To my recollection I have never said ‘I love you’ to my old man or my little brother. And I could be wrong here, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard them say it to me. At least I don’t remember it if they did. But here’s the thing, I don’t need them to tell me that shit. In fact, if my dad told me that he loved me — just out of the blue on the phone or something — I’d most likely take it as a very odd and troublesome sign. I know there are families out there with brothers who tell brothers that they love each other, and sons who tell fathers the same, but — I’m just being honest here — I always found those families super fucking weird. I mean the cool thing about brotherly love, or the love between a father and a son, is that its an unspoken thing. It’s like Travolta’s line of logic about the foot massage in Pulp Fiction. The power is that it’s undeclared. It just is.
I guess I’m starting this blurb off about love and shit because when I look at this film of my little brother, I feel totally overcome by love for him. Like I’m compelled to actually call him up and say “I love you” like one of those weirdos that do that. Which is especially funny when you consider that it starts out with him shotgunning a beer. But it’s the truth. I feel love for the lil dude. EO
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Designed this ditty for The ORWELLS. Stoked for Austin.
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Check out Pitchfork.tv’s premiere of the new Orwells video I directed. Confetti and strapping young gents galore.
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Artist: Owen O’KEEFE (Age 9)
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My little brother and his band, The ORWELLS, are releasing their debut album, “Remember When,” today. You can buy it at all the places one normally buys music. And you should do that. In fact you should buy five or six copies. And at least one vinyl.
I can’t really review the record or say much about its musical merits because I’m biased. As the first and only candidate for the coveted sixth Orwell position (see the fifth Beatle wiki) and as the proud and loyal guru to these drowned suburban river rats — I have too much at stake to really comment. That being said, see this write-up, because it’s spot on.
I am beyond proud, beyond jealous and beyond excited for this band. As an older brother to one of the five (although I sometimes feel like an older brother to all of them), I’ve watched The ORWELLS go from playing basement shows for friends and self-releasing CD-Rs to playing SXSW, garnering Pitchfork reviews and having their album released on a legit record label, Autumn Tone. I watched their songs slowly evolve from Strokes homages into distinct pieces of music. I watched them develop a true voice. And then I watched them blow-up.
And I have to say, it’s the watching them blow-up part that has been the most rewarding and the most validating. It proves what I’ve always found to be true. Honesty and true intentions — youth and spirit and rock n roll — are things that will never go out of fashion. Things that will never die. I remember sitting The ORWELLS down at our kitchen table last winter. We had just finished shooting the “Mallrats” video and I had to literally force them to stay still and send the video to as many blogs as they possibly could. They didn’t seem to understand what the benefit of wasting a perfectly good day during holiday break could be. I told them to trust me. Thank God they did. One of those emails made its way to Aquarium Drunkard and the rest is history.
The last year of my life has been an exciting one, professionally and creatively. But it hasn’t been one-tenth as exciting as watching these kids take off. The ORWELLS are here to stay. This is just the beginning.
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My little brother and his rag-tag band of weirdos are releasing their debut album “Remember When” on July 10th on Autumn Tone Records. I am proud. I am jealous. I can’t wait for these punks to take over the world. This record has more spirit and electricity in it than most have in their lousy, dead fingernails. It’s full of youth and debauchery and angst and grass stained, smoke stained, midwest summer romance. And if you don’t preorder it right now you’ll forever be the doofus who had the chance to know about The Orwells before they were famous but chose to keep listening to The Shins or some shit. Don’t disappoint your grandchildren with such regrets. Get hip or get moving.
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Little video I did for my eight-year-old freak of nature cousin, Owen O’KEEFE.
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Nothing about the production of this video went according to plan. Apocalypse Now/Fitzcarraldo-style man vs. nature vs. technology ball-busting. Those marquee lights in the beginning burned out in one take (generator malfunction) and we didn’t compensate for mountains in our estimated time for sundown. That being said, Baby Chuck and I made the best of it and we wound up with what we think is a pretty sweet video anyway.
Check it out, kiddies.
More Baby Chuck, here!
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