kullen

They say there are two reasons a man becomes a womanizer. The first, which greatly displeases the women themselves, is that he simply adores all women and is thus rendered entirely incapable of self-control in the mere presence of a breathing female. Women, understandably, hate this. The other sort of womanizer, however, is granted a certain kind of amnesty. He is the kind who loves no women, who is seeking something he cannot find. In his heart lies not malice, but rather a deep and noble loneliness that makes the women he leaves forgive him, tenderly, even as he breaks their hearts.As it pertains to instruments – and, for that matter, bands – Kullen Fuchs (pronounced: ‘fooks’) is most certainly the former. He is a complete and total floozy – an instrumentizer of the most unforgivable kind. Let us make no mistake about it – that man will play any instrument he can get his grubby little hands on – and then casually set it aside while he goes on to play another. Why, in one show – nay, song – alone, I have witnessed Kullen play his trumpet passionately, then tuck it casually under his arm while he pounds the keyboard, which he then flippantly abandons so he can slide what appears to be a violin bow over a vibraphone. During this particular – though I suspect characteristic - musical rollercoaster, Ian Moore strummed his guitar and sang beautifully – now there’s a man you can trust.Kullen’s instrumental promiscuity doesn’t end there. Oh, no. He has flirted heavily with the piano, entertained several affairs with accordions, professed his love to a melodica he found in the Mermaid Lounge in New Orleans, and has been spotted with a vibraphone, a theremin, and even a four peso violin he picked up on the streets of Matamoros. At one point in his life, it seemed the trumpet might settle him. He had, after all, received his masters in trumpet performance and was working steadily on his phD….but, alas. The siren call of a French Horn and pop music proved too tempting. Kullen gathered his effects, shone his shoes, and fled in the night with nary so much as a “Fook you!” to the settled world. (It wasn’t until later he realized there was nothing French about her, and the ‘n’ in her surname was not at all silent.)One wonders why the instruments keep coming back. “It’s simple,” crooned his piano. “We’re completely immobile.” Kullen's trumpet lay helplessly on the floor beside her. “It’s true,” he added. “We literally cannot move unless someone moves us.”Though I felt pity for their situation, something was nagging me, and after a few drinks, I brought it up. “Don’t you kinda like it, though? I mean, just a little?”The accordian, who was entirely sober as I had consumed all her drinks for her, sighed heavily and replied, in all seriousness, “Yes. We kinda like it.”If one were to give Kullen the benefit of the doubt and claim that he suffers not from perennial infidelity but merely from an overabundance of talent, then we could start to forgive him – if not for the instruments (I can still see their helpless faces) then for the multitude of bands. Those people, at least, are consenting adults. Consenting adults with legs. Ian moore, future clouds and radar, til we're blue or destroy, crawling with kings, folden bear, the summer wardrobe and many others have all enjoyed Kullen’s company and, in all fairness, they play around a lot, too. As far as infidelities are concerned, I think we can all agree that musicians pretty much deserve each other.I worry only for the children. Kullen’s undergraduate degree in music education and his longtime teaching experience lend him to training young musicians. Is this safe? Is he simply raising another generation of accomplished instrumentizers? The very thought sends shivers down a melodica’s spine. Somewhere, as if from across the ocean, I a group of French Horns squeals in fear. But is it really fear that makes them shiver and squeal?Or is it, perhaps, excitement?