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"Big dirty brass bands stamping simultaneously through twenty drum kits of desire and a beaten trash can because we can. Humid pavements, sweat and facepaint. Feathers and gris-gris in a beat up station wagon."
The journey began with a plane ticket to New Orleans. She had two months in North America with little money, and no plans except to embrace every experience and use it to write enough material for an album.
Paws pounded those pavements to the rhythms of drum lines and blistering brass. On Montegut Street a tattooed tomcat took me in. His house groaned and shook like a pirate ship on high seas. Jungle trees hid this curiosity from the street. Inside, a salvaged wreck of musical instruments, piled high in the house’s walls, bellowed and sung as if mourning their mates lost to the last hurricane. I imagined I was a pirate queen, scaling masts and swinging from sails until, one morning, I slipped, fell from the roof and landed in a voodoo wagon.
The trip took her from the bawdy bars and tattoo parlors of the French quarter, on a journey that had her hitching through Alabama, North Carolina, up to Seattle, through San Francisco and eventually back to Los Angeles.
Kitty Clementine arrived in LA off the back of a pickup truck, with a book full of new songs, to a serendipitous week in Jeff Bova’s studio. Together they laid down an album in seven days.
"I am Kitty Clementine, I make reality magical and I run hot on the heels of revelry. I am sharp, I am fierce, and I have stories you won’t believe. So fluff up your feathers and run the road, be brave and wild with me."