Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Standing on the Shoulders of Dwarves
“That which you love should own your entire being. There should be nothing left of you once your heart has done its work.”
It humors me to throw my writing at a proverbial wall every single week here in the NAP and see what sticks. I cant try and spill my guts, or wax philosophical about some nonsense, or just generally try and expose something about my view of things that connects to someone, somewhere, somehow. Sometimes comment threads spawn off of things we write in here due directly to the subject matter. We might wind people up by professing love for some band that breeds polarity. Bands Like Thin Lizzy are a perfect example. Steely Dan is another. Rush. Etc… The list is probably endless. One man’s trash, and so on, ad infinitum.
I also get a kick out of simply being a sophomoric asshole, spilling vitriol maybe just for the sake, or maybe to try and spark some reaction, any reaction to get things moving around here. This may say more for my lack of writing talent than anything else (well, that and my lack of emotional development). And then again, I can quite honestly just be in a pissy mood, ready to deliver the goods, and genuinely angry about something.
Ridiculous, I know, but there it is.
But I hope that the balance comes when I spend my time in here digging well into myself to expose something about me that makes me human in a way that connects to you by strictly adhering to something that moves me to express the joy of being alive.
Okay, I’m working on that last bit, admittedly, but it does happen, and I think that if you take the time to actually read what I have to say, you might find it happens more often than you might realize, and that I have just as much passion invested into that which I love as that which makes me dive for throats with fangs bared and guns ablaze.
To me, writing about anything other than myself week after week is basically an exercise in torture. That’s why my posts are almost always about me and what I see in the world all around me. Can’t help it. And that’s why my tenure in the minds and eyes of many who have passed through here is severely limited to say the least.
One thing you can be sure of is that my passions will be on full display. And that is truly for better or for worse.
Believe me. I know that my choice of subject matter, and my choice of words can have a very strong effect on you the reader. But you see, dear, that’s the fucking point.
I won’t slag anyone else that has the fortitude to do this week in and week out. But I will say that I won’t be one to pack myself away from these expositional posts and veer off into territory that is safe and sound, free from the peering eyes of others. And no, I’m not claiming any of my coNAPpers have made a habit of doing this either. Sure, there is what I consider too much of that in here, but hell, I am guilty of plenty of transgressions all my own as I have openly indicated on many occasions. I think the difference is that I will gladly and freely admit to my shortcomings, and usually long before I get called out for them too.
For me this is obviously a cathartic experience. But it is also a laboratory for me to work on how I express myself through my writing.
Perhaps an apology is in order for that. I mean, I won’t give you one, but perhaps it’s in order.
I hear the snickering when I espouse my love for metal. That’s fine. I’m not working the missionary angle, vying for converts with myopic zeal. I’m just sharing, or trying anyway, to tell you about something that gives me such unbridled pleasure. Who wouldn’t want to do that?
I have been a guitar player since I was in middle school. That means that I have been a guitar player for 28 motherfucking years. That, ladies, is a real long time. And I am a known traitor among the ranks. I have walked away from that world for a number of reasons. I use many of them to bolster many others. But in all honesty, making music with other people is somewhere along the lines of agony for me. It has always taken the heroic and grandiose efforts of others to coax me into the various musical ventures that I have undertaken, or at least all except for one. Project Grimm was my baby. Sadly it was born with severe birth defects, but I learned to love it all the same. But beyond that anomaly (well, that and my failed solo project), all my traipsing through the halls of band frivolity has been motivated by the efforts of another. Ramon. Scott Grimm. Tom Carter. The list is replete with people who have given me a reason to want to make the effort.
Slowly but surely I have shaken that which has drawn me to the humility and discomfort that has always accompanied being in bands (and even recording solo for that matter).
So what is my point? Don’t have one in case you haven’t picked up on that yet.
I do this because I want to write and I want to be read and I want to get in on the party.
Music? Yeah. I listen to a hell of a lot of it, and I still love the hell out of it. Guitar? Yeah, I still play it regularly, though I have dropped the self-borne pressure to create tangible pieces of music, since ultimately I am my own audience, and my audience doesn’t give a shit about the completion of anything other than the immediate expression that comes with the way I play. Joy! How thrilling it must be to read about that exclusionary tactic!
I am always amazed to read what the rest of you come up with every week, even though I am amazingly often utterly baffled by why it is that whatever many of us choose to talk about is so completely uninteresting to me. I imagine that the above statement should offend nobody, but if so, my apologies. Just keep in mind how much you like to read about metal, or my personal problems, or how deeply taken I am with someone, and then accept that I am equally baffled by tales of ________, or the life changing concept of _________, and how you have always had a soft spot for ________. Cool?
Look, I don’t know why I am the way I am. Like all of us, I am an amalgamation of my upbringing, my life experiences, my chemical makeup, and whatever else you need to add in there to feel comfortable appeasing your beliefs. All I know is that I am honest and comfortable myself, digging right into the heart of what is important to me and just throwing it out there. I know that I am received as juvenile at times, mercenary, unfair, and sometimes just plain mean. I will accept all of those labels and then some. For me, I have to give you all that I have in order to communicate that of which I find importance. That includes a deep and undying passion for life and for this world. I know it’s a contradiction. No one can simper and crow like I do, and yet I need to feel. I need to know that I am alive. I need to know that I exist and that I am vital and that this life is for now, and for always counting me in on the roll, because the moment I think I am out of the loop, it’s over.
There is an edge that is skittering towards all of us all of the time. We may veer directly into it sometimes, caught completely off guard by its coming out of nowhere (or so it would seem). But this is the edge of being that hoards all the really good stuff, and the only way to grab any of it is to get right up in there. I get tired like anyone, and I get scared like anyone, and I get real fucking complacent like anyone. But sometimes – and maybe it comes less and less, and maybe it is coming more and more – sometimes that edge shows itself, and I will be god damn ready to ride it with reckless abandon, because I need some of that good stuff.
I won’t play in another band unless I think I can remove the tendency to push away from that edge, and instead focus on getting as close to it as I can and staying there for as long as I can bear. That is now, for me, the essence of expressing myself through music, and I won’t tolerate anything less from anyone, especially myself.
Yeah I hear you, what a fucking elitist.
I have found a true partner in writing. Mind you, I’m not saying I am the kind of writer that I want to be. I am not and have never been goal minded. I detest that shit with gusto. But occasionally I break down and develop a major one. I want to write a book and get it published. That’s a goal. Jenna Jameson can find time between cocksmoking and snowballing to write several novels. I’ll take one. Miley Cyrus can shit out an autobiography about god knows what, since she’s only 15, for fuck’s sake. I just want to get published. Even that no-talent assmonger Anthony Kiedis has a fucking book out. I didn’t even know he could read. Me? You get the picture.
I know, I know. Write one. I know, I get it. I’m not an idiot. The thing is, I want to write the book that makes me happy. I am not currently in a position to do so at the moment. I’m sorry, but I’m like the character, Locke, in that show, Lost (thanks Ryan, you fucker, for lending me seasons one and two). I just have a feeling for why things are with me, and until the time feels right, I don’t tamper with the order of stuff. I know, again, I know, I’m a fucking nut job, but I also happen to know myself pretty damn well. It’s a process, and the process is still unfolding. I’ll put it this way: right now, and for the past several years, it has all been about testing the waters. You don’t want to jump in and find you can’t swim, and you don’t want to dive right in only to find it’s fucking freezing in there. You ease in and make it work for you.
God, I make myself sick sometimes.
I’m just saying, my day may come. Then again, it may not. I have spent countless hours working on my writing, and thinking about it as I saunter through my life like a 200-pound baby. I have grown quite fond of creating the written word. I’m no fool. My talent is marginal at the very best. I just want to make myself happy. On balance, I have been very lucky so far by those standards. I’ll leave you folks to it now. It’s time for more beer.
Wish me well. Just do. Wish me well and be on your way. You’ve all got posts to write too. And if you aren’t in the hallowed halls of the NAP as a writer, then wish me well from the sidelines, where you wallow in silence, not feeling you have a place among this coterie of jesters. You do. You do, anonymous spies and anonymous participants. You do, indeed. Now, wish me well and be on your way.
Enjoy your Tuesday.
Here’s Bob with the weather.
It humors me to throw my writing at a proverbial wall every single week here in the NAP and see what sticks. I cant try and spill my guts, or wax philosophical about some nonsense, or just generally try and expose something about my view of things that connects to someone, somewhere, somehow. Sometimes comment threads spawn off of things we write in here due directly to the subject matter. We might wind people up by professing love for some band that breeds polarity. Bands Like Thin Lizzy are a perfect example. Steely Dan is another. Rush. Etc… The list is probably endless. One man’s trash, and so on, ad infinitum.
I also get a kick out of simply being a sophomoric asshole, spilling vitriol maybe just for the sake, or maybe to try and spark some reaction, any reaction to get things moving around here. This may say more for my lack of writing talent than anything else (well, that and my lack of emotional development). And then again, I can quite honestly just be in a pissy mood, ready to deliver the goods, and genuinely angry about something.
Ridiculous, I know, but there it is.
But I hope that the balance comes when I spend my time in here digging well into myself to expose something about me that makes me human in a way that connects to you by strictly adhering to something that moves me to express the joy of being alive.
Okay, I’m working on that last bit, admittedly, but it does happen, and I think that if you take the time to actually read what I have to say, you might find it happens more often than you might realize, and that I have just as much passion invested into that which I love as that which makes me dive for throats with fangs bared and guns ablaze.
To me, writing about anything other than myself week after week is basically an exercise in torture. That’s why my posts are almost always about me and what I see in the world all around me. Can’t help it. And that’s why my tenure in the minds and eyes of many who have passed through here is severely limited to say the least.
One thing you can be sure of is that my passions will be on full display. And that is truly for better or for worse.
Believe me. I know that my choice of subject matter, and my choice of words can have a very strong effect on you the reader. But you see, dear, that’s the fucking point.
I won’t slag anyone else that has the fortitude to do this week in and week out. But I will say that I won’t be one to pack myself away from these expositional posts and veer off into territory that is safe and sound, free from the peering eyes of others. And no, I’m not claiming any of my coNAPpers have made a habit of doing this either. Sure, there is what I consider too much of that in here, but hell, I am guilty of plenty of transgressions all my own as I have openly indicated on many occasions. I think the difference is that I will gladly and freely admit to my shortcomings, and usually long before I get called out for them too.
For me this is obviously a cathartic experience. But it is also a laboratory for me to work on how I express myself through my writing.
Perhaps an apology is in order for that. I mean, I won’t give you one, but perhaps it’s in order.
I hear the snickering when I espouse my love for metal. That’s fine. I’m not working the missionary angle, vying for converts with myopic zeal. I’m just sharing, or trying anyway, to tell you about something that gives me such unbridled pleasure. Who wouldn’t want to do that?
I have been a guitar player since I was in middle school. That means that I have been a guitar player for 28 motherfucking years. That, ladies, is a real long time. And I am a known traitor among the ranks. I have walked away from that world for a number of reasons. I use many of them to bolster many others. But in all honesty, making music with other people is somewhere along the lines of agony for me. It has always taken the heroic and grandiose efforts of others to coax me into the various musical ventures that I have undertaken, or at least all except for one. Project Grimm was my baby. Sadly it was born with severe birth defects, but I learned to love it all the same. But beyond that anomaly (well, that and my failed solo project), all my traipsing through the halls of band frivolity has been motivated by the efforts of another. Ramon. Scott Grimm. Tom Carter. The list is replete with people who have given me a reason to want to make the effort.
Slowly but surely I have shaken that which has drawn me to the humility and discomfort that has always accompanied being in bands (and even recording solo for that matter).
So what is my point? Don’t have one in case you haven’t picked up on that yet.
I do this because I want to write and I want to be read and I want to get in on the party.
Music? Yeah. I listen to a hell of a lot of it, and I still love the hell out of it. Guitar? Yeah, I still play it regularly, though I have dropped the self-borne pressure to create tangible pieces of music, since ultimately I am my own audience, and my audience doesn’t give a shit about the completion of anything other than the immediate expression that comes with the way I play. Joy! How thrilling it must be to read about that exclusionary tactic!
I am always amazed to read what the rest of you come up with every week, even though I am amazingly often utterly baffled by why it is that whatever many of us choose to talk about is so completely uninteresting to me. I imagine that the above statement should offend nobody, but if so, my apologies. Just keep in mind how much you like to read about metal, or my personal problems, or how deeply taken I am with someone, and then accept that I am equally baffled by tales of ________, or the life changing concept of _________, and how you have always had a soft spot for ________. Cool?
Look, I don’t know why I am the way I am. Like all of us, I am an amalgamation of my upbringing, my life experiences, my chemical makeup, and whatever else you need to add in there to feel comfortable appeasing your beliefs. All I know is that I am honest and comfortable myself, digging right into the heart of what is important to me and just throwing it out there. I know that I am received as juvenile at times, mercenary, unfair, and sometimes just plain mean. I will accept all of those labels and then some. For me, I have to give you all that I have in order to communicate that of which I find importance. That includes a deep and undying passion for life and for this world. I know it’s a contradiction. No one can simper and crow like I do, and yet I need to feel. I need to know that I am alive. I need to know that I exist and that I am vital and that this life is for now, and for always counting me in on the roll, because the moment I think I am out of the loop, it’s over.
There is an edge that is skittering towards all of us all of the time. We may veer directly into it sometimes, caught completely off guard by its coming out of nowhere (or so it would seem). But this is the edge of being that hoards all the really good stuff, and the only way to grab any of it is to get right up in there. I get tired like anyone, and I get scared like anyone, and I get real fucking complacent like anyone. But sometimes – and maybe it comes less and less, and maybe it is coming more and more – sometimes that edge shows itself, and I will be god damn ready to ride it with reckless abandon, because I need some of that good stuff.
I won’t play in another band unless I think I can remove the tendency to push away from that edge, and instead focus on getting as close to it as I can and staying there for as long as I can bear. That is now, for me, the essence of expressing myself through music, and I won’t tolerate anything less from anyone, especially myself.
Yeah I hear you, what a fucking elitist.
I have found a true partner in writing. Mind you, I’m not saying I am the kind of writer that I want to be. I am not and have never been goal minded. I detest that shit with gusto. But occasionally I break down and develop a major one. I want to write a book and get it published. That’s a goal. Jenna Jameson can find time between cocksmoking and snowballing to write several novels. I’ll take one. Miley Cyrus can shit out an autobiography about god knows what, since she’s only 15, for fuck’s sake. I just want to get published. Even that no-talent assmonger Anthony Kiedis has a fucking book out. I didn’t even know he could read. Me? You get the picture.
I know, I know. Write one. I know, I get it. I’m not an idiot. The thing is, I want to write the book that makes me happy. I am not currently in a position to do so at the moment. I’m sorry, but I’m like the character, Locke, in that show, Lost (thanks Ryan, you fucker, for lending me seasons one and two). I just have a feeling for why things are with me, and until the time feels right, I don’t tamper with the order of stuff. I know, again, I know, I’m a fucking nut job, but I also happen to know myself pretty damn well. It’s a process, and the process is still unfolding. I’ll put it this way: right now, and for the past several years, it has all been about testing the waters. You don’t want to jump in and find you can’t swim, and you don’t want to dive right in only to find it’s fucking freezing in there. You ease in and make it work for you.
God, I make myself sick sometimes.
I’m just saying, my day may come. Then again, it may not. I have spent countless hours working on my writing, and thinking about it as I saunter through my life like a 200-pound baby. I have grown quite fond of creating the written word. I’m no fool. My talent is marginal at the very best. I just want to make myself happy. On balance, I have been very lucky so far by those standards. I’ll leave you folks to it now. It’s time for more beer.
Wish me well. Just do. Wish me well and be on your way. You’ve all got posts to write too. And if you aren’t in the hallowed halls of the NAP as a writer, then wish me well from the sidelines, where you wallow in silence, not feeling you have a place among this coterie of jesters. You do. You do, anonymous spies and anonymous participants. You do, indeed. Now, wish me well and be on your way.
Enjoy your Tuesday.
Here’s Bob with the weather.
Monday, April 28, 2008
you can't piss on hospitality.
0. PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT.
This post is unconscionably long, so I urge you not to miss either of the very recently posted items that I'm pushing miles away from the top of the page, Cherry Blossom's latest, fawesome post or this week's podcast. And of course Charlie Naked's not quite as recent but still awesome guest post.
1. THREE ATTEMPTS TO MAKE THIS POST APPEAR TO BE ABOUT MUSIC WHEN REALLY IT'S NOT.
a. I mention first of all because it is most important, more important than anything I have to say this week: the Palestinian hip-hop group DAM (Da Arab MCs), who I've mentioned before on this blog, are coming to America. Their shows are in Austin, Houston, San Francisco, and Brooklyn. I would appreciate any NAPsters living in those areas to go give a show report, but mostly I urge you to go because I suspect it will be a really awesome show. (I will give up my slot for a week for any non-regular NAP writers who want to write a show report.) Check their MySpace page for details - early May.
b. Right now I am listening to Sam Cooke's awesome LIVE AT THE HARLEM SQUARE CLUB, and it's a masterpiece. Between this and LIVE AT THE APOLLO (which I belatedly discovered last year), I am grooving on early live R&B/soul records and would love any recommendations you have. "Is everybody in favor of getting romantic?" Yes, Sam.
c. This week I used GarageBand compositionally for the first time, to create two small bits of music for the three short films my friends and I made. It was a very incidental part of the process, and although I could try to make much hay of the fact that more people have probably heard those pieces of music than any other music that I've done, ultimately it's not really about music. But it's what I'm going to write about anyway.
2. A LITTLE HISTORY WITHOUT WHICH WHAT I HAVE TO TELL YOU WON'T MAKE SENSE, PART 1: UTAH, 1990.
Eighteen or so years ago, a group of Italian filmmakers arrived in Morgan, Utah, armed with a modest budget (at best) and a script that had been translated from Italian to English. They hired all local actors, most of whose acting experience consisted of community actors, and proceeded to shoot a horror film, requiring their actors to adhere to the poorly-translated script word for word but otherwise seemingly exercising no control over their cast.
The resulting debacle was ultimately titled TROLL 2, and the fact that there are no trolls in it is far from the most astonishing facet of this film. I hesitate to say too much for fear of ruining the film experience, but I need to emphasize that this is not of those bad films that has a few epic bad moments but is otherwise a slog. This is, as it is oft proclaimed, the CITIZEN KANE of bad movies. Or maybe The Shaggs of films, if we want to stretch this back into, y'know, being about music.
In an ideal world, you would go watch TROLL 2 now.
3. LACUNA WHERE, IN AN IDEAL WORLD, YOU WATCH TROLL 2.
3a. IN WHICH I BRING THOSE WHO DID NOT JUST WATCH TROLL 2 UP TO SPEED.
So, okay. Here is what you will need to know to appreciate what follows. But keep in mind you're missing out on the popcorn and the double-decker baloney sandwich and the performance of the druid queen and the jaw-dropping ending and so much, so very much more.
Anyway: basically, the hero of TROLL 2 is a kid named Joshua (played by Michael Paul Stephenson, about whom more later), who is able to speak with his grandpa Seth, who is dead. Joshua's family, buckling from the urban pressures of the big city, decide it would be a brilliant idea to house-swap with a family in the town of Nilbog.
However, Grandpa Seth has warned Joshua about an evil race of goblins who trick people into eating green food. This food turns the people into plant material, which the goblins then devour. So, when the family arrives at the house and are greeted by a table full of green frosting-covered foodstuffs (the most ludicrous being a green foodstuff), Grandpa Seth freezes time to give Joshua a chance to stop them from eating the food.
Joshua, being a clever youth, solves the problem by urinating on the food. His family's reaction, particularly the monologue from his father (played by George Hardy, about whom more later as well), is one of those moments where your brain seizes up like an oil-free engine. You know in your head that, somehow, human beings made a series of decisions that caused this to appear on screen, but the decision path is so inscrutable that it beggars belief.
Much later, Joshua discovers the secret of Nilbog: "NILBOG IS GOBLIN SPELLED BACKWARDS!" The local goblins capture him and try to force-feed him, but his father rescues him.
Much much more happens in this movie, but this is what's relevant for what comes next.
4. A LITTLE HISTORY WITHOUT WHICH WHAT I HAVE TO TELL YOU WON'T MAKE SENSE, PART 2: AUCKLAND, 2004-8.
For the last several years (bar 2007 when I was on Great Barrier Island), I've participated in New Zealand's 48 HOURS filmmaking competition. My friends and I started with a bang by coming in second place in 2004, with the classic buddy-cop movie BURNS & MCCLOUD: STREET SENSE.
(It's worth noting that every year, to avoid cheaters, random elements are designated for each year: a line, a prop, and a character. The character that year was Jesse McCloud/McLeod, a washed up has-been.)
In subsequent years, there's been stumbles. But 2006 was my first year directing a 48 HOURS film, which was a great experience. And while I was disappointed not to participate last year, it's worked out that I've joined up with a good friend to start a new team this year, and things are looking promising. Whether we win or not is not the promise, so much as using it as a foundation for other filmmaking enterprises. (Winning would be nice, of course.)
This year, as a prelude to the competition, the energy drink V (which sponsors the competition) also sponsored a 48SECONDS competition. No, you don't have to make a film in 48 seconds - you just have to re-create a scene from a classic film, using cans of V, in 48 seconds or less.
Did I mention that V is green? And that "classic film" can be interpreted loosely?
5. A QUICK ASIDE: MY FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH THE CAST OF TROLL 2: AUCKLAND, 2006.
The second time I saw TROLL 2 was at the 24 Hour Movie Marathon in 2006. The loons who attend this event, and I include myself proudly in that description, are the perfect audience for TROLL 2. The principal quality of any successful film in a movie marathon is that - for whatever reason - you can't take your eyes off of it. And, as you might have guessed, TROLL 2 meets that description well.
Anyway, after the event was done, event host Ant Timpson (who also runs 48 Hours and 48SECONDS) announced a special surprise: he was calling America to get George Hardy on the phone. George Hardy didn't have a long (read: any) career in film: in fact, until the recent resurgence in interest in TROLL 2, it was his only role. He's a dentist now in the south, and was astonishingly happy to talk to us for something like fifteen minutes about TROLL 2 and what a unique experience it was. (Most of what I know about the background of TROLL 2 comes from this discussion.)
Little did I know eighteen months later I would be re-creating his most famous monologue to date.
6. SO, YEAH, WE RE-MADE TROLL 2 USING V CANS.
But here's the thing. We did three entries, each a different scene from TROLL 2.
There are many ways to approach this sort of thing, as you see if you browse the various takes linked above. Ours was similar to Gus Van Sant's in remaking PSYCHO: attempt to re-create the original blocking, camera movements, et cetera as closely as possible, only using a different cast and location. (The part 1 is condensing 2 minutes of screen time, so it's not completely faithful, and there's some shortens in part 3 as well.) Since most of my friends fall between early 20s and late 30s, assembling a plausible cast would have been difficult; truthfully, we didn't even try. I was desperate to play the dad, Al was eager to play young Joshua, and so, we went for it. We shot it in one day, I cut it the next day, Al onlined it and put it on the net the day after.
Here are the results:
TROLL 2
TROLL 2 Two
TROLL 2 Three
(All hail and praise to the cast and crew, all of whom you see on screen at some point, and to my friend Annette, who suggested the genius final line of TROLL 2 Three.)
As a topical aside: using Garage Band, even with the hack interface of my laptop's keyboard (rather than a piano-style keyboard) was really simple. That I do editing for a living can't hurt; still, I am encouraged to try to experiment more.
7. IN WHICH THINGS TAKE A TURN FOR THE WEIRDLY AWESOME.
To defuse one line of drama: I have no idea if we won or not. I believe the deadline for entry is 80 minutes away still.
Anyway, we posted our entries, and I sent emails to a couple friends who I thought would be particularly interested.
What happened next is almost too convoluted to bother to explain, but I'll try. One of my friends has a Twitter account that aggregates his friends' Facebook status entries. As of that day, he had a new subscriber. That subscriber? Michael Paul Stephenson.
(Yes, the kid that played Joshua, who is no longer a kid. And who, incidentally, is directing a documentary on TROLL 2 called BEST WORST MOVIE.)
And what was Michael Paul Stephenson's most recent Twitter entry?
"Big smile on my face! Troll 2 spoofs created by fans in New Zealand. http://tinyurl.com/63rlwn . Thanks to Ant Timpson for the heads up."
That I could bring happiness to the man who played a pivotal role 18 years ago in making a movie that has brought me so much happiness was deeply satisfying. That I found out about it in such a circuitous way is deeply weird. But also kind of cool.
Now I just have to decide if I will attend the TROLL 2 event in Nilbog at the end of June.
8. MY PROMISE TO YOU, THE ASTONISHINGLY PATIENT READER.
I will not emulate David Foster Wallace next week. I might even write about music.
This post is unconscionably long, so I urge you not to miss either of the very recently posted items that I'm pushing miles away from the top of the page, Cherry Blossom's latest, fawesome post or this week's podcast. And of course Charlie Naked's not quite as recent but still awesome guest post.
1. THREE ATTEMPTS TO MAKE THIS POST APPEAR TO BE ABOUT MUSIC WHEN REALLY IT'S NOT.
a. I mention first of all because it is most important, more important than anything I have to say this week: the Palestinian hip-hop group DAM (Da Arab MCs), who I've mentioned before on this blog, are coming to America. Their shows are in Austin, Houston, San Francisco, and Brooklyn. I would appreciate any NAPsters living in those areas to go give a show report, but mostly I urge you to go because I suspect it will be a really awesome show. (I will give up my slot for a week for any non-regular NAP writers who want to write a show report.) Check their MySpace page for details - early May.
b. Right now I am listening to Sam Cooke's awesome LIVE AT THE HARLEM SQUARE CLUB, and it's a masterpiece. Between this and LIVE AT THE APOLLO (which I belatedly discovered last year), I am grooving on early live R&B/soul records and would love any recommendations you have. "Is everybody in favor of getting romantic?" Yes, Sam.
c. This week I used GarageBand compositionally for the first time, to create two small bits of music for the three short films my friends and I made. It was a very incidental part of the process, and although I could try to make much hay of the fact that more people have probably heard those pieces of music than any other music that I've done, ultimately it's not really about music. But it's what I'm going to write about anyway.
2. A LITTLE HISTORY WITHOUT WHICH WHAT I HAVE TO TELL YOU WON'T MAKE SENSE, PART 1: UTAH, 1990.
Eighteen or so years ago, a group of Italian filmmakers arrived in Morgan, Utah, armed with a modest budget (at best) and a script that had been translated from Italian to English. They hired all local actors, most of whose acting experience consisted of community actors, and proceeded to shoot a horror film, requiring their actors to adhere to the poorly-translated script word for word but otherwise seemingly exercising no control over their cast.
The resulting debacle was ultimately titled TROLL 2, and the fact that there are no trolls in it is far from the most astonishing facet of this film. I hesitate to say too much for fear of ruining the film experience, but I need to emphasize that this is not of those bad films that has a few epic bad moments but is otherwise a slog. This is, as it is oft proclaimed, the CITIZEN KANE of bad movies. Or maybe The Shaggs of films, if we want to stretch this back into, y'know, being about music.
In an ideal world, you would go watch TROLL 2 now.
3. LACUNA WHERE, IN AN IDEAL WORLD, YOU WATCH TROLL 2.
3a. IN WHICH I BRING THOSE WHO DID NOT JUST WATCH TROLL 2 UP TO SPEED.
So, okay. Here is what you will need to know to appreciate what follows. But keep in mind you're missing out on the popcorn and the double-decker baloney sandwich and the performance of the druid queen and the jaw-dropping ending and so much, so very much more.
Anyway: basically, the hero of TROLL 2 is a kid named Joshua (played by Michael Paul Stephenson, about whom more later), who is able to speak with his grandpa Seth, who is dead. Joshua's family, buckling from the urban pressures of the big city, decide it would be a brilliant idea to house-swap with a family in the town of Nilbog.
However, Grandpa Seth has warned Joshua about an evil race of goblins who trick people into eating green food. This food turns the people into plant material, which the goblins then devour. So, when the family arrives at the house and are greeted by a table full of green frosting-covered foodstuffs (the most ludicrous being a green foodstuff), Grandpa Seth freezes time to give Joshua a chance to stop them from eating the food.
Joshua, being a clever youth, solves the problem by urinating on the food. His family's reaction, particularly the monologue from his father (played by George Hardy, about whom more later as well), is one of those moments where your brain seizes up like an oil-free engine. You know in your head that, somehow, human beings made a series of decisions that caused this to appear on screen, but the decision path is so inscrutable that it beggars belief.
Much later, Joshua discovers the secret of Nilbog: "NILBOG IS GOBLIN SPELLED BACKWARDS!" The local goblins capture him and try to force-feed him, but his father rescues him.
Much much more happens in this movie, but this is what's relevant for what comes next.
4. A LITTLE HISTORY WITHOUT WHICH WHAT I HAVE TO TELL YOU WON'T MAKE SENSE, PART 2: AUCKLAND, 2004-8.
For the last several years (bar 2007 when I was on Great Barrier Island), I've participated in New Zealand's 48 HOURS filmmaking competition. My friends and I started with a bang by coming in second place in 2004, with the classic buddy-cop movie BURNS & MCCLOUD: STREET SENSE.
(It's worth noting that every year, to avoid cheaters, random elements are designated for each year: a line, a prop, and a character. The character that year was Jesse McCloud/McLeod, a washed up has-been.)
In subsequent years, there's been stumbles. But 2006 was my first year directing a 48 HOURS film, which was a great experience. And while I was disappointed not to participate last year, it's worked out that I've joined up with a good friend to start a new team this year, and things are looking promising. Whether we win or not is not the promise, so much as using it as a foundation for other filmmaking enterprises. (Winning would be nice, of course.)
This year, as a prelude to the competition, the energy drink V (which sponsors the competition) also sponsored a 48SECONDS competition. No, you don't have to make a film in 48 seconds - you just have to re-create a scene from a classic film, using cans of V, in 48 seconds or less.
Did I mention that V is green? And that "classic film" can be interpreted loosely?
5. A QUICK ASIDE: MY FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH THE CAST OF TROLL 2: AUCKLAND, 2006.
The second time I saw TROLL 2 was at the 24 Hour Movie Marathon in 2006. The loons who attend this event, and I include myself proudly in that description, are the perfect audience for TROLL 2. The principal quality of any successful film in a movie marathon is that - for whatever reason - you can't take your eyes off of it. And, as you might have guessed, TROLL 2 meets that description well.
Anyway, after the event was done, event host Ant Timpson (who also runs 48 Hours and 48SECONDS) announced a special surprise: he was calling America to get George Hardy on the phone. George Hardy didn't have a long (read: any) career in film: in fact, until the recent resurgence in interest in TROLL 2, it was his only role. He's a dentist now in the south, and was astonishingly happy to talk to us for something like fifteen minutes about TROLL 2 and what a unique experience it was. (Most of what I know about the background of TROLL 2 comes from this discussion.)
Little did I know eighteen months later I would be re-creating his most famous monologue to date.
6. SO, YEAH, WE RE-MADE TROLL 2 USING V CANS.
But here's the thing. We did three entries, each a different scene from TROLL 2.
There are many ways to approach this sort of thing, as you see if you browse the various takes linked above. Ours was similar to Gus Van Sant's in remaking PSYCHO: attempt to re-create the original blocking, camera movements, et cetera as closely as possible, only using a different cast and location. (The part 1 is condensing 2 minutes of screen time, so it's not completely faithful, and there's some shortens in part 3 as well.) Since most of my friends fall between early 20s and late 30s, assembling a plausible cast would have been difficult; truthfully, we didn't even try. I was desperate to play the dad, Al was eager to play young Joshua, and so, we went for it. We shot it in one day, I cut it the next day, Al onlined it and put it on the net the day after.
Here are the results:
TROLL 2
TROLL 2 Two
TROLL 2 Three
(All hail and praise to the cast and crew, all of whom you see on screen at some point, and to my friend Annette, who suggested the genius final line of TROLL 2 Three.)
As a topical aside: using Garage Band, even with the hack interface of my laptop's keyboard (rather than a piano-style keyboard) was really simple. That I do editing for a living can't hurt; still, I am encouraged to try to experiment more.
7. IN WHICH THINGS TAKE A TURN FOR THE WEIRDLY AWESOME.
To defuse one line of drama: I have no idea if we won or not. I believe the deadline for entry is 80 minutes away still.
Anyway, we posted our entries, and I sent emails to a couple friends who I thought would be particularly interested.
What happened next is almost too convoluted to bother to explain, but I'll try. One of my friends has a Twitter account that aggregates his friends' Facebook status entries. As of that day, he had a new subscriber. That subscriber? Michael Paul Stephenson.
(Yes, the kid that played Joshua, who is no longer a kid. And who, incidentally, is directing a documentary on TROLL 2 called BEST WORST MOVIE.)
And what was Michael Paul Stephenson's most recent Twitter entry?
"Big smile on my face! Troll 2 spoofs created by fans in New Zealand. http://tinyurl.com/63rlwn . Thanks to Ant Timpson for the heads up."
That I could bring happiness to the man who played a pivotal role 18 years ago in making a movie that has brought me so much happiness was deeply satisfying. That I found out about it in such a circuitous way is deeply weird. But also kind of cool.
Now I just have to decide if I will attend the TROLL 2 event in Nilbog at the end of June.
8. MY PROMISE TO YOU, THE ASTONISHINGLY PATIENT READER.
I will not emulate David Foster Wallace next week. I might even write about music.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
craigslist band
tonight i had an idea for a craigslist band wherein the band would be forced to comply with the following rules:
1. for any given rehearsal or gig, the band could only use gear and instruments purchased on craigslist from ads on a single day in a single city
2. each month the band would turn over all gear, purchasing a new collection and selling the previous month's collection
3. the list of available new gear would be determined at a specified time, say at midnight on the 1st day of the month
4. the band could choose up to 10 items from the first 20 items listed for sale on the musical instruments site and up to 5 items from the first page of any other category (e.g. furniture, farm and garden, auto parts, collectibles, electronics, etc.)
Under these constraints, if my craigslist band were to have chosen now as the purchase time, our options would have been:
* YORKVILLE SPEAKERS, TASCAM, JBL, AMPEG! - (Annandale)
* Roland GR33 guitar synthesizer - $500 - pic
* AER compact 60 amplifier - $1300 - pic
* Peavey Reactor Tele, Telecaster Made in USA 1994! - $295 - (Tysons Corner)
* Full Size Keyboard with weighted Keys - Rolland EP9 - $550 - (Fairfax) pic
* Beautiful Full Size Violin - $2800 - (Fairfax) pic
* Ukulele with case - $45 - (DC) pic
* Beautiful 16 inch Viola - $1200 - (Fairfax) pic
* Fender Hot Rod DeVille 410 4x10 Tube Amp - $449 - (Woodbridge, VA) pic
* Mackie 1604 VLZ - $400 - (Laurel, MD)
* Brand New Mackie Onyx 2480 Mixer - $3300 - (Annapolis Junction) pic
* M Audio Keyboard controller - $200 - (Broadlands, Va) pic
* guitar amplifier - $220 - (arlington) pic
* $225 Peavey NitroBass Amp Head 450 Watts - $225 - (Arlington)
* Line 6 Spider 212 100Watt including foot controller - $250 - (Alexandria)
* *** Behringer Ultratwin Amp F/T for Small Tube Amp *** - (Frederick) pic
* Dr-5 Rhythm box - $130 - (arlington va) pic
* Piano - Handy Man Special - $100 - (Manassas) pic
* Fender Starcaster - $100
* Washburn Maverick Series Guitar BT4 - $100 - (leesburg) pic
the electronics category usually has several ipod options. worse comes to worst, you could probably find a copy of guitar hero and a computer in a pinch.
this idea appeals to me more and more as i think about it. knowing i could not keep any of my gear for more than a month might have a really positive effect on how i rehearse and compose. it would also inspire me to record stuff immediately.
obviously, bands from new york would have an advantage over bands from des moines. and a band from dc might have to figure out the best strategy for when to choose the philly or baltimore or new york lists over dc. i realize this also discriminates against international bands or rural bands. i'm sorry about this. there are advantages to living in cities.
i might actually start doing this. i'll keep you posted if i do. i would have to start with sales rather than purchases to get around the initial start-up costs. but otherwise, it seems like an interesting experiment.
i'm pretty sure i'm not the first person to think of this, and i'm pretty sure if i'm not, one of you will post a link to someone's craig's list band blog.
1. for any given rehearsal or gig, the band could only use gear and instruments purchased on craigslist from ads on a single day in a single city
2. each month the band would turn over all gear, purchasing a new collection and selling the previous month's collection
3. the list of available new gear would be determined at a specified time, say at midnight on the 1st day of the month
4. the band could choose up to 10 items from the first 20 items listed for sale on the musical instruments site and up to 5 items from the first page of any other category (e.g. furniture, farm and garden, auto parts, collectibles, electronics, etc.)
Under these constraints, if my craigslist band were to have chosen now as the purchase time, our options would have been:
* YORKVILLE SPEAKERS, TASCAM, JBL, AMPEG! - (Annandale)
* Roland GR33 guitar synthesizer - $500 - pic
* AER compact 60 amplifier - $1300 - pic
* Peavey Reactor Tele, Telecaster Made in USA 1994! - $295 - (Tysons Corner)
* Full Size Keyboard with weighted Keys - Rolland EP9 - $550 - (Fairfax) pic
* Beautiful Full Size Violin - $2800 - (Fairfax) pic
* Ukulele with case - $45 - (DC) pic
* Beautiful 16 inch Viola - $1200 - (Fairfax) pic
* Fender Hot Rod DeVille 410 4x10 Tube Amp - $449 - (Woodbridge, VA) pic
* Mackie 1604 VLZ - $400 - (Laurel, MD)
* Brand New Mackie Onyx 2480 Mixer - $3300 - (Annapolis Junction) pic
* M Audio Keyboard controller - $200 - (Broadlands, Va) pic
* guitar amplifier - $220 - (arlington) pic
* $225 Peavey NitroBass Amp Head 450 Watts - $225 - (Arlington)
* Line 6 Spider 212 100Watt including foot controller - $250 - (Alexandria)
* *** Behringer Ultratwin Amp F/T for Small Tube Amp *** - (Frederick) pic
* Dr-5 Rhythm box - $130 - (arlington va) pic
* Piano - Handy Man Special - $100 - (Manassas) pic
* Fender Starcaster - $100
* Washburn Maverick Series Guitar BT4 - $100 - (leesburg) pic
the electronics category usually has several ipod options. worse comes to worst, you could probably find a copy of guitar hero and a computer in a pinch.
this idea appeals to me more and more as i think about it. knowing i could not keep any of my gear for more than a month might have a really positive effect on how i rehearse and compose. it would also inspire me to record stuff immediately.
obviously, bands from new york would have an advantage over bands from des moines. and a band from dc might have to figure out the best strategy for when to choose the philly or baltimore or new york lists over dc. i realize this also discriminates against international bands or rural bands. i'm sorry about this. there are advantages to living in cities.
i might actually start doing this. i'll keep you posted if i do. i would have to start with sales rather than purchases to get around the initial start-up costs. but otherwise, it seems like an interesting experiment.
i'm pretty sure i'm not the first person to think of this, and i'm pretty sure if i'm not, one of you will post a link to someone's craig's list band blog.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Naked Process Music
When I was asked to do this Saturday’s NAP post, I was in the middle of putting together some sound design for the play “One Flea Spare”, currently being produced by the Houston independent theatre company Mildred’s Umbrella, so I didn’t really give it much thought. I just said “sure, I’ll do it” and that was that. Fast-forward to a couple of days before it’s due, and now I’m wondering what to write about. I was considering an entire multi-page explicit dissection of British orgy porn, replete with lots of graphic descriptions, pictures for the illiterate, and Venn diagrams, but then I figured that wasn’t really related to music in any way, and frankly I don’t have it in me to deal with embedding images in text. Damn my laziness in learning HTML.
So, because it’s down to the wire and I’ve been lost in the world of sound design for the past several weeks, I figured I’d just write about my method of music-making. Yes, I know, this one’s all about me and I haven’t even posted here before to earn such solipsism, but give me a break, it’s all I can think of. Do you want the Venn diagrams? No. You don’t. And I wouldn’t know where to begin with that anyway.
When I first started making music under the name Charlie Naked, back in 1995, I was using this solo recording project as an aegis under which I could explore whatever musical experimentation I wanted that wasn’t already being covered by some other group I was playing with. Oddly enough, the first recordings I produced were actually kind of a pseudo-Free Jazz type thing, since the Democratic Art and the Defenestration Unit (my two earliest free improv groups) hadn’t come around yet. Of course, years later I realized this was ridiculous, as the whole point (for me anyway) of Free Jazz is the collaboration of musicians, and so one guy overdubbing drums, bass, horns, etc., was kind of inane. After I got over that phase, I just kind of bobbed around, trying this and that, with little direction or sense of unifying concept.
Now finally we get to the point: I finally got a computer and started to learn how to use it to make music. In doing so, over time, I developed a whole concept behind it that eventually became almost a sort of dogmatic approach that I continue to rely on to this day, though I keep it pretty much limited to this one solo home recording project. From early on, I called it Process Music. Which was pretty funny when, a few years later, I discovered Steve Reich and found out he used the same term to mean something totally different. Anyway.
To my mind, the vast majority of recorded music is what I might term Product Music. This is not to denigrate; I’m not referring to “product” in the consumerist sense. Basically what I mean is that the focus of recording the music is the final product. You know what the songs are supposed to sound like, so you record everything to make it sound that way. Certainly there’s a lot of leeway in this, but in the most general sense, you have some idea of what it’s supposed to sound like, and everything you do in the recording process is aimed at realizing this idea. Even when you’re dealing with something like free improvisation, the idea behind recording it is to serve a sort of documentary function: here is the music, as it was that day, in that room, with these musicians.
So maybe you can see where I’m going with this. Process Music is music where the focus of recording is on the process of creating it, and the final result is of secondary importance. I never know what my albums - and I’m just going to call the CDs I produce “albums” throughout, since that’s how they’re conceived - are going to sound like when I first begin one, because what they’re going to sound like is not the point at all. What matters is the question of what I’m going to do to produce that final result. Typically for me a recording project starts with the germ of an idea, and then that must be expanded upon. This germ of an idea is typically a sort of question… “What would it sound like if I made an album using nothing but overdubbed electric guitars, played in nontraditional ways and/or digitally processed beyond recognizability?” Then to hone this idea, I employ a series of “this-or-that” choices. I have a very strong belief in duality in music, and indeed in much of life. Loud/soft, bass/treble, slow/fast, ordered/chaotic: all involve determining or defining two polar focus points and the range of possibilities between them. Again, it’s not a black-or-white view, but rather a recognition that for every attribute or characteristic, there is an opposite (often several opposites, depending on how you look at it), and then there is everything between these two poles as well. So I might say the first decision is “one giant hour-long piece, or multiple parts”, and if I choose multiple parts, the next decision is “long or short”, etc. And as I said, these choices involve not just the two poles, but everything in between, so maybe I’ll say “not an hour long, but not short five-minute pieces either”, in which case I’ll probably end up with three 20-minute pieces, or two half-hour pieces or something like that. I like symmetry.
Generally one decision will lead to another choice to be made, which is how these strings of choices build up momentum, defining the way the piece will ultimately be constructed. Often, these choices are dictated in some degree by whatever defining characteristics the last several albums I recorded have, so if the last several have been hour-long pieces, perhaps I’ll react to that and make the next album a series of shorter pieces. Or maybe I’ve had too many albums where all the pieces are linked conceptually, so I do an album where all the pieces are totally unlinked conceptually. (Except of course, they are conceptually linked by the fact that they were all designed to have nothing to do with one another.) Maybe the last several albums focused on one particular instrument, or one method of construction, so I’ll change it for the next album. This is an essential part of the process, deciding whether or not any new album will follow in a line established by preceding ones, or if it will go in the opposite direction and be a reaction against something I’ve already done. This not only ensures that the process remains interesting to me, but it also keeps the albums from sounding much like one another.
So the whole time I’m making an album, I’m deliberately and consciously making choices as to characteristics, sound qualities, processing, editing, recombination, etc., so that initial question, in this case, as above, our example is “What would it sound like if I made an album using nothing but overdubbed electric guitars, played in nontraditional ways and/or digitally processed beyond recognizability?” becomes more and more complicated: “What would it sound like if I made an album using nothing but overdubbed electric guitars, played in nontraditional ways such as hammering open-chord-tuned guitars with mallets or Sharpie markers, or using one or more E-bows, and/or digitally processed beyond recognizability by looping, pitch-shifting, and heavy use of over-compression, echo and/or reverb, with three shorter pieces (~10 minutes long) each exploring the same basic concept of multi-layered malleted guitar with some sort of focal line or lines on top with a tonal root of D, contrasted with a single 30-minute piece constructed with multiple repetitive parts each looping at a different rate?” (Basically this is describing an album I did called “Saturation”, which was third and last in a series of all-guitar recordings.)
Of course each piece of this has to be recorded separately, as I am only one guy working with a computer with only one input, so each part of each piece goes through a similar process of decision-making involving editing, pitch-shifting, effects, etc., and then the whole thing goes through a similar process in deciding how to put all these parts together to make a whole, keeping in mind that the construction of the whole piece from all these individually recorded and processed parts is being guided not by any burgeoning sense of what the album should ultimately sound like, but again, rather by the same series of choices and decisions, with each choice being a decision unto itself, since I have to decide what my choices are before I can choose between them and act accordingly. The only guiding principle I have to assist me in making these decisions is symmetry, which is in itself a manifestation of duality. For instance, one album I have (“Gorjus”) is almost entirely a single eight-minute organ solo, pitch-shifted down to where it stretches across a little over an hour. At that point, the sound becomes largely bass response, so for the sake of symmetry I balanced it out with a faint but perceptible loop of jinglebells to provide treble. And of course there’s also left/right symmetry with the stereo field and all that. Symmetry becomes invaluable with a project like this, because often times decision-making just gets down to “what do I do with this?” or “what comes next?” and a desire to maintain symmetry often answers those questions by causing me to go through the piece as it’s developing and look for asymmetrical places I can correct to make symmetrical. This is typically the last stage. After that, the recording is complete and I sit on it for awhile trying to think of a name and cover art, so I can upload it to Cafepress and have it be largely ignored except for, generously speaking, a handful of curious people.
So I hope you enjoyed reading this. I’ll totally understand if you did not. As I warned you, it was a bit solipsistic. I recognize that it seems overly intellect-based to approach music-making in this way, but again, that comes back to duality… most of the music I make with TDU and Linus is primarily from the gut or the emotions or from a sense of fun or whatever, so I balance that out with a project in which I endeavor to remove the gut response and the emotions and just approach it from an almost clinical point of view. Sometimes, I find that oddly satisfying.
So, because it’s down to the wire and I’ve been lost in the world of sound design for the past several weeks, I figured I’d just write about my method of music-making. Yes, I know, this one’s all about me and I haven’t even posted here before to earn such solipsism, but give me a break, it’s all I can think of. Do you want the Venn diagrams? No. You don’t. And I wouldn’t know where to begin with that anyway.
When I first started making music under the name Charlie Naked, back in 1995, I was using this solo recording project as an aegis under which I could explore whatever musical experimentation I wanted that wasn’t already being covered by some other group I was playing with. Oddly enough, the first recordings I produced were actually kind of a pseudo-Free Jazz type thing, since the Democratic Art and the Defenestration Unit (my two earliest free improv groups) hadn’t come around yet. Of course, years later I realized this was ridiculous, as the whole point (for me anyway) of Free Jazz is the collaboration of musicians, and so one guy overdubbing drums, bass, horns, etc., was kind of inane. After I got over that phase, I just kind of bobbed around, trying this and that, with little direction or sense of unifying concept.
Now finally we get to the point: I finally got a computer and started to learn how to use it to make music. In doing so, over time, I developed a whole concept behind it that eventually became almost a sort of dogmatic approach that I continue to rely on to this day, though I keep it pretty much limited to this one solo home recording project. From early on, I called it Process Music. Which was pretty funny when, a few years later, I discovered Steve Reich and found out he used the same term to mean something totally different. Anyway.
To my mind, the vast majority of recorded music is what I might term Product Music. This is not to denigrate; I’m not referring to “product” in the consumerist sense. Basically what I mean is that the focus of recording the music is the final product. You know what the songs are supposed to sound like, so you record everything to make it sound that way. Certainly there’s a lot of leeway in this, but in the most general sense, you have some idea of what it’s supposed to sound like, and everything you do in the recording process is aimed at realizing this idea. Even when you’re dealing with something like free improvisation, the idea behind recording it is to serve a sort of documentary function: here is the music, as it was that day, in that room, with these musicians.
So maybe you can see where I’m going with this. Process Music is music where the focus of recording is on the process of creating it, and the final result is of secondary importance. I never know what my albums - and I’m just going to call the CDs I produce “albums” throughout, since that’s how they’re conceived - are going to sound like when I first begin one, because what they’re going to sound like is not the point at all. What matters is the question of what I’m going to do to produce that final result. Typically for me a recording project starts with the germ of an idea, and then that must be expanded upon. This germ of an idea is typically a sort of question… “What would it sound like if I made an album using nothing but overdubbed electric guitars, played in nontraditional ways and/or digitally processed beyond recognizability?” Then to hone this idea, I employ a series of “this-or-that” choices. I have a very strong belief in duality in music, and indeed in much of life. Loud/soft, bass/treble, slow/fast, ordered/chaotic: all involve determining or defining two polar focus points and the range of possibilities between them. Again, it’s not a black-or-white view, but rather a recognition that for every attribute or characteristic, there is an opposite (often several opposites, depending on how you look at it), and then there is everything between these two poles as well. So I might say the first decision is “one giant hour-long piece, or multiple parts”, and if I choose multiple parts, the next decision is “long or short”, etc. And as I said, these choices involve not just the two poles, but everything in between, so maybe I’ll say “not an hour long, but not short five-minute pieces either”, in which case I’ll probably end up with three 20-minute pieces, or two half-hour pieces or something like that. I like symmetry.
Generally one decision will lead to another choice to be made, which is how these strings of choices build up momentum, defining the way the piece will ultimately be constructed. Often, these choices are dictated in some degree by whatever defining characteristics the last several albums I recorded have, so if the last several have been hour-long pieces, perhaps I’ll react to that and make the next album a series of shorter pieces. Or maybe I’ve had too many albums where all the pieces are linked conceptually, so I do an album where all the pieces are totally unlinked conceptually. (Except of course, they are conceptually linked by the fact that they were all designed to have nothing to do with one another.) Maybe the last several albums focused on one particular instrument, or one method of construction, so I’ll change it for the next album. This is an essential part of the process, deciding whether or not any new album will follow in a line established by preceding ones, or if it will go in the opposite direction and be a reaction against something I’ve already done. This not only ensures that the process remains interesting to me, but it also keeps the albums from sounding much like one another.
So the whole time I’m making an album, I’m deliberately and consciously making choices as to characteristics, sound qualities, processing, editing, recombination, etc., so that initial question, in this case, as above, our example is “What would it sound like if I made an album using nothing but overdubbed electric guitars, played in nontraditional ways and/or digitally processed beyond recognizability?” becomes more and more complicated: “What would it sound like if I made an album using nothing but overdubbed electric guitars, played in nontraditional ways such as hammering open-chord-tuned guitars with mallets or Sharpie markers, or using one or more E-bows, and/or digitally processed beyond recognizability by looping, pitch-shifting, and heavy use of over-compression, echo and/or reverb, with three shorter pieces (~10 minutes long) each exploring the same basic concept of multi-layered malleted guitar with some sort of focal line or lines on top with a tonal root of D, contrasted with a single 30-minute piece constructed with multiple repetitive parts each looping at a different rate?” (Basically this is describing an album I did called “Saturation”, which was third and last in a series of all-guitar recordings.)
Of course each piece of this has to be recorded separately, as I am only one guy working with a computer with only one input, so each part of each piece goes through a similar process of decision-making involving editing, pitch-shifting, effects, etc., and then the whole thing goes through a similar process in deciding how to put all these parts together to make a whole, keeping in mind that the construction of the whole piece from all these individually recorded and processed parts is being guided not by any burgeoning sense of what the album should ultimately sound like, but again, rather by the same series of choices and decisions, with each choice being a decision unto itself, since I have to decide what my choices are before I can choose between them and act accordingly. The only guiding principle I have to assist me in making these decisions is symmetry, which is in itself a manifestation of duality. For instance, one album I have (“Gorjus”) is almost entirely a single eight-minute organ solo, pitch-shifted down to where it stretches across a little over an hour. At that point, the sound becomes largely bass response, so for the sake of symmetry I balanced it out with a faint but perceptible loop of jinglebells to provide treble. And of course there’s also left/right symmetry with the stereo field and all that. Symmetry becomes invaluable with a project like this, because often times decision-making just gets down to “what do I do with this?” or “what comes next?” and a desire to maintain symmetry often answers those questions by causing me to go through the piece as it’s developing and look for asymmetrical places I can correct to make symmetrical. This is typically the last stage. After that, the recording is complete and I sit on it for awhile trying to think of a name and cover art, so I can upload it to Cafepress and have it be largely ignored except for, generously speaking, a handful of curious people.
So I hope you enjoyed reading this. I’ll totally understand if you did not. As I warned you, it was a bit solipsistic. I recognize that it seems overly intellect-based to approach music-making in this way, but again, that comes back to duality… most of the music I make with TDU and Linus is primarily from the gut or the emotions or from a sense of fun or whatever, so I balance that out with a project in which I endeavor to remove the gut response and the emotions and just approach it from an almost clinical point of view. Sometimes, I find that oddly satisfying.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Distraction Tactic
I've thought about it for about an hour now and I've decided that I don't have anything to say this week. I really don't want to talk about music, so maybe we can just vote on fonts. Which do you like best?
Arial
Courier
Georgia
Lucida Grande
Times
Trebuchet
Verdana
Webdings
I have been using Arial for all my posts, but I just noticed that Trebuchet is an option. I might have to start using that one because it shares a name with a medieval catapult. It would definitely make me feel more powerful and warlike. Like I need more of that.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Week 78: The Ballad Of Stayed and Gone 8
Sometimes it’s nice the way a project develops over a long period of time. And by project I mean the working out of particular ideas and their documentation.
As time and energy are put into it, the project begins to take a life of it's own and to suggest it's own development. A long time ago, when I started working on the material that would end up being part of this project, I did it in an intuitive sort of way. A conversation with someone would stick in my head, or an image, or a dream, or a particular melody or structure. As these stuck in my head i would start putting them together into ditties and verses, bits and pieces. Over the past year, I've recorded the material and listened to it and edited it, and then re-recorded it and listened again, and edited again. And this cycle has been repeated several times. And each time connections between the parts and what the project is about begins to take focus.
Formally, it is shaping up to be in part a concept album, in the sense that it explores related ideas from different angles. It’s also a little bit like a musical, because there is an underlying story, although the story is more implied than literal. It does, however, have a certain melodramatic quality to it that is reminiscent of musicals. Ultimately, however, a formal categorization of the project is not that important except as it helps us move forward by giving it some momentary cohesiveness as it threatens to run wild. However, if one thing has become clear over the past year, it is that this record is an exploration into an ocean of intersections and contradictions, a place where opposites are not so opposite. In particular it is an exploration of how the way we feel about home and leaving can change over time.
Over the time I've been working on this project I've had many ups and downs about my feelings for it. We've kept on track though and now we've moved "out of a red flare of dreams and into a common light of common hours. Until old age brings the red flare again." In that common light of common hours we float amidst a group of sounds, words and ideas that are taking audible shape as a horizon all around us. A changing horizon, so that what begins sounding like an answer often ends up being a question. “I hear the sounds of home” as a statement made by me changes suddenly into “Do you hear the sound of footsteps?” as a question I am being asked. And the horizon begins to take shape and as it does it gives the project its shape. Like the two years I spent reading the Brothers Karamazov, towards the end I felt like Dostoevsky was reading me rather than the other way around.
So what follows are windows whereby you can see individual tracks from the group that together form the ocean on which we tread, the ocean that is this project. Actually it's more like surfing. Catching that wave as it's rising, standing up on the board and riding it until the board is flowing with the wave. Then seeing the crest begin to turn and the pipe start to form, and we hunch down, point one hand towards the future, and use the other hand to trace the inside of the wave, feeling its shape, its flow, the undertow lifting from behind and propelling us forward. It is then that we begin to carve our leads into the giant and the music begins to really sing.
Ideally, at the end, the tracks should stand on their own, but right now it’s hard for me to see them individually. In each track I hear the echoes of the previous ones and the anticipation of the ones that follow. It feels weird to separate them from the group to post them individually here. Like my friend who would get all excited about playing a record, then he would play you only the first 10 or 20 seconds of a song before skipping to the next one. He wanted to play you the whole record in one minute. I always though that was so annoying. This feels like I'm doing that to you. But I'm not, because this songs can stand on their own. I hope.
We have been approaching these ideas with several different methodologies. Here's a sample of the method whereby we start with drums and go from there. This is Double Sunglasses Sunday, which you heard in a previous post as a garageband sketch. Here it is still in a fairly basic form and still needing some work, but at this juncture this version is a good representation of the shape of the song.
Another method we are using is to start with vocals and guitar and go from there. Camilia is one of the songs we are producing that way. The plan is to add to this some piano, for more percussive rhythm, and pedal steel for more tears and air at the instrumental bridge.
On the above link, Camilia is followed right away by Double Sunglasses Monday which is what it’s like being lost in Montreal. In a previous post I posted the original Garageband version of this song. Here it is now in its almost complete form with real instruments.
I’m really getting a kick from transitions.
We are using other methods, including recording some songs live under the James Taylor bridge where the cars go thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump high above, but I’ll tell you more about those later.
It’s nice working on a project at this pace. Like a chess game where days go by between moves, but with more players. Maybe like that old negotiating game, remember Diplomacy?
In other news:
Valient Himself, leader of the Venusian rock and roll band Valient Thorr is donating one of his kidneys to his earth father. Read the press release here.
As a result of this Valient Himself has incurred some debt and to help pay for the debt he is auctioning a number of his paintings and has also promised to make a line drawing of any picture you send him for just $29.00 ($25 + $4 S&H). Here’s the link to that follow up post.
So contact Valient Himself through the Valient Thorr myspace page or write to Valient Himself at cloudbox@hotmail.com and ask for details. Valient Himself is doing the hard work of donating the kidney, your part would be to send a few dollars to help him pay the bills, and you’ll get an original Venusian line drawing of your mug, or any mug you like.
As time and energy are put into it, the project begins to take a life of it's own and to suggest it's own development. A long time ago, when I started working on the material that would end up being part of this project, I did it in an intuitive sort of way. A conversation with someone would stick in my head, or an image, or a dream, or a particular melody or structure. As these stuck in my head i would start putting them together into ditties and verses, bits and pieces. Over the past year, I've recorded the material and listened to it and edited it, and then re-recorded it and listened again, and edited again. And this cycle has been repeated several times. And each time connections between the parts and what the project is about begins to take focus.
Formally, it is shaping up to be in part a concept album, in the sense that it explores related ideas from different angles. It’s also a little bit like a musical, because there is an underlying story, although the story is more implied than literal. It does, however, have a certain melodramatic quality to it that is reminiscent of musicals. Ultimately, however, a formal categorization of the project is not that important except as it helps us move forward by giving it some momentary cohesiveness as it threatens to run wild. However, if one thing has become clear over the past year, it is that this record is an exploration into an ocean of intersections and contradictions, a place where opposites are not so opposite. In particular it is an exploration of how the way we feel about home and leaving can change over time.
Over the time I've been working on this project I've had many ups and downs about my feelings for it. We've kept on track though and now we've moved "out of a red flare of dreams and into a common light of common hours. Until old age brings the red flare again." In that common light of common hours we float amidst a group of sounds, words and ideas that are taking audible shape as a horizon all around us. A changing horizon, so that what begins sounding like an answer often ends up being a question. “I hear the sounds of home” as a statement made by me changes suddenly into “Do you hear the sound of footsteps?” as a question I am being asked. And the horizon begins to take shape and as it does it gives the project its shape. Like the two years I spent reading the Brothers Karamazov, towards the end I felt like Dostoevsky was reading me rather than the other way around.
So what follows are windows whereby you can see individual tracks from the group that together form the ocean on which we tread, the ocean that is this project. Actually it's more like surfing. Catching that wave as it's rising, standing up on the board and riding it until the board is flowing with the wave. Then seeing the crest begin to turn and the pipe start to form, and we hunch down, point one hand towards the future, and use the other hand to trace the inside of the wave, feeling its shape, its flow, the undertow lifting from behind and propelling us forward. It is then that we begin to carve our leads into the giant and the music begins to really sing.
Ideally, at the end, the tracks should stand on their own, but right now it’s hard for me to see them individually. In each track I hear the echoes of the previous ones and the anticipation of the ones that follow. It feels weird to separate them from the group to post them individually here. Like my friend who would get all excited about playing a record, then he would play you only the first 10 or 20 seconds of a song before skipping to the next one. He wanted to play you the whole record in one minute. I always though that was so annoying. This feels like I'm doing that to you. But I'm not, because this songs can stand on their own. I hope.
We have been approaching these ideas with several different methodologies. Here's a sample of the method whereby we start with drums and go from there. This is Double Sunglasses Sunday, which you heard in a previous post as a garageband sketch. Here it is still in a fairly basic form and still needing some work, but at this juncture this version is a good representation of the shape of the song.
Another method we are using is to start with vocals and guitar and go from there. Camilia is one of the songs we are producing that way. The plan is to add to this some piano, for more percussive rhythm, and pedal steel for more tears and air at the instrumental bridge.
On the above link, Camilia is followed right away by Double Sunglasses Monday which is what it’s like being lost in Montreal. In a previous post I posted the original Garageband version of this song. Here it is now in its almost complete form with real instruments.
I’m really getting a kick from transitions.
We are using other methods, including recording some songs live under the James Taylor bridge where the cars go thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump high above, but I’ll tell you more about those later.
It’s nice working on a project at this pace. Like a chess game where days go by between moves, but with more players. Maybe like that old negotiating game, remember Diplomacy?
In other news:
Valient Himself, leader of the Venusian rock and roll band Valient Thorr is donating one of his kidneys to his earth father. Read the press release here.
As a result of this Valient Himself has incurred some debt and to help pay for the debt he is auctioning a number of his paintings and has also promised to make a line drawing of any picture you send him for just $29.00 ($25 + $4 S&H). Here’s the link to that follow up post.
So contact Valient Himself through the Valient Thorr myspace page or write to Valient Himself at cloudbox@hotmail.com and ask for details. Valient Himself is doing the hard work of donating the kidney, your part would be to send a few dollars to help him pay the bills, and you’ll get an original Venusian line drawing of your mug, or any mug you like.
Labels: The Ballad of Stayed and Gone, Thursdays, Valient Thorr
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Versioning
Posts and comments on this site can be engaging, no? Occasionally a comment or post can spark a furious thread. Occasionally the reaction is more personal, perhaps a link or song or image or thought that you hoard away for yourself with no proclamation of thanks. More often days maybe weeks go by, post after post day after day, and all you can say is "meh."
Versionfest kind of works like this. It is a barrage of media, thought, art and music much of it sloppy, much of it still needing form but almost always year after year something shines through like a gem in a puddle.
A few years back that gem was Waco Resurrection, a computer game and installation piece that puts the viewer/gamer into "the mind and form of a 'resurrected' David Koresh." Check out this video and see if it doesn't engage you as it did me a few years ago.
This year's gem, for me personally, was to share the stage with the C*nts and to bask in their short minutes of glory (signing cd's even). We were sandwiched between acts involving naked men, blue sphinxes, a Norwegian pied piper and America's #1 Mom (with bells on her arms and my libido in her palm). All together, one murky puddle.
Okay you blogging fanatics, you posters of Rush and you commenters of things Gygax, after you watch the Waco Resurrection video check out the Dungeon Majesty videos here. The DM creators, TeleFantasy, were in the house, showing their latest creation, the Multinauts. Excellent - look for it in the near future.
Some blogging from VersionFest 08 - Dark Matter
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
This is a Gift
On the night of September 21st, 1998, I drove to New Orleans to see a performance by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. On that very same night, a person who would in a decade’s time end up being the person with whom I would choose to share my future also made the drive to New Orleans for the same concert. It isn’t particularly serendipitous to consider the coincidences of paths crossing in this life, peppered as it is with electronic intimacies that can far outstrip the social niceties of the past, but for me, considering the running list of near encounters, common interests, and shared acquaintances that revolved around our separate lives, it does seem somewhat poetic to view the outcome were one inclined to do just that. I am more than inclined to do these things as I am more than inclined to create a running narrative with this life. Aesthetics have always ridden shotgun with me, and they are always welcomed at the table.
This night marked one of many times when our paths crossed without our ever having had the chance to actually meet.
It is almost an agony to consider the litany of near misses that had come to define our workings through the landscape of our respective lives. But it is only agonizing in light of the facts that have brought us together as we are now in these current times. That our past commingled so delicately with our futures, all outside of our knowledge, and all while our inner lives were fleshing themselves out to be attuned with the other in an almost imperceptible fashion is the sort of thing that, for me, gives life meaning.
And you should know that I have spent the better part of this lifetime looking just for these sorts of illuminated incidences.
I have a soft spot in my heart for New Orleans. I have returned there repeatedly through the years and have almost exclusively enjoyed myself while I was there. The events surrounding the storm that anyone with half a brain saw coming for years are tragic on a level that is as epic as the incident itself. The sadness that surrounds that town has now been brought to the fore on a level that is almost impossible to imagine, and yet somehow New Orleans is still New Orleans, massive warts and all.
Returning there on the trip back from Florida to deal with the sudden death of my ailing mother was a sabbatical of sorts in as much as it was also a healing experience. You can read my account of the trip through this enclosed link, or you can simply know that stopping there that October afternoon meant a great many things to me and I owe the city for that.
I also owe the city for hosting this concert, which has stood the test of time as being one of the most moving performances of my life. And that other person shared this feeling.
And now, these are feelings that we can share together, and in the future we will get to make so many more.
This podcast is comprised of tracks off of a bootleg recording I have of the very same Bad Seeds concert that I have been talking about. I have had to cut a few of the tracks out for the sake of time. This is a very personal recording for me, but there’s no reason why anyone shouldn’t enjoy it on their own. I hope you get something out of it. God knows I have.
I love New Orleans, I love Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, and I love you.
This is a gift.
This is a love letter.
This night marked one of many times when our paths crossed without our ever having had the chance to actually meet.
It is almost an agony to consider the litany of near misses that had come to define our workings through the landscape of our respective lives. But it is only agonizing in light of the facts that have brought us together as we are now in these current times. That our past commingled so delicately with our futures, all outside of our knowledge, and all while our inner lives were fleshing themselves out to be attuned with the other in an almost imperceptible fashion is the sort of thing that, for me, gives life meaning.
And you should know that I have spent the better part of this lifetime looking just for these sorts of illuminated incidences.
I have a soft spot in my heart for New Orleans. I have returned there repeatedly through the years and have almost exclusively enjoyed myself while I was there. The events surrounding the storm that anyone with half a brain saw coming for years are tragic on a level that is as epic as the incident itself. The sadness that surrounds that town has now been brought to the fore on a level that is almost impossible to imagine, and yet somehow New Orleans is still New Orleans, massive warts and all.
Returning there on the trip back from Florida to deal with the sudden death of my ailing mother was a sabbatical of sorts in as much as it was also a healing experience. You can read my account of the trip through this enclosed link, or you can simply know that stopping there that October afternoon meant a great many things to me and I owe the city for that.
I also owe the city for hosting this concert, which has stood the test of time as being one of the most moving performances of my life. And that other person shared this feeling.
And now, these are feelings that we can share together, and in the future we will get to make so many more.
This podcast is comprised of tracks off of a bootleg recording I have of the very same Bad Seeds concert that I have been talking about. I have had to cut a few of the tracks out for the sake of time. This is a very personal recording for me, but there’s no reason why anyone shouldn’t enjoy it on their own. I hope you get something out of it. God knows I have.
I love New Orleans, I love Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, and I love you.
This is a gift.
This is a love letter.
Monday, April 21, 2008
can you feel it?
I once was in a class with a speaker who would often speak in a foreign language for stretches at a time. This teacher claimed that, even though we didn't know literally what he was saying, that you could still understand the spirit if you would just listen. This is, I feel, first-class horseshit. Half the time, those of us who speak the same language don't understand what we're saying to each other, by accident or by choice. A quarter of the time, I don't know what I'm saying - I'm using words to try to figure out what I'm thinking, translate these feelings or intuitions or whatever into the structure that's most appropriate for the situation.
(I recall, for instance, an anecdote from Michael Stipe about why he was unwilling to explain lyrics; when he was younger, he became very emotionally involved in a Bob Dylan song, only to find out in an interview it was about a dead dog on the side of the road Dylan saw. And, again, this is a language that both, nominally understood.)
[Subpoint: buying a falafel the other day, I saw an interview with Stipe where he felt the need to explain that "So. Central Rain" was about a relationship where he slept with both the male and female members after the breakup and realized it was a shit thing to do. "I'm sorry", indeed.]
Back to where I'm going with this? Are there situations where, let's say, a singer is so powerful that his or her voice carries an emotion that stretches beyond the need for language to comprehend? Sure, I'm willing to accept that, but as an exception, not as a default. By and large, even if you get the vibe, the specifics are completely lost.
Inspired by my recent work editing a music show set in Brazil, I recently picked up Soul Jazz's TROPICALIA collection, chronicling the acts involved in this short lived movement (short lived because it was broken up by the military government by arrests and deportations). There's an amazing-looking 56-page book that accompanies it, which I hope to read thoroughly through some day.
I often sell what the record stores called "world music" short - which is to say, overlook and ignore it - a lot of the time because a lot of my engagement with music is verbal. Words hook with me more than melodies. But this time I decided to focus and listen. First of all, this wasn't hard because the music was very awesome. But also, I was trying to hear this music not just as pleasant celebration but as act of revolutionary opposition, something so threatening the government had to step in to shut it down.
The track that first jumped out at me - partially because versions of it open and close the album, and partially because it is catchy as fuck - is "Bat Macumba", performed by Gilberto Gil and Os Mutantes. It's the Gil version that stuck with me, which is used here as a backdrop for visuals of Sao Paolo:
Although some may prefer the live, extended and unduly jammy versions of the tune by Os Mutantes on YouTube:
And some people might even want to see Of Montreal prove yet again that their choices of covers (if not their quality of performance) far outstrips their songwriting otherwise (which cuts off before the end, for those easily annoyed by that type of thing):
Anyway, over days I came to decide that its inclusion as bookends on this compilation had to have some significance, that this was in fact the heart of the Tropicalia revolution, and that it must be not just a joyful little ditty but a true call to revolution. And even though the words sounded pretty similar and repetitive to me, I figured they had subtle variances I was missing out on. So, finally, I googled the lyrics.
The result was largely disappointing. I found no clear explanation, although I basically stopped after finding this page, which provides the following account of "Bat Macumba":
equally playful lyrics that (on account of the dropped syllables) reference, among other things: Batman, Afro-Brazilian religion, and -- according to a friend who speaks Portuguese -- a command to smoke dope.
And hey: ultimately, in 1968, this may have been enough to get the military government up in arms. All I'm saying is: not what I guessed from listening.
-----------------
On an unrelated note, and part of the reason the above may seem half-assed and inconclusive: last week seven people, six students and a teacher, died in an unexpected flash flood while canyoning. The teacher was also a member of a local hip-hop group who I cut a music video for a couple years back, which you can find here. I met Tony a couple times, and he was a very good guy, and although I hadn't seen him for quite a while, I am saddened quite a bit by this. I understand that he died trying to rescue one of the students, which I fully believe.
I wanted to write something more about this, but I don't really know what to say that wouldn't be wasting words trying to make sense of the bundle of feelings in my head. The only words that I can fully articulate right now, really, are the obvious: life is fucking precious. Make use of it.
(I recall, for instance, an anecdote from Michael Stipe about why he was unwilling to explain lyrics; when he was younger, he became very emotionally involved in a Bob Dylan song, only to find out in an interview it was about a dead dog on the side of the road Dylan saw. And, again, this is a language that both, nominally understood.)
[Subpoint: buying a falafel the other day, I saw an interview with Stipe where he felt the need to explain that "So. Central Rain" was about a relationship where he slept with both the male and female members after the breakup and realized it was a shit thing to do. "I'm sorry", indeed.]
Back to where I'm going with this? Are there situations where, let's say, a singer is so powerful that his or her voice carries an emotion that stretches beyond the need for language to comprehend? Sure, I'm willing to accept that, but as an exception, not as a default. By and large, even if you get the vibe, the specifics are completely lost.
Inspired by my recent work editing a music show set in Brazil, I recently picked up Soul Jazz's TROPICALIA collection, chronicling the acts involved in this short lived movement (short lived because it was broken up by the military government by arrests and deportations). There's an amazing-looking 56-page book that accompanies it, which I hope to read thoroughly through some day. I often sell what the record stores called "world music" short - which is to say, overlook and ignore it - a lot of the time because a lot of my engagement with music is verbal. Words hook with me more than melodies. But this time I decided to focus and listen. First of all, this wasn't hard because the music was very awesome. But also, I was trying to hear this music not just as pleasant celebration but as act of revolutionary opposition, something so threatening the government had to step in to shut it down.
The track that first jumped out at me - partially because versions of it open and close the album, and partially because it is catchy as fuck - is "Bat Macumba", performed by Gilberto Gil and Os Mutantes. It's the Gil version that stuck with me, which is used here as a backdrop for visuals of Sao Paolo:
Although some may prefer the live, extended and unduly jammy versions of the tune by Os Mutantes on YouTube:
And some people might even want to see Of Montreal prove yet again that their choices of covers (if not their quality of performance) far outstrips their songwriting otherwise (which cuts off before the end, for those easily annoyed by that type of thing):
Anyway, over days I came to decide that its inclusion as bookends on this compilation had to have some significance, that this was in fact the heart of the Tropicalia revolution, and that it must be not just a joyful little ditty but a true call to revolution. And even though the words sounded pretty similar and repetitive to me, I figured they had subtle variances I was missing out on. So, finally, I googled the lyrics.
The result was largely disappointing. I found no clear explanation, although I basically stopped after finding this page, which provides the following account of "Bat Macumba":
equally playful lyrics that (on account of the dropped syllables) reference, among other things: Batman, Afro-Brazilian religion, and -- according to a friend who speaks Portuguese -- a command to smoke dope.
And hey: ultimately, in 1968, this may have been enough to get the military government up in arms. All I'm saying is: not what I guessed from listening.
-----------------
On an unrelated note, and part of the reason the above may seem half-assed and inconclusive: last week seven people, six students and a teacher, died in an unexpected flash flood while canyoning. The teacher was also a member of a local hip-hop group who I cut a music video for a couple years back, which you can find here. I met Tony a couple times, and he was a very good guy, and although I hadn't seen him for quite a while, I am saddened quite a bit by this. I understand that he died trying to rescue one of the students, which I fully believe.
I wanted to write something more about this, but I don't really know what to say that wouldn't be wasting words trying to make sense of the bundle of feelings in my head. The only words that I can fully articulate right now, really, are the obvious: life is fucking precious. Make use of it.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
music and health
i've been thinking about the relationship between music and health and how complicated it is. for instance, for those with the innate need for musical expression, going too long with too little music can cause an uncomfortable and stressful buildup of tension. does it have to be _playing music_ that alleviates it? or can listening provide the same relief? when it has been too long, do you listen to music differently (where the "you" here is me, i guess, or anyone in a similar predicament) - does the neediness affect the experience of listening?
and then there is the flip side, where the expression of music (in my case for the last 8 days, intense and long recording sessions and performances) comes at the expense of sleep, which eats away at physical well being and mental stability.
i have in my head a multidimensional phase space with an elusive optimization. i wish i had a draft of this plot for all (both?) the people out there that might find this interesting, but i think that will have to wait for another post. whenever i start getting into trying to represent the relationships this way, it becomes daunting, complicated by financial elements if music is the sole source of income and times are tough, or psychological elements if music leads to fame and fortune.
the connection can get pretty deep. for instance, one of my music collaborators is visiting this month. our goal was to finish a 4 or 5 song EP that we've been working on for a while. we started off strong, but then on tuesday we learned that a mutual friend of ours in california had died suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving her husband and friends stunned. we decided spontaneously to write a song for the husband and for the funeral. i've written songs for weddings and birthdays and holidays and births, but never for death. we wrote and recorded it all in one evening, and then finished mixing and a bit of overdubbing in one more session and sent it off to california. i was pretty overwhelmed by the emotional effect of this song, both on us as we made it and on those at the funeral. this perhaps gets to the most mysterious and most fundamentally important connection between music and health, but i don't know how to describe it or where to put it in the phase space plot.
i don't have any links for you this week - just these rather loosely collected thoughts. i'm really interested in what you all have to say on this topic, though. in the area of health, what role does music play for you? in the end, is there a net positive relationship?
and then there is the flip side, where the expression of music (in my case for the last 8 days, intense and long recording sessions and performances) comes at the expense of sleep, which eats away at physical well being and mental stability.
i have in my head a multidimensional phase space with an elusive optimization. i wish i had a draft of this plot for all (both?) the people out there that might find this interesting, but i think that will have to wait for another post. whenever i start getting into trying to represent the relationships this way, it becomes daunting, complicated by financial elements if music is the sole source of income and times are tough, or psychological elements if music leads to fame and fortune.
the connection can get pretty deep. for instance, one of my music collaborators is visiting this month. our goal was to finish a 4 or 5 song EP that we've been working on for a while. we started off strong, but then on tuesday we learned that a mutual friend of ours in california had died suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving her husband and friends stunned. we decided spontaneously to write a song for the husband and for the funeral. i've written songs for weddings and birthdays and holidays and births, but never for death. we wrote and recorded it all in one evening, and then finished mixing and a bit of overdubbing in one more session and sent it off to california. i was pretty overwhelmed by the emotional effect of this song, both on us as we made it and on those at the funeral. this perhaps gets to the most mysterious and most fundamentally important connection between music and health, but i don't know how to describe it or where to put it in the phase space plot.
i don't have any links for you this week - just these rather loosely collected thoughts. i'm really interested in what you all have to say on this topic, though. in the area of health, what role does music play for you? in the end, is there a net positive relationship?
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Brief and Random
Hi!
So, in helping out this week, I was going to find some other people to write. One lady bowed out, but she might have written about the Austin New Music Co-op.
Then, this guy was going to write about metal, because there just hasn't been enough talk about it lately. But he was going to write about the irony of this previously metal band mimicking a band that is not metal but is selling big in metal, or something like that.
And then I was going to get this other guy to help, but then I ran out of time.
I'm on my way to Houston for a party for my aunt and I will be sure to stop in The Cookie Jar and Sugar Baby's Cupcakes as I'll be opening a similar store in Austin and boy is it hard to go testing other people's products. Also hope to get some beer. Meanwhile, the music we constantly associate with this is somehow lounge, which to us means the type of music I specifically hated as a child, though I didn't know at the time that was the bad versions of it. The highlight is Gay Spirits by David Rose and his Orchestra.
I've spoken of it before, but it's all I think about. A dainty walk down chocolate lane with candy and tasty cake around it.
Meanwhile, found a new pie company - Tootie Pie
sorry to be so brief and random.
So, in helping out this week, I was going to find some other people to write. One lady bowed out, but she might have written about the Austin New Music Co-op.
Then, this guy was going to write about metal, because there just hasn't been enough talk about it lately. But he was going to write about the irony of this previously metal band mimicking a band that is not metal but is selling big in metal, or something like that.
And then I was going to get this other guy to help, but then I ran out of time.
I'm on my way to Houston for a party for my aunt and I will be sure to stop in The Cookie Jar and Sugar Baby's Cupcakes as I'll be opening a similar store in Austin and boy is it hard to go testing other people's products. Also hope to get some beer. Meanwhile, the music we constantly associate with this is somehow lounge, which to us means the type of music I specifically hated as a child, though I didn't know at the time that was the bad versions of it. The highlight is Gay Spirits by David Rose and his Orchestra.
I've spoken of it before, but it's all I think about. A dainty walk down chocolate lane with candy and tasty cake around it.
Meanwhile, found a new pie company - Tootie Pie
sorry to be so brief and random.
Labels: brief, candy, cookies, cupcakes, lounge, random, sorry
Friday, April 18, 2008
Special Events Week
I saw a bit of music this week, but in most cases I left wondering why I bothered. I first forayed out to the Westheimer Block Party. Those of you who have spent some time in Hate Town may be familiar with the Westheimer Street Festival, which was a proper street festival where a half mile or so of the afflicted street was closed off and people wandered around buying incense, organic food, and things made of wicker, all while wearing a rented snake. Oh and there was music too. Oh how I hated it. That was years ago. By contrast, the Westheimer Block Festival this year took place on a block and the street was not closed off and the primary focus seemed to be the music. Too bad because the music was largely forgettable. The bands I saw were more interested in being cute than playing music. In fact, the only band I saw that wasn't horribly cloying was a band from Austin which apparently featured at least one of the Fuckemos (having never seen Fuckemos live I can't say for sure). What made this band more tolerable? Well, for one they did a drop D version of "Immigrant Song." And they were in tune for the entire three songs I watched. Yes, that's how low the bar is now. It almost makes me long for the days of rented snakes.
The next day I sampled a bit of the ktru Outdoor Show. I didn't have high hopes for this at all, but it was a really nice day so it seemed like sitting on the grass listening to some windblown music was the right thing to do. But then I got there. The band that won the Rice battle of the bands was playing as I walked up and they were so bad I nearly turned around. I would hate to hear some of the bands that lost that competition. And they weren't even bad in an interesting tried and experiment and failed kind of way. They were just bland strummy rock poorly executed and sung off pitch. Where are all the competent musicians? They didn't even have the decency to keep their set brief. At one point they announced that they were going to keep playing until people got up and danced. As if these people can dance. It was at this point that they went from passively bad to downright malicious.
Next up, after a long set change was a noise band. There were lots of bleeps and sounds that were similar to static. I think there may have been a theremin. After all, anybody can play noise theremin. This is a genre that doesn't work in an outdoor environment where much of the sound is carried away by the wind. And what is noise without the sonic impact? It just turns into ambient music that nobody pays attention to.
After another long set change came the Balaclavas. Shockingly their first song sounded akin to Gang of Four. Subsequent numbers sounded like Joy Division. On the third song, the singer began singing through a muffler. Props. Awesome. That's when I left.
The week wasn't a total wash, however, because I did see Negativland last night. The last time I saw them, some eight years ago, they presented a full multimedia extravaganza. This time around, though, they did a long, focused piece on God and religion in the style of their weekly radio show. I'm not sure I liked this show more than the last, but it was still very good.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Week 77: Of Snakes and Arrows, Guest Post by Brer Platypus
When I found out my friend was attending a Rush concert in Puerto Rico, I had to ask him to write about it, since I know everyone here just loves Rush. So here's my friend, Brer Platypus now.
OF SNAKES AND ARROWS
by Brer Platypus.
Carlos' follow-up request to blog about a tropical evening with Rush found me in a cloud of camphor, with a shroud on my head and my feet immersed in a bucket of icewater.
Charmer that Carlos is (which is ironic for someone whose nom-de-plume is that of a slithering charmee), he graciously added he would let me off the hook and post some unflattering picture of myself. Hence and therefore, I deprive him of his jollies thus:
Gentle reader, you may ask how one ends up in such a sorry state; but I'll leave out the sordid broad strokes of my 'lost weekend' and concentrate on leaching the details of Friday evening from my frazzled wetware.
Rush kicked off the second leg of their Snakes and Arrows tour in San Juan, Puerto Rico this past weekend after a hiatus of indeterminate duration (I'm on a reduced-fact diet right about now). This varies from the norm here on the island where many acts shoehorn San Juan into their schedules almost as an afterthought, often at the tail end of their tours, resulting in hurried setups without the full stage paraphernalia and careless soundchecks.
In this case, Rush were here since the previous week (I read somewhere that Lifeson was the exception) and they had at least one full dress rehearsal, so on Friday night, everything ran like clockwork and for once, the sound in the 'Choli' (San Juan's most expensive venue, both in terms of taxpayer dollars as well as ticket prices) was admirably spot-on.
I was fortunate enough to have a friend who won a drawing for a pre-show 'booze and schmooze' and unfortunate enough to live on an island where security agents
don't know shit from shinola and we had to walk to several distant entrances until we found the one that had the 'VIP lists' and as a consequence, never made it to any 'meet and greet'...
...so, by the time we figured out how to spirit my friend's camera past the 'guardias de palito' (rent-a-cops) and were directed beyond the velvet ropes, the pre-party crowd was righteously raucous, so I turned my attention to pressing matters... and this I suppose is a universal curse: 'drinks' at a concert are invariably whoever's horsepiss that sponsored the gig, sold in plastic cups at 5 bucks a pop.
Having started drinking the evening before and hellbent on spending the weekend in a more-or-less constant state of inebriation, I sidled up to one of the four strategically placed open bars and set about swilling as many free light beers as I could before some beancounter deemed the party over.
The revelry was interrupted by a shrill cry of "Empezó" (It has begun!); and a stampede ensued as people tried to reach their assigned levels/areas/seats... having ascertained that the pre-party bars would remain staffed as long at there was still cerveza to hand out, I ducked into the nearest entrance...
Rush's reputation precedes them and we were not disappointed; we were regaled with a three-hour tour-de-force.
Here is the set list that I had seen posted online by someone at the rehearsal, which to my recollection was correct:
Limelight
Digital Man
Ghost Of A Chance
Mission
Freewill
The Main Monkey Business
The Larger Bowl (video intro)
Red Barchetta
The Trees
Between The Wheels
Dreamline
INTERMISSION AKA "a short break to rest the old bones" --Geddy Lee.
Sorry the pictures suck, but then I only had my phone with me. I'll see if my friends are amenable to letting me purloin their shots which are much better.
A fair deal of criticism is always leveled, here at least, when bands on tour don't play every last hit or anthem they are known for... a few of my friends need to be reminded that Rush are not in 'nostalgia band mode' and that concerts are arguably for pushing new material out under the public's nose....
Aside from the asswhooping sound... the stage for Snakes and Arrows seemed deceptively skimpy, but after a while it became apparent that it had a lot of clever stuff built in... my favorite were the UFOs, best described as a bevy of hexagonal pods packed with all sorts of lighting goodies, which descended from time to time and could tilt and direct a barrage of different lights at any given point, all carefully choreographed under computer control. Pretty slick shit, reminiscent of the Mothership in 'Close Encounters.'
Just as unexpected, a clever array of prisms and mirrors, some at the foot of the stage, allowed a phalanx of green lasers to ricochet wildly and paint abstract designs on the ceiling and periphery...
Now on to the band... Carlos prompted me with a few sundry questions to observe answer during the concert... the most memorable being how the band looked at this juncture and if Geddy nose was still growing (I take this to mean that Carlos has proboscis-envy). I can report that all three members seem hale and hearty, perhaps noting only that Alex seemed to hold back from any antics but I cant draw on anything for a comparison.
I don't know if this is par for the course for Lifeson or what, but any midsong changeover where he had to play acoustic guitar or in one case, a mandolin, this would be propped up on a tripod for him and carried off when no longer necessary.
Geddy was quite lively (then again, I checked and the wiki says he's 54; thats not so bad, is it?) and apparently we can rest easy, his schnozz doesn't seem larger than life, although thanks to a close-up on the big screen behind him, it's quite obvious that he managed to burn his nose in the PR sun!
Far Cry (video intro)
Workin' Them Angels
Armor and Sword
Spindrift
The Way The Wind Blows
Subdivisions
Natural Science
Witch Hunt
Here, Neil Peart launched into his solo, which was impressive though IMHO seemed gimmicky in some parts. His kit seemed reasonably compact from what one may have been led to believe, confined to a 12x12 foot spinning octagon. Some of this compactness may have been due to the digital pads he now employs, which brings me to the gimmicky part: while I didn't have the best view from the bar, it seemed to me that when the kit spun and he started playing on the back side it was akin to a child's drum set, which was pretty cool... but at some point he started into the pads and played all kinds of instruments, like strings and whatnot... i mean, play drums, just because you can strike a pad and make it oink like a pig is pretty ho-hum to me. Programmability and sampling is fine, but be a percussionist! Let the flames begin :)
Malignant Narcissism (drum solo)
Hope
The Spirit Of Radio
2112 (overture/the temples of syrinx)
Tom Sawyer (south park intro)
Geddy's stage demeanor is the best, great rapport, greeting in Spanish and getting the crowd stoked. They poked fun at themselves, the big screens in the back playing excerpts from Great White North and intro-ing Tom Sawyer with a South Park parody of the band.
ENCORE
One Little Victory
A Passage To Bangkok
YYZ
I have to add that, living up to the word-of-mouth, Rush goes through pains to sound every bit as good in a live performance as they do in the studio, they are uncompromising! All told, easily one of the bests stage performances I've ever seen.
I now return you to the studio where Carlos will give us the latest weather forcast from Chapel Hill... What's it look like? Carlos?
OF SNAKES AND ARROWS
by Brer Platypus.Carlos' follow-up request to blog about a tropical evening with Rush found me in a cloud of camphor, with a shroud on my head and my feet immersed in a bucket of icewater.
Charmer that Carlos is (which is ironic for someone whose nom-de-plume is that of a slithering charmee), he graciously added he would let me off the hook and post some unflattering picture of myself. Hence and therefore, I deprive him of his jollies thus:
Gentle reader, you may ask how one ends up in such a sorry state; but I'll leave out the sordid broad strokes of my 'lost weekend' and concentrate on leaching the details of Friday evening from my frazzled wetware.
Rush kicked off the second leg of their Snakes and Arrows tour in San Juan, Puerto Rico this past weekend after a hiatus of indeterminate duration (I'm on a reduced-fact diet right about now). This varies from the norm here on the island where many acts shoehorn San Juan into their schedules almost as an afterthought, often at the tail end of their tours, resulting in hurried setups without the full stage paraphernalia and careless soundchecks.
In this case, Rush were here since the previous week (I read somewhere that Lifeson was the exception) and they had at least one full dress rehearsal, so on Friday night, everything ran like clockwork and for once, the sound in the 'Choli' (San Juan's most expensive venue, both in terms of taxpayer dollars as well as ticket prices) was admirably spot-on.
I was fortunate enough to have a friend who won a drawing for a pre-show 'booze and schmooze' and unfortunate enough to live on an island where security agents
don't know shit from shinola and we had to walk to several distant entrances until we found the one that had the 'VIP lists' and as a consequence, never made it to any 'meet and greet'......so, by the time we figured out how to spirit my friend's camera past the 'guardias de palito' (rent-a-cops) and were directed beyond the velvet ropes, the pre-party crowd was righteously raucous, so I turned my attention to pressing matters... and this I suppose is a universal curse: 'drinks' at a concert are invariably whoever's horsepiss that sponsored the gig, sold in plastic cups at 5 bucks a pop.
Having started drinking the evening before and hellbent on spending the weekend in a more-or-less constant state of inebriation, I sidled up to one of the four strategically placed open bars and set about swilling as many free light beers as I could before some beancounter deemed the party over.The revelry was interrupted by a shrill cry of "Empezó" (It has begun!); and a stampede ensued as people tried to reach their assigned levels/areas/seats... having ascertained that the pre-party bars would remain staffed as long at there was still cerveza to hand out, I ducked into the nearest entrance...
Rush's reputation precedes them and we were not disappointed; we were regaled with a three-hour tour-de-force.
Here is the set list that I had seen posted online by someone at the rehearsal, which to my recollection was correct:
Limelight
Digital Man
Ghost Of A Chance
Mission
Freewill
The Main Monkey Business
The Larger Bowl (video intro)
Red Barchetta
The Trees
Between The Wheels
Dreamline
INTERMISSION AKA "a short break to rest the old bones" --Geddy Lee.
Sorry the pictures suck, but then I only had my phone with me. I'll see if my friends are amenable to letting me purloin their shots which are much better.
A fair deal of criticism is always leveled, here at least, when bands on tour don't play every last hit or anthem they are known for... a few of my friends need to be reminded that Rush are not in 'nostalgia band mode' and that concerts are arguably for pushing new material out under the public's nose....
Aside from the asswhooping sound... the stage for Snakes and Arrows seemed deceptively skimpy, but after a while it became apparent that it had a lot of clever stuff built in... my favorite were the UFOs, best described as a bevy of hexagonal pods packed with all sorts of lighting goodies, which descended from time to time and could tilt and direct a barrage of different lights at any given point, all carefully choreographed under computer control. Pretty slick shit, reminiscent of the Mothership in 'Close Encounters.'
Just as unexpected, a clever array of prisms and mirrors, some at the foot of the stage, allowed a phalanx of green lasers to ricochet wildly and paint abstract designs on the ceiling and periphery...Now on to the band... Carlos prompted me with a few sundry questions to observe answer during the concert... the most memorable being how the band looked at this juncture and if Geddy nose was still growing (I take this to mean that Carlos has proboscis-envy). I can report that all three members seem hale and hearty, perhaps noting only that Alex seemed to hold back from any antics but I cant draw on anything for a comparison.I don't know if this is par for the course for Lifeson or what, but any midsong changeover where he had to play acoustic guitar or in one case, a mandolin, this would be propped up on a tripod for him and carried off when no longer necessary.
Geddy was quite lively (then again, I checked and the wiki says he's 54; thats not so bad, is it?) and apparently we can rest easy, his schnozz doesn't seem larger than life, although thanks to a close-up on the big screen behind him, it's quite obvious that he managed to burn his nose in the PR sun!
Far Cry (video intro)
Workin' Them Angels
Armor and Sword
Spindrift
The Way The Wind Blows
Subdivisions
Natural Science
Witch Hunt
Here, Neil Peart launched into his solo, which was impressive though IMHO seemed gimmicky in some parts. His kit seemed reasonably compact from what one may have been led to believe, confined to a 12x12 foot spinning octagon. Some of this compactness may have been due to the digital pads he now employs, which brings me to the gimmicky part: while I didn't have the best view from the bar, it seemed to me that when the kit spun and he started playing on the back side it was akin to a child's drum set, which was pretty cool... but at some point he started into the pads and played all kinds of instruments, like strings and whatnot... i mean, play drums, just because you can strike a pad and make it oink like a pig is pretty ho-hum to me. Programmability and sampling is fine, but be a percussionist! Let the flames begin :)Malignant Narcissism (drum solo)
Hope
The Spirit Of Radio
2112 (overture/the temples of syrinx)
Tom Sawyer (south park intro)
Geddy's stage demeanor is the best, great rapport, greeting in Spanish and getting the crowd stoked. They poked fun at themselves, the big screens in the back playing excerpts from Great White North and intro-ing Tom Sawyer with a South Park parody of the band.
ENCORE
One Little Victory
A Passage To Bangkok
YYZ
I have to add that, living up to the word-of-mouth, Rush goes through pains to sound every bit as good in a live performance as they do in the studio, they are uncompromising! All told, easily one of the bests stage performances I've ever seen.
I now return you to the studio where Carlos will give us the latest weather forcast from Chapel Hill... What's it look like? Carlos?
Labels: Thursdays
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Revolving Parts and Stationary Rods
There exists on film two great comic time capsules of Chicago's white suburban youth culture, Ferris Bueller's Day Off and Wayne's World. What separates the heroes of these two movies is financial status. Ferris Bueller has all the gadgets money can buy but he is still bored. Wayne Campbell can't afford any gadgets (particularly a certain Fender Stratocaster) and that's why he is bored. What they have in common is message: you are not defined by your material surroundings. You define you.
No better example of the difference and similarity of these movies can be made than to describe our heroes' rides and what eventually they symbolize. Ferris coerces his buddy Cameron Frye into taking his father's Ferrari on a joy ride. The Ferrari becomes their cruising mobile and (excuse the pun) drives a large part of the movie scene to scene. Wayne Campbell's cruising mobile is his buddy Garth Algar's rusty Pinto (the Mirth Mobile). It figures heavily in the movie's most famous scene and it too is a cinematic vehicle. Both movies end with a little moral lesson about cars, materialism and life. Cameron pushes his dad's Ferrari into a ravine, a rejection of the materialistic paternal demands that weigh him down. The moral lesson in Wayne's World is just a bit more tongue in cheek and on the nose. One of a series of closing epiphanies, Rob Lowe's character (a sleazy network executive) says "...and I've learned something, too. I've learned that a flawless profile, a perfect body, the right clothes, and a great car can get you far in America - almost to the top - but it can't get you everything."
The Artist and the Art
No better example of the difference and similarity of these movies can be made than to describe our heroes' rides and what eventually they symbolize. Ferris coerces his buddy Cameron Frye into taking his father's Ferrari on a joy ride. The Ferrari becomes their cruising mobile and (excuse the pun) drives a large part of the movie scene to scene. Wayne Campbell's cruising mobile is his buddy Garth Algar's rusty Pinto (the Mirth Mobile). It figures heavily in the movie's most famous scene and it too is a cinematic vehicle. Both movies end with a little moral lesson about cars, materialism and life. Cameron pushes his dad's Ferrari into a ravine, a rejection of the materialistic paternal demands that weigh him down. The moral lesson in Wayne's World is just a bit more tongue in cheek and on the nose. One of a series of closing epiphanies, Rob Lowe's character (a sleazy network executive) says "...and I've learned something, too. I've learned that a flawless profile, a perfect body, the right clothes, and a great car can get you far in America - almost to the top - but it can't get you everything."
Soon a memorable relic of that life, that movie and that anti-materialistic message may be relegated to the scrap pile whence it came. Hopefully some wealthy art lover or wily PT Barnum type will spend the bucks and stop that from happening but at the very least, the Spindle will live in Cermak Plaza no more.
I've never fully understood our Western suburb's lack of love for the Spindle, which is one of Chicagoland's most iconic sculptures. Since I moved here from a city of car art, its dismissal might be beyond my comprehension. But no one could otherwise love the strip of Cermak Road where the Spindle lives - blocks of worn down strip malls and drab shops, cracked parking lots and gigantic laundromats. The Spindle is the only thing of interest for several blocks and the Walgreens for which it will make room holds little promise of improving that spot's aesthetic value.
But maybe a little history of questionable art, the mall owner and the neighborhood of Berwyn gives us better perspective. I don't know. I'm fond of the Spindle and not much else on that stretch of Cermak.
In Honor of the wonder of the Spindle please join me in a drive down memory lane; a Saturday evening cruise through Chicago's Western burbs, featuring The Spindle...
Related Links:
The Spindle
- Found some "research" material at the Leisure Arts blog, including this fantastic slideshow of art in the Cermak Plaza - you must see the photos from the religious ceremony with the "flying" angels.
- A driving tour around the Spindle.
- Save The Spindle YouTube Video with a most excellent Spindle Tattoo.
The Artist and the Art
- NPR Story interview with artist Dustin Shuler - with Critical Mass rally noise in the back ground.
- Some other works of Dustin Shuler - The Pinto Pelt (also at Cermak Plaza) and The Pinned Butterfly (my favorite but can't find a good photo online)
- Cartopia: the Houston connection.
The Neighborhood
- A short Berwyn Feature - with Svengoolie, the World's Largest Laundromat, a haunted bar and the Rock and Roll Ambassadors of Berwyn.
Unrelated Links:
The C*nts - Live and Thirty. I'm proud to play with these effing punks this Saturday at the Viaduct Theater, part of VersionFest 08. Check out their MYSPACE page for more info (new songs from the Sing-Along-With-Mike song book up in there).
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Green Diamonds and Rusty Crowns
Until the night that my dad flew Project Grimm all the way to Detroit just to play one show for his 60th birthday party (which actually wasn't for 2 more years, because he wasn't sure if he would live that long (he did and continues living quite well at that)), I always had little patience for the notorious Fleetwood Mac era. At the night in question, and after my bandmates tied one on with my ever game father, the dj busted out his copy of Fleetwood Mac's greatest hits on the lot of us. It was one of those nights where dumb shit happened, dumb shit like me suddenly really digging Fleetwood Mac, really getting Stevie Nicks. Even digging Christine McVie for god's sake. It was that kind of satanically creepy Detroit night
When I was a kid, Fleetwood Mac occupied a place in my musical universe mostly saved for what I believed to be people much older than me, due in no small part to my being totally uninterested in the coke-fueled failed-romance subject matter.
But then my friend down the street, Joe, turned me on to a band who I still listen to today. Judas Priest.
The first Priest album I bought was Unleashed in the East, which is their ultimate live statement on record if you ask me. One of the centerpoints of the Priest set during that era (and since) was the song The Green Manalishi With the Two Pronged Crown. I knew nothing more about that song than any other Priest song other than the fact that it blew me away (still does).
Imagine my surprise when I discovered who actually wrote the song.
You guessed it, Fleetwood Mac.
Better still, the song was written by the founder of Fleetwood Mac, a guy who basically became debilitated by mental illness and parted ways with the band. Peter Green. Of course they eventually went on to acquire a couple of snotty but 70s sort of attractive Americans and went on to a level of noteriety that is hard to imagine by m
When I was a kid, Fleetwood Mac occupied a place in my musical universe mostly saved for what I believed to be people much older than me, due in no small part to my being totally uninterested in the coke-fueled failed-romance subject matter.
But then my friend down the street, Joe, turned me on to a band who I still listen to today. Judas Priest.
The first Priest album I bought was Unleashed in the East, which is their ultimate live statement on record if you ask me. One of the centerpoints of the Priest set during that era (and since) was the song The Green Manalishi With the Two Pronged Crown. I knew nothing more about that song than any other Priest song other than the fact that it blew me away (still does).
Imagine my surprise when I discovered who actually wrote the song.
You guessed it, Fleetwood Mac.
Better still, the song was written by the founder of Fleetwood Mac, a guy who basically became debilitated by mental illness and parted ways with the band. Peter Green. Of course they eventually went on to acquire a couple of snotty but 70s sort of attractive Americans and went on to a level of noteriety that is hard to imagine by m