Week 66: The Ballad of Stayed and Gone 7

Part of me resists writing these posts, these posts about our recording project. These posts about music most of you probably won’t care to hear in its finished form, much less in the incomplete and imperfect form found in these posts. Part of me wants to wait until everything is done so I can just say, here it is, love it or leave it, I don’t care, it’s done, I’ve moved on to other projects. Part of me doesn’t want to discuss it unless you are playing on the record. That part of me says that I don’t remember why I started writing about this in the first place, says that whatever the reason was, it probably wasn’t all that good of a reason anyway, and says that I am conceited to think anyone cares and that if I stop now, no one will say, hey what happened to that series of posts about the record you were recording? That part of me wants me to hide the incomplete parts, wants me to hide in a basement somewhere and not say anything ever unless it’s absolutely true and necessary, anything more than the completely true and necessary is vain, pointless, selfish. That part of me may very well be right.

But I don’t care. The other part of me, calls that part chicken-shit. The other, stubborn part of me wants me to finish what I started. The other, bullshitting part of me likes crap whose reason and meaning might be hidden from me, might be so hidden that I won't see it until I take my last breath, or maybe never, maybe it doesn't have any, and maybe its attraction and beauty is precisely the result of that very lack of reason and meaning. So that other part of me wants to show how stuff is put together, wants to show little pieces that might end up making the whole, wants to show how this record is different from other records we’ve done, wants to let the crap fly to the four winds, devil be damned, before it ends up in the cutting room floor. This other part of me sometimes hopes that when you hear the finished record, you’ll feel like you were part of its creation, feel like you heard the songs when they were merely a few chunks of undigested chords. But this other part of me, also thinks, to hell with it, this is what I’m doing, and who needs a reason for anything. Because this part of me likes to go on about nothing, constantly dwelling on nothing, constantly trying to make something out of nothing, constantly trying to find the little bit of something in all that nothing.

And if nothing else this series of posts should at least be a document of how our record was made, a document of how we made a record after having a baby during her first years, a document of music in transition. A document which maybe, just maybe, long after I'm gone, she'll read as she listens to the record and feel something special thinking that this record was all done for her.

Ok, so a few weeks back we picked up the recording after the holiday break and I put some guitars to substitute the scratch guitars that were there with the drum tracks. Not really too much to report from that session. But some days later Stu Cole put some bass tracks down. You’ve already heard his name mentioned on this blog, so let me tell you a little about Stu.

I’ll tell you a recent story because I think it conveys the spirit of the man when it comes to music. Last year, on Thursday November 1, I went to the Orange County Social Club (a bar in the town of Carrboro which is in Orange County NC) to have a drink after work, and I ran into Stu. He had been out late late for Halloween the night before and wasn’t fully recovered. We had a few drinks and an old friend of Stu’s who he hadn’t seen for some time showed up. I left them catching up in the back patio and went inside for drinks. I guess I took a bit longer than I thought because when I went back out, Stu had walked the five or so blocks to where his car was parked and had walked back with his stand-up bass, so that his buddy, who fetched his guitar from his car out back, and him could play a few songs sitting in the back of the OCSC. There was no one there but us three, so it wasn’t like a concert or anything of the kind. It was two buddies playing music together, playing bits of songs, helping each other remember old songs they’d played together, sharing new music they’d been working on, laughing, singing, playing and having a good time. I kept going inside to talk to the people at the bar and out to the patio to watch them play a song or two and back inside. Once in a while someone would hear the music and walk up and sit and listen for a bit, and then go on their way. It was all very casual and it went on for a good two hours.

Eventually Stu’s friend had to go. By then both Stu and I were fairly toasted, but Stu had the added weight of the previous night’s Halloween debauchery plus a stand-up bass to carry. I offered to walk with him to his car so we could drop off the bass and figure out what to do next. But the bass is a big instrument to carry drunk for five blocks. So we crossed the street with some difficulty and reached Southern Rail (aka The Trains), which at this point had been opened for just a month or two. We decided we needed a rest stop. After all, we had made it across the street from OCSC, so a reward was in order. As luck would have it, there just so happened to be an old-timey band about to start playing in the main platform/bar area of The Trains. These were four guys with no amplification at all, fiddle, banjo, mandolin and washboard. And in walks Stu with a stand-up bass he can barely carry.

Master songwriter Jim Smith, immediately spotted us, and comes up to Stu and will not take no for an answer, not that Stu was trying to get out of it. Jim carried Stu’s bass to where the four unsuspecting gentlemen were about to start playing, took the bass out of the case and held it up while he waited for Stu, who stumbled over to the bass and barely got behind it as the group started their set. It was like Popeye and spinach. Without missing a beat, Stu was on. It was hard to tell if he was holding the bass up or if the bass was holding him up, but there was no denying that he was rockin' that Brutus of a bass. And just to be sure, the old timey band, right away on the first song, threw him a solo, Stu handled it like the captain of a hundred stormy seas, and from then on the old-timey band was up and away riding a ship fueled by Stu and his bass.

After that the night got even crazier, but that is another story. What I’m trying to say here is that Stu is not only an incredible bass player, but also a musician with a true love for music. This is a player who’s in a band that (according to the wiki, anyway) had a platinum record, has been on all the late night shows, Sesame Street, the Olympics, president Clinton’s inaugural ball, you name it. But even with all that “success”, his real success is that he has remained true to the music. And he is never too tired to play or record with a friend.

Originally we were going to record at Stu’s little farm cabin studio, but the studio had to be shut down. I still wanted Stu to be part of the project so I asked him if he would play some bass on the record and he readily agreed.

We set up a date with Jesse Olley, who is co-producing and engineering the record, and I gave Stu a CD with what we had, which was drums and guitars with some scratch vocals. After that I met with him three or four times. Each time we sat and listened to the tracks, and talked about them, and he would play little bits on whatever instrument was available. And I would respond and we would listen some more and talk some more. We did a lot more talking than playing and we never played the songs all the way through from beginning to end. The night before the session, I was nervous. I’ve heard Stu play many times, and I’ve heard his recordings, so I trusted him, but I hadn’t heard him play any of the songs we were going to record from beginning to end, and this way of recording one instrument at a time is still new to me, so I was nervous.

The recording day arrived and we went to Jesse’s Ultra Fin Riz Studio. We had a five hour session ahead of us and about 10 songs/parts of songs to work on. The plan was to do as much as possible and then come back another day to finish. We decided to do the electric bass parts first since those were the majority, and Stu suggested a direct line and then just punch and run. Jesse and I must be from the same school that doesn’t trust direct lines too much, so we ran the bass direct and through different amps, but the direct line always sounded best. So we went with that, and then Stu proceeded to lay down 9 of the 10 songs we were working on, in one of the smoothest sessions I’ve ever participated in. We did not get the full impact of Stu's playing as I've seen it on stage, ripping it up like some rock god, instead Stu put solid bass parts that enhance the songs without drawing attention to themselves. They were the perfect bass parts for this record. And besides that, I got a master recording lesson.

There were a couple of factors that made this session such a success, aside from Stu’s expertise. The first was the punch and run method, which was a definite eye opener for me. The second was the importance of talking about the music and developing an understanding about it. As Stu laid down the bass parts, I realized that during the hours we had spent talking about the tracks we had developed a clear way of talking about the music much like the way that bandmates sometimes can. Understanding was the main obstacle, and once we understood each other the act of translating that understanding into music was actually fairly simple, at least when working with someone as skilled as Stu.

The way the session went was pretty much like this: Jesse would start recording and Stu would play the song up to a good stopping point, he would then ask me what I thought of that, and I’d say something like, maybe you can flip that last turnaround upside down, loosen it up a bit and come in on the three with that buddy holly bit, except make it more clouds and rain but add some Jupiter to it, and he knew exactly what I meant! And not only that, he would adjust accordingly, replay the part up to the break, stop, how was that? Perfect, I'd say. Ok, let’s keep going. Jesse would punch in there, and we’d move forward along the track, punching and running, sometimes back tracking a bit and redoing a section, until we’d get to the end. Then we would listen to the whole thing, and maybe do it one more time depending on how we felt about what we had. Sometimes we redid a beginning only, or a middle part, but for the most part it ran seamlessly, and for the most part when we got to the end of the track, it was done.

One is never to old to learn new tricks and this session taught me a few things. I had more than a few preconceptions blown away: that you have to know the song beginning to end to be able to record it, that recording with a direct box is not a good idea, that it’s better to be standing up when you record, that punching in is only for correcting mistakes, that one should play the song beginning to end like one would if it was a live performance. These are all preconceptions I’ve had from years of recording music as if it was live, from years of trying to capture in the studio what a band’s perfect live performance might be like, because all those things apply if you are playing live. But if one does away with the idea that a recording should somehow document what a band can do live, then one can judge a recording as just music. I'm sure all this is no news to many, and though I knew it in theory, this is the first record that I feel I've been putting that to practice. And while some purist part of me wants to call it cheating, the other part of me is quickly learning to call it recording.

Now, here’s a couple of tracks that are more traditional songs

First, here’s Stayed and Gone which I think you’ve now heard at various stages. This is just one guitar, drums, electric bass… still to be added is other stuff like vocals, trumpet and pedal steel.

And here’s Season of the Grape which you’ve also heard at a few stages along the way. This again is one guitar, drums and stand-up bass, which was recorded with some heavy duty mikes in an isolation booth, but still using the punch and run method.

Finally, here’s the first minute from Always Home, which includes a new intro, which used to be a separate bit called An Attempt, which was originally recorded as a segment for the NAP’s exquisite corpse experiment many months ago. That bit is now integrated into the song, at least by Garageband standards. Many of these more abstract bits such as An Attempt, which were recorded on Garageband are being slowly transferred to the masters at Jesse’s studio and re-mixed and re-edited for the record, but keeping the actual tracks.



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Se Acabaron las Navidades

Christmas is over in Puerto Rico. This Saturday, February 2nd, Dia de la Candelaria (Candlestick Day), everyone will take their dried up x-mas trees to the beach and burn them in huge bonfires.

The weekend before last was the official last party of the season with Las Fiestas de la Calle San Sebastian. These Fiestas have grown from a little street fest for the local residents of Old San Juan into a massive festival with lots of corporate sponsors and the idiots that go along with the corporate sponsorship. I’m not sure how I would feel about going to them if I was there, but even so, I see from the picture below, that Billy Van is still going, so I think ultimately I would have to say, that if it is still good enough for Billy Van, it’s still good enough for me. Billy Van has developed over the past 20 or 30 years into a sort street leader for the fiestas, organizing random groups of singers and musicians, and leading them through the streets. Here’s a picture of Billy Van in action by the Ponce de Leon statue in the Placita de San Jose, with his trademark hat and megaphone. This is one huge parranda. Can you find all the instruments in the picture?

Tidbits

If back in the early mid nineties (when the majority of nap contributors could cast shadows upon one another down in H-town) you had told me that I would be spending years of my life in almost daily contact with this motley crew I would have asked you for a tab of whatever you were on. Yet after more than a year of service in this lenient partnership I have no choice but to call you contributors my friends. And I cannot say that this vehicle of sharing has not directly affected all our lives.

Back in the day we may have all been at the same venue even at the same time but we didn't sit at the same table. Now that will probably never happen but that is due mostly to logistics. I wonder though if it yet might happen, perhaps something wonderful or something dark may bring us together. I could see it happening, but no you cannot have any of what I am on.

Anyway next time I have a pint in front of me, I will tip it up to you and wish you the best in love and health.

In other news:

The Long Island Gossip




Babka, my grandmother (recently widowed), has written the entirely useless and barely read Tidbits column for her Long Island community paper for more than forty years making her the badass foremother of NAP. Yet this bit of local news didn't make the paper...

So,
I'm standing at a freezing gas pump after GP's wake when I get a call from my brother who skipped next door from the funeral home for a beer with my pop. He asks me what songs Deep Purple did. I ask him if he's kidding me. Hello? Smoke on the Water. Then I start naming off other songs (My Woman from Tokyo, Space Truckin,' Black Night) and remind him how I used to play Richie Blackmore's lead on Highway Star along with the record when we were kids. It's a while before I ask him why the F is he asking me this anyway. And he says oh it's because the waiter just suggested that he and Poppa move over a couple of tables on account of Richie Blackmore coming in to jam with his buddies. Turns out the dude lives in the next town, Mount Sinai and Christian just hit on his weekly secretive jam spot.

So,
In he comes with an entourage of warlocks all bearded and witch hat wearing with feathers and bells and women. They sit around a couple of tables and start weirding out on old standards. They start with Hey Joe.

Yeah well. I'm not turning around for that.

Back to you Babka.



A Song for GP
LCD Soundsystem - Someone Great

I Did It

I did it. I'm not sure if I am the first, or the only, but it's definitely my very first time, this previous week, to post a blog that garnered not a single comment. I'm way too fucking lazy to go back and find out for sure. One thing I have done this past year of coarse, expositional, and often deeply personal posts is keep my language fairly literal. You read what I meant. For the most part. Well, okay, in all honesty, that isn't actually true. In fact, I have often cloaked meaning in flourish, in subterfuge, and in diversion. So what. I'm an alchemist who still thinks gold will be fused. Deal.

Along the way, since NAP's inception, I have traversed thousands of miles in my heart, in my mind, and in my life. And as I stand today, light years from yesterday, eons from a year ago, I have recorded a certain change in tack, an alteration of course. It's no bother. The way becomes obscured, the navigator changes course. Common trekking sense.

So last week was a post that laid down a simple premise. Yes, a simple premise, or I should say a blend of two ideas, both shedding light on my inner life, neither voiced in certain terms. That is a new concept for me. This new terms business, it's new stuff. I prefer to deliver the goods in unadorned presentation. But these are trying times. The gravity has been altered. Maybe we have come too close to the sun. I can't say for sure. I only know the field has taken on new qualities, meaning that the rules have changed.

This means you get posts from me that come to you in the very clothing I wear as a man in the world. This means that my words have shed their naked luster and come before you wrapped in a shroud of ornate opacity. I am both sorry and pleased, almost relieved to have this happen.

But, fuck all that. I'm getting a little off course, which is funny to say because this is a post without a rudder, in a blog without a map, from a week's worth of writers without an alignment. And last week, I managed to go an entire week without a single comment.

I think that's an accomplishment.

I get it too. I wouldn't have commented on that post either. I never do when I don't see the point. There was probably no point to commenting on a soaked, rich, purple hued post that plied the trade of personal exposition at the expense of clarity. What is there to say?

Sometimes I wonder, just a little, what you people think about the shit I churn out.

Like my accidental mis-post a few days back. I am amused at how much chain I can be given at times. Especially since i probably don't fucking deserve it. I am, after all, a douchebag at heart, and foster a cool sense of alienation between myself and the rest of the known world.

So, hats off to me.

And now, some utterly unrelated music miscellany.

This is what I have been into lately.

I have been a complete whore for the whole post/instru/art/metal thing lately. I am talking total fucking whore to it. Years back I caught Neurosis live and was floored by their presentation. The intensity, the passion, the directness of their music and their performance was good, good stuff, but I never followed through and became too familiar with their work. That has since changed, and there are few catalogues in music today that I can tolerate as widely as I do theirs right now. In the following years I read about the rise of the whole post-rock thing. Then it was the epic explorations of bands like Godspeed You Black Emperor, Mogwai, Explosions in the Sky, and a few others. I got into it for a while, enjoyed the long format, the scale of it, the cinematic warmth it espoused. But with time, I grew bored with it. The capper was when I caught Godspeed live. The opener was the Philly psych powerhouse, Bardo Pond, and they simply blew me away. I knew them, had a few of their releases, and was a fan. The crowd, the pretentious limp dicked indie asswipe crowd, was bewildered by Bardo Pond. Respectful. Mildly attentive. Clearly bewildered.

And then Godspeed came out, and proceeded to bore me to tears. No passion. No drama. No humanity. No love. No blood. Nothing. Just the motions. Just the motions and a sea of adoring followers who would have found genius in the fecal residue floating at the bottom of the toilet bowl that had recently housed the turds of the band members themselves.

No thanks.

But then I found out about Pelican, and Isis. Instrumetal, they called it. Shitty name, interesting idea. Instrumental metal. Heavy, punishing, long form instrumental reaches into the something other than the obvious.

I had to check it out, and so I did. And, I liked what I heard. Isis had just released Panopticon, and I was seriously digging it. I got it. It wasn't exactly challenging, or too bright, but it did the trick and I enjoyed it.

And then, I bought the Isis DVD. That was a mini turning point for me. It bored me to tears.

So now, here I am, working with a die hard Isis/Mono/Pelican/Godspeed/Mogwai junkie. And other people I know are also digging it. And I find myself trying to explain myself, but they just keep playing it. Next thing I know, I am pulling out Panopticon again and really digging it. Then Isis puts out their latest, as does Pelican. I check them both out. Also, I acquire the bulk of the Neurosis catalogue. And then a funny thing happens.

I lose my mind over the stuff. I am like a crackhead for it.

And I am Last FM-ing this stuff to the heavens, I am scouring the earth for more. And I am in the throes of a full blown semi-obsession.

I am tired of rambling, but if you don't know this stuff, check it out. If you are familiar with some, but not all, or if you don't know where to begin, check this out. If you just want to listen to something other than _________, or what have you, then check it out. Or if you just want to know what is turning on this enormous husk of a man, do me a favor, and check it out.

No more rambling. This is an off the cuff list. Do the rest yourself.


The entire Neurosis canon, but especially Souls At Zero. Start there, and then move on to A Sun That Never Sets. Then, Through Silver In Blood, and then do whatever you like. I would say go with the new one, Given To The Rising, but whatever. The Jarboe/Neurosis collaborative effort is great too.

Then check out Isis' Panopticon, In The Absence Of Truth, and go wherever you like from there.

Pelican's whole catalogue. Start at the beginning.

Mono.

Russian Circles.

Mouth Of The Architect.

Cult Of Luna.

Rwake.

Grails, even.

And fuck it, they don't really fit in here, but just go check out Baroness, and Torche. They both do it for me too. There's more but I'll spare you.

Best of luck to someone who has seen the knife. They won't need it, but I wish it all the same.

sawdust

Am in the midst of a home improvement project right now, building a platform for my bed and some built-in shelves for a niche in my living room. My apartment has turned into a temporary woodshop, complete with drill, hammer, sander, dowels, screws, glue, clamps, wood putty, paint, brushes, ¾” birch veneer plywood cut to size, and sawdust everywhere. Ask me if I think this was a good idea… go ahead, just ask. (Pause). No, I knew it wasn’t a good idea before I even started.

This weekend I saw Michael Clayton, ate at Taralucci e Vino, saw Slumming It at the New Museum’s new building, saw Beckett’s Happy Days at BAM, and then saw Juno with my most recent long-term ex-boyfriend. By the way, it is a pathologically bad idea to see a movie about pregnancy with an ex; we got into a fight immediately afterwards, which concluded with him promising to financially support my future children, even if they weren’t his. He’s normally a clear-headed lawyer-type, so I’m not sure how he succumbed to my contortions of logic.

Some favorite quotes etc. from the weekend:

“I am not the guy that you kill, I am the guy that you buy” (Michael Clayton).

“It’s the replication of experience in a safe, domestic environment” (Slumming It).

“You shoulda gone to China. You know, 'cause I hear they give away babies like free iPods. You know they pretty much just put them in those t-shirt guns and shoot them out at sporting events” (Juno).****

Back to the construction project. When finished, I intend to reward myself by seeing Plaid at the Knitting Factory or Tim Berne at Joe’s Pub.

Here’s a Kieran Hebden/Steve Reid video for those of you who like amazing percussionists mixing it up with electronic music geeks on samplers.

****How could I forget?! The quote that caused the biggest guffaw by both my ex and I was when the Mark Loring character (adoptive-father-to-be) seductively stated to the sixteen year old "I'm moving out. I'm getting a loft. Downtown." It just hit too close to home- we have a friend or two exactly like that. Also great was the sequence showing the ideal McMansions for baby-raising in the rich suburb.

Napcast 53

So, it's still uploading but should be coming your way with no issue is just a few.
Now, I am going to bed. I am so tired of not being able to breathe through one nostril. Who knew this would be so bothersome? Me, that's who. And man, I am pissed!

fragments in search of a post

This week has been very fragmentary. I started it in Wellington hanging out with a friend, seeing local sights, catching up on movies both in the theatre (BEOWULF 3-D, CLOVERFIELD with its soundtrack that sounds half-pilfered from my record collection - Spoon, Kings of Leon, Ratatat - at least until the monster shows up, and LUST CAUTION, easily the most underrated film of the year), going record shopping (big finds including a box set of Townes Van Zandt's first seven albums on four CDs and the Cinemechanica CD, not to mention the soundtrack for the year's best film, THERE WILL BE BLOOD), etc.

Then I hopped a plane to Nelson and drove to Takaka, in New Zealand's amazingly gorgeous Golden Bay. After five or six weeks of seeing people and giving basically no time to myself and wearing myself silly, I thought a few days by myself in one of my favorite places in the world would go well, and it didn't disappoint. In addition to getting some nice driving in checking out my new CD acquisitions, sleeping a crapload, and writing 25 pages of a screenplay I'm working on, I hiked, beached, swam, and kayaked, and drank homebrewed alcoholic cider at the Mussel Inn, then drove back to Nelson and managed to catch up with some friends before flying back to Auckland.

Upon return, I had a follow-up doctor's appointment, as I have wanted to get healthy and so had some blood taken before I left. In addition to high cholestorol (shocking absolutely no one who knows me) and the need to lose 10 kg, high liver enzymes were discovered - similar in levels to someone who has hepatitis. (I don't. They checked.) Anyway, I am now off of alcohol for a month, getting an ultrasound, and seeing if we can figure out what the problem is. I am confident it will be worked out, but I do wish I'd tapped into the bottle of Balvenie 18 that I'd bought at the duty free before discovering this.

Later that day, my friend and ex-KTRU manager Erik flew in from the States for a week in our country. Two days ago, I took him first to a beach with sea caves, then to my flatmate's band; the following day (yesterday), we did an epic caving trip in Waitomo Caves. To get some idea, we started with a 100-meter abseil, that looked something like this:



So that was fun.

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Anyway, here are some ideas for posts that I never fully developed, in part because I suspect the ideas were not enough to sustain a post.

1. In Wellington, I bought a bargain bin CD by Numbers. Over the subsequent 24 hours, I became increasingly nervous that I already had it. Now, the expense was minor (roughly $1.60 US) but I had been proud that in 20 years of CD collecting I'd never inadvertently bought a duplicate of something and had been able to master my own collection in my head. I felt like this was incontrovertible proof (like it was needed) of a wretched form of excess. Plus it was a mediocre CD and I wouldn't even feel like, oh, I'll just give it to someone who will appreciate it. I had several paragraphs written in my head about what all this meant.

Then I got back to Auckland and couldn't find another copy of it, so now I don't know why I thought I had it, or if it's lurking somewhere where I least expect it.

2. Being without alcohol for a month is going to get very interesting in two weeks, when I have three potentially great shows hitting in a week. On Feb 11, Explosions in the Sky are playing; Interpol breaks out the hits on Valentine's Day; and the following night, The Dead C. play a headlining show in preparation for their opening gig for Sonic Youth's museum show the following night. (Which is to say SY are playing Daydream Nation yet again; after being frustrated by their show in Barcelona, I procrastinated on getting tickets, only deciding I should go after several reassurances that their subsequent performances have been substantially better; however, the show was sold out by the time I decided.) Anyway, EITS and the Dead C. in particular would be ideal shows for several beers. But, grrrr. Stupid liver enzymes. Good thing the Beirut show is more than a month away.

3. I mentioned earlier this year that I was going to try an experiment where I listened to one band for a week. I got a sense of how hard that will be when driving up to Golden Bay listening to Townes Van Zandt while sleepy. After an album, driving through the rain, I realized that I couldn't sustain, and switched to the Duke Spirit. In general, the application of specific albums for different points in the road trip has proven very important; for instance, when Erik and I left at 7 AM yesterday morning to head to Waitomo, I decided Blackalicious would be the best substitute for coffee. A long post could be written on this topic, that would center around The Minutemen's DOUBLE NICKELS ON THE DIME (the 33 1/3 book on which I read this week), my favorite road album ever.

4. Per Kilian's post, I am feeling that classical is definitely an area of further study for me. I had the reflexively KTRUvian position that only early music or 20th century classical was interesting, but after discovering Bach's cello concertos this year and realizing that much of the music I admired in THERE WILL BE BLOOD wasn't actually by Jonny Greenwood but by guys like Brahms, I realized some rethinking of core assumptions gotta happen. I'm trying now to decide whether to start at the beginning and work forward, start at the late 19th century and work back til it gets boring, or just continuing to randomly sample. (Note: the third is, by far, the most likely outcome.)

5. A lot of lists have been circulating in my life this week, from SPIN's (#1: Against Me!) to the Village Voice's (#1: LCD Soundsystem). At one point, I thought of organizing a NAP poll. Then I decided it would be kind of silly, as I don't think there would be enough of an overlap to get any meaningful results. ("And, in a 29-way tie for fourth, with one vote each, are ..."). But I did have to submit under rushed circumstances a list for an e-mail music group I'm on that does a poll ever year. I don't consider this definitive (for instance, I picked up the new Charalambides very recently and hadn't given it a good listen before submitting, and it most definitely belongs on this list more than Feist), and making lists is kind of silly anyway for lots of reasons, but if you're curious, here it is:

ALBUMS
1 Modest Mouse, WE WERE DEAD BEFORE THE SHIP EVEN SANK
2 Editors, AN END HAS A START
3 Deerhoof, FRIEND OPPORTUNITY
4 HEALTH, HEALTH
5 Dinosaur jr., BEYOND
6 Bloc Party, A WEEKEND IN THE CITY
7 Nina Nastasia + Jim White, I FOLLOW YOU
8 Against Me!, NEW WAVE
9 Beirut, THE FLYING CUP CLUB
10 Pelican, CITY OF ECHOES
11 Arcade Fire, FUNERAL
12 John Vanderslice, EMERALD CITY
13 National, BOXER
14 Bowerbirds, HYMNS FOR A DARK HORSE
15 Explosions in the Sky, ALL OF A SUDDEN I MISS EVERYONE
16 Weakerthans, REUNION TOUR
17 Liars, LIARS
18 Hot Cross, RISK REVIVAL
19 Feist, THE REMINDER
20 Spoon, GA GA GA GA GA


Singles
1 "Smokers Outside The Hospital Doors", Editors
2 "Thrash Unreal", Against Me!
3 "Almost Ready", Dinosaur Jr.
4 "Falling Slowly", Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova
5 "Pull Shapes", The Pipettes
6 "Elephant Gun", Beirut
7 "Fake Empire", National
8 "I Still Remember", Bloc Party
9 "The Underdog", Spoon
10 "Spitting Venom", Modest Mouse
11 "Don't Let Him Waste Your Time", Jarvis Cocker
12 "The Perfect Me", Deerhoof
13 "John Allyn Smith Sails", Okkervil River
14 "White Dove", John Vanderslice
15 "House of Cards", Radiohead
16 "Conqueror", Jesu
17 "Intervention", Arcade Fire
18 "Hymn of the Medical Oddity", Weakerthans
19 "Turn On Me", The Shins
20 "Requiem For Dissent", Bad Religion

Sorry this turned out to be so long, I didn't have time for a shorter post. Maybe next week. Come Friday, I will be based in Auckland for the next few months and travelling only on weekends, so life will resume normalcy. Or, at least, be differently abnormal.

Sunny

Here in Houston it's been rainy, cold and cloudy - and not the good kind either. No, the weather has been the oppressive, depressing, and bleak kind. Finally, this morning the clouds broke and out came the sun as if God had said "I am tired of this crap too!" So we were treated to a Saturday afternoon of great music, great people, and - finally - sunshine. I mean, what more could you want?

So, here is to the Shady Tavern and the Saturday Secret Shows.
Here is to the Bright Men of Learning and their melodic rootsy understated rock.
Here is to The Ka-nives and the playful glee they bring to every show (See Bottom for Video Link).
Here is to The Dimes and their endless procrastination in finding a name (you have better things to do like Rocking- Out!).
Here is to the person who double parked behind me- forcing me to stay and have another beer.
Here is to the peeps out there who are all so chill and cool.
And here is to the sun for finally returning - it's been too goddamn long!

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter

Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right

Still don't believe this was fun and wonderful?
Right, well here is a webpage threw together containing most of the Ka-nives set?
Enjoy!

• VIDEO:Ka-Nives live at Saturday Secret Show

Oh and while I'm at it:

• Check out these pictures by Shoe. (Don't guitars in the trash sum it all up?)
• and here are some pictures taken by me.

Credits:
Do I even have to say who I'm quoting? It's so obvious - George Harrison!

Not

I'm pretty good at not doing things. Not spending a bunch of money out with the gang? Check. Not remembering to eat? Check. Not keeping in touch with old friends (or new ones, for that matter) check. This "not" thing is one of my true talents; possibly my only talent. I can not do things with the best of them. I am world class not. So don't think you can challenge me because I have had years to develop this talent. As a kid, I could sit in the corner and do nothing like nobody's business. This was somewhat empowering because I was never afraid of "time outs" that were so popular as punishment then. Go ahead, put me in a corner until I learn my lesson, teacher. We'll see who blinks first.

So I was certainly up for the challenge of spending the week without music. I can do that. Negatives are easy for me. All I have to do is not listen to music for a week? Piece of cake. I'm here to report to you, though, that I failed. And not only did I fail, I failed within a couple hours of starting. It was a failure simultaneously spectacular and anticlimactic.

The plan was to start on Monday, so I turned my clock radio's alarm off on Sunday night. I didn't want to wake up to the "Morning Edition" theme and blow the whole deal right off the bat. So I woke up with the sun Monday morning and quietly read news on the internet. I was still pretty convinced that I would have no problem doing this.

I have the option of working from home, so I can easily control my environment. I don't have to listen to the desk speakers of the guy in the next cube or the office down the hall. I'm not stuck in some retail job where I have to listen to the shopping soundtrack at all times. I have been in each of these situations at one point in the past. Not now though.

So I was pretty self-satisfied when I went down to the car to get some lunch. I got in, drove down the road, tapped on the steering wheel along with "Bang the Drum All Day." Damn! I had driven several miles before I even realized that I was listening to music. Game over. And I don't even like that song. Curse you, Rundgren.

There was a time--not in my lifetime or yours--that people had to seek out music, rather than music seeking them out. A hundred or so years ago, there would have been no accidentally running into music. To hear music, you would have to play it yourself or find somebody else who was. This is hard for me to imagine and it makes me think about how much me value music. How much do we appreciate something that is always there, whether we want it or not? This must have something to do with why so many of us feel entitled to just download any music that strikes our fancy without thinking about how much it should be costing us. When the fabric of our lives becomes saturated with something, is it a surprise that we don't think twice about squeezing out a little bit for ourselves?*

After I got through yelling at myself in disgust, I turned the radio off. I had intended to get lunch at a drive-through because there would be no music there, but after failing I could get something better. So I went to a nearby sandwich shop instead, where they played me hits from the 70s as I waited for my sandwich. I resolved to try to stick with this no music program, just to see how far I could get. I accepted that I would probably fail again, but I was going to keep track of all the music that I heard, despite trying not to hear any.

The next bit of music that I didn't want to hear came from a video of Obama's MLK speech at Ebenezer Baptist Church. I feared that there might be music--this was a church, after all--but I wanted to risk it, so I hit play. There was less music than I feared there would be--just a little piano tinkling under the introduction speech. Obama's speech was music free.

That's it. At the end of day one I had heard a bit of music on the radio, a couple 70s rock songs, and a little piano tinkling. Day two went much like day one.

I woke up, loaded NAP in my browser and saw that Heidi had posted a video of Naples. Without thinking, I clicked it and there was the day's first music. I turned it off right away, but I had already failed day two. Worse, I was out of water so I knew I was going to have to go somewhere with music to buy it.** I chose Walgreen's.

Walgreen's was possibly the worst choice for somebody who was avoiding music. Not only was there an annoying song about somebody's angel being piped into the store, but there are also motion triggered sales pitches that accost you as you walk by. I was acutely aware of all of it and I was likely the only one, so nobody else appreciated that the store manager yelled out for an employee named Angel just after the angel song had finished, because I was the only one who had actually heard that song.

Later Tuesday, I had some computer problems which required that I shut down my computer. On restart, I heard the Windows XP theme.*** Several times. So since we're keeping score here, Tuesday's music consisted of a snippet from a YouTube video, an aural assault at Walgreen's, and the Windows XP theme. Not bad, all things considered.

Wednesday was better. At one point I had to set my phone's alarm as a reminder, so there was no way to avoid hearing that little jingle that it plays, but I at least knew it was going to happen. This is in contrast to calling Star Pizza later that day to order a pizza for dinner. I was immediately put on hold without having a chance to respond and I got to listen to "Owner of a Lonely Heart." At the end of the day, I decided to watch the next installment of the Up series. There is no music in these documentaries, save the dramatic intro that plays over the Granada Television logo. I figured that was worth it.

By Thursday, I was getting the hang of it. But a strange thing started happening--in the absence of any outside music, by head started playing its own songs and worse, I couldn't stop it. It was like those many times when I have had a fever and my brain latches onto a song and I'm unable to stop the music from coming out of my ears. Music is supposed to go in, not out. There is an interesting scene in Touching the Void, where the broken-legged climber hauls himself over jagged, snow-covered rocks while beset by an insipid pop song that won't stop going through his head****. My situation was like that, minus the life-threatening part. Or, you know, the snow-covered rocks. I know when my time comes, the last desperate electrical signals my brain squeezes out will be some internal representation of "Shake Your Love." I know it. Anyway. Thursday's internal song was chiefly Radiohead's "All I Need," so things could have been worse. Throughout the day, I was forced to hum and--at several points when I wasn't really paying attention--beatbox along with the "sounds" in my head. I have no idea where they were coming from. Beatboxing aside, I heard no music on Thursday.

By this morning I had decided that I'd had enough. Not hearing music means isolating myself more even than I usually do. It was an interesting experiment, but in the end there's just too much "not" there. Even for me.

*Wow, now that's a tortured metaphor if I ever saw one.
**Tap water where I live smells and tastes like rust.
***I run XP as a virtual machine on a Mac and it's less stable than if I ran it natively, if you care.
****I imagined the climber saying this sentence when I wrote it and, being British, he would surely use "whilst" there.

Week 65: Guest Post by Ben Mace

My buddy Ben Mace is going to be guest posting this week. Thank you Ben, it's nice having a week off. Here's Ben now.

ERE I AM JH

Sup NAP...

Ben Mace Private Detective...

Anaconda's brother in alms...

Told CA I'd start guesting for him form time to time; give him some more of
that boogie time which has become so precious after the birth of his
beautiful bundle of snakes.

So just sos ya know it aint cause I think I have something brilliant to
say about music or nuthin...

So, well, here goes nuthin...

Last Saturday I worked my usual door/barback job at the The Cave and we
were expecting NC blues legend Skeeter Brandon to play to much fanfare and
a ten dollar cover. It being the cave he of course went into the hospital
for his diabetes and canceled and instead his backing band played a funk
set led by guitarist Puncho after arriving two hours late to an anemic
"crowd" of fratty types Groves and I managed to talk into staying by not
charging them even a five dollar cover until they were good and drunk. A
couple of my buddies, who are in bands themselves made derogatory remarks
about the music style, which to be honest seemed more directed at the
perceived audience, and split (to see a cover band... more on that later).

Sitting in the back of the cave was D. D is an older Chapel Hill
personality, not super well known even to most of those who hang out at
places like the cave. In the late seventies and eighties D toured the
world as both a rodie and backing musician for well known blues and funk
acts as well as playing in a diverse set of local bands ranging from
progressive jazz rock to possibly Raleigh's first punk band. Now D has
his problems (hey who doesn't) and now lives with his mother in the black
section of town so in spite of his history he is often mistaken for just
another drifter wandering rosemary street. When the band began to play, D
was laying in the back with his radio stuck up against his ear. He looked as
if he was coming down from something or trying to cover up being asleep.
In fact he was listening to the playback of a song he was writing while
waiting for local rocker Stu Cole to come and meet him. After D wandered
up to the bar on about the fourth song, the bongo player wanted to get some
beers and almost without provocation D jumped in and proceeded to play the
entire set for the next two hours on one instrument or another. It was
amazing and so tight it never even occurred to me that he had never met
these people before. Remember this was a tight band, they were used to
touring Europe backing Skeeter. Watching D get out the funk, knowing the
diversity of his own compositions and how they tend toward the
arty/progressive side and thinking about how my buds dismissed the "frat
music" something caught in my craw. In D I was watching some notion of
professional musicianship that is often missing from many of the musicians
I know around town. I saw the same thing in film and theater (which I am
involved in) in England where I lived for four years. There, actors,
writers and directors worked. It didn't matter how derivative the
project, you worked all the time to hone yourself while making time for
the more personal projects you hoped to someday be known for and you did
it even if you had a trust fund. Weirdly so many of my friends here
equate being a "serious artist" to a rather dilettant attitude that views
making college students dance as irrelevant and spending most of your time
working shitty jobs and getting high so you can reserve a few fleeting
bursts of energy solely to some grand project or other. To always want to
to jump up and make average people dance is to live and breathe music.
I'm somehow not surprised that I tend to find D's compositions more
musically interesting than average.

Locatelli

Work the last couple of weeks involved hours of jigsaw puzzle like software development. This left my ears dangling free and feeling useless so I gave them something to do; stuck some cans on them, and absorbed what I could of a constant musical stream. It's been a while since the j-o-b left room for music appreciation and I tried to take advantage of that privilege not by listening to the Tried & True but by exploring the uncharted rivers. So I dove into classical music, like I've wanted to not as a musician but as a music appreciator.

Where Classical is concerned, I'd like to write with confidence. As it stands now I can only write with Twain inspired humor. I am but an innocent abroad.

Which brings me to my first failure.
For a couple of days I floated down Chamber Music Creek. It generally felt like sitting through every version of Pride & Prejudice ever put on film. But here and there were flashes of brilliance. I dug a lot of Telemann and the blessedly simple Haydn pieces.

Then I got stuck on a strong presto piece in the suckers key of C Major from Italian turned Amsterdammer, Pietro Locatelli. I wanted to share it with napcast listeners so I clicked on Pandora's Buy It on iTunes link (because I have an iTunes gift card)

and then the fun really started.

I was dropped into the iTunes store in an album of Locatelli works but not the album Pandora accredited nor was the song I wanted anywhere to be found. Not that this was obvious to me since every piece was labeled a Sonata this or Sonata that.

Pandora calls the piece Sonata For Flute & Continuo In C Major, Op. 2/1: III. Presto. That's a long winding name with tricky characters that stump iTunes, eMusic and even the bank of discovery, Pandora. If you try to create a Pandora station using their song search tool and plug in their own name for this song, Pandora won't find it. And neither did I. So I did a more analog search, brought up lists of Locatelli's work and slowly read through it. This dude Locatelli had a lot of opuses (or if you want to be Major Winchester about it, the plural "opera" is also accepted). Loca P got his presto on many times, but C Major was far from his key of choice.

He also employed the fiddle on the soprano way more than the flute. The plot thinnened when I found out that Pietro Locatelli himself was a masterful violinist. And so most collections of Locatelli work steer towards the fiddle.

Jeez man, the work I did in attempting to track down the correct piece was not dissimilar to the software development work I was avoiding.

Anyway as it turns out, I had no luck finding this particular piece anywhere online downloadable for free or pay. I'm stuck with having to be patient and wait for the old U.S. Postal Service to do their act and deliver the thing in the very ancient format of compact disc.

The hunt did lead to dropping some knowledge. Did you know that continuo refers to the bass line which is meant to be continuous? Usually the composer didn't specify a continuo instrument either nor write a whole part for the continuo. It was usually left up to the musician to improvise which was somewhat startling news to me. I've never met a classically trained musician who could do a lick of improvisation ( I had to write all of the first de Schmog fiddle player's part because of this sad sort of training ). Apparently nowadays with a trend towards more historically accurate concerts, chamber musicians are going back to the improv.

Knowing that, I'd say Norbert Kunst and his continuo buddy should do a little more jamming and give Sonata For Flute & Continuo In C Major, Op. 2/1: III. Presto a little more umph, you know...a little more presto if you know what I mean.

But who am I to judge this stuff?

I am but a babe in the woods, a novice, and the sort of sucker that only my fellow nappers could appreciate.

p.s. for those who give a shit, the original image is public domain - and that I made wack.

Reunion/Transition

Could you capture thought and hand it out? You know, pour it into a bowl? Make a meal of it, sustain yourself, get by, maybe even thrive? I think you could.

I have.

Could you set knives on the sill, windows wide open, playground full, inquisitive kids all around, and just go to sleep?

What if you stood at the very precipice of a giant crater? What if the winds that whipped up and licked the edges of that seething black, what if they called out your name? Could you resist? An alluring proposition. Me, I have settled into pillboxes left behind, pocked with the flak of allied armaments. I have watched as the father, backing up, seeking to frame the nuclear, backs himself into the dimpled earth of the coast, the nettled maw, not unlike my own great yawning chasm, and have seen him emerge with my very own eyes. Bloodied, changed somehow. Maybe even a new man of sorts. One with vision. One with a destructive purpose encoded in to his newly born DNA.

It would have been around that time that things started to change. Right around those innocent years for me that things took a turn, followed a fork. We put ourselves at the mercy of the rising tide. locked ourselves into a fortress that protects no one anymore. insulated our ranks from the quicksand that encircled us all, on all sides. And in that journey we watched as dreams faded away in the dull glow of a strange man's headlights. A single blow and youth was destined to die alone.

It might strain the synapses to see so far back, so deep into a world that has never emerged, unlike the bloody father, to accept the mantle of change. In this course, there was an adaptation towards various voices, and the voice in question was the one that spoke in tongues of melody and harmony and rhythm.

This breath that coursed through my lungs was crisp and oxygen rich. And beyond that, it was packed with the full punch of destiny. If you try so very hard, you just might hear the opening strains of the symphony written for no one, written for those who would never listen, for those who care not to hear.

With every step, every depression on the pedal, the ungainly lunging and lurching forward continued, and continues unabated. Maybe a certain level of progress was being achieved. Things this small defy measure. But it may have happened.

A concussive burst. A tidal shock wave leaves not one man standing. The cold hard bite of an open hand in a winter's storm is a firm reminder of direction.

I am plugged in now and I am traversing across miles and years all in an instant. And there are those amongst me who know the way, who have been given tickets for this very same fucked up passage. With the striking of chords and the crash of borrowed brass, it has begun, or it has continued. In all truth, it never actually started, and it will never end.

Because despite it all, the histrionics, the forced exile at the hands of tonal mediocrity, the reluctant decision to accept entropic decay, there is still a witness to the fall, a viewer of the play that runs nightly in the fevered halls of a darkened room.

I am plugged in, watching for signs, falling through the murk, handing off the baton, and heading for the door.

Rifiuti

I haven’t been to see any live music as of late, so I’m distracting myself with other people’s problems this week. That garbage that has been piling up in Napoli is getting to me, and even though I live approximately 4400 miles away from it, I tell you that I can smell it from here. Maybe it has to do with the fact that a certain client of mine is based in Napoli and hasn’t paid his bill for four months.

There is so much trash in the streets that people can’t even drive around anymore. This looks like complete insanity to me. What is going on? Why haven’t people rioted? Why haven’t the homes of the Camorra been burnt to the ground? Even in Colombia, the Perseguidos por Pablo Escobar managed to get that bad apple under control. How can this possibly be tolerated?

So now, the trash is being transported through the Alps to Switzerland?! We hear stories of an unfinished incinerator and construction overruns, and other stories of property investment around something that was sold as a “golf course” that should have become a trash dump.

All I know is that corruption kills ambition, and southern Italy will always be poor if their culture continues to permit this kind of malfeasance... and the images and stories that continue to come out of there are just unbelievable... I would like to visit, but I'm thinking that now may not be the best time.

****

One of the things I'd like to see some day is the Fòcara di Novoli, which just happened this last weekend on the 16th. Novoli is on the heel of the boot in Puglia, a long way from Napoli, and the Focara is the burning of a 25 meter high pile of vines, to thank or in honor of Sant'Antonio Abate who stole fire from hell, supposedly for the benefit of humanity. Other than for cooking and this enormous bonfire, humanity's use of fire may not be living up to his saintly expectations.

Podcast works

Click here to get your own player.



Scroll down for the playlist... uh.. can you see the playlist in my first post? I can..

52..

I know that my job here is pretty much to do this podcast, which some of you listen to. I know you listen to it, because I see you standing outside of your house on Google Earth when I zoom in on any given listener's location. I kid you not. I am one of the only people who knows where the enigmatic Justin Crane actually lives thanks to the podcast stats. I saw him outside spraying his yard with insecticide he had disguised as some kind of happy herbal fertilizer, as he waved to the kids riding by on bicycles-who waved at him, all from the magic of my invisible bird's eye view above the Earth.

There's anywhere from 30-150 subscribers to the podcast. Listenership spiked the week that #40 played "Gimme that Nut" by Eazy E and "Fucking An Animal" by GWAR. You can see the playlist and listen to it here. Right now there are 54 subscribers... I have no idea if they even know they are or if they listen. Doesn't matter really, except I spend probably 6 hours on a podcast. That's nobody's problem but my own. I know I should be looking into some podcasting programs to make this whole thing less boring, but I don't have the time to figure that shit out right now. My life is completely up-the-fuck side down. If anything, the podcast has forced me to sit in one place until I actually complete something and enables me to better listen- to all of the music I hear. It's been helpful to have it as a distraction.

The very first "full length" podcast (1:06:25 being full length) was one that I did on January 28th, 2007. You can listen to it here. The playlist is below.




It's interesting to remember putting that cast together. I remember how carefully I listened to every song for hours.

This year, on the 28th, I will be leaving Alaska. I have lived up here for about 8 years. My first house was a tent on a sheet of ice. My previous house was an apartment house at 8th and Burnside in Portland, OR. hypodermic needles in the hall, schizophrenic neighbors knocking on your door and dead people stinking up the place 2 weeks post-mortem because no one gave a fuck about them. No one knew they were dead until weeks had passed. One time, my husband had me open the door while he stood behind it with a .45. We constantly heard people getting their asses beat in the rooms all around us. If you weren't already wondering where the fuck I am going with this, here's more.. When I would walk to work at madison's grill at 5 in the morning, I could hear club music a few blocks away while I freaked my way out through the dark morning hours. No matter how much clothing I had on, men who were cruising the area always gave me at least TWO opportunities to "go for a ride". My walk to work wound through abandoned houses and grocer bays and people sleeping in every nook and cranny. They would wait until you were upon them and then suddenly stir causing me to start, and jump. I walked that route pretty fucking fast. I think I carried a screwdriver. Because that's the kind of gal I am. I like to fix things. And I didn't listen to headphones on the way to work-which sucked- but you really want to hear death approaching.

That was the last time I had any kind of major move from one extreme environment to another. I mention all of this shit because like I said, I am moving. On the 28th, I am going to Houston. I am going to Houston from an isolated island in the Bering Sea with a population of 30. I have been here for about 7 years. I lived in Houston about 16 or so years ago. I should just give you my social security number while I am at it here... anyways, I'm wondering what has changed? Is there still jesus there? Am I going to have to deal with the General Lee Jesus again? I have kind of enjoyed the Jesus of the North as opposed to the Jesus of the South to be honest, if that's even possible for me to enjoy any kind of jesus at all.. and it's not.

This is a favorite episode.

I'm sure none of you really give a shit about me moving, but I figured I would tell you anyway.. because I'm not sure when my next cast will be. I don't know when I will be set up with the time or resources to do it again. Thanks to anyone who wants to step up. If you are interested in being involved in the podcast in any way, speak up here or email me. Thanks for all the submissions.

the systems of control.

earlier this week, I watched a film by Peter Watkins called THE GLADIATORS. A friend of mine suspected that I wouldn't like it because Peter Watkins is "more left-wing than I am". This isn't really true at all. Actually, he's anti-wing. THE GLADIATORS unrepentantly argues that communism and capitalism are ultimately, basically, the same thing: systems of control and power structures, and all systems of control ultimately conform to one goal: preservation of the system.

on Friday, I went to the Big Day Out in Auckland. After I went two years ago, I swore never again, but my good trip to Primavera in Barcelona softened my stance. The major difference between Big Day Out and Primavera (amongst many differences) is that Primavera is focused on the "indie rock" fan, where Big Day Out (either out of necessity or desire, I'm not sure) casts a wider net.

So I was happy to see Aceyalone, The Clean, Spoon, Bjork, and particularly Arcade Fire, who put on the best set I saw all day. However, there was also quite a large share of meathead rock, led by Rage Against The Machine. I've always been skeptical of Rage since day 1 - I mean, let's face it, if major labels aren't part of the machine you're raging against, what is? But apparently I'm in the vast minority - Rage has an absolutely huge fanbase, and Rage t-shirts outnumbered every other performing band combined.

Also on the bill were a slew of other bands designed to make sure that Rageaholics would have a satisfying day, and one of these was Anti-Flag. As you might guess, Anti-Flag have a message for us. This message is that fascism is bad and that anarchy will get us the freedom that we deserve. (For example lyrics, see here.

Two things were striking about this. One is that, in their attempt at promulgating rebellion, Anti-Flag leaned on the 30+ year old tradition of punk rock. I'm not sure whether music can even be "dangerous" or "rebellious" as music per se anymore, but the fact is that in 2008, having a mohawk is just as much a uniform as a suit and tie (maybe even more so) and playing loud punk guitars is as hackneyed as gated 80's drums and synths. (Again, maybe even more so.)

The other irony was that, in trying to get their message across, Anti-Flag, like so many before them, leaned on well-worn systems of control. I remember seeing the Soup Dragons open for INXS at the Palace in Auburn Hills almost 20 years, and the thudding painful irony of their singing desperately demanding that the audience get up and dance to ... "I'm Free". (chorus: "I'm free/to do what I want/any old time". Unless you're not dancing at a Soup Dragons show.) When one of the Anti-Flaggers* said "I want to see everybody dancing on this next song", all I could think of was coercion and what role it had in an anarchist society, and if all bands with a message of freedom and aspirations for reaching a larger audience would ultimately find themselves trapped in a power structure, on stage, exercising their control over an audience.

In researching this, I discovered that Anti-Flag signed to a major label in 2006.

Irony is dead. But systems of control are alive and thriving, and I need to watch more Peter Watkins to see if he ever uncovers a solution to the dilemma. I suspect he does not.

*Truth is, I heard Anti-Flag more than I saw them; after watching about two minutes of their set, I was in line for a wristband to get alcohol for about fifteen minutes of their set, after which I got as far away as possible.

I Love You Mathletes!

I had the most awkward introduction to the Mathletes ages ago. A guy tells me (with the best intentions) "Linus Pauling needs to play with the Mathletes so you can get in with the IBP crowd." Now, could you think of anything more crass? Not "The Mathletes are great!", not "They are fun!", not "You'll have a blast!", instead, some kind of audience wrangling angle. Hey, I'm not saying the LP4 couldn't use any audience it can find but, really, this is exactly how NOT to get me into a band. I love to play with bands because I admire what they do and it's a blast to play with cool bands. So, long story short that pretty much soured me on checking out the Mathletes for much too long. Stupid, I know, because at some point (I can't recall when) I finally did go see them and it was really good and really fun and really clever and really unique. Then, the more I saw them, the better they got. Each time just getting more and more fun and insane until finally they were like the circus pulling into town with every show and they had slyly morphed into one of my favorite bands. In fact they had reached that particular level of godhead where, if they were playing a show, I had to go no matter what. Even if it was only for a few songs it was always worth it because the Mathletes shows were a sincerely happy and joyous party.

Well last night felt like the end of a really great party - at least for the foreseeable future. Joe is leaving for a stint in Austin performing in a production of "Speedy Motorcycle" and the future of the Mathletes in their current form seems shaky but Joe says "We all have something amazing in the works for this summer that will dwarf anything and everything the Mathletes have been about lately; if it's any comfort, just know that the best is yet to come." I have no doubt he will not disappoint.

Anyhow, here are some pictures from last night at the Proletariat:

Preparing for the assault,
the generals plan their set list!

In video games you have power-ups.
In music you have mixed drinks!

Gie Gie demanding opening band Fishboy
play "Quattro" which they flatly refused
despite her relentlessly shouting the
demand over half their set and shouting
"Fuck You! You suck! Play Quatro!"
You have to admire the woman's tenacity.

Mlee Preparing for her debut as a Mathlete
- that pinnacle to which so many musicians
strive to archive!

Mathletes quiz!
Can you guess what song is being covered?

Joe in the zone!

Mike Switzer checks his cell phone
for the lyrics to "Just like Heaven".
I shit you not!

Gie Gie takes her rightful place
as the perfect Joe Mathlete foil!

"Quatro! Quatro! Quatro!"
demands the audience!

Carlos smilin' Dimes style!

Mathletes Stage Left!

Mathletes Stage Right!

Jenny trying to remember the lyrics!

Joe testifies!

The Mathletes has a horn section!!!

Iram as Lou Reed!

The fearless leader and his minions!

Tom wows the crowd
with his Tambourine and his ass!

Mlee Vs Robot Gie Gie!

Robots,
Joe possibly falling off the stage,
some guy in the audience playing harmonica.
Don't ask!
It's a Mathletes show!

Have fun in Austin Joe.
May the road rise with you.
We'll keep a light on for you.
Love,
Houston

A Week Without Music (Mostly)

It seems like I've worked a lot this week and somehow that meant that the week has been relatively music free. Not entirely music free, mind you, just mostly. Sometimes this is a good thing. One of these weeks I should try to avoid music altogether and see how I feel about that. I'm going to see the Mathletes tonight, though, so I'll be breaking this week's streak. I'll report back on what I see, assuming, of course, that I see anything worth reporting back on. That's always a possibility.

Until then, here is a balloon organ.