In 2007 we started a short lived band called Robert Mugabe’s Broadcasting Collective for Perfectly Sane People. We made up one song and really liked it. Then we let free time and a 4 track get the best of us. We improvised a lot of songs. This process was really liberating but also did not allow for time for discussion or editing or content, so there are songs that might leave a listener feeling a little uncomfortable but overall I don’t feel like RMBCFPSP ever really hurt anyone’s feelings. Despite our best efforts to be off putting our shows were enjoyed by the drunk, fun loving, Missoula basement dwellers. The band was too much fun, and going to well which is why like all good things it ended abruptly, mainly to Greg’s insistence on living in another country. Our complete recordings may be found on bandcamp for a pay what you will price. Enjoy but don’t get too lost in the madness.
A message from Greg:
Yesterday, I heard whispers of a vital rain falling on the barren waste just to the west of here. If this is true, spring will be coming early, and fertile will our soil be. Plants of all types should, by the grace of god, sprout. Then, just maybe, the forests will return, and with them , the falcons……
As such the Robert Mugabe Broadcasting collective was formed, with four stalwart falcons raised by a triad of hope, passion and vengeance. First things first, we knew, with determination, what we were doing and where we were headed. Our hands utilized the instruments of labor and warfare like a Tuscan knight who returned from the battlefield to tend his olive groves. Our songs were strong, yet placid, like looking into the unseen depths of a still forest lake. Our first public performances were successful, we found ourselves to be quite competent bards of sorts. Our trouvère songs were both inspirational, with the right balance a wit, whimsy, and neuroscience to entertain almost everybody. But don’t be mislead, the show at the badlander was a turning point, for one falcon was already away in a foreign land, quietly contemplating the realities of fish (yes, really). Romantic intrigue then followed, and with a crack, our fellowship had ended with broken and confused souls now searching the waste. But our work remains as a poignant reminder of the forests that were, and yet still may be. By the night of the fifteen swords, may the fire birth us yet again.
-Greg Kohn May 16th 2013