The Mars Volta - Drunkship of Lanterns (live): youtube.com/watch?v=nNDPAlRJCFg
I feel weird about the term "rock and roll." Or "rock 'n roll" or "Rock 'n Roll" or whatever. It never feels right coming out of my mouth. I appreciate the distinction between "hip hop" and "rap" but rock has no alternative. Maybe "alternative"? but that feels pretentious.
When I think "rock and roll" I think of Elvis. I think of Chuck Berry. I think of Buddy Holly. Rock and roll became a genre defined by what is now considered to be a pretty tame form but was then exciting and unpredictable (though it was based on pretty predictable blues structures). So that's what defined rock and roll, right? The exciting, the unpredictable, it became less a genre and more a style. But then what does rock and roll sound like if it's a style and no longer a genre? I always think back on the landmark, blues based (tame) form when I think of the sound of it.
But it seems quite different when we think "rap" and "hip hop." Rap is the act, like singing, it's a lyrical form where hip hop is the overall presentation; when a song focuses more on the rap aspect it's rap but when the music aspect is on par with the rapper(s) it is hip hop. 50 Cent is rap, The Roots is hip hop. Or so I see things.
I'd like some distinction in rock and roll. And I don't mean classifying genres but laying focus on the sound rather than the style. What would be the word? I don't know if we (white people, the youth, the lower middle class, etc) are truly capable of keeping a pure genre without making it a style. Look what happened to the term "indie," though it be short for independent; a lot of "indie" bands are on major labels, it's become a distinction of style. And look at "grunge." Remember how they were selling grunge shirts in Sears catalogs?
But it's all bullshit laymen garbage anyway. All these genres are really about marketing products, aren't they? It's all music. The Mars Volta is no different from Elvis is no different from 50 Cent is no different from John Cage. Do we have to dumb it down for the layman sake? I guess I don't really care about the terms.
I guess all I wanted to convey, really, is that this performance of "Drunkship of Lanterns" by The Mars Volta embodies what I think is best in Rock and Roll.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
September 29, 2010: Tom Waits - Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis
Tom Waits - Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis: youtube.com/watch?v=tE5NLpZC6r0
I was talking with my roommate last night about the stylization of the past; how some movies, say, from the 70s now look great compared to the movies of, say, today. Will people look back on the movies of 2010 and ask why movies aren't made that way anymore? or will movies of the 1970s just be lionized more so?
He said "I'll tell you one thing. The 1970s really hit their mark when it came to buttons and knobs. I'm sick of this touch screen bullshit. Give me buttons and knobs." He then told me about the death of his first family TV, which had lasted them into his teen years.
I've been thinking lately about a poem I recently read in which the author stated that he had already lived a dozen lives. And how many lives have I lived? I could probably, at 26 years, designate between 2 and 5 lives lived depending on the perspective. I think, though, that perhaps I could also designate the death of my family television as the end of one of my lives. As much as I resent such a thing it's a certain amount of true.
Our family basement / living room was designed and structured in a completely different manner when we had our first, somewhat cumbersome, thick and wooden television. The room was long and narrow and the TV faced one of the horizontal walls, most of the sitting arrangement was organized to face it. I remember a lot of brown, stained wood, even the couches were brown, grey, drab. But then when we got rid of that TV there came this big screen, 50 inch, black, heavy beast of a television that was exciting and new, all the sitting arrangements faced it again but this time vertically so we were in a kind of hallway facing the end (or beginning). Then the furniture changed. And then the walls. The whole room became different and the TV was so big and loud that it was heard throughout the house.
There even used to be a door to the basement / living room, I remember, and we would shut it when the TV was too loud down there. That all changed with the big screen though.
A friend asked me the other day, "So you were raised on TV?" I hadn't stated such, but I had to agree, yes I was raised on TV. It's not untrue. And it's the most unfortunate thing I can think of. Some I know quit school, ran away and traveled, got their own apartments, struggled young and adventured; my parents were steady, my household was quite sane and "normal" and this sort of normalcy was propagated. My only real problem growing up was too much television and what kind of problem is that? It's barely anything to overcome, barely a problem. It's nothing, really.
That's not to say that I strive for struggle or resent my family's stability, quite the opposite. But when I think back on my childhood it seems like nothing real ever happened. We had TV, video games, computers...
This same poet I read stated that most writers never really have anything important to write because they never had anything important that had to be written. When you're comfortable always, what's to say except that you're not uncomfortable? Conflict makes for good writing, but without the familiarization of conflict, is one able to write? Or does one find discomforts where really there is nothing real? Is this a necessity?
I was talking with my roommate last night about the stylization of the past; how some movies, say, from the 70s now look great compared to the movies of, say, today. Will people look back on the movies of 2010 and ask why movies aren't made that way anymore? or will movies of the 1970s just be lionized more so?
He said "I'll tell you one thing. The 1970s really hit their mark when it came to buttons and knobs. I'm sick of this touch screen bullshit. Give me buttons and knobs." He then told me about the death of his first family TV, which had lasted them into his teen years.
I've been thinking lately about a poem I recently read in which the author stated that he had already lived a dozen lives. And how many lives have I lived? I could probably, at 26 years, designate between 2 and 5 lives lived depending on the perspective. I think, though, that perhaps I could also designate the death of my family television as the end of one of my lives. As much as I resent such a thing it's a certain amount of true.
Our family basement / living room was designed and structured in a completely different manner when we had our first, somewhat cumbersome, thick and wooden television. The room was long and narrow and the TV faced one of the horizontal walls, most of the sitting arrangement was organized to face it. I remember a lot of brown, stained wood, even the couches were brown, grey, drab. But then when we got rid of that TV there came this big screen, 50 inch, black, heavy beast of a television that was exciting and new, all the sitting arrangements faced it again but this time vertically so we were in a kind of hallway facing the end (or beginning). Then the furniture changed. And then the walls. The whole room became different and the TV was so big and loud that it was heard throughout the house.
There even used to be a door to the basement / living room, I remember, and we would shut it when the TV was too loud down there. That all changed with the big screen though.
A friend asked me the other day, "So you were raised on TV?" I hadn't stated such, but I had to agree, yes I was raised on TV. It's not untrue. And it's the most unfortunate thing I can think of. Some I know quit school, ran away and traveled, got their own apartments, struggled young and adventured; my parents were steady, my household was quite sane and "normal" and this sort of normalcy was propagated. My only real problem growing up was too much television and what kind of problem is that? It's barely anything to overcome, barely a problem. It's nothing, really.
That's not to say that I strive for struggle or resent my family's stability, quite the opposite. But when I think back on my childhood it seems like nothing real ever happened. We had TV, video games, computers...
This same poet I read stated that most writers never really have anything important to write because they never had anything important that had to be written. When you're comfortable always, what's to say except that you're not uncomfortable? Conflict makes for good writing, but without the familiarization of conflict, is one able to write? Or does one find discomforts where really there is nothing real? Is this a necessity?
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
September 28, 2010: B.A. Johnston - I Love it When You Dress Up
B.A. Johnston - I Love it When You Dress Up: youtube.com/watch?v=RkmDCqkJYlk
I don't remember the first time I saw B.A. Johnston but I do remember the first time I heard of him. Richard told me he had been at Gus' Pub one night and there was a band onstage, all wearing bad suits, and they started playing, were looking around as if something was wrong. Then their attention went toward the lotto machines in back of the bar where there was another guy in a bad suit. That guy got pissed, kicked the lotto machine and came onstage, started singing. Richard said it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen, with some kind of wonder behind it all.
And I listened to some of B.A.'s songs after, saw him perform and I was a convert. There is something about his songs that capture both the lowest of humour and the worst of heartbreak that I really admire, it all seems so unabashedly confessional.
And what of the "confessional" lyric? It can go so terribly wrong at times but when it's right it's really right. Ani DiFranco has been guilty of both bad and good confession in its worst and best forms. But all example aside the confessional is attractive I think because we all, everyone, have in us the ability to be the most evil, self-hating and low garbage of beings possible. And who wants to admit that? It seems natural to let it go, forget it, move past and toward the good. But when someone admits to their worst, admits a particular instance where they have been such, it can be refreshing. Especially when that person seems admirable.
The confessional lyric has to go beyond the "I'm a shit" stage, though, to make it worth anything. There has to be something else behind the words whether it be celebration, regret, sorrow, etc. It's a difficult form for otherwise you're just bragging.
I don't remember the first time I saw B.A. Johnston but I do remember the first time I heard of him. Richard told me he had been at Gus' Pub one night and there was a band onstage, all wearing bad suits, and they started playing, were looking around as if something was wrong. Then their attention went toward the lotto machines in back of the bar where there was another guy in a bad suit. That guy got pissed, kicked the lotto machine and came onstage, started singing. Richard said it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen, with some kind of wonder behind it all.
And I listened to some of B.A.'s songs after, saw him perform and I was a convert. There is something about his songs that capture both the lowest of humour and the worst of heartbreak that I really admire, it all seems so unabashedly confessional.
And what of the "confessional" lyric? It can go so terribly wrong at times but when it's right it's really right. Ani DiFranco has been guilty of both bad and good confession in its worst and best forms. But all example aside the confessional is attractive I think because we all, everyone, have in us the ability to be the most evil, self-hating and low garbage of beings possible. And who wants to admit that? It seems natural to let it go, forget it, move past and toward the good. But when someone admits to their worst, admits a particular instance where they have been such, it can be refreshing. Especially when that person seems admirable.
The confessional lyric has to go beyond the "I'm a shit" stage, though, to make it worth anything. There has to be something else behind the words whether it be celebration, regret, sorrow, etc. It's a difficult form for otherwise you're just bragging.
Monday, September 27, 2010
September 27, 2010: Pearl Jam - Do the Evolution
Pearl Jam - Do the Evolution: youtube.com/watch?v=aDaOgu2CQtI&ob=av2n
I was an awkward teenager. We all of us were, but this first fact is integral.
I once went to a friends house, just stopped in to see what he was up to. He was in his basement working on bikes with a couple guys who were a lot cooler than me. They were both a little surprised I was there. I remember one of them asking:
"What do you listen to?" as if it were a threat.
"I like Pearl Jam."
They laughed. "Who the fuck are they?"
"They just came out with their first video in about 10 years and it's great. It's called Do the Evolution."
They laughed. "That sounds fucking stupid."
Or so I remember the conversation going. I'm sure that's dumbed down a little.
They were a certain kind of right in laughing at that. I mean, "Do the Evolution" sounds like a 1950s educational song in the vein of Buddy Holly. And the name Pearl Jam sounds like breakfast fare or a bad basketball move or semen. But what a great and aggressive song. Granted, the first scream sounds kind of funny, but the rest is all fire.
Strange my friend didn't stand up for me that day, but who cares. I loved him anyway. He wanted to be cool as much as I did.
I was an awkward teenager. We all of us were, but this first fact is integral.
I once went to a friends house, just stopped in to see what he was up to. He was in his basement working on bikes with a couple guys who were a lot cooler than me. They were both a little surprised I was there. I remember one of them asking:
"What do you listen to?" as if it were a threat.
"I like Pearl Jam."
They laughed. "Who the fuck are they?"
"They just came out with their first video in about 10 years and it's great. It's called Do the Evolution."
They laughed. "That sounds fucking stupid."
Or so I remember the conversation going. I'm sure that's dumbed down a little.
They were a certain kind of right in laughing at that. I mean, "Do the Evolution" sounds like a 1950s educational song in the vein of Buddy Holly. And the name Pearl Jam sounds like breakfast fare or a bad basketball move or semen. But what a great and aggressive song. Granted, the first scream sounds kind of funny, but the rest is all fire.
Strange my friend didn't stand up for me that day, but who cares. I loved him anyway. He wanted to be cool as much as I did.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
September 25, 2010: Modest Mouse - Bukowski
Modest Mouse - Bukowski: youtube.com/watch?v=xr_B2IOUYSw
I'm not really the type to rest. I can't relax. I have to do something with my hands at all times if I'm not sleeping. I don't see this as a bad thing, essentially, but it's difficult when I go through periods without income generating work.
I'm dealing with a problem that has no solution: I don't need money to be happy. I do, though, need to have a full stomach and a place to sleep to be happy (or, at least, not go insane), and I'm quite ambitious in my artistic pursuits, will need money to follow through with this. But my artistic pursuits don't generate an income, they barely break me even, so I must find a job. As I do not want to fall into some comfortable, nice job for the money and neglect my artistry I tend to take jobs that I don't necessarily care about, something I can leave in an instant if I need. But as I don't care about these jobs, essentially, I have no drive to find them when I'm low on money. And I don't need money to be happy, ad infinitum.
And then when I'm not working an income generating job I have so much time for artistic endeavors that I run out of things to do. I get through all the projects that excite me and I'm left with reading piles of books and drinking coffee all day. And I love this but my hands get idle and my mind needs rest. And I can't rest.
I've started in on a new Bukowski book because he's an easy read, he's as much rest as I can find. And he unfortunately (fortunately) reinforces my desire to drink and write and despise the futility of undesirable work for the sake of work.
Our worth is not based on our work nor our suffering.
I'm not really the type to rest. I can't relax. I have to do something with my hands at all times if I'm not sleeping. I don't see this as a bad thing, essentially, but it's difficult when I go through periods without income generating work.
I'm dealing with a problem that has no solution: I don't need money to be happy. I do, though, need to have a full stomach and a place to sleep to be happy (or, at least, not go insane), and I'm quite ambitious in my artistic pursuits, will need money to follow through with this. But my artistic pursuits don't generate an income, they barely break me even, so I must find a job. As I do not want to fall into some comfortable, nice job for the money and neglect my artistry I tend to take jobs that I don't necessarily care about, something I can leave in an instant if I need. But as I don't care about these jobs, essentially, I have no drive to find them when I'm low on money. And I don't need money to be happy, ad infinitum.
And then when I'm not working an income generating job I have so much time for artistic endeavors that I run out of things to do. I get through all the projects that excite me and I'm left with reading piles of books and drinking coffee all day. And I love this but my hands get idle and my mind needs rest. And I can't rest.
I've started in on a new Bukowski book because he's an easy read, he's as much rest as I can find. And he unfortunately (fortunately) reinforces my desire to drink and write and despise the futility of undesirable work for the sake of work.
Our worth is not based on our work nor our suffering.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
September 23, 2010: Hayden - Barely Friends
Hayden - Barely Friends: youtube.com/watch?v=U3mwg1-2BfQ&feature=related
I sometimes resent the fact that I've resigned myself to go through with this blog project. For I revel in mystery but it's not served me best so far, I'm attempting transparency. Which means, sometimes, confession.
So. Despite myself.
My biggest love once told me that when she was a teenager she decided she would marry Hayden. She had no choice, it was decided. Now she's with a man who resembles Hayden, who treats her right, and they'll probably get married. And I'm happy for her, for that.
Sometimes the thought of what could have been different, though, can be debilitating.
And I've felt, for years, that perhaps I'm cursed when it comes to love. I married a concept of my life when I was young and have pushed away many things which I felt could have been a distraction from that, including love, affection, security. But then any time I've left those concepts aside, allowed them, they've seem to spurn me.
Not always, of course. But for the sake of argument:
I've felt before that perhaps my person can be off-putting; I'm silent and accepting. I have little capacity to "fight" for someones affections. I'm honest to a fault. I've considered that perhaps if I were a better liar I could win every woman to my side for I've seen it done but I don't have such things in me. One close to my heart once told me of her past boyfriend, that she had never had someone so persistent in wanting to be her boyfriend and she relented to him for that.
A friend said recently, "Why do I always pick the wrong guy?" I had no answer, and in fact felt her concern to be foolish for we always seem to pick the wrong one in retrospect, it's just that some give the wrong one more of a fighting chance. Granted, I'm not so cynical, but you get my point? It's so rare to find "the right one" that it may take a lifetime and I guess I'm ready for that more so than most.
But most chances I've taken have ended in sorrow, embarrassment or (worst of all) anticlimax. It seems.
Though I am no pariah. I admit I have spurned.
I sometimes resent the fact that I've resigned myself to go through with this blog project. For I revel in mystery but it's not served me best so far, I'm attempting transparency. Which means, sometimes, confession.
So. Despite myself.
My biggest love once told me that when she was a teenager she decided she would marry Hayden. She had no choice, it was decided. Now she's with a man who resembles Hayden, who treats her right, and they'll probably get married. And I'm happy for her, for that.
Sometimes the thought of what could have been different, though, can be debilitating.
And I've felt, for years, that perhaps I'm cursed when it comes to love. I married a concept of my life when I was young and have pushed away many things which I felt could have been a distraction from that, including love, affection, security. But then any time I've left those concepts aside, allowed them, they've seem to spurn me.
Not always, of course. But for the sake of argument:
I've felt before that perhaps my person can be off-putting; I'm silent and accepting. I have little capacity to "fight" for someones affections. I'm honest to a fault. I've considered that perhaps if I were a better liar I could win every woman to my side for I've seen it done but I don't have such things in me. One close to my heart once told me of her past boyfriend, that she had never had someone so persistent in wanting to be her boyfriend and she relented to him for that.
A friend said recently, "Why do I always pick the wrong guy?" I had no answer, and in fact felt her concern to be foolish for we always seem to pick the wrong one in retrospect, it's just that some give the wrong one more of a fighting chance. Granted, I'm not so cynical, but you get my point? It's so rare to find "the right one" that it may take a lifetime and I guess I'm ready for that more so than most.
But most chances I've taken have ended in sorrow, embarrassment or (worst of all) anticlimax. It seems.
Though I am no pariah. I admit I have spurned.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
September 22, 2010: Rich Aucoin - Brian Wilson is A.L.i.V.E
Rich Aucoin - Brian Wilson is A.L.i.V.E: youtube.com/watch?v=b44X2hY0LxA
This will be the last I have to offer for this one sided argument.
Last night I went to see Rich Aucoin at The Horseshoe. He started by handing out glow sticks and 3D glasses. Then he started the crowd off by making us scream. Then he started playing next to a screen that showed a 3D video of The Grinch That Stole Christmas, Youtube clips, psychedelic colours and such. He taught lyrics to everyone and had us sing along. He brought out a parachute and had us hold it up and cover everyone with it. He had balloons and sparklers and confetti. He had us put our arms around the people next to us.
I ended up in a circle of complete strangers with our arms around each other, kicking air. The girl next to me was laughing so hard her friend had to ask her if she was okay.
And this happened in Toronto and we all gratefully were part of it.
This will be the last I have to offer for this one sided argument.
Last night I went to see Rich Aucoin at The Horseshoe. He started by handing out glow sticks and 3D glasses. Then he started the crowd off by making us scream. Then he started playing next to a screen that showed a 3D video of The Grinch That Stole Christmas, Youtube clips, psychedelic colours and such. He taught lyrics to everyone and had us sing along. He brought out a parachute and had us hold it up and cover everyone with it. He had balloons and sparklers and confetti. He had us put our arms around the people next to us.
I ended up in a circle of complete strangers with our arms around each other, kicking air. The girl next to me was laughing so hard her friend had to ask her if she was okay.
And this happened in Toronto and we all gratefully were part of it.
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