You’re bored? Good.
The point of “Thirsty Thursday” is to give you a shot to enjoy something different.
If you enjoy Crispin Glover and the lore surrounding him, love/hate Buckcherry and wonder what they’d order at Applebee’s, or have actually heard of The Dirty Projectors, this is the blog for you.
Check back weekly, there will always be something new up.
Love always,
Shoop
A busy night at home is interraupted by unwanted houseguest Crispin Glover. This is an idea that was floating around with Chayden, Ben Herreid, and I a few years ago. We never got around to shooting it for DecoDv.
It may help if you’re familiar with Glover and his off-screen persona. If you’ve seen the “Late Night with David Letterman” episode where Glover refuses to break character, kicks at Dave (while proclaiming “I am strong!”), and is then thrown off the show, or have seen the video for “Clowny Clown Clown”, or perhaps have heard of his film “What Is It?” that features only actors with downs syndrome, I think you’ll grin at “Making A New Friend.”
The song is “Times Are Bad” by Adam Green.
Movie by Jason Schueppert.
The concert was scheduled to start at five p.m., but in typical rocker fashion it didn’t kick off until six-thirty. Cluing you in onto the sloppiness of life on the road, the merchandise tables in the rear of the club were covered in hefty bag bundles full of swag, a few teddy bears littered on top of them. For the Saturday before Halloween you’d be expecting a gaggle of hipsters in ironic costumes, but that didn’t happen. There was merely a ladybug, an alligator, and Edward Scissorhands (complete with massive plastic cutters) wandering through the moderately sized crowd. The all ages scenesters were squatting in front of the stage, chatting up their buddies and awaiting the salvation of sound.
The show started not with a bang, but with awkward chatter between the lead singer, Dave Longstreth, and the sound guy as they attempted to get the right blend of instrumentals and vocals. There was much back and forth and “turn this up” “turn that down” hand gestures before the concert began.
From the strange howling sounds and pain on their four albums, you wouldn’t have expected to see such young, normal looking people on the stage. Longstreth is a Yale dropout who’s been churning out incredibly original music since 2000. The group looked more like a weekend band formed by a Christian youth group leader, with Longstreth being a lanky fellow with hair greased into disarray, topped off with a gray sweatshirt. He was joined onstage by two girls who looked fresh out of high school, perhaps runaways joining his traveling minstrel show. Their names are Amber Coffman and Susanna Waiche, they provided the backup vocals and rocked the guitar and tambourine respectively. In the way back of the stage was drummer Brian Mcomber, and bassist Nat Baldwin.
The group played wonderfully together, completely in tune with each other. This was an amazing feat considering that other than bassist Baldwin, the others are road members of the group. The instruments were perfectly flowing with the lush backup vocals and Longstreth’s calm to explosive voice.
A few songs into the set, the audio tech and Longstreth lost their friendship. After asking if the volume on his mic could be louder. After the tech presumably turned it up, Longstreth asked the audience if it was “better, or the same,” the tech verbally attacked him.
“I’m doing my best, the instruments may be louder than your vocals because you’re three feet from the fucking drum kit. I don’t care, quit busting my fucking balls!” the tech said in a stern voice.
“I wasn’t aware I was busting your balls,” said Longstreth.
“You were,” said the technician.
“We can definitely talk about this later,” Longstreth said with a look that conveyed surprise and embarrassment at the unprofessional demeanor of the tech. After that is was all downhill audio-wise. The rest of their set was filled with speaker feedback and squeals when Longstreth hit his trademark high notes. The backup harmonies glanced at him with discomfort whenever there was a crack and the overall sound took a fuzziness. The Triple Rock is a great club, perfect in that wherever you stand you have a the best seat in the house, but it took a hit that night with it’s employee’s demeanor.
All in all, they played seven great songs, coming off as great as their albums, regardless of the tech’s sabotage. That’s a lot to say, considering a lot of bands have absolutely no stage presence or decent live delivery. Their latest EP is “New Attitude,” out on Marriage Records.
They say he was born without fingernails. After six months of drinking a stool away from him, vodka and curiosity got the better of me.
“Buy me a drink,” he spoke to the empty mug in front of him.
I bought him that drink and the tale began. When he was sixteen, Bill’s grades were good. He was a happy, good looking kid, nothing like the grizzled, worn, middle aged man in front of me. Now he wore flannel and worked at a paper mill. His best friend back then had been Skippy Peterson. The two were inseparable until Skippy started getting into drugs.
“Shit, I forgot to mention the old man. I can’t go on without introducing the old man.” He was still speaking to the mug.
Bill’s old man worked at a meat packing plant and drank heavily. The two of them got on well during the day, but after dinner, the old man got mean from drink. One time he caught Bill’s older brother, Karl, sneaking a cheese sandwich after eleven.
“You little faggot! You buy that bread? That your cheese?” The old man grabbed Karl by the shirt and tried his hardest to knock the scavenging teeth out of his head. He succeeded in beating four of them out.
“We knew to be careful. I always was. I’d be home well before curfew. I wouldn’t even leave my room after ten, in case he saw me in the hall. If I had to piss, I’d use a cup or bottle. Tough luck if I had to shit.”
One night while Bill was sleeping, Skippy came by. No one locked their doors back then. Skippy just walked right in. He opened the door to Bills’ room and watched him sleep. Skippy’d just taken three hits of acid and was in a very off state of mind.
“I slept naked back then. It was some stupid phase I was going through…”
After a few minutes of watching Bill, Skippy realized that he wasn’t acting normal. Bill was acting normal. Emulating Bill, Skippy took off his clothes. Then he climbed into bed with him. The acid was scaring him, he needed an anchor. Needless to say, Bill woke immediately.
“I must have screamed. I didn’t know what the hell was going on.”
John, Bill’s father, came storming into the room, ready to pound some respect into his son. He was furious the boy had awoke him.
“The old man just lost it. He saw me first, naked, standing. Then he saw Skippy in the bed. Skippy just stared.”
John dragged Bill, naked, to the garage. He threw him to the concrete floor. He tore a pair of pliers from the wall and marched to Bill, terrified and cowering on the floor. John grabbed Bill by the wrist.
“I should have run when he went to the tools. I was scared, he was a vicious man and I was terrified. He never said a thing to me, before, or after. He wouldn’t even look me in the eyes. He just started pulling. It took a few tries in the beginning; pliers don’t take to fingernails too well. Then he got the hang of it.” Bill looked worn out, like he’d told this tale a few times and it was wearing on him. I signaled to the bartender for another couple of shots. We got those out of the way before he finished.
“I screamed. I begged. The pain was horrible,” Bill looked to his smooth fingertips. “The feeling of something ripping out of your skin, feeling it slide underneath on its way out. The old man finished and left me alone, naked and sobbing on the floor of the garage. We didn’t talk much after that.”
Story by Jason Schueppert.
Showbiz seems to come in sets of twos. When the animated bug movie “Antz” came out in theaters, the Pixar production “A Bug‘s Life” was right behind it. When “E.R” started out, it went against “Chicago Hope”, similar hospital drama on a rival Network. Now there’s a competition brewing between two shows, which both began airing on the same night on NBC. “Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip” and “30 Rock” are both loosely based around “Saturday Night Live,” and the drama surrounding it.
“Studio 60” is writer Aaron Sorkin’s (“Sports Night”, “The West Wing”) latest foray into TV starring Matthew Perry (“Friends“), Amanda Peet (“The Whole Nine Yards”) and Bradley Whitford (“The West Wing”). Following the on-air nervous breakdown of the executive producer of “Studio 60” (the show-within-a-show), in which he called the program unfunny, the new network head (Peet) immediately goes after Matt Albie (Perry) and Danny Tripp (Whitford) to salvage the show. The problem is that the two of them were forced off “Studio 60” four years earlier and are now extremely successful, bitter toward the network for dumping them, and complete wrecks in their personal lives. “Studio 60” follows Perry and Whitford as they struggle to make the show funny and relevant again.
Sorkin is the writer and creator of “Sports Night” (the show about sports that’s not really about sports), and “The West Wing” (the show about politics that’s not really about politics). Sorkin’s writing is highbrow humor. His writing is like an ivy league college, whereas something like “Yes, Dear” is a high school. One of the threads of “Studio 60” is how television has been dumbed down to the point that nothing interesting can make it on the (network) airwaves anymore, something that Sorkin has suffered first hand. “Sports Night” constantly drew critical praise and Emmy’s, but still floundered it’s way off ABC after two seasons due to a lack of viewers.
It seems as though Sorkin’s unearthing all the skeletons in the closet for the viewers right away with “Studio 60.” Perry’ character is jacked up on back pills and booze in the first episode, no doubt a reference to Perry’s real-life addiction to Vicodin, a story that flooded the news in the “Friends” heyday. Whitford’s character is a recovering addict who fails a drug test due to cocaine ingestion, which feels like a commentary by Sorkin refusing to apologize for getting caught with crack, mushrooms and marijuana at an airport in 2001. The show is by and about successful, worn down people.
“30 Rock” revolves around Tina Fey (former head writer on Saturday Night Live) who writes, executive produces the program, and stars as “Liz Lemon” the head writer of “The Girly Show,” another flagging sketch comedy show-within-a-show. A new network executive (Alec Baldwin) arrives and immediately begins altering Fey’s show. His first piece of business is to fire Fey’s co-writer and bring in a “hip” black comedian to drum up an audience amongst 18-49 year old males, who are in fact not the target audience of “TGS.” Tracy Jordan (Tracy Morgan), “hip actor”, turns out to be completely insane. His arrival to the show causes a dynamic discourse in the cast. “30 Rock” circles around Fey trying to integrate Jordan into the second rate cast and Baldwin’s oddball power plays.
“30 Rock” doesn’t really hit the ball out of the park, but it does keep you busy during the innings. The premise is great, even though the fictional “TGS” seems more “MadTV” than “SNL“. Morgan delivers a majority of the laughs as the insane actor who seems to be modeled off of Martin Lawrence. There’s a bit with Morgan running down the interstate in his underwear waving a light saber, a reference to Lawrence’s breakdown in 1996 in which he was allegedly yelling incoherently at passing motorists while carrying a loaded pistol.
“I got mad when US Weekly said I was on crack. I’m not on crack, I’m straight up mentally ill!” Morgan says in the pilot, a line that delivers a good idea of what the show’s about.
There are issues with both shows, of course, but nothing that’s too much to handle. “Studio 60” catches a lot of flack over the sketches for the show with-in a show not being remotely funny. That isn’t altogether true, it’s just that the sketches for the show with-in a show (which is supposed to be redefining comedy) are pretty hit or miss. So what should Sorkin do? Should he hire some comedians to write the sketches that are mainly background to the witty banter and personal explosions that fill the show? It’s a minor qualm, that makes you cringe, but it’s pretty minor in comparison the bigger issues and thinking comedy that the show delivers weekly.
As for “30 Rock,” it started off slow. They focused too much on Tina Fey, who, apparently, cannot carry a show. Regardless of her ability to reinvigorate the seasons of SNL she wrote, or her ability to make “Mean Girls” something much more than it should have been, she isn’t a great actor. Her character, “Liz Lemon” is not very interesting. The entire show hangs on whether Alec Baldwin or Tracy Morgan will be getting screen time this week. However, the show seems to have evolved over its run. It stumbled over itself in the third episode, and didn’t wow a lot on the second, but that would have killed a lesser sitcom. NBC decided to move it to its powerhouse Thursdays for a game of “sink or swim.”
In the first couple of weeks in air, “Studio 60” and “30 Rock” never really exploded out of the gate ratings wise. Neither of them did well in their first few weeks, both not making it near the top 20 in ratings. NBC even tried to bolster word of mouth by offering the premiere of “Studio 60” on Netflix over a month before its broadcast, and for free on AOL.com. “30 Rock” has been repeating on the cable network Bravo! pretty consistently, and the ads ran everywhere in the months prior to it‘s premiere. However, with it’s timeslot change and it’s material growing better every week, “30 Rock” is growing stronger. The same can not be said about “Studio 60” which has become a bit of a whipping boy for this seasons new chunk of surviving shows.
Despite star power and bankable writers, both of the shows remain in the danger zone. Who‘s to say whether these shows are going to become “Must See TV” or if they’re just going to go the way of “Daddio” or “Freddie.” For the time being, they’ve both grabbed full season orders and have the rest of the year to win over the country. If you fear their early demise, it may be best to remember that “J.A.G.” and “Walker, Texas Ranger” both managed to stay on the air a ridiculously long time.
Article by Jason Schueppert.
Working at KVSC in the music department, I’ve noticed a sad movement. Every year average people, with no discernable talent, spend a fortune recording atrocious music and distributing it independently to radio stations across the country.
In the music office, there is a window sill. On this window sill, spread out, is what is known as the “wall of shame.” Years before I came to work there, cd’s that weren’t merely awful started finding their way up there so everyone could see them. It takes a certain kind of bad, the kind that annoys you and makes you sad at the same time, to get on the wall of shame.
I really couldn’t tell you if Gunther is joking. Head over to his website or his myspace and check out “Ding Dong Song.”
Is that Aaron Eckhart Eckart in a wig?
Gunther supposedly comes from Swedish dancehalls (but he considers himself a “global citizen”). His mission statement on the Gunther site is to “spread the message of love.” I can’t really explain the music. It’s sort of like Ace of Base, but with those laser-zapping synthesizers. It’s all pretty much the same shtick of “You’re lonely, you need Gunther.”
I don’t know if you remember either 1987 (look at that guy!) or 1994 (seriously, check out the website), but Steel Wind brings those two years together nicely.
Formed in 1999, in Texas, Steel Wind has been tearing up the circuit, sounding a whole lot like Journey, if Journey really, really, loved Jesus.
The mullet, the stache, the rollicking guitar and praising anthems, in my head I’m picturing the band furiously racing to church. In a Thunderbird.
Rhonda just wants to have fun. She apparently also likes the sweet sounds of Jefferson starship. She has a few EP’s out (Bedtime Story, Fairytale Lost, Secret Anxiety, Country Breast, Jump in the Tub).
You like that chastity belt? Right on, cause you have to unlock it on the front of her website in order to gain entry.
I think my favorite thing about Rhonda is that in most of the pictures she kind of looks like somebody’s uncle’s sleazy girlfriend. You know, the one he picked up in a bar. Maybe she likes to make fun of his receding hairline in front of the family, and she’s only fucks him when he buys her jewelry. You know, Aunt Rhonda.
Did you know there’s a “Rhonda” resort (I suspect it’s her home)? Did you know that you could own your own “Rhonda” T-shirt?
Before you book her at your nightclub, keep in mind that she has questions/demands that need to be accounted for beforehand:
2) It is optional depending on environment that if you can set up LCD projector I
can background a cool slide show behind me for extra entertainment.
6) What will you supply? My starting bid is $5,000, which is inclusive to TWO
round trip air-flights, TWO days of food for two;, TWO hotel rooms, limo/cab
transportation, paying my Marketing Assistant/Manager for the SHOW.
9)What is the climate? Hot or cold? Anything below 75 degrees will
necessitate long sleeves for this Florida girl!
You see, Rhonda is above jumping in a van and touring every dive in the country in order to spread her fame and hone her skills. She just skipped right over the “learning” stages, and jumped right up to rockstar. You are lucky if she’ll take five grand from you to perform, my friend, you’d better have that limo ready to go!
Sadly enough, these discs are not available at your local record store. Or amazon.com. Or anywhere, really, except for the artist’s websites. A lot of them used to sell their discs on cdbaby.com, but now you can’t find any trace of them. All of these people said, “if they’re not going to give me a record deal, I’ll show them! I’m gonna make it big on my own!” They’re probably still waiting for that big break. Hang in there, you champions!
Borat, a.k.a. Sacha Baron Cohen, is having the best year ever. Riding high on a wave of outrage and curiosity, “Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan” took in an estimated 26 million in it’s opening weekend on a mere 837 screens across America. It quickly marched up to 67 million after it’s expansion to 2,566 screens in it’s second week at the theaters. Currently it’s sitting at 120 million after six weeks in America.
In the month before the film’s release, Borat was everywhere. The first four minutes (along with dozens of clips either from the movie or from “Da Ali G. Show”) have been featured on youtube.com and www.boratonline.co.uk. Comedy Central has been airing a special featuring the character and deleted scenes from the film. Cohen has been on all the late night talk shows in character (he rarely appears as himself for interviews). Many right here in Cloud were dressed up as the Kazakh journalist for Halloween, even. He’s also been the topic of much controversy on many different avenues. Kazakhstan officials are furious at it’s portrayals of it’s country, critics of the film found an absurd amount of offensive material within, and some of the people portrayed are in a fury at how they appear onscreen.
Why the outrage from Kazakhstan? The fictional character lampoons the country, portraying it as a backward place rife with prostitution (his sister is number four prostitute in all of Kazakhstan), inbreeding (he crams his tongue down his sisters throat in the opening four minutes of the film), a place where men greet by grabbing each others khrum (testicles), and a country where number one problem is the Jew (followed by Gypsies, who should be kept in cages. His words, not mine.). There was quite a bit of uproar when he hosted the MTV Europe Music Awards in 2005, in which he called Madonna a tranny (it was her hands that gave it away), repeatedly referred to the bands by the wrong name before they played, and told Brittany Murphy he was picturing her with no clothes, and it was making him fat (I assume in the pants). It makes sense that a country that the average American knows nothing about would be annoyed that this man has become an icon of their society.
The film itself is a mix of a documentary and scripted scenes for Borat and his friend Azmat as they scrape their way across America to gather information on our country. It’s a wildly offensive movie, there is truly something for everybody to gasp in horror at, but it’s also an incredible social commentary on people and how Cohen is able to goad them into revealing their true feelings, since they believe they are speaking to a simpleton (as opposed the Cambridge grad he is). There’s the awful, awful man at the rodeo where Borat sings the Kazakh national anthem. He encourages Borat to shave his moustache because people will think he’s a terrorist, and cracks a joke about how Americans are trying to get gay people lynched. There’s the four frat boys who pick Borat up on the side of the road when his ice-cream truck runs out of gas. They brag about sleeping with girls and never calling them again (it’s about respect claims the 300 pounder), as they inhale an ungodly amount of beer and booze. They openly mock his accent and spew a variety of awful as they get bleary eyed from the drink. Nearly every joke is happily provided by the people who talk down to Borat, never once considering he’s not what he appears.
The humor works on two levels, there’s the potty humor and then there’s the exposure of what some American’s really think when they assume that nobody they know will ever see what they say (they all think the documentary will only play in Kazakhstan). Take a look at the variety of clips available online. It simply takes a little prodding to get an entire country-western bar to sing along to a song about throwing Jewish people down a well. Who’s really the hate-monger in this situation? Is it Cohen, who is in fact an observant Jew, or the people chanting along?
Cohen (as Borat) videotaped a response to Kazakhstan official’s public outcry and the possibility of their pursuing litigation against Cohen at www.borat.kz, “Jagshemash. In response to Ashykbayev’s comments, I like to state I have no connection with Mr. Cohen and fully support my government’s decision to sue this Jew. Since the 2003 reforms, Kazakhstan is as civilized as any other country in the world. Women can now travel on inside of bus, homosexuals no longer have to wear blue hats and age of consent has been raised to 8 years old.” The site has since been taken down by Kazakhstan officials.
So how is life since the movie opened to rave reviews and piles of money? Cohen is being sued by two of the frat boys who appear in the film, claiming he supplied them with alcohol to sign the release to be in the film. Perhaps he used psychic powers to make it appear that they were chugging of their own volition. Dharma Arthur, the TV producer who booked Borat to be interviewed on a local news program, was promptly fired after Borat did everything possible to destroy the broadcast (including wandering into the live weather forecast to introduce himself to the weatherman). Last week, Cohen (in character) was coming back from being on SNL and wandered up to someone on the street to tell him how nice his clothes were and how much he would like to have sex with them (the clothes). The man punched him in the face. Repeatedly.
On the upside, though, there’s currently a bidding war going on for the third and least known character that Cohen played on “Da Ali G. Show.” The flamboyant fashionista Bruno, a character who humorously tears into the world of fashion, is next on Cohen’s plate. Cohen has become a superstar and he’s not leaving the public eye any time soon.
Armed with a banjo and some thoughtful, if incredibly fast-paced, tunes, Jeffery and Jack Lewis recently released their third album in four years. Comparing them to other bands is the easy way out, you don’t really have to dig to describe them. Now that I’ve said that, get this: they sound an awful lot like the Dunes (Andre Herman Dune and David Ivar Herman Dune), an Anti-folk group from Sweden. They both play odd folk songs full of heart, and silliness, with those popping banjo’s and fiddles and whatnot, they definitely seem destined to be collaborators (small geek note: they are friends with each other’s groups on myspace).
The two brothers, along with friend Dave Beauchamp on drums, created “City and Eastern Songs” which came out in September on Rough Trade. It’s full of quirk and charm, the twelve songs on the album (you can get 14 tracks if you get it off iTunes) will in all likelihood make you grin. “Williamsburg Will Oldham Horror” is a contender for the “wait, what?” awards of 2006, with the narrator recounting the time he stepped off a train and stopped who he thought was will Oldham on the platform to chat him up and things go horribly, horribly wrong. Everything in the song happens so fast, that you may miss the part where Oldham unbuckles Lewis’ pants and holds him on the ground. Or not. Maybe you caught it the first time through, Or maybe you reviewed it for the radio station you work at and put the song in heavy rotation, somehow missing the “shit’s” “Pussies” and “fucks” because it all happens so fast that it puts you in a delirious state of awe at the torrents of words racing out of your speakers.
“City and Eastern Songs” is covered in Jeffrey’s illustrations, and if you’re lucky enough it comes with an issue of his comic “Fuff.” If you’re into indie comics along the lines of “Hate” or “Box Office Poison” this is probably up your alley.
Operator: “Chrysler corporation, could you please hold.”
Roger: “No, I can’t fucking hold. This is an emergency!” After a few seconds Roger realizes that they weren’t asking a question. He was going to be on hold regardless.
Some time passes.
Operator: “Hello, thank you for calling-”
Roger: “Dammit, I’ve been on hold for ten minutes!”
Operator: “Sir, I would appriciate it if you wouldn’t use that kind of language. Now how can Chrysler help you?”
Roger: “Sorry, listen I have a bit of a problem.”
Operator: “And what would that be, sir?”
Roger: “Well, I was driving my nephew to school (he’s six), and-”
Operator: “Oh, they’re so cute at that age!”
Roger: “Well, yeah, I guess. So, I accidentally ran over a road construction cone and he started laughing really hard. So I ran over some more.”
Operator: “Sir, let me stop you right there. Chrysler and it’s subsudiaries are not responsible for any damage or charges to it’s customers or their vehilces incurred by reckless behavior.”
Roger: “Well, it didn’t seem reckless at the time.”
Operator: “No, no it never does, now does it?”
Roger: “I guess not…”
Operator: “So what happened, sir?”
Roger: “Well, the air-bag went off.”
Operator: “Oh, are you and your nephew ok?”
Roger: “Well, I’m fine. But Nicky didn’t fare so well.”
Operator: “Sir, we plainly spell out in the manual that you are not to have children in the front seat. Air-bags are dangerous to children.”
Roger: “Yeah, apparently.”
Operator: “What happened to him?”
Roger: “He doesn’t have a head.”
Operator: “Excuse me?”
Roger: “His head. It’s gone.”
Operator: “Excuse me?”
Roger: “The air-bag, it went off and it took his head right off.”
Operator: “Oh, oh my.”
Roger: “Yeah, I know.”
Operator: “Well, what do you want us to do about that?”
Roger: “Do you think you could tell my sister for me?”
Operator: …
Roger: “She’s probably going to be pretty mad.”
Right as the weather was cooling off in October, pigeons started stowing away in between the two doors that lead to the smoking deck on the third floor of my building. They fly in through the large hole where there used to be glass, and nestle in there three or four deep in the five inches of width they have. It’s pretty startling to open the door to discover a small wall of birds where you just put your foot.
They don’t move when you open either door. Even holding open the door to the deck, so they can fly away, doesn’t work. When you take the road of attack, and use a broom in an attempt to push them outside, they just flap their wings a bit and stay put.
(* side note: a few hours after the broom strategy, I left the apartment only to discover a pigeon hovering in front of the glass, flapping and staring at me through it. I have to be honest, it looked like it was threatening me. )
It’s the end of December, and the pigeons are gone from the deck. Except one. I opened the glass door a couple of weeks ago. Lying amongst the carpet of mold between the doors was a lone, long dead pigeon.
In the back of the building, there’s another one downed. It’s huddled against the chain-link fence, frosted over from our first real snowfall this year in Minnesota.
Another lays in the pebbles on the side of the building.
I think it odd that there’s three of them within five feet of the building. It makes me wonder what happened to them. Did the cold weather get the first one? Did birds two and three fly into the building or fence? Perhaps some of them died of natural causes (heart attack / cancer / avian flu)? Serial bird poisoner? Maybe there’s a very clever cat around.
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