There's a psychoanalytic concept 'nachtraglichkeit' which translates to the French as 'apres-coup' and into English as ... er, ... well, forget it. A literal translation won't much help, but here's the idea: the memory of past feelings and occurrences is always necessarily reconfigured in a present context; so one's reading of the landmarks of one's own history is different now — and then different again later. Meaning and significance of past events shift based on who you are at the time you're analyzing them.
In JAGUAR RIDE, it's neither my intention nor my interest to analyze anything, but rather to provide the reader something akin a diary. Every conceivable effort will be made to ensure that my current perspectives and evaluations not be heard from, and that people, places and things surrounding the Electric Eels be rendered in their own real time as accurately as memory allows. However, should any persons involved take issue with my version of events, I encourage them to ... uh, ... mutter to themselves (and anyone else who'll listen) their far more objective accounts.
And while this memoir won't try to be more than one-third the story of the Eels, it shall attempt a lot more; by fleshing out the milieu of the band that didn't fit in with the bands that didn't fit in, it hopes to give its readers access to a brand of alienation, imagination, and humor that turned best friends into bandmates.



One final thought: even after 25 years when describing Davy, John or myself, I never employ such a modifier as "ex-Electric Eel" — and I often demur when others do.

The Eels may no longer play together as a band, but corny as it sounds it still feels like the old song says — "when you're a Jet / you're a Jet all the way / from your first fucking cigarette / to your last goddamn dying day".



And now, ... JAGUAR RIDE:?