Martin Green: Me Lion Is Lotion — Digital Album Release
The stick-to-your-ribs, crack-your-chest, scratch-your-head, restlessly beautiful songs of Martin Green
Written by: Mitch Harris
I never really met Marty, as people used to call him then. Our two bands played alongside each other in the mid-90s as they were both becoming somewhat popular or at least recognized around the same period.
Velo-Deluxe & Sardina at The Patio
I was in Velo-Deluxe from Bloomington, where I’d moved the year before from Indianapolis. We recorded the album Super-Elastic in 1994, which got some kind reviews and enabled us to tour England, making us look kind of fancy back home. Meanwhile, Sardina, who Martin played guitar and wrote songs with, created maybe one of the most creative albums of the 90s from our local scene, based out of Indy, with the record Presents, and when I heard we were gonna play The Patio on the same bill, I was quite excited.
I knew Michelle from the hallways of North Central High School and the band wing, where I was a show-choir drummer and then in the jazz band, and she was in various choral groups.
When I saw Sardina, I was struck by Lon Paul’s singular drumming, combining groove, feel, and technique in his own creatively powerful way. I was taken aback by Michele’s soulful and commanding singing, and PJ’s enthusiasm and persistent drive on bass. But quietly beneath it all was Martin, with his peculiar, rocking, and somewhat folksy guitar playing and songwriting connecting everything.
The Strange Thrill of Playing
We didn’t say many words in those early encounters, if any at all. It was a heady era, and everybody was lost in the sauce of young adulthood, trying to figure out the world and how to handle the strange thrill of playing and getting attention for what we made.
Years passed, more than a decade, before I came back to Indianapolis after I stopped playing drums for ten years to focus on other things, expand my horizons, and cleanse my palette. When I returned, I was welcomed with open arms by our great Indiana creative community.
Let’s Jam!
Somewhere in that return, I ran into Martin, maybe picking up gear or something. I met him at his house and we talked easily and briefly. He mentioned a show and said we should jam, meaning improv. I’m not one to back down, and I love improvisation, so we did.
We opened for somebody somewhere and played in tandem. Marty recalls a friend saying we sounded sort of like if War and Can had a baby. I’ll take that exaggerated compliment. In any case, it lasted probably fifteen minutes tops, and life moved forward.
Basement Solo Record
Another twenty years or so slipped by, and I decided to release an album I’d never put out from the mid-90s, recorded in the basement of the House of Sin, where I used to live. I was between tours and bands back then. There was a 4-track and some gear. I played most every instrument and wrote all my own material and called myself Bustin Mustin (after a middle school nickname), and the album is called Getta Grip.
I never released it since at that point I wanted to move on and move out. I’ve written a longer essay about that stretch and my relationship to basements and Bloomington in the 90s, you can find here if interested.
This year I decided to finish that record, organize the material I really liked, make album art (with the help of Andy Fry), and put it out independently on digital platforms. I sent the record to people I respected like some musicians and songwriters I’d known, just to reconnect and for fun. I sent one to Martin, and he wrote me back, said he listened to it. I could tell he had, and he wondered how I did it, which I’d spent the summer figuring out - how to release an independent album on digital platforms. So I told him I could help. We released Infinity Racetrack, which he had already assembled but told me he’d lost, and only through a friend did the tape resurface.
I tend to lose things I’ve created, so I understood the miracle of that. Meanwhile, Marty started sending me different tracks for something else entirely, and as I listened I was amazed by their depth, wordplay, sincerity, and at times subtle emotional complexity. I’m a big fan of four-track sound and samples, and Martin is too, and that’s part of the reality and uniqueness in his work. With no sense of crowing about it, he knows he tends to be a songwriter’s songwriter and doesn’t expect everyone to get his sound. He doesn’t worry about it. But I still want to trumpet it out there and decided I wanted to write something to support it, as it was something I listened to all summer. It’s called Me Lion Is Lotion, and I think it deserves a listen.
Creative Connection & Collection
Martin told me he made his record around 2000–2001. When he finally realized he had to give up being in bands as just wasn’t how he’d be able to make music anymore. He was given an old four-track recorder and had a few transistor radios lying around, went to RadioShack, and made some connections to make it all work. He got creative and made the most of what he had, using his voice in ways that suited the moment.
This collection is an honest representation of someone exploring, being self-reflective, diving into the world and himself, and coming out with something new. Some moments break me, others crack me up. Some make me squint, trying to understand. And others are totally unique and exciting to my ears.
Martin has a way of writing songs that intrigue both the listener and himself. He’s described some of his songs to me as small mysteries. I think he’s still trying to understand, but not so much that he loses the magic of them. I couldn’t agree more, and what a great purpose for songwriting. He doesn’t write from intellect or calculation. He writes from intention and intuition, finding moments of magic and mystery within himself and, in turn, within the world. To me, that’s a source of hope, no matter the subject matter.
Over this summer, as we’ve talked about this project, I realized Martin and I have a lot in common. We both enjoy traveling places and explored similar areas of southern China, both share a deep love of Mitch Mitchell, and both enjoy found art and four-tracks. We grew up around the same era, trying to make sense of being musicians in small scenes, sometimes getting attention, sometimes watching others get it.
Keep Creating (In Community)
This year, we are both releasing albums recorded decades ago, in the 1990s and 2000s, that never quite reached daylight. That these songs survived at all feels like a minor miracle, but it is also a testament to the community that has surrounded us here in Indiana and across the Midwest. Lon Paul was one of the people who came to check on me in a basement back in 1995, curious about the noises and songs I was making, and encouraging me to keep going. Other friends helped build my confidence over time and supported these early tunes for years. Dave Jablonski of the band Marmoset helped preserve Martin’s songs digitally on his own hard drives so they were not lost or destroyed, keeping Me Lion Is Lotion alive for decades. He, along with other songwriters and friends, have supported both the man and his music.
We don’t get where we want musically as individuals without a community of some kind. For both Martin and me, this is affirming, because it confirms what we always knew on our own, that we have a lot of sound inside us, and that having friends support that is important. Martin is not just a guitar player, and I’m not just a drummer, though those are our strongest instruments and what many people know us for individually, but expanding beyond that is freeing.
There’s something broader here that I hope resonates with readers. First, our shared impulse to keep creating individually, even while no one’s looking. Then, when you think you are alone, to stop and aim to share that work with at least one person. You may find an ally who helps something you created come to light many years later.