[NOTE: It had been the band's hope to have a detailed interview with each member of Audubon Park available here one the Tropic of Food. Unfortunately, when the Administration attempted to reach Finn Cohen (bass, keyboard, guitar, vocals, percussion), they failed. Luckily, we had time to file a Freedom of Information Act request with the Federal Government before the shut down and received the following documents from Mr. Cohen's FBI and CIA files. The documents are provided below as they were received by the Tropic of Food. No changes have been made. We all hope Mr. Cohen is happy, wherever he is.]
The above image is not Mr. Cohen. It is believed to be a Mr. Eric Rawrrug.
DOCUMENT ONE: Transcript of a Recording of Mr. Cohen Talking on His Cell Phone
COHEN: It's me...no...no...what did I say...don't hang up...no...where's my money...don't give me that...where's the money...listen...we had a deal...I don't care if they are listening...we had a deal...I gave you that money and in exchange you would make sure that Robert Fripp and Andy Summers would be at my baby's birthday party...and what did I get...Les Claypool and Stuart [sic] Copeland...listen, they played new material...not even vintage Oysterhead songs...just give me the money back...okay, I'll talk to you later, mom.
DOCUMENT TWO: Description of a Drawing on the Back of a Olive Garden Napkin
The roughly sketched head of a man resembling Austrian composer Arnold Schoenberg, or perhaps just Schoenberg's sketches of himself. His body is comically thin, though with very pronounced kneecaps. The boy is drawn wearing a Sunny Day Real Estate t-shirt. In the figure's hands there is a large sandwich. It is not possible to tell what kind of bread is used in the sandwich due to the poor quality of the drawing. Inside the sandwich there is a Roland keyboard of some sort. At the bottom of the drawing the word "Collage" is written and crossed out, then "College" which is also crossed out, more furiously, then "Dang, I can never remember which it is." There are various stains on the napkin which appear to be French dressing, though the whole thing smells like Ranch.
DOCUMENT THREE: Description of Various Photographs in the File
Mr. Cohen walking down what appears to a street in New York City. Mr. Cohen stopping at a hot dog cart. Mr. Cohen buying a hot dog. Close up of hot dog with chili onions catsup celery seeds and mayo. Mr. Cohen paying for hot dog. Mr. Cohen carrying hot dog to alley. Mr. Cohen looking around, as though to make sure that no one can see him. Mr. Cohen sitting on milk crate, looking at hot dog. Mr. Cohen covering face. Mr. Cohen saying to the hot dog, 'I honor your spirit and I respect the life that you enable me to live.' Mr. Cohen eating the hot dog. Mr. Cohen checking his text messages, chili and celery seeds smeared around the corners of his mouth. Mr. Cohen playing Candy Crush on his cell phone in an alley for forty minutes, occasionally stopping the game to take a break, listen to the radio and dance alone in the gloom.
DOCUMENT FOUR: Collection of [REDACTED] Mined from [REDACTED]
DOCUMENT FIVE: A Transcript of a Cell Phone Conversation with an Unknown Party
COHEN: Hey, Pusha T, it's me, Finn...yeah, good, thanks for asking...how did your tomato garden turn out this year...oh, I'm sorry to hear that...listen, did you have time to read the book I sent you...I know...I know...like I said, it came across it in the basement of an antique store in upstate New York...I was looking for an end table like the one you have...yeah, that was a great year for American furniture making...anyway, the book...it was an old house out in the country that had been converted into a furniture store...tables, chairs, wardrobes piled high in no real order...there were little paths between the piles of aging wooden things...everything was clearly very old but all in such terrible disrepair...the owner was hunched on a stool by the door...wiry white hair in a flurry around furrowed brow...one eye at an odd angle and white like a dirty pearl...but he was nice and his breath smelled like roses...I wandered deeper into the store and though I felt a growing feeling of unease, I really wanted to find a nice end table, so I kept looking...deeper, the house rambling in surprising directions...much larger than I would have guessed based on how it looked from the road...finally I happened upon a set of stairs...far back between barrows of mattresses...the wooden frame worn along the ground...a cat, perhaps, having clawed it daily for years...and perhaps there were cats in the store...I'd noticed markings in the dust...billows of hair collected in the corners...there was a bare bulb on in the basement at the bottom of the steps, so I went down...the stone foundation...bare...cold to the touch...damp...it sent a chill...even with the bulb, the light was dull and the shadows more sharp...that is where I found the book...closed in the back of a dresser...a nice one...would have been nice for my sweaters...but the book...the book...I lifted it up and immediately felt a wave of revulsion though my body...my skin rebelled against it...I nearly dropped it...but there was a sweetness at the core of that rotten feeling and I knew I had to have the book...I carried it upstairs...as I ascended it seemed to get lighter and lighter...and the feeling of illness and horror began to fade and were replaced by a gentle hum of happiness...I knew something good would come of this...the owner, hunched, looked at the book, smiled and asked for $17 in exchange...it was mine and when I stepped outside, the sky was wide and an over-saturated blue that reminded me of that summer we spent in Orlando...I had to send it to you...after bringing it home and reading the name of the author aloud...Bob Knight...Bob Knight...Bob Knight...[the call ends here]