To encourage people to vote, Wilco has made available a free download of a live version of Bob Dylan's classic "I Shall Be Released," recorded with vocal contributions from Fleet Foxes in concert last month. And all you have to do to get the download is pledge to vote and fill in the blanks in the following sentence:
"Two of John McCain's pet names for his wife Cindy are 't-----p' and 'c--t'."
(Okay I made up that last part.)
9.30.2008
9.29.2008
9.28.2008
aughts for naughts
Over at his spankin' new blog Reading Pronunciation, my pal Miles wonders why it is that no one's come up with a clever nickname for this decade yet. (It could be worse: it could be retroactively named like MTV named "The Big Eighties"...)
I have this vague idea that around the turn of the millennium (the odometer-turning-over, big-round-number millennium, not the pedants' millennium marking a numeric event that's just as illegitimate since there was no "Year 1" either - oh wait, looks like I'm earning the right to celebrate that millennium after all...) I came up with some clever name for the then-upcoming decade - but I can't remember it. Probably vanished along with the Y2K problem.
That locution, though, reminds me of one of the two irritating year-related things I've noticed since the beginning of the 2000s. One: the use of "2K" as part of a slangy way to write the year designation, as in "2K8." Folks, "2K" is two characters, so you're only saving a single character by typing it that way...and since you have to hit the shift key to do so, slowing down the flow of characters, you're saving no time at all. (See also: "@" for "at" outside of e-mail addresses.)
The other is people who, in using the date format m/d/year or d/m/year, leave off the initial "0" in the year field, creating date like "9/7/8" (that would be either September 7, 2008 in the US system or July 9, 2008 in the British). That simply doesn't look like a year - more like some bizarre hybrid shoe size - and with two digits in the month or date field - say, 10/15/8 - looks even weirder. I can understand dropping the "0" in month or date fields - for the month, there are only three that go into two digits, and for date, there are enough of them that the usual numeric designations (which do not generally include leading zeros) seem sufficient. But it's conventional to refer to years by dropping the century designators (i.e., the first two digits) and leaving the last two years of the number (thus the more traditional "'08" as an example). A naked "8" there simply doesn't mark out the concept of year, and makes one confused as to whether you're using yet another date system (such as year/month/date). But mostly, it just looks stupid, in my entirely subjective opinion.
I have this vague idea that around the turn of the millennium (the odometer-turning-over, big-round-number millennium, not the pedants' millennium marking a numeric event that's just as illegitimate since there was no "Year 1" either - oh wait, looks like I'm earning the right to celebrate that millennium after all...) I came up with some clever name for the then-upcoming decade - but I can't remember it. Probably vanished along with the Y2K problem.
That locution, though, reminds me of one of the two irritating year-related things I've noticed since the beginning of the 2000s. One: the use of "2K" as part of a slangy way to write the year designation, as in "2K8." Folks, "2K" is two characters, so you're only saving a single character by typing it that way...and since you have to hit the shift key to do so, slowing down the flow of characters, you're saving no time at all. (See also: "@" for "at" outside of e-mail addresses.)
The other is people who, in using the date format m/d/year or d/m/year, leave off the initial "0" in the year field, creating date like "9/7/8" (that would be either September 7, 2008 in the US system or July 9, 2008 in the British). That simply doesn't look like a year - more like some bizarre hybrid shoe size - and with two digits in the month or date field - say, 10/15/8 - looks even weirder. I can understand dropping the "0" in month or date fields - for the month, there are only three that go into two digits, and for date, there are enough of them that the usual numeric designations (which do not generally include leading zeros) seem sufficient. But it's conventional to refer to years by dropping the century designators (i.e., the first two digits) and leaving the last two years of the number (thus the more traditional "'08" as an example). A naked "8" there simply doesn't mark out the concept of year, and makes one confused as to whether you're using yet another date system (such as year/month/date). But mostly, it just looks stupid, in my entirely subjective opinion.
9.27.2008
looking him in the eye
We didn't watch last night's debate (no TV), but here's an interesting post at The Angry Black Woman on McCain's body language. Be sure to read the comments as well.
9.26.2008
parodists unemployed
Sarah Palin - Sarah Palin! - has called Henry Kissinger - Henry Kissinger! - "naive," for understanding that diplomacy sometimes involves talking with people with whom you disagree. Kissinger - naive?
I mean, Kissinger is many things - world-class war criminal, say - but on the list of adjectives that aptly describe him, "naive" is approximately 49,537th. And for Sarah Palin to be the name-caller...
I keep waiting for Andy Kaufman to take off the McCain mask he's been wearing the last few years, and say "surprise! it's me! I'm not dead - but the real John McCain was the only one who knew I was alive, and as he was dying we came up with this great idea..."
I'm pretty sure Caligula's horse was more qualified to be a Roman consul than Palin is for VP.
I mean, Kissinger is many things - world-class war criminal, say - but on the list of adjectives that aptly describe him, "naive" is approximately 49,537th. And for Sarah Palin to be the name-caller...
I keep waiting for Andy Kaufman to take off the McCain mask he's been wearing the last few years, and say "surprise! it's me! I'm not dead - but the real John McCain was the only one who knew I was alive, and as he was dying we came up with this great idea..."
I'm pretty sure Caligula's horse was more qualified to be a Roman consul than Palin is for VP.
9.25.2008
the pigment that you promised
One thing our remodeling project has done (some might be thankful for this) is interrupt my usual summer efforts to desecrate the art of recorded sound. Typically, I'd try to record a song or two during the summer when I have more free time; this summer, my keyboard and equipment have been unplugged in the basement...and when I have time off, either there's been a bangin' and a hammerin' from on high, or it's later at night and Rose is trying to sleep. I suppose if I were into it enough I could do an all-laptop number - but before I could do that, I'd need to familiarize myself with some new MIDI software and the like (also got a new outboard USB doohickey to connect to the keyboard and such - all I've used it for so far is to digitize a 45).
Anyway, all this is by intro to the fact that the last recording project I did was last spring, when I covered an obscure Robyn Hitchcock song for the third in a series of fan-based Hitchcock tribute collections. The deadline for submissions was several months ago...but I've heard nothing about the project since then (not about my own work, nor about the project generally), so I think I'll sneak out my cover of "Creatures of Light" in my own little blog.
The original version was released on a 7" single for Ptolemaic Terrascope magazine in 1995 and so far as I know had no other release. It sounds to me nearly improvised: Robyn's lyrics (insofar as I can make them out: I guessed in several places) are less polished than usual, and the song's structure is a bit freeflowing as well.
For my cover, I decided to run with those aspects of the song. My initial conception involved two overlapping guitar improvisations, along with two keyboard improvs on top of those, and some percussion. I used a tuning I hadn't used before (and I'm not Mr. Alternate Tuning Guy either), which I call Heather Has Two Daddies (it's D-A-D-D-A-D: the D's in the middle are the same pitch). Of course I exploited the drone possibilities of this tuning (also useful when you're a crap guitar player), and the two D's that are nominally the same pitch drifted slightly out of tune as I thrashed madly at the guitar, so you get a bit of resonance from that fact as well. I ended up using only one guitar track, which was highly edited down from a longer version (much of which was me fucking up the simplest parts...).
I'd mentioned that I had a sort of first-take ethos originally. That involved my letting my mad rhythmic impulses somewhat free reign (you'll notice the original doesn't stick strictly to 4/4 either), but in order to play over that initially recorded guitar part without totally screwing up, I had to map out what I had done. Thus it is that I'm aware of the odd bar of 11/8, 5/4, and the like that sprung mysteriously from my fingers...
Anyway, the percussion didn't work: I'd envisioned a sort of tabla-sounding thing - didn't have a tabla, didn't have a tabla setting on my keyboard (that's an oversight, Yamaha...), so I looked around for something that might deliver a similar sound. I tried tapping out some rhythm on, of all things, Rose's giant inflatable exercise ball...but not exactly being Steve Albini, I couldn't record it right, so instead of a rich, ringing tone I imagined, it sounded more like drops of water randomly hitting a metal sink basin. Percussion scrapped.
Onto the keyboard: I recorded the first go-round, then went back and did another one (muting the first track while listening to the guitar part). When playing them back, I'd accidentally left on both keyboard tracks (which had been improvised independently), and decided I rather liked the way they accidentally worked together. In some places, obviously, I'd worked out a part; in others, I just played, and in those later parts we have passing odd discords and fortuitous ghostly harmonies, depending - so I decided to keep them both on.
I mentioned that Hitchcock's lyric is even more cryptic than usual: I decided, for some reason, that "Captain Morrison" was essential to the story, and so that bit received some emphasis. I also added the vocal harmonies at the end (loosely inspired by "I Can See for Miles") and a few filigrees of backwards guitar and the like to add some flavor.
Robyn Hitchcock "Creatures of Light" (7" with Ptolemaic Terrascope magazine, 1995)
Monkey Typing Pool "Creatures of Light"
(Note: all rights in this composition remain with Mr. Hitchcock)
Anyway, all this is by intro to the fact that the last recording project I did was last spring, when I covered an obscure Robyn Hitchcock song for the third in a series of fan-based Hitchcock tribute collections. The deadline for submissions was several months ago...but I've heard nothing about the project since then (not about my own work, nor about the project generally), so I think I'll sneak out my cover of "Creatures of Light" in my own little blog.
The original version was released on a 7" single for Ptolemaic Terrascope magazine in 1995 and so far as I know had no other release. It sounds to me nearly improvised: Robyn's lyrics (insofar as I can make them out: I guessed in several places) are less polished than usual, and the song's structure is a bit freeflowing as well.
For my cover, I decided to run with those aspects of the song. My initial conception involved two overlapping guitar improvisations, along with two keyboard improvs on top of those, and some percussion. I used a tuning I hadn't used before (and I'm not Mr. Alternate Tuning Guy either), which I call Heather Has Two Daddies (it's D-A-D-D-A-D: the D's in the middle are the same pitch). Of course I exploited the drone possibilities of this tuning (also useful when you're a crap guitar player), and the two D's that are nominally the same pitch drifted slightly out of tune as I thrashed madly at the guitar, so you get a bit of resonance from that fact as well. I ended up using only one guitar track, which was highly edited down from a longer version (much of which was me fucking up the simplest parts...).
I'd mentioned that I had a sort of first-take ethos originally. That involved my letting my mad rhythmic impulses somewhat free reign (you'll notice the original doesn't stick strictly to 4/4 either), but in order to play over that initially recorded guitar part without totally screwing up, I had to map out what I had done. Thus it is that I'm aware of the odd bar of 11/8, 5/4, and the like that sprung mysteriously from my fingers...
Anyway, the percussion didn't work: I'd envisioned a sort of tabla-sounding thing - didn't have a tabla, didn't have a tabla setting on my keyboard (that's an oversight, Yamaha...), so I looked around for something that might deliver a similar sound. I tried tapping out some rhythm on, of all things, Rose's giant inflatable exercise ball...but not exactly being Steve Albini, I couldn't record it right, so instead of a rich, ringing tone I imagined, it sounded more like drops of water randomly hitting a metal sink basin. Percussion scrapped.
Onto the keyboard: I recorded the first go-round, then went back and did another one (muting the first track while listening to the guitar part). When playing them back, I'd accidentally left on both keyboard tracks (which had been improvised independently), and decided I rather liked the way they accidentally worked together. In some places, obviously, I'd worked out a part; in others, I just played, and in those later parts we have passing odd discords and fortuitous ghostly harmonies, depending - so I decided to keep them both on.
I mentioned that Hitchcock's lyric is even more cryptic than usual: I decided, for some reason, that "Captain Morrison" was essential to the story, and so that bit received some emphasis. I also added the vocal harmonies at the end (loosely inspired by "I Can See for Miles") and a few filigrees of backwards guitar and the like to add some flavor.
Robyn Hitchcock "Creatures of Light" (7" with Ptolemaic Terrascope magazine, 1995)
Monkey Typing Pool "Creatures of Light"
(Note: all rights in this composition remain with Mr. Hitchcock)
9.23.2008
legerdemain
I'm trying to work out the logic here.
Representatives of various industries that employ large numbers of immigrant workers (food service and hotels, retail, agriculture and food processing) have formed a group to lobby for regulations that would allow guest workers into the country on a limited basis tied to their employment. These workers are "essential," the group says, because they're needed for jobs American citizens won't take. But these groups don't want regulations mandating a higher minimum wage - even though you'd think a higher wage might entice citizen workers to take those jobs - because, you see, "the market determines wages" (this is from a director of the American Meat Institute).
So: government action that mandates a minimum wage, that's "interference." Government action that creates a whole new class of worker - workers who, from desperation and powerlessness imposed by their guest-worker status (nearly similar to that of indentured servants), drive down everyone's wages...well, that's not interference at all.
It follows that "the market" includes industrial groups lobbying government on behalf of their interests, but it does not include labor groups lobbying government on behalf of their interests. Apparently the famed invisible hand is "invisible" only from the wrong side of a sort of two-way economic mirror: from that side, nothing can be seen but the reflection of one's fruitless efforts to have one's interests recognized; from the other side, the hand is visible indeed, and in full control of industry, who use it to steer profits and benefits exclusively their way.
(On the larger issue: the path to citizenship should be much simpler, and if NAFTA and the like allow capital to flow freely across borders, then workers should be able to move just as freely in search of better wages.)
Representatives of various industries that employ large numbers of immigrant workers (food service and hotels, retail, agriculture and food processing) have formed a group to lobby for regulations that would allow guest workers into the country on a limited basis tied to their employment. These workers are "essential," the group says, because they're needed for jobs American citizens won't take. But these groups don't want regulations mandating a higher minimum wage - even though you'd think a higher wage might entice citizen workers to take those jobs - because, you see, "the market determines wages" (this is from a director of the American Meat Institute).
So: government action that mandates a minimum wage, that's "interference." Government action that creates a whole new class of worker - workers who, from desperation and powerlessness imposed by their guest-worker status (nearly similar to that of indentured servants), drive down everyone's wages...well, that's not interference at all.
It follows that "the market" includes industrial groups lobbying government on behalf of their interests, but it does not include labor groups lobbying government on behalf of their interests. Apparently the famed invisible hand is "invisible" only from the wrong side of a sort of two-way economic mirror: from that side, nothing can be seen but the reflection of one's fruitless efforts to have one's interests recognized; from the other side, the hand is visible indeed, and in full control of industry, who use it to steer profits and benefits exclusively their way.
(On the larger issue: the path to citizenship should be much simpler, and if NAFTA and the like allow capital to flow freely across borders, then workers should be able to move just as freely in search of better wages.)
9.20.2008
Prague rock?
One of those curiosities: two British bands, both prone to the experimental, both operating in the early '80s, each choosing to record a short sound collage with the title "Radio Prague": I think they even use some of the same samples (guess the source).
First, the earlier, more abstract one, from This Heat's brilliantly odd yet perversely catchy 1981 album Deceit - then, Orchestral Manœuvres in the Dark*'s more direct track, recorded two years later as the opening track to their last truly exceptional release Dazzle Ships.
* It's useful to distinguish between the band thus designated and the band typically referred to by the abbreviation "OMD." The latter is the band remembered as one of the early '80s synth-pop bands, with a couple-few relatively minor hits to its name. Not bad stuff, but not very interesting either. The band they were beforehand, though, was much more interesting, its work culminating in two brilliant albums that mixed a stark soundspace, pop melodicism often derived from '50s-inspired chord structures, and experimental cold electronics which, beginning on Architecture & Morality and continuing on Dazzle Ships, occasionally manifested as full-blown avant-garde sound experimentation. The two albums preceding those, their self-titled debut and its follow-up, Organisation, have an engagingly raw sound blending electronics with acoustic drums, but the band's more avant-garde tendencies are largely submerged.
This Heat "Radio Prague" (Deceit, 1981)
Orchestral Manœuvres in the Dark "Radio Prague" (Dazzle Ships, 1983)
Next - both Grizzly Bear's and The Grateful Dead's songs called "Alligator"! Nah...probably not...
First, the earlier, more abstract one, from This Heat's brilliantly odd yet perversely catchy 1981 album Deceit - then, Orchestral Manœuvres in the Dark*'s more direct track, recorded two years later as the opening track to their last truly exceptional release Dazzle Ships.
* It's useful to distinguish between the band thus designated and the band typically referred to by the abbreviation "OMD." The latter is the band remembered as one of the early '80s synth-pop bands, with a couple-few relatively minor hits to its name. Not bad stuff, but not very interesting either. The band they were beforehand, though, was much more interesting, its work culminating in two brilliant albums that mixed a stark soundspace, pop melodicism often derived from '50s-inspired chord structures, and experimental cold electronics which, beginning on Architecture & Morality and continuing on Dazzle Ships, occasionally manifested as full-blown avant-garde sound experimentation. The two albums preceding those, their self-titled debut and its follow-up, Organisation, have an engagingly raw sound blending electronics with acoustic drums, but the band's more avant-garde tendencies are largely submerged.
This Heat "Radio Prague" (Deceit, 1981)
Orchestral Manœuvres in the Dark "Radio Prague" (Dazzle Ships, 1983)
Next - both Grizzly Bear's and The Grateful Dead's songs called "Alligator"! Nah...probably not...
9.19.2008
swallowed alive
Two tracks featuring David Sylvian guest vocals.
The first one, "Linoleum," is by Tweaker a/k/a Chris Vrenna formerly from Nine Inch Nails. This is some remix or other, about which I have very little info because the track came my way on a disc I received in trade for something else... Anyway, even though this is from 2001 it somehow sounds rather dated to my ears, as if it's ten years older than that. I still like it fairly well.
But the better Sylvian-guesting-on-electronic-artist's-work track is Fennesz's "Transit." While there is a chord structure to this track, it would be far more obscured by Fennesz's fuzzy sonics if not for Sylvian's vocal, which outlines the chordal structure more clearly than the backing track's somewhat ambiguous approach.
David Sylvian's voice is one of those that inescapably associates itself for me with a particular color...the oddity is, I can't name the color, really. As a comparison: Michael McDonald's voice is, clearly, a rich shade of medium-dark brown.
Tweaker ft. David Sylvian "Linoleum (Wamdue 2step Vocal Experience)" (original recording on The Attraction to All Things Uncertain, 2001)
Fennesz ft. David Sylvian "Transit" (Venice, 2004)
The first one, "Linoleum," is by Tweaker a/k/a Chris Vrenna formerly from Nine Inch Nails. This is some remix or other, about which I have very little info because the track came my way on a disc I received in trade for something else... Anyway, even though this is from 2001 it somehow sounds rather dated to my ears, as if it's ten years older than that. I still like it fairly well.
But the better Sylvian-guesting-on-electronic-artist's-work track is Fennesz's "Transit." While there is a chord structure to this track, it would be far more obscured by Fennesz's fuzzy sonics if not for Sylvian's vocal, which outlines the chordal structure more clearly than the backing track's somewhat ambiguous approach.
David Sylvian's voice is one of those that inescapably associates itself for me with a particular color...the oddity is, I can't name the color, really. As a comparison: Michael McDonald's voice is, clearly, a rich shade of medium-dark brown.
Tweaker ft. David Sylvian "Linoleum (Wamdue 2step Vocal Experience)" (original recording on The Attraction to All Things Uncertain, 2001)
Fennesz ft. David Sylvian "Transit" (Venice, 2004)
9.16.2008
still sitting in a tree and spelling out the fun words
I don't usually write about my personal life here, but today Rose and I celebrate the 25th anniversary of our first date. Those of you who know us know that I continue to be flabbergasted at my good fortune. My life is immeasurably richer with Rose in it, and the few bumps we've experienced along the way only make it more precious.
In addition to being the date we first got together, it's also the date, on that 9th anniversary, we got married - making today our 16th wedding anniversary. And because I'm geeky like that, it occurred to me that that combination of numbers is unusual if not unique, in that 9+16=25...but the square root of each of those numbersnot only adds in the same sequence (3+4=5) but is itself a numerical sequence. (As Steve points out, I'm not a math teacher. I'm also not much of a copy editor, apparently.)
The other benefit of doubling up the anniversary celebrations is that we get to have another 25th anniversary nine years from now. I hope each of my readers finds as much happiness with their partner as I have.
In addition to being the date we first got together, it's also the date, on that 9th anniversary, we got married - making today our 16th wedding anniversary. And because I'm geeky like that, it occurred to me that that combination of numbers is unusual if not unique, in that 9+16=25...but the square root of each of those numbers
The other benefit of doubling up the anniversary celebrations is that we get to have another 25th anniversary nine years from now. I hope each of my readers finds as much happiness with their partner as I have.
9.14.2008
pink fluffy cotton-candy snowstorm in Hell
Karl Rove has condemned the McCain campaign for being dishonest.
I'll pause a few moments while the paramedics restart your heart.
No, really: it's even on video:
I'm pretty sure this proves that Swiss experiment to duplicate conditions just after the Big Bang did, in fact, swallow the universe in an enormous black hole...and now we're in Bizarro World.
If Dick Cheney appears on TV tomorrow, cuddling a kitten and funding soup kitchens, we'll know for sure.
I'll pause a few moments while the paramedics restart your heart.
No, really: it's even on video:
I'm pretty sure this proves that Swiss experiment to duplicate conditions just after the Big Bang did, in fact, swallow the universe in an enormous black hole...and now we're in Bizarro World.
If Dick Cheney appears on TV tomorrow, cuddling a kitten and funding soup kitchens, we'll know for sure.
9.13.2008
linkfest!
I'm on vacation this weekend, so just a few links. All political, I'm afraid...but entertaining for all that:
1. Paul Krugman on the Republicans' "blizzard of lies"
2. Scott Bateman animates and comments on an excerpt from Charlie Gibson's Sarah Palin interview (via The Jestaplero).
3. Momus proposes political memes for the Obama campaign.
1. Paul Krugman on the Republicans' "blizzard of lies"
2. Scott Bateman animates and comments on an excerpt from Charlie Gibson's Sarah Palin interview (via The Jestaplero).
3. Momus proposes political memes for the Obama campaign.
9.09.2008
time alone
Matthew Perpetua has finished his Pop Songs 07-08 song blog: his examination of nearly every song R.E.M. has ever recorded (and a few they hadn't but had played live). Fittingly, the blog concludes on 9-9 - which is of course the title of an R.E.M. song - and with what is perhaps R.E.M.'s most famous song: "It's the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)."
One of the best things to be said about these entries was a comment on today's entry, which noted that the entries never seemed tossed off, overly brief, or done out of a sense of obligation, no matter whether Matthew liked the song or not, and even though he's maintained quite a busy writing schedule (with his main Fluxblog gig and several other projects going). Taken as a whole, this constitutes one of the most inclusive and well-written guides to the music of any band out there. It's quite an accomplishment.
One of the best things to be said about these entries was a comment on today's entry, which noted that the entries never seemed tossed off, overly brief, or done out of a sense of obligation, no matter whether Matthew liked the song or not, and even though he's maintained quite a busy writing schedule (with his main Fluxblog gig and several other projects going). Taken as a whole, this constitutes one of the most inclusive and well-written guides to the music of any band out there. It's quite an accomplishment.
"Since the beginning of time, mankind has yearned to blot out the sun."
Thus spake Montgomery Burns (if not in exactly those words), and if the humor of that remark comes from the absurdity of Burns's assumptions...well, the assumption itself may be absurd, but that he assumes it's shared does reflect a certain reality: one of the major levers grasped by anyone seeking to manipulate the public (advertisers, politicians, etc.) is the potent resistance many people have to believing that others actually and genuinely have opinions different from their own.
You can see this in the culture wars underway on behalf of the Great American Middle Class (everyone's middle-class in America! but only some of them are white, which remains unspoken), kindly engineered by the sort of folks who lose count of how many houses they own, in which a sinister significance is attributed to one's preference in vegetables, heated beverages, or ostentatious display of nationalistic bric-a-brac. Not only are such odd preferences different, which is just weird, but those who profess to enjoy the latte that dare not speak its name are suspected of doing so merely to mark out their difference and their superiority from the riff-raff, and to toady to some imaginary overclass ("the elitists") whose mission seems to be to denigrate the tastes and preferences of "real Americans" in lieu of the trivial, the ephemeral, the fashionable, and - worst of all - the French. (Don't try to tell me "latte" is from the Italian - it sounds French, so it is French. And what's the difference anyway? They all wear fancy-ass shoes, and they lose wars like the Phillies lose baseball games.)
This is why it's such a seemingly short leap from trivial questions of taste to the more serious matter of insincerity, fifth-columnism, and hidden agendas: if you're willing to pretend to like bizarre vegetables and elaborate coffees, there's no telling what else in your life is a pretense, a sucking-up to expectations...so all the flag pins, nice suits, and patriotic speeches mean nothing, because you'll say anything to curry favor.
And god help you if you prefer to deliberate, analyze, plan, or do anything other than kick ass and react from the gut. Real Americans - which is to say, real men - don't waste time cogitating and hawing and hemming, they get out there and play some rapid-fire chin music. You don't see John Wayne heading the debate club, do you? My favorite story in this regard involves a former co-worker of Rose's who, after Rose argued such-and-such, citing various facts, statistics, etc., replied that Rose's opinions weren't as valuable - because Rose had relied upon what she knew, and on ideas, whereas the co-worker felt what she did from the heart. Or, in the other common phrase, she operated from a gut feeling.
You know, you can't really figure out what your guts are up to from an upright position. I think the optimal view probably comes from bending over backwards and sticking one's head straight up the poop chute.
Another advantage to that position: you won't be bothered by that demon sun.
You can see this in the culture wars underway on behalf of the Great American Middle Class (everyone's middle-class in America! but only some of them are white, which remains unspoken), kindly engineered by the sort of folks who lose count of how many houses they own, in which a sinister significance is attributed to one's preference in vegetables, heated beverages, or ostentatious display of nationalistic bric-a-brac. Not only are such odd preferences different, which is just weird, but those who profess to enjoy the latte that dare not speak its name are suspected of doing so merely to mark out their difference and their superiority from the riff-raff, and to toady to some imaginary overclass ("the elitists") whose mission seems to be to denigrate the tastes and preferences of "real Americans" in lieu of the trivial, the ephemeral, the fashionable, and - worst of all - the French. (Don't try to tell me "latte" is from the Italian - it sounds French, so it is French. And what's the difference anyway? They all wear fancy-ass shoes, and they lose wars like the Phillies lose baseball games.)
This is why it's such a seemingly short leap from trivial questions of taste to the more serious matter of insincerity, fifth-columnism, and hidden agendas: if you're willing to pretend to like bizarre vegetables and elaborate coffees, there's no telling what else in your life is a pretense, a sucking-up to expectations...so all the flag pins, nice suits, and patriotic speeches mean nothing, because you'll say anything to curry favor.
And god help you if you prefer to deliberate, analyze, plan, or do anything other than kick ass and react from the gut. Real Americans - which is to say, real men - don't waste time cogitating and hawing and hemming, they get out there and play some rapid-fire chin music. You don't see John Wayne heading the debate club, do you? My favorite story in this regard involves a former co-worker of Rose's who, after Rose argued such-and-such, citing various facts, statistics, etc., replied that Rose's opinions weren't as valuable - because Rose had relied upon what she knew, and on ideas, whereas the co-worker felt what she did from the heart. Or, in the other common phrase, she operated from a gut feeling.
You know, you can't really figure out what your guts are up to from an upright position. I think the optimal view probably comes from bending over backwards and sticking one's head straight up the poop chute.
Another advantage to that position: you won't be bothered by that demon sun.
9.08.2008
twice nice
Two songs that have in common their performance by an act that's a spin-off of sort from an earlier act...first up is "Scratch the Surface" by The Week That Was (a/k/a The Name That I Can't Remember - honestly, I've had to google that name I don't know how many times...), which is the name ex-Field Music Peter Brewis is trading under. Like his brother and bandmate David's School of Language project from last year, Brewis's songs often seem to pack a carefully trimmed prog-rock aesthetic into a cunningly constructed sharp, spare, new-wavey pop song. The arranging here is diamond hard, the piano resonating with the pinging drum echoing the guitar, and all the rhythms mesh gears winningly.
Slightly less famous, All City Affairs is a side project of Peter Andreadis, who also drums for Baby Teeth. "One Shot" has a melody that keeps reminding me of classic Squeeze (is it similar to a particular song), along with a funky late '70s rhythm guitar, quasi-backwards synth bass, and (similar to the track by The Week That Was) punch-press drums.
The Week That Was "Scratch the Surface" (The Week That Was, 2008 forthcoming)
All City Affairs "One Shot" (Identity Theft, 2008 forthcoming)
Slightly less famous, All City Affairs is a side project of Peter Andreadis, who also drums for Baby Teeth. "One Shot" has a melody that keeps reminding me of classic Squeeze (is it similar to a particular song), along with a funky late '70s rhythm guitar, quasi-backwards synth bass, and (similar to the track by The Week That Was) punch-press drums.
The Week That Was "Scratch the Surface" (The Week That Was, 2008 forthcoming)
All City Affairs "One Shot" (Identity Theft, 2008 forthcoming)
9.06.2008
hunters and collectors
Momus has an interesting article on record-store taxonomy (and yes, I'm sure he's aware of the oddly archaic air the whole notion of record stores might have). The essential problem is something I run into frequently, which is what to do in attempting to classify an item which is both A and B. One of my geekly traits is being fairly insistent on the classification system of my CD collection: CDs are stored alphabetically by artist (with some exceptions, below), within artist chronologically (what to do with collections is always iffy: do they go before the earliest represented selection, after the latest represented selection, or simply at the end of the artist's section?). That's the bulk of the collection - but after that is a separate section for various-artist items, which also includes tribute albums (which some folks might want to file with the artist so honored), soundtracks, etc. And after that is classical music - which I've organized in alphabetical order by recording label and within label by catalog number. That last one seems hopelessly arcane, I'll admit...and it certainly isn't obvious - but it does solve a problem. Some classical recordings might consist entirely of recordings by a single composer (whose name is, therefore, featured strongly on the cover). Others might consist of pieces by multiple composers and might be highlighting a particular musician or ensemble. Still others might be thematically organized. But here's the problem: here's a piano concerto by Composer X, featuring Musician Y and Orchestra Z, conducted by Conductor A. If I were a huge fan of any one of those, I suppose it would make sense to file the CD under that artist...but what if I'm a huge fan of several of them...or all of them? The label/catalog number solution simplifies: it uniquely identifies a CD, and it cuts through that selection process by saying "none of the above." Yes, it means I need to remember what label a recording is on in order to find it - but that wasn't all that challenging even before I assembled my music database, and now it's even less of an issue.
This system, logical as it might seem to me, still presents problems. Let's say there's a split CD, an EP each from two bands on one disc. Let's say I'm a huge fan of one band, while I've never heard of the other one. The nearest example I can think of is the Lilys/Aspera ad Astra split CD: I'm a huge Lilys fan, and although I'd heard of Aspera (they later shortened their name), I'm only lukewarm about their music. In that case, I just ignore the Aspera tracks where filing is concerned and put it in the "Lilys" section. But what about a split CD for two bands I like equally (or hadn't heard of: arrived for review, good enough to keep, not good enough to investigate further...)? Similarly: if all the other Kronos Quartet recordings are in the "classical" section, what do I do with their CD full of Thelonious Monk tunes, in which Monk is essentially treated as a composer? It's not a "tribute CD" (although I suppose it kind of is, just when Japancakes covers My Bloody Valentine's Loveless in its entirety), and it isn't played like jazz anymore...so I suppose it becomes "classical" by default. And what about Frank Zappa? Most of his work, of course, just gets filed under "Z" for "Zappa"...but what about the two-CD London Symphony Orchestra set playing his original compositions? And what about the various other small ensembles that have played Zappa's orchestral or small-ensemble compositions...or arranged his rock-band pieces for same? Do those recordings go in the "classical" section, or in the "tribute" section, or in the main alphabetical section under the name of the ensemble (just as that Japancakes CD would be under "J"...if it were a CD and not merely a collection of mp3s I purchased from eMusic).
Momus's article notes that the record store he visited had created such intensely imbricating classifications that it became nearly impossible to determine where a particular recording might be found. And woe to the artist whose style varies dramatically over a career (like Momus's own): they get stuck in whatever genre they began, even if their later recordings bear no relation to that genre whatsoever. This is true also of online database genre labeling: Wilco is "country" forever and ever, it seems...even though there's not a single second that sounds like country music on their most acclaimed release, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. I know I find it maddening trying to shop at a store that's excessively enamored of classification...is this in the main "rock" section, the "indie" section, the "bizarro-pop" section, the "what the hell were they thinking when they recorded this?" section, or the "please - we'll pay you to take this off our hands!" section?
The ironic aspect of this situation is that I imagine stores categorize items by genre in order to help shoppers: presumably, it's easier to find "No Age" in a section helpfully labeled "indie" than if their CDs were in amongst recordings of all the other genres in the store. But is that true? Is it necessarily the case that someone looking for the No Age CD is likelier to be swayed into buying another CD by its mere adjacency in the "indie" section? My guess is that many, many factors enter into whether someone decides to buy a title they weren't planning on buying: whether they know of the artist, have heard some of the music, like the cover, etc. It seems to me that anyone likely to buy a CD without having heard most or all of it (that is to say, something they randomly run into on the shelves) is the same sort of person whose interests probably transcend particular musical genre designations...particularly those set up not by fans of the music but by the store, which necessarily has to choose how to categorize items without hearing the music on them. (I'm sure record labels help out here.)
So I'm with Momus: my ideal record store would (big surprise) file its selections pretty much the same way my own music collection is filed: mostly a big alphabetical selection, with various artists at the end (or beginning). As for the classical stuff: the advantage of a record store is that it presumably has multiple copies of the same CD...so if it's Emanuel Ax playing a Beethoven piano concerto, some copies can go under "B" for "Beethoven" for the Beethoven fans, while others can go under "A" for "Ax" for fans of Mr. Ax. Same with split CDs, ad hoc collaborations (Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs' "Sid and Susie" CD), and so on.
Incidentally, one advantage of the music database I use (Music Collector, from Collectorz.com) is that it allows multiple entries in the artist field, both for "album artist" and "track artist." So consider the second Billy Bragg/Wilco album of Woody Guthrie lyrics: I can have that show up under Bragg, under Wilco, under Guthrie (and I could create a separate entry for "Billy Bragg and Wilco" if I were so inclined) - and on the song that features Natalie Merchant on lead vocals, her name under "track artist" along with all the others (they transfer down from the album level). Unfortunately, Collectorz' MP3 Collector database program does not (yet) include a similar feature...rather annoyingly since, if it ever does in a future upgrade, a whole lot of relabeling will become necessary. (Note that "geek" is one of the labels for this post...)
This system, logical as it might seem to me, still presents problems. Let's say there's a split CD, an EP each from two bands on one disc. Let's say I'm a huge fan of one band, while I've never heard of the other one. The nearest example I can think of is the Lilys/Aspera ad Astra split CD: I'm a huge Lilys fan, and although I'd heard of Aspera (they later shortened their name), I'm only lukewarm about their music. In that case, I just ignore the Aspera tracks where filing is concerned and put it in the "Lilys" section. But what about a split CD for two bands I like equally (or hadn't heard of: arrived for review, good enough to keep, not good enough to investigate further...)? Similarly: if all the other Kronos Quartet recordings are in the "classical" section, what do I do with their CD full of Thelonious Monk tunes, in which Monk is essentially treated as a composer? It's not a "tribute CD" (although I suppose it kind of is, just when Japancakes covers My Bloody Valentine's Loveless in its entirety), and it isn't played like jazz anymore...so I suppose it becomes "classical" by default. And what about Frank Zappa? Most of his work, of course, just gets filed under "Z" for "Zappa"...but what about the two-CD London Symphony Orchestra set playing his original compositions? And what about the various other small ensembles that have played Zappa's orchestral or small-ensemble compositions...or arranged his rock-band pieces for same? Do those recordings go in the "classical" section, or in the "tribute" section, or in the main alphabetical section under the name of the ensemble (just as that Japancakes CD would be under "J"...if it were a CD and not merely a collection of mp3s I purchased from eMusic).
Momus's article notes that the record store he visited had created such intensely imbricating classifications that it became nearly impossible to determine where a particular recording might be found. And woe to the artist whose style varies dramatically over a career (like Momus's own): they get stuck in whatever genre they began, even if their later recordings bear no relation to that genre whatsoever. This is true also of online database genre labeling: Wilco is "country" forever and ever, it seems...even though there's not a single second that sounds like country music on their most acclaimed release, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. I know I find it maddening trying to shop at a store that's excessively enamored of classification...is this in the main "rock" section, the "indie" section, the "bizarro-pop" section, the "what the hell were they thinking when they recorded this?" section, or the "please - we'll pay you to take this off our hands!" section?
The ironic aspect of this situation is that I imagine stores categorize items by genre in order to help shoppers: presumably, it's easier to find "No Age" in a section helpfully labeled "indie" than if their CDs were in amongst recordings of all the other genres in the store. But is that true? Is it necessarily the case that someone looking for the No Age CD is likelier to be swayed into buying another CD by its mere adjacency in the "indie" section? My guess is that many, many factors enter into whether someone decides to buy a title they weren't planning on buying: whether they know of the artist, have heard some of the music, like the cover, etc. It seems to me that anyone likely to buy a CD without having heard most or all of it (that is to say, something they randomly run into on the shelves) is the same sort of person whose interests probably transcend particular musical genre designations...particularly those set up not by fans of the music but by the store, which necessarily has to choose how to categorize items without hearing the music on them. (I'm sure record labels help out here.)
So I'm with Momus: my ideal record store would (big surprise) file its selections pretty much the same way my own music collection is filed: mostly a big alphabetical selection, with various artists at the end (or beginning). As for the classical stuff: the advantage of a record store is that it presumably has multiple copies of the same CD...so if it's Emanuel Ax playing a Beethoven piano concerto, some copies can go under "B" for "Beethoven" for the Beethoven fans, while others can go under "A" for "Ax" for fans of Mr. Ax. Same with split CDs, ad hoc collaborations (Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs' "Sid and Susie" CD), and so on.
Incidentally, one advantage of the music database I use (Music Collector, from Collectorz.com) is that it allows multiple entries in the artist field, both for "album artist" and "track artist." So consider the second Billy Bragg/Wilco album of Woody Guthrie lyrics: I can have that show up under Bragg, under Wilco, under Guthrie (and I could create a separate entry for "Billy Bragg and Wilco" if I were so inclined) - and on the song that features Natalie Merchant on lead vocals, her name under "track artist" along with all the others (they transfer down from the album level). Unfortunately, Collectorz' MP3 Collector database program does not (yet) include a similar feature...rather annoyingly since, if it ever does in a future upgrade, a whole lot of relabeling will become necessary. (Note that "geek" is one of the labels for this post...)
9.05.2008
no one shuts up and plays their guitar anymore?
Interesting chart at Very Small Array on "the slow death of the instrumental." I think there's some truth to that claim - but what I really think the chart reflects is the dominance of rock'n'roll on the charts - the best-seller charts, that is. (Even though rock is no longer a dominant chart genre, its successor genres in popularity are also rarely instrumental: R&B, hip-hop, even pop-country.) Since '63 or '64, when the Beatles arrived in American and pretty much ushered out pre-rock forms from the singles charts, there are basically two anomalous years for instrumentals: one in the mid-sixties (the design of the chart makes determining an exact year a bit difficult) and one in the early eighties.
Remove those anomalous years, and you have a pretty steady percentage of instrumental hits in post-Beatles years - it looks like under 5%. Note that since there are 52 weeks in a year, each week's charts account for a little less than 2% of the year's total. And that means that a single song that hits number one for, say, six weeks can, all by itself, take up more than 10%. (At least I assume this is how the chart is done - but the alternate method, whereby each song counts only once, would still give longer-charting songs higher weight - because there would then be fewer songs to make up that percentage. However, that method wouldn't differentiate between long-charting songs and short-charting songs: if I were doing the chart, I'd definitely give each week its own "space.")
My guess is that those two anomalous years can be attributed to one, two, maybe three instrumental hits.
The single most striking stat here, though, is that it seems 1996 all but eliminated male vocalists from the charts. Bizarre. (Also, if the graph were rearranged, so the green area were on top to make its line more visible, it might also serve to illustrate "The Decline of the Male-Female Duet." Theme song: "Don't You Want Me" by the Human League...)
Remove those anomalous years, and you have a pretty steady percentage of instrumental hits in post-Beatles years - it looks like under 5%. Note that since there are 52 weeks in a year, each week's charts account for a little less than 2% of the year's total. And that means that a single song that hits number one for, say, six weeks can, all by itself, take up more than 10%. (At least I assume this is how the chart is done - but the alternate method, whereby each song counts only once, would still give longer-charting songs higher weight - because there would then be fewer songs to make up that percentage. However, that method wouldn't differentiate between long-charting songs and short-charting songs: if I were doing the chart, I'd definitely give each week its own "space.")
My guess is that those two anomalous years can be attributed to one, two, maybe three instrumental hits.
The single most striking stat here, though, is that it seems 1996 all but eliminated male vocalists from the charts. Bizarre. (Also, if the graph were rearranged, so the green area were on top to make its line more visible, it might also serve to illustrate "The Decline of the Male-Female Duet." Theme song: "Don't You Want Me" by the Human League...)
vile butler
Here's Richard Butler, sandpapering his way through a couple of Kurt Weill songs. The first one is the Psychedelic Furs' version of "Mack the Knife," initially a b-side of the British single of "Pretty in Pink" (the original, enormously superior version), later a b-side of 1987's "Angels Don't Cry," and here taken from the band's 1994 collection Here Came the Psychedelic Furs: B-sides & Lost Grooves. Finally, it showed up on the reissued version of the first album. Whew!
The second is a version of "Alabama Song" from the Hal Wilner-produced tribute to the music of Kurt Weill Lost in the Stars. (There was a second, later Wilner tribute to Weill, but it's nowhere near as impressive.) Here, Butler's vocals are accompanied by Ralph Schuckett's arrangement and chorus vocals from Bob Dorough, Ellen Shipley, and John Petersen.
The Psychedelic Furs "Mack the Knife" (b-side, 1980)
Richard Butler and Ralph Schuckett "Alabama Song" (Lost in the Stars, 1985)
The second is a version of "Alabama Song" from the Hal Wilner-produced tribute to the music of Kurt Weill Lost in the Stars. (There was a second, later Wilner tribute to Weill, but it's nowhere near as impressive.) Here, Butler's vocals are accompanied by Ralph Schuckett's arrangement and chorus vocals from Bob Dorough, Ellen Shipley, and John Petersen.
The Psychedelic Furs "Mack the Knife" (b-side, 1980)
Richard Butler and Ralph Schuckett "Alabama Song" (Lost in the Stars, 1985)
9.03.2008
Charlie Parker's hell
I used to hate banjos. I thought they were inherently corny, and they had a sort of unpleasant metallic twang, rather as if someone had taken a set of those old, spring-based doorstops and pitched them up painfully.
I started to come around a little bit. I realized that those very same sonic qualities could be musically effective in certain minor-key settings (credit 16 Horsepower here), and for whatever reason the corn factor was reduced somewhat, so that when folks like Surfin' Sufjan Stevens started putting banjos on his recordings, they added an interesting texture to a rich sonic tapestry.
But then, you know, Stevens became the god of the musical blogosphere, and a zillion other bands decided that, hey, let's listen to Philip Glass and old folk records, and let's throw a banjo, a French horn, and two old guys playing zithers on every other song, all while singing with affected innocence about...corn. Or dusty old roads. Or the wheat swaying in the moonlit breeze. Of Pittsburgh.
And now I pretty much hate banjos again. (Not quite as fond of old Surfin' Stevens yet...and by the way, Suffy: if you're really going to record an album for every state, it's been, what, nearly three years since Illinois? I don't think you're going to live to 175...)
I started to come around a little bit. I realized that those very same sonic qualities could be musically effective in certain minor-key settings (credit 16 Horsepower here), and for whatever reason the corn factor was reduced somewhat, so that when folks like Surfin' Sufjan Stevens started putting banjos on his recordings, they added an interesting texture to a rich sonic tapestry.
But then, you know, Stevens became the god of the musical blogosphere, and a zillion other bands decided that, hey, let's listen to Philip Glass and old folk records, and let's throw a banjo, a French horn, and two old guys playing zithers on every other song, all while singing with affected innocence about...corn. Or dusty old roads. Or the wheat swaying in the moonlit breeze. Of Pittsburgh.
And now I pretty much hate banjos again. (Not quite as fond of old Surfin' Stevens yet...and by the way, Suffy: if you're really going to record an album for every state, it's been, what, nearly three years since Illinois? I don't think you're going to live to 175...)
Vet the candidate? What's her pets got to do with it?
Today's letters column in The New York Times features several writers making excellent points about McCain's selection of Palin for VP. I especially liked the points raised by John Jeffries Martin, Ginny Blanford, Claire Bushey, and Pam Arnold. And Milwaukee's own Ellen Bravo points out that even if it's less likely that Palin's ability to spend adequate time with her children would have come up with a male candidate, the policies she and McCain endorse regarding sex education, childcare, and family leave only make it harder for families with fewer resources.
9.02.2008
palin' in comparison
First: my apologies for that subject line.
Anyway: a little parlor game is to argue, should anyone question whether Sarah Palin has sufficient political experience to be one 72-year-old heartbeat away from the presidency, that hey, Obama's no more experienced than she is.
This is, to use technical language for a moment, bullshit.
(link via ¡the Jestaplero! even though he's a Mets fan)
Anyway: a little parlor game is to argue, should anyone question whether Sarah Palin has sufficient political experience to be one 72-year-old heartbeat away from the presidency, that hey, Obama's no more experienced than she is.
This is, to use technical language for a moment, bullshit.
(link via ¡the Jestaplero! even though he's a Mets fan)
9.01.2008
do as I say, not as I do
Back when all those moralistic right-wingers were appalled at that nasty Bill Clinton and the horrible things that slutty Monica Lewinsky did to him that their wives would never do, we heard lots of talk about how it was all the fault of the damned Baby Boomers; that the moral degradation unleashed by hippies' wanton sexuality had led to a "permissive society" that gave lecherous goats like Clinton the feeling that it was okay to ruin interns' dresses. Even then that self-righteousness was rather a poor fit - Newt Gingrich, avatar of the right at the time, leader of the 1994 midterm rebellion (remember the "Contract With America"?), back in 1980 had served his first wife divorce papers in her hospital bed after her surgery for uterine cancer - but now that Sarah Palin, Republican vice-presidential nominee, has a 17-year-old unmarried yet pregnant daughter, maybe the idea that liberal parents are to blame for all that licentiousness leading to teen pregnancies will evaporate in the rhetorical haze. Of course, the head of the Republican ticket, John McCain, can't exactly take the moral high ground here either: McCain was a serial adulterer before starting his affair with Cindy Hensley, for whom he eventually left his wife, also disabled, also in 1980. (That was a really bad year for medically challenged wives of conservatives, apparently.)
beastliness
I certainly hope Hurricane Gustav inflicts only minimal damage on New Orleans and the Gulf States. But if it doesn't, I hope people recognize that if the storm's damage is as devastating as Katrina's, we really ought to question the extent to which efforts to mitigate the damage of massive hurricanes have been thwarted by the policies of this conservative, "starve the beast" administration. Not only is it philosophically opposed to any major government role in such disasters, the volume of resources deployed overseas in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the overburdening of the National Guard whose duties it would be to assist in such situations, together reduce the administration's abilities to help even were it inclined to throw its full resources behind solving such problems. A Republican spokesman was still playing the "New Orleans and Louisiana were dysfunctional" card in a New York Times article today, even though the context of his remarks was to acknowledge that that's why people expected the federal government to step in. Of course, if states and local governments are dysfunctional, that's in part because their federal funding is a long cycle of having been choked off, monies formerly being distributed to them being ultimately rediverted to wealthy individuals paying lower taxes.)
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