities of life. He is very good at capturing those hidden treasures on film. His wife Kristina is an aspiring writer. She spends a few hours a day writing a screenplay in the vintage trailer which she considers to be her office. It feels like they are trying to write the great American movie together, which is cool. They were very cool to me, and I felt like we were old friends almost immediately.
They wanted to show me some of the cool things about the desert that they had noticed since theyíd been out there. Bats, coyotes, rabbits, lizards, and anything else you can imagine run around the desert all night long. I saw the sky as you can only see it when you are 100 miles from anywhere. It was totally amazing. (I had never known this, but you can actually look up in the sky in the desert and see the plain of the Milky Way Galaxy. It looks like a huge cloud that extends across the sky, and in the desert it's as plain as the moon. Holy spiritual moment. Itís like when Ice Cube and Lil Chris get all "religified" in the 64 Impala on Crenshaw in Boyz N Da Hood.)
After a few hours, they move me into my vintage 1950's trailer and I turn in. As I faded off to sleep, I couldnít help but feel a great sense of freedom, comfort and serenity. It was nice to be out of the city for a minute.
We woke up very early the next morning because we were going to be using natural lighting, and the sun was going to be in the right place for the shot's that Nick had planned. After breakfast, we got stoned, we gathered up our gear, and walked out to the shed that Nick had scoped out and began filming. I was dressed in Black, and was wearing a cowboy hat. It seemed very fitting for the desert because it blocks the hot sun, (and looks really cool silhouetted against the desert sky.) We filmed all morning, and then went back to the ranch for lunch. Kristina went into LA to pick up a friend of hers, so Nick and I had some time to kill while we waited for dusk to film some more scenes. Nick suggested that we go and explore the desert. I agreed.
I drive a 2001 Jeep Grand Cherokee. I bought it because of itís urban sensibility, and because it looks cool. I have never had the opportunity to really take it off road, although last winter I drove it in some snow. But all of that has changed, as last Wednesday I drove my Jeep up the side of a mountain. (sort of)
There was a very faint trail through the sand. It looked like a vehicle might have driven that way before, so we followed that trail until it ended. As the road ended, and we were drawing closer to the peak, the urge to turn around became greater and greater. (I happen to know that roadside assistance will not rescue you if youíre more than 50 yards off of a paved road. I might as well have been 50 miles from a paved road.) After several close calls, we approached the apex. When we broke over the peak, I slammed my Jeep in park, jumped out onto the rocks, threw my cowboy hat into the air and howled at the sky. It was so intense that I could feel the adrenaline building with every passing moment. I wish we could have filmed that.
We spent the rest of the afternoon in the Joshua Tree National Forrest, which closely resembles some sort of prehistoric landscape. There is vegetation there the likes of which I have never seen before. (Hey, It inspired U2.) We went up to a place called Skull Rock and spent some time philosophizing about the mountains, and dinosaurs, and creation. (It was like when Cain pistol-whipped Stacy for fuckin' around with Ronnie in Menace To Society.) We picked up some pretzels and hot dog buns and headed back to the ranch for sunset.
The sunset was breathtaking at times. I had never realized how quickly the sun moves across the sky, but once it reached the top of the mountains to the west, it was totally gone in no more than 30 seconds. It was pretty amazing. We shot a few great scenes against that background and then settled in to the usual routine before calling it a night. I had a quick chance to look at the dailies, and I really feel like this video is going to be the bomb.
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In the morning we did a few more shots in the old vagrant cabin, and wrapped shooting by lunchtime. Kristina had returned from LA with a friend late Wednesday night, but we were just getting a chance to get acquainted over some rice and beans. She is a musician from New York named Mick Kubiak. She just moved to LA to live in the apartment where The Doors wrote Light My Fire. (How dope is that?)
As we were all sitting around digesting the meal, Mick and I started taking turns playing our music. We must have played for over an hour before we had to have a smoke break. Her songs are really dark and invasive, and she has this cool alt-country vibe on some of her tunes. We were in the middle of nowhere, trading broken-hearted melodies over lunch to the enjoyment of a filmmaker/photographer who was taking pictures of the scene like crazy, and a writer, who was making requests and clapping. The surrealism carried over to wardrobe as well, as I was draped in Amber glasses, a huge golden belt buckle, and a cowboy hat while Mick was wearing a little black dress and huge motorcycle boots. We looked like we had been beamed from hip LA to the most remote corner of California desert with no warning. It was a total trip.
Shortly after that I realized that I loved this place, and as anyone who has heard my music can tell you, I had no choice but to leave it immediately. I just knew that the longer I stayed there, the less of a chance that I'd ever leave. So since Kettlewell is arriving from Vegas today, I bid adieu to my new friends and sped west through the desert, rocking Robert Earl Keen and throwing dust into the sunset.
The video should be done in a few weeks, and Iíll send it to a few outlets for airing in Detroit when I can. This experience taught me to take chances when you can, and never to let fear dictate your plans. I have also learned that serenity, peace, quiet, artists and the desert are cool while parking, traffic, smog, and posers suck. I hope that anyone who wants to live a free life gets a chance to see the desert like I did. It is an awesome experience, and as much a part of LA as the Great Lakes are to Michigan. No trip here would be complete without a visit to the Mojave, so pack up your cowboy hats and just remember, Kid Rock loves the desert.
Go To Bed,
Ty Stone
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