About Todd Clouser

A young, genre-defying guitarist, composer, and writer, Todd Clouser is an accomplished musician across the creative music spectrum, leading a unique path to recognition as an act to watch, finding his own voice performing with musicians from Keb Mo to "downtown" NYC jazz legend Steven Bernstein. Clouser's impassioned performances run from piano balladry to dense jazz and groove, exciting audiences with an approach meant to bend the rules of artistic labeling. "A Love Electric" documents Todd's most aggressive ensemble yet, an energetic group based in the stylings of 70's era electric musics. The February 2013 release of The Naked Beat, Clouser's third album of the year, marks the first record to feature his wildly engaging vocals. Think Zappa meets Burroughs with the songwriting sensibilities of Beck and Hendrixian guitar heroics. Clouser is an original, always evolving, and always honest to the spirit of the imagination. In addition to Todd's website, you can find him on Twitter and YouTube.

What to Wake Up For

digital collage - D Enck

It lifts me from sleep, from hot wind dream A mute sun in the never winter morning A thought – someone anywhere, you, may read this ...{read more}

On Leaving Peru: 5 poems by Todd Clouser

image credit: http://www.freeimages.com/profile/aranuir

image credit: Aranuir

Even the Crows are Colored Here

Even the crows are colored here Water in the Sky foots prints to forever rivers While the woman of Betania makes lunch for the hurried thinkers, I am

Even the crows are colored here Where every music exists with no string Wordless verse from the branches And the morning pigs watch their shadows wake the mud

At best, when we sing, we tell a little bit of what was here

Even the crows are colored here The boats don’t look like the trees anymore, they are coming to the city Houses drift like bottles, children swim In the hurried you have to believe this not forever water

Even the crows are colored here The market in Belen Where the music makers are cut and sold, a man laughs at my face Shells and leather, luxury pens, I admire him for the simplicity of his act

At our worst, song-less, kill a little bit of what’s here

Fault in Cuzco

I blame the satellites and the oil men For the loss of romance

But I know its my own fault That here In the day end lit cafe, in Cuzco, between where the churches and Indians sell – one got the gold, other got the cloth Awe can become us

The way the red of home, mothers and year fire, stacks above each other and becomes the bone trees That the meteors might come tonight Danced and shot by Einstein as far as I understand, long or cold To the boots of the quiet watchers on the bench, 8 dollars a shine Head tilting as the children go, no sadness, maybe joy in the hand How could we not have known the stars follow the Earth? ...{read more}

The Insides of Argentina

Argentina / via http://www.freeimages.com/profile/mexikids

image credit

The Humor is Heroic

We have just played a concert in a small town in the flat part of Argentina Desert most of the time, moon up by string, half at full scream, other in dust left by a murder sun

I am sitting middle seat in the front of a Sprinter van Two Argentine men with grey beards and thin hats hold me in laughter They joke about each others age and fatigue and ask me what kind of music we played

It is the last night of the heaviest rains to fall in 40 years Streets on the low side of town are flooded Cars up to their windshields, streets running to creeks There is silence but not sadness as we pass

One man has lost a wife to cancer I saw the pictures under the paintings by the green couch The humor is heroic, as I briefly think of what must be happening, everywhere

We drop the other man off at an old instrument store downtown, its 1 a.m. ...{read more}

Jazz and the Money Jungle


The same thing happens everywhere
Money Jungle is perfect, of the skin, maybe the pulse
On the night no one talks about
A day before New Years, in Panama City

Crooked toe cranes light the canal
Where the mountains mumble down to
Lows talk to the stomping mallets vicious kiss of the strings in the wood, on the 
black, spit the music around the air
         How don't they laugh at beauty
             When it happens so madly?
...{read more}

Music and Sleep

photo copyright http://www.sxc.hu/profile/dlritter

photo © dlritter

Sunbreak Shot in the eye Pistol dust This is our city Victor says hello In an undressed Mexican accent As I pass with my guitar All the cement Underneath us Sun fight for Earth Tepid warmth, like snakeblood Scars on their hearts

He’s still laying in bed Rehearsal is two blocks away I just want to sleep Held by silence Converse in dream But the sun The heart thin glass of the old bedroom door

There is so much happening out there

Conscience and shame wake first Go Make something of a day And I can’t help feeling That I am a spent bullet Shot by some desperate hunter At the greatest desperate kill The jungle hero So much of life already over Lived for us I wonder whats left for me to decide As Pedro opens the door to the studio Drums, shakers, guitar chord Sun I thank you and beg you for the waking ...{read more}

The Naked Beat

The Love Electric

The Love Electric’s new video was filmed in New York City, Lisbon, Berlin, and Woodstock.

You can get “The Naked Beat” here. ...{read more}

Observations on the Cynic

image via sxc.hu

Cut up by it, imagination Strangled by stripes of shame Painted poorly but purposefully by the kind of artist whose arrows are shot before they are aimed It burnt the blood from our dreams Smoke rings in the distant scatter lit city night, flashing dollars at us, so we can give them ours They’ve got fear to be proud of Deadly bullet talk, dead like bullets, shook from color From phonograph to photograph, sound to number, nothing to take serious

Gave us pornography, pictures, moving pixels of tongues in vaginas telling love lies Rose hands slumping over shoulders And I’m told this is what we want I felt once how lips rub, monotony of daybreak

But Today The bells call the dollar to wake and spit its pregnant words, bearing no shame in its womb, like an animal dumber than itself Laughing at each other, behind each other Making judgements upon things we cannot know Because it hurts To be so shamefully shattered And we are confusing Whether the dream, or the fear of it, breaks us ...{read more}

The Art of the Statement – Be the Mule

Graham Lambkin / 1999 Mules / 50watts.com

I found humanity through music. I lose focus and grow cynical at times, but if I am honest as a listener, and remain receptive, the chance of transcending my emotional disturbances and triumphs through music remains. ...{read more}

The Time that John Lurie Called Me

The Time John Lurie Called Me by Todd Clouser / photo credit: Stephen Keates http://www.sxc.hu/profile/Indie9999

My artistic, maybe even my personal, aesthetic had me identifying with the music of John Lurie the first time I heard his compositions on record. ...{read more}

Remember When You Have A Son

photo credit: http://www.sxc.hu/profile/uttecht

remember when you have a son nothing is erased words get stamped upon the letters that will fall from his full grown mouth that the window he sits before is curtained by the canvas colored humming of your stare or gentle smile your push or hold, grace or rain his language slurred by the reflections of campfire ashes in your eyes or the hallway light shadows underneath his bedroom door

and remember before his sketch is colored it was exactly as you would please that you built and pulled the curtain from his quiet stage and know you are his audience and that an artist is not to be believed when they insist their work is simply for themselves

know that he goes falling in life, held by the parachute built by your wrinkling hands landing in the same feathered arms that surely must catch us all ...{read more}