Music, Verbosity, and Anything Else

2007-08-03T05:26:00.000-07:00

I reintroduce myself into the fray as a result of pissing off some yutz in the name of truth and perception. Ask me how!

2007-03-28T08:41:00.000-07:00

Bill Watterson was right; the days are just packed.

Precariously balanced on a careening Radio Flyer wagon holding an inner monologue with my stuffed avatars and discussing social and personal contracts...this is the life.

So, my singing sucks. Sunday, Antiprince and I adjourned upstairs to the fancy-schmancy recording gear and he drove the equipment while I laid down guitar and vocal tracks.(It's really quite impressive, how that guy picks up on technical shit so quickly.)

Upon playback I had to leave the room, overcome by laughter and embarrassment. What I heard was both hilarious and painful to hear. Start with this: imagine Chewbacca swallowing a kazoo.

So much for American Idol.

Okay, Jean's questions. I hope I can salvage a 'B' despite the tardiness.

1. We take all kind of pills to give us all kind of thrills, but the thrill we've never known is the thrill that'll get you when you get your picture on the cover of the Rolling Stone. What do you love about what you do? I guess what I mean, is if it was just you and your music on a street corner with nothing else in the world, what would keep you warm?

In music everyone and everything is beautiful.

It may seem a gross oversimplification, but most people are grossly oversimple. Music keeps me sane and crazy, amused and passionate, elated and tragic. These things are common amongst all people and I want to reach out with sound and meet people there. Maybe it's to remind others of this commonality, or maybe it's to find a link to my own turmoils and joys in the world outside of myself. Plus, as far as music goes, I think my way is the right way.

2. I am also disgruntled with the current state of music, and I have a few ideas about how to fix the situation. It's really bloody and loud, though. Where do you think the weakest link in the chain is?

Recently the FCC began measures to crack down on the practice of industry payola. Though payola was outlawed in the days of Alan Freed little has been done to actually curtail it, thus it has run rampant. This of-late gesture by the FCC has prompted many large local-market radio stations to preemptively offer weekly scheduled slots for local artists. Alas, for the stations, their redress will not stop litigation and payola will atrophy as a mover and a shaker in the industry.(Of course it will never go away completely, but it greatly needs to be addressed.)

It is the first step of many to take. In my humble opinion capital and legacy drive the industry. The folks with the bucks and the first dibs on the many opportunities made available invariably protect and advance themselves and their own.

The recent bear market in CD/album sales is a fine indicator. According to a joint marketing study I heard about on NPR's Marketwatch not long ago(when I first heard the FCC story) the general consensus was...

The reason behind the CD market slump is not so much the downloading industry as much as the music just sucking. I nearly drove off the road. A corporate groupthink as pertaining to aesthetic values was described. It sounded like a case for sacking the British Monarchy- hemophilia, bad music, fucking the little guy at every turn, prima nocte, and so forth.

I say it's time to open the floodgates and let the Lombard hordes in. A little sacking now and then, historically, has proven to be a good thing.

3. Tell me a pet peeve that has nothing to do with music. Something that really pegs you as a freak. Tell me yours, I'll write a post about mine.

I've been enjoying a long-sought balance in my life as of late so things just don't bother me as much, it seems.

I'm a fucking liar. Two things really piss me off.

1) Obnoxious single red LED message lights. Like the one on the cable boxes. If I'm at someone's house and their descrambler's tell-tale heart is pounding I must make it go away. Or, chop it up and stick it under the floorboards. Drives me fuckin' crazy.

2)My mother's bitterness at herself and at, in turn, the whole world- or anyone else happier than her. Actually, I've downgraded this to a pet peeve from an outright philosophical dilemma. As much as I love her I'm not helping her to carry that burden on my shoulders anymore.

4. You're on a life boat, in the middle of the ocean, with an older man that keeps talking about he paddled to school in a life boat everyday, a small child that will not stop singing the theme song to Dora the Explorer, and Justin Timberlake. The life boat is not going to hold up much longer at its current capacity. Someone has to go. Who and why?

Can Alfred Hitchcock be resurrected to direct this?

I had to wait until 11:30 for Dora to come on; I just didn't know it...
...
...
Okay, it's 11:32.

It depends on if the old guy can sing or not. Okay, here it is. I can see where non-stop Dora would be excruciating(Though Bob the Builder is downright fucking murder)so if the old guy can sing, we'll learn Dora in a day or two and cast the wee one overboard. If the geezer is tone-deaf, over he goes. Justin, the child and I could eventually reharmonize the song and we'd put together the best Dora the Explorer theme song cover band ever. Plus, it's got that Paul Simon "Late in the Evening" thing that just grooves.

5. Lastly: does this blog make me look fat?

Hell, no! Nothing is as sexy as a little black blog.

Right on, Jean. Way to questionate. I'll have that taxes post up before the quarter so I can be adequately pissed off.

2007-03-20T23:53:00.000-07:00

That girl Bimbo has quite the filthy curveball.

1)Your team's suffered as have the Cubs. I don't think that guy with the ground rule double was truly a Cubs fan. So let's say there's a game that hangs on a ball that you can reach, causing a GRD so the Sox win. Do you do it or do you let the God that clearly hates the Sox so bad rule?

Absolutely I will do it. I will yawp "Jeffery Fucking Maier!" at the top of my lungs as I do so.

Besides, The Cubs, Royals, Celtics and Knicks are higher up on His shit list, methinks.

So, let us proclaim "Hallelujatosis" and thank David Ortiz for the live chicken sacrifice before Game 4 in the '04 ALCS.

2)Someone on Sesame Street must die. Who is it and how do you do it?

Guy Smiley always liked furries. They're why he took the job in the first place. Hell, maybe he liked them a little too much. It all started with his first assignment as attaché to Cookie Monster. The fuzzy blue wreck was impossible to corral, but Oh! what sexy fur! What sublime strabismus!

From that moment on he chased every Muppet in town. Eventually, he crossed paths with Oscar the Grouch and Count von Count.

Through a series of misadventures The Count purchased twenty kilos of high-grade heroin from Snuffleupagus only to have it yoinked by Oscar. As Oscar and The Count were former lovers(or blood bonded, perhaps...)the latter convinced Guy Smiley to reconnoiter Oscar's trash can using seduction as his means of entry. Of course, Guy and Oscar ended up on a five-day meth binge. The Count found them naked in a felt embrace behind Mr. Hooper's since-closed store, whisked Smiley away and did what vampires do best.

Rumor has it The Count's Diablerie failed and Guy Smiley is in Fraggle Rock, slumming around with Boober Fraggle and living under a Doozer tower.

3)You can step back in time to witness any moment of musical performance or composition: which?

Wow.

At first, I felt certain performances might have made my soul burst wide open; then I realized what a 'fuckin' A' cool thing that would be. I'm torn between four.

A) The first time Freddie Chopin played the Fantasie-Impromptu in C# minor, sometime in 1834. He did not care for the piece. My hero; what an idiot.

B) The debut of Stravinsky's Le Sacre du Printemps at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in Paris, May 29, 1913. As far as I am concerned, the most adrenaline-inducing symphonic piece ever penned. Opening night for this "ballet" saw outrage, fighting, and ultimately rioting in the streets. Le déjeuner tue la moitié de Paris, Stravinsky l'autre moitié. I am so fucking there.

C) Herbie Hancock, Actual Proof(Thrust, 1974). A first take World Series grand slam. Herbie, drummer Mike Clark(what he does on this track is the stuff of legend)and bassist Paul Jackson, after an hour of "Nam Myoho Renge Kyo's", went into the studio with the intention of sticking it to the producer that insisted they use some middle-school Mickey Mouse groove. And stick it to him they did.

D)Jimi Hendrix, Band of Gypsys. New Year's Eve, 1969, at the Fillmore East. Hendrix's most exploratory playing and the soundtrack for many of my lost collegiate hallucinations. It's the kind of show I would have told the birds in my backyard about.

In the end, I go with B.

4) If you were a girl, what would your name be?

You asked for it.

My Y-chromosome donor thought only names beginning with a "J" were cool(and him with an "S"...). So, Jacqueline 1,000,000 32 Flavors 4th of July Adam and Eve Akimbo Amazing Grace Animal Angel Food Angry Anymore Anticipate Anyday As Is Asking Too Much Back Around Bliss Like This Blood in the Bathroom Bodily Born a Lion Both Hands Brief Bus Stop Bubble Buildings and Buildings Circle of Light Cloud Blood Come Away with It Coming Up Cradle and All Crime for Crime Deep Dish Dog Coffee Done Wrong Egos Like Hairdos Everest Every Angle Every State Line Face Up and Sing Falling is Like This Fire Door Fixing Her Hair Freakshow Fuel Glass House God's Country Going Down Going Once Good, Bad, Ugly Grand Canyon Gratitude Gravel Hat-Shaped-Hat Hell Yeah Hello Birmingham Here for Now Hour Follows Hour How Have You Been? I Know This Bar Icarus If He Tries Anything If It Isn't Her I'm No Heroine Imperfectly In or Out In the Way Independence Day Itch Joyful Girl Jukebox Know Now Then Letter to a John Letting the Telephone Ring Light of Some Kind Looking for the Holes Loom Lost Woman Song Make Me Stay Make Them Apologize My IQ Names and Dates and Times Napoleon Not a Pretty Girl Not So Soft Oh My My On Every Corner Origami Out of Habit Outta me, Onto You Overlap Pale Purple Phase Pick Yer Nose Pixie Platforms Promised Land Providence Pulse Raincheck Rockabye Roll With It Rush Hour Second Intermission Serpentine Served Faithfully Shameless She Says Shrug Slide Sly Small World Soft Shoulder Sorry I Am Superhero Swandive Swim Talk to Me Now The Diner The Next Big Thing The Slant The Story The Waiting Song The Whole Night This Bouquet Tiptoe 'tis of Thee To The Teeth Trickle Down True Story of What Was Two Little Girls Untouchable Face Used to You Virtue What if No One's Watching? Willing to Fight Wish I May Wishin' and Hopin' Work Your Way Out Worthy You Each Time You Had Time Anander.

I had my name changed at 18 to accommodate the title of every Ani DiFranco song. Not only did I piss off the town clerk but she had the nerve to criticize little items, such as my not alphabetizing the "The" song titles correctly and my inconsistent capitalization. That bitch.

5) How does the rest of my song in Question 4) go?

My Achilles' Heel, lyric writing is. I hope to change this soon. As for the question itself I feel the song would beg a tragicomic oeuvre. The next problem would be putting the whole thing together- I intend to do this as a "real" project, as in making it a good song.

You have sprung a project on me. I promise; when it is done you will be the first to hear it.

Thank you, Sirach. I will treasure it always.

P.P.P.S...

A great white shark can reproduce when a male's length is around 3.8 metres (12 ft) and a female's length is around 4 to 4.8 metres (13.3 to 15.8 ft). Their lifespan has not been definitively established, though many sources estimate 30 to 40 years. It would not be unreasonable to expect such a large marine animal to live longer however.(From Wikipedia)

I'm ready to accept my penance.

2007-03-16T13:48:00.000-07:00

Okay, AP...let's play!

1) If you weren't a musician, what kind of career would you have?
Growing up, I always wanted to be Dwight Evans, the Red Sox right fielder. Along with the hereditary religious zeal I watch Sox games with I always liked moving fast on my feet. I wanted to do something that kept me busy, active and perhaps in a little bit of danger(until I cracked my skull open at eleven). So, right fielder, starting pitcher, fireman, field naturalist/anthropologist/paleoanthropologist/paleontologist/what Bill Pullman did in "The Serpent and the Rainbow." As long as I'm hyper.

2) Who do you miss?
Karen Rome. In college my three best friends were she, Aaron Kaplan and Jordan Feinstein. The latter two will turn up again in my life but I fucked up with Karen. The first day I met her I kissed her. For the remainder of the next three years we became completely platonic. When I left school she began to make overtures to something more and I accepted. We had sex once and it was never the same after that. I greatly miss our friendship.

3) Who influenced your greatest musical influence?
I knew I wouldn't get off that easily.

There is something about the exquisite and perfect tenderness of Chopin that is consummate for me. It seems as if he augmented his prodigious talent with happy bucolic Polish life.

From 1823 to 1826, Fryderyk attended the Warsaw Lyceum where his father was one of the professors. He spent his summer holidays in estates belonging to the parents of his school friends in various parts of the country. For example, he twice visited Szafarnia in the Kujawy region where he revealed a particular interest in folk music and country traditions. The young composer listened to and noted down the texts of folk songs, took part in peasant weddings and harvest festivities, danced, and played a folk instrument resembling a double bass with the village musicians; all of which he described in his letters. Chopin became well acquainted with the folk music of the Polish plains in its authentic form, with its distinct tonality, richness of rhythms and dance vigour. When composing his first mazurkas in 1825, as well as the later ones, he resorted to this source of inspiration which he kept in mind until the very end of his life.

Like Mozart, he was identified as a special talent at a very young age. Both were heroes to me as a child and that may be why even then I felt betrayed by the adults who did not notice me in the same way. Like a Force-sensitive Jedi-to-be child who is disregarded by the Council, so seemed my childhood. Yet, since then I've gotten somewhere on my own, and now I greatly desire ephemeral life influences like these.

4) Who is your favorite fictional character?
Gods, where to start? Jorge of Burgos, Sherlock Holmes, Gregory House, Darth Vader, Holden Caulfield, Professor Peabody and his boy Sherman, Eustacia Vye(she's out there somewhere...and in reference to question #1, maybe I should have been a reddleman...), Captain John Yossarian, Colonel Kurtz, Jane Eyre, Roland of Gilead, 1900, Marvin the Paranoid Android. An incomplete list.

My favorite characters? Real people.

5) Is there anything new under the sun?
Yea, me. You. Cellular mitosis. The '07 baseball season.

Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
I respond by asking you five personal questions so I can get to know you better. If I already know you well, expect the questions may be a little more intimate!
You WILL update your journal/bloggy thing/whatever with the answers to the questions.
You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

2007-03-16T12:53:00.000-07:00

J'aime la neige.

I couldn't imagine a year without the fall foliage, the snow(how else does one get the opportunity to write so much shit in the middle of the work day?), sweltering summers and those darn New Englanders. Plus, I'd miss donning my bayonet and Wiffle Bat as I hold back hordes of advancing Yankee fans. I love this rivalry, the best in all of sports.

2007-03-16T11:54:00.000-07:00

STAGE FRIGHT

The stairs were narrow, unlit and steep. Aromas of gin, coffee and cigarette smoke billowed at me from the top of the stairs. As I ascended I saw my good friend and bass player beckoning me to approach his mentor and college jazz instructor. Accompanying them was a notable area guitar teacher, something of a small legend. He had been built up to iconic status by my band mates.

Have you ever had your hopes built up and subsequently shattered in such a fashion? I expected to meet this guru, have him acknowledge my strengths and weaknesses then help me to realize how to manifest them into performance, musicality and confidence.

Instead, I got a lesson in cocksuckery. The guitar teacher, upon my inquiry, decided I should consider never playing again- he never heard me, having left after our conversation. I have received negative reinforcement before but this felt gratuitous and just plain fun for him.

My bass player, following this, insisted I sit in with his combo which consisted of he, his jazz teacher on tenor and a drum machine named "Victor(see footnote)."

The Sarge suggests "Autumn Leaves." Okay, I've got the Stanley Jordan "Autumn in New York" album, and it's the first track. I know this, right?

Not so fast. Jordan's track cuts the B section in half; the true choruses are twice as long. It threw me off big time and as the changes passed by in unexpected fashion I became completely petrified.

So, what do Sarge, Nick and Victor do? Victor doesn't know shit, he's a drum machine. Sarge, however, sits down in the corner for EIGHT choruses. For seven choruses I was a model for Edvard Munch. Sarge seemed to enjoy this, passing furtively gleeful glances at my "friend."

So, for about ten minutes(it seemed like eons)I stood frozen at the Frog and the Peach with my dick hanging in the soused wind. At song's end I made a hasty laconic exit; with my Spiderman trick it took about three seconds.

A brief aftermath- soon after this a full-scale blitzkrieg ensued and I severed all ties with these people. May 6, 2001.

Stage fright elicits images of musicians displaying phobias in the face of performance. However, I saw it affect everything in my acumen and persona; I prefer to call it "Life Fright." I blanched at life in general. Music was simply the thing I placed at the center of my life. Small wonder that it became such a source of all-overs.

Fast forward six years. That person seems like a faint shadow of who I have become.
It would be impossible to explain exactly how I came to be "New and Improved Der(with more stain fighting action!)" but suffice it to say two things stick out as precipitants. First, I am surrounded by truly interesting, thoughtful, generous and inspiring people. Thank you, all of you. It's like having a new lease on the universe.

Secondly, as a result, I feel more in tune with my own energy, needs, desires, et al. I'm poised to begin living life my way, and the prospect of discovering what that is is incomparably exciting.

More news...on Monday I went to New York to see Les Paul. At 91 he doesn't quite have the chops he once did(check out old recordings of Les Paul/Mary Ford- he was a certified badass)but his showmanship is matchless. Sitting on top of a grand piano, hitting on his 24-year-old Aussie bass player(she was stunning, and very good but it was obvious the soundman wanted to fuck her)he seemed as if he was sitting next to me. I thought he might ask me how the salmon and lentils were. To wit, he became something of a watermark to me for stage confidence. And, as performing legends go, I could emulate worse.

Music is magic as long as listeners can acknowledge the trick happened. Hand in hand with musicality walks vulnerability. I guess I'm not so afraid of such a thing anymore. Wait until I get that voice coach. Corey Glover from Living Colour, Broadway cats amongst his clients...I'll be kicking ass and taking names, soon...

Footnote: Victor was introduced to the fray by a music store manager/keyboardist who was later busted for displaying a full regalia of beer bottles, whiskey, and cocaine and mirrors to his District Manager. Sarge is a Napoleonistic dipsomaniac. Nick seemingly became a complete egotist. The guitar teacher has been dutifully engaging his students in that inimitable snarky negative reinforcement; many of my students were formerly his and I hear about it quite often. Turns out, folks like encouragement.

2007-03-11T13:15:00.000-07:00

I've had a tumultuous relationship with God since my late single-digits.

As a young child I remember the joys of Sunday; perhaps one thousand feet from my home was a stunning piece of architecture where my grandfather, my brother and I would walk for 10:00 mass. I still regard those as some of my happiest memories from childhood. The beautiful building that let me in for no good reason, unbelievable stained glass,the wonderful incense aromas, Latin, Polish and English in one-and-a-half hours, all this talk about love and the good things we should do to each other. It inspired me to learn the name of every church in town by sight. At five I considered becoming a priest.

On one of these trips to church with my Aunt Anna when I was six I was given an album of Van Cliburn playing Chopin. I listened to the Ab "Heroic" Polonaise about five hundred times before I broke the record. I still intertwine the two entities in memory, and the piece still touches something way down inside that gets me blubberingly and uselessly happy.

I'm not sure exactly when this all changed, but I am only now coming to realize how it changed and what it has become. I know as I grew older and attended public school my fellow parishioners were not-so-fellowly as they used to be. I could understand the sermons more and more and the priests sounded peculiarly like that guy on TV, what with his pledge-driving and all. One sermon used three boxes of laundry detergent in an attempt to campaign for what God washes his clothes with. Believe it or not, God washes with Cheer. He has boycotted Tide and Gain.

I began to search for the answers myself- without a guide, naturally, but is there any other way? The bible is a scary fucking book to a kid of 9. It's a highly contradictory tome, with some beautiful stories and ideas and some really Moroccan-Leather-Tanning-Works-dirty stuff. Concurrently being a science geek as well I found that my faith and my reason were completely divergent.

I'm embarrassed to reveal how The Name of the Rose came to be my favorite book of all time. I saw the movie. I was eleven. The murder mystery aspect was enticing, but the implications against the organized church were astounding to me. Brian Dennehy presented it on The Movie Channel and liked the book very much. I saw him as oozing brains and wisdom, so I read the book. My relationship with the church was never the same. How dare you hold information! All people have the right to know all things that affect all others! I've since read the book four more times and I pull something different out of it at each sitting but at that time that's what it told me.

Father Joe didn't want to hear a fuckin' word about it. "The avarice that men display," he said, "is no more evident than in intellectualism for that must necessarily unseat God." So, I got Confirmed and got the hell out. Perhaps I confused the Church with God for a long time, and I hope there is some redemption in that.

But when assholes like this start running their mouth off I have to wonder if I should call myself "Catholike."

2007-03-09T23:52:00.000-08:00

I officially apologize to DarqueWing for not referring to him as "smartybootsboots."

Most of his writing is in the form of StumbleUpon reviews- call it a psuede-o-blog.

2007-03-09T08:58:00.000-08:00

My fourth of five tags, as follows...

Bimbo's blog, Go, Go, Bimbo!

In the land of smartybootsbootses(west of Byzantium and north of the medulla oblongata) Bimbo may be the supreme potentate. Even a brief perusal if her work of late produces a dizzying set of mental and emotional catalysts.

So, here's where I rollover and expose my furry belly by getting all vulnerable and stuff. I am prepared to witness my fresh guts upon the keyboard and upon Edgar, the adorable Turkish Van with digestive issues- when I can upload photos you are sure to meet him.

The other weekend Antiprincess, Antiprince and I met with Bimbo under the auspice that dinner, activities and repartee amongst smartybootsbootses would happen, and there would be fun. Fun, indeed!

In the dictionary under "Be Here Now" it proudly proclaims "see Bimbo." Far too long has it been since one I've encountered could energize mind, body and soul in presence alone. I have to admit, I was rather taken by her.

I've always been a trivia guy. That is, I've been in the presence of reference material for so long I've acquired a palimpsest of true knowledge, and it suddenly occurred to me how dangerous this is. To not have the full context of a work yet to use it allegory, syllogism or critical analysis does the author and myself a grave disservice. Bimbo very much allowed me to realize this. Her intellect, empathy and understanding were inspiring to me; her beauty made it all more surreal.

A few days later, something went snap! A good snap.

Snap! It doesn't matter what happens- you just met another really cool person...

Snap! It's time to re-examine my Classical Literature. Where to start?...

Snap! Borders in Farmington has no copy of Dante's Divine Comedy? The fuck?...

Snap! If you develop a tonic in the second iteration it makes sense to do the same to the subdominant following it(so, Bmin6/9- Gmaj7#11/13-Bmin7b13-G#min7(b5))...

Snap! Is the bicameral mind an oversimplification of a system of avatars we conjure to "guide" us?

Snap! Thank you, Bimbo, for dinner, Hungry Hungry Hippos and waking me up.

2007-03-06T22:11:00.000-08:00

Kneel Before Zodd!

Today I learned a phat new cantrip courtesy of the Great Antiprince. Apparently it's pretty easy though I'm so easily impressed I probably could watch a magician make a dung-ball float for hours. Think of it- floating shitstorms! The world will never be the same...

Here is my new trick.

I cannot fully express what this performance does to my All. Apart from the obvious mastery of the instrument, she is playing a guitar arrangement of every serious violinist's wettest dream, and her interpretation is appassionata to boot. Perhaps what finally does me in is watching her face. A sound such as this which lifts my soul to new heights is accompanied by the face of a chartered accountant attached to a ten-year-old Korean girl. The incongruousness of the music with the blank mug presents a certain musical irony that makes me a little sad and, coincidentally, heightens my appreciation of the performance. However, I am not without ugly questions. Did she learn the piece at gunpoint?(They're nuts up North, there...)Was she raised in a test tube labeled "Paganini, 24ve Caprice- Nylon Guitar" with only that in mind, to the detriment of her ever being able to play "Dueling Banjos?"

By that last, I recall a bit from Huxley's Brave New World in which a child was taught through hypnopædia that...

"The Nile is the longest river in Africa. It extends from the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro northward to its delta in the Mediterranean Sea. It yadda yadda, blahbiddyblah, flammajamma jim jam, etc..."

"So, what's the longest river in Africa?"

"I...I don't know."

"What can you tell me about the Nile River?"

"The Nile is the longest river in Africa. It extends from the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro northward to its delta in the Mediterranean Sea. It yadda yadda, blahbiddyblah, flammajamma jim jam, etc..."

"So, what's the longest river in Africa?"

"I...I don't knoooow."

2007-03-06T09:07:00.000-08:00

12:08 EST, Washington, D.C.

Libby guilty on four of five charges. Who said daytime television was shit? Let the euphemisms begin. Hooray for euphemisms!

Incidentally, might this coincide with Cheney's deep vein thrombosis he brought to the mechanic yesterday? The only news I heard about it was last night, on a car radio at 3:00 A.M. while wrestling a supposedly aerodynamic car through the Trans-Siberian Wind(like the orchestra, somewhat evocative but ultimately a doggone fake)- the radio anchor sped through that bit as if he was auditioning for a Micromachines commercial.

2007-03-04T19:03:00.000-08:00

See that thing above? I was informed over the course of the week by my #2 entry below that I had been "tagged" by the #1 entry. A special, gooey, warm feeling resulted(no, not in my boxers...)and my mojo appears to have become significantly invigorated. Thanks, credit and such as follows...

Jean's blog, You Are Here

Jean is another big fat smartybootsboots. Her highly readable dialectic invectives are quite something. It seems she read some of my meager musings and actually found value contained therein. I cannot express how good it makes me feel to see even one smartybootsboots appreciate the kind of arcane dialog I attempt to elicit. Thank you, Jean. I'll play "Reign in Blood" in your honor today.

Antiprincess' blog, I Shame the Matriarchy

One of my best friends, my initiator into blogdom, an all-around terrific person. Tests highly positive for the smartybootsboots gene. It was she who tipped me off about Jean tagging me, how to respond accordingly(being so technologically unwashed and all...)i.e. how to put that little thingy on the page, hyperlinks(I still get giddy when I make one work), etc. The kind of traffic she gets on her blog is positively jealousy-inducing. Hell, in the face of issues like God and double penetration, how can I compete with my Lydian harmonies and green-assed sensibilities? Anyways, I'm sure she'll be happy to hear from whomever you are; she'll want to make you a sandwich.

ShadowMonkey's blog, Shadowmonkey: Libertas per Vigilantia

My friend DarqueWing, currently a law student, posted here for a while. If you can track down his entries on the site, they are worth reading. He is an engaging writer with a gift for content- rich yet flowing and cohesive commentary. He may not have posted in a while due to his current Wii binge of "Dragon Ball Z Budokan Tenkaichi 2"(say it fast into a reverb-laden room and use your best action-cartoon voice-over)though the blog administrator ShadowMonkey is no slouch.

I will tag more as I do more reading; there are a few blogs I have not read in enough detail due to length. I get antsy and fidgety if I sit in front of a computer for too long, so I have to jump around the house naked but for a sheer coating of Nutella for an hour until I have to go to work. Oh, by the way, if you can manage to land a job that is playing music all day, I highly recommend it. You'll get better at your instrument than you can imagine.

(The rules are thus: 1) If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think. 2) Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme, and claim their graphic doodah. Please, remember to tag blogs with real merits, i.e. relative content, and above all - blogs that really get you thinking.)

2007-03-02T09:17:00.000-08:00

I should be more verbose. Perhaps limiting my musings to music stuff might discourage contribution, so...fuck it. I will branch out now, though there's no chance I'll have a big famous blog like some smartypants I know.

2007-02-28T14:40:00.000-08:00

Poll Time!

I must confess my great need to elicit some discussion in my blog; it's been lonely here in MV&AE lately. I too can have blogfriends, right?

Is new music important to you? Really think about this. Would you be content with an endless recycle of classics or current faves you already own or are familiar with?

There are all sorts of corollary discussions ready to squirt out from betwixt my fingers. For now, I'll just start with that.

2007-02-25T17:07:00.000-08:00

Bass is a highly underappreciated instrument. On the one hand, most listeners can identify the low frequencies and when they're in tune and in rhythm. On the other, there seems to be a slight predilection against bass players really stretching out nowadays. Sure, the Gospel and R&B players are pretty slamming. Pop and rock players, however, are not doing as much work as they should be.

The extremes of the argument are:

---Too few cats are really using truly great virtuoso bass lines. Some truly wonderous, magical stuff has been composed for bass and cello.

---Not enough cats know how to use empty space correctly.(I am guilty of this more often than not, I'll wager.)

The range extends from one end(Jaco Pastorius, Dominique diPiazza, Victor Wooten)to another(that cat in Radiohead for that first fucking song on OK Computer, James Jamerson, Chris Wood).

Consider bass to be the glue that holds drums and guitars together. Guitars have rhythmic considerations but are more accustomed to presenting chords and their qualities. Drums are tuned but the chief concern is keeping the time down. Bass players must be doing both at all times- they don't get much of a rest at gigs.

In short, practice your bass chops!

2007-02-25T16:46:00.000-08:00

Though this blog contains the word "verbosity" I remain amazed at the prolificness(have I done this correctly?)of many wordsmiths who can render a not particularly relevant or prescient topic entirely readable and enjoyable. As I get back into the swing of reading more stuff I will tag, link and such.

Thought for the day: To instantly add "jazz" to your already continental stir-fry, substitute a jazz melodic minor(melodic minor ascending)scale 1/2 step up from the dominant you are replacing...

Example: C - G7 - C...To stay "in," just use C major and avoid the C note during the G7. To go "out," over G7 use G#melodic minor(G#, A#, B, C#, D#, E#, F##(F double sharp)- essentially G# major with a flatted third). To stay out, when going back to the C use C Lydian(G major)for a nice half-step resolution to F# from F##. Or play some weird-ass twelve-tone rows. Highly recommended for impressing artsy cosmopolitan folks. Sprinkle lightly enough and I'll bet it can become a vernacular sound in pop music(again- Police, Steely Dan, Old School Metallica(with Cliff, of course- though it wasn't pop at the time), some 70's funk acts(P-Funk, Sly, EW&F), etc.)

2007-02-19T18:43:00.000-08:00

It's time to redefine "pop."

The label "pop" has come to connote predictable, safe(sometimes the safety is in the moral misadventures of lyrical content)and bubblegummy. Realizing that "pop" is simply short for "popular" and that popular is as popular gets, it should be obvious that a combat to expand the definition of popular music becomes a patriotic duty ambitious or conscientious musicians would do well to realize.
There are simply too many good musicians writing good music for all the suck we are forced to endure. Listeners have a special bond with music we musicians cannot enjoy. Both factions, as according to human nature, will continue their search for meaning through sound- because they want to. Stronger musical ammunition becomes more incendiary against the status quo it replaces. Both parties will be forced to think more, work harder. I should hope such a form of subversion(one which incites to informed action)just sounds plain fun. I know I can't wait to change the world. And I'm 30. Am I an idealist, a revolutionary, or just an overgrown kid? Can I be all three? And when can I finally get sweet revenge on the city snowplow?

2007-02-09T17:59:00.000-08:00

My Dead Pool is nearly finished. I may make an adjustment or two. Share in a moment of dis corporeal prestidigitation and make a guess or criticize mine. Or play.

2007-02-07T10:53:00.000-08:00

I've got a smashing new pair of cement overshoes to go with my assassination attempt.

For x amount of time I had been driving all over the universe with one lug nut on my left front tire. The prevailing professional opinion is, seeing as how I had not had the tire serviced since August, someone would have had to undertake a rather difficult operation to remove four of five lug nuts from a tire with an enclosed rim cover. Mr. Professional Opinion also states a two-three week maximum for that tire staying on. The question is, who did I REEEEEEAAAALLLLLLYY piss off recently?
Furthermore, from the word "universe" in the previous paragraph on, all of my text is highlighted in yellow. Computers scare me.

2007-02-01T08:59:00.000-08:00

I have not posted in quite a while. Part of the issue may be the Sisyphean task of using the new Blogger. I mean, it's just such a pain in the ass(though admittedly, I am a third-rate technodunce).

The other?...well, the entire gesture of blogging started to get a bit scary for me. I suppose I became dissuaded from what seemed like throwing my thoughts or intellectual property into the gallium wall that is the internet. This wall seems so mind-bogglingly big it couldn't possibly worry about or take notice of you...until you became food. So, there they are...my bits of thought slowly digesting for a thousand years suspended in a gallium bath available for scrutiny by all. Why does it bother me? Good freakin' question.
Maybe I didn't want to deal with the conflict. Antiprincess' blog(hey- I can still do it!)generates some of the foulest vitriol there is to be bottled. Granted, she's more than a hell of a person, but that just goes to prove the point. If one takes time to post thoughts past personal anecdotes they feel strongly about he or she will invariably start a shitstorm at some point. I guess I used to care. No longer.

I'm resuming bringing to the great nobody my unadulterated ideas about why things suck or do not suck(sometimes musically, sometimes culinary, and fuck the Colts). As I'm getting involved in playing live music again I feel it is time to get my nerve up. So there. Up, nerve...up.

2006-10-27T18:22:00.000-07:00

Antiprincess...test

Did it work?

2006-10-26T19:13:00.000-07:00

That's it. Someone tell me how to hyperlink! Ctrl+Shift+a does not work(perhaps it is a Mozilla thing; I get Ad-blockable items)and this is the Google group's(which I would link to if I could)oft-endorsed advice. Someone take pity on me and explain how it's done. Assume I know nothing.

I've come into so many opportunities for this, situations in which I could say a lot more without having to bog myself down in presentation of details and empirical stuff. And I want to plug other people's quarries. My glaring stupidity has made this impossible.

2006-10-10T10:34:00.000-07:00

It takes a fair amount of coaxing to energize the bunny operating the wheel that drives the blogging center of my brain. Gratuitous use of electric shock is a good start but actual blogging might be the dynamo needed here.

Ultimately, I have no point but to be anecdotal.

Recording. An arguous task that proves perseverance pays off(especially in the digital realm- manipulation of data is exponentially simpler)when, after fretting(ha!)over the 0.01% I got wrong on my road to despondency, the end product sounds, well, good. Drums make a world of difference. In short, most people can't do everything, so recording is the perfect socialist society(for self-produced artists.)One guy supplies the gear and stringed instruments, one guy drives the recording gear(a highly underappreciated role in society!), a drummer is employed, a vocalist does his thing, someone assembles a promo package, a booking agent shops it out, etc.

Antiprince(incidentally, the recording guy I spoke of)said a funny thing about digital home recording once. He said, "I thought, with the Digital Renaissance in home recording, there would be all these great records coming out. Instead, all these...records...came out." A short journey through Youtube(now Gootube?)yields lots of terrifying homegrown talent. It is simply a question of marketing. If only it was like beer. Think, Guinness is a relatively high-quality beer and they are really a Johnny-Come-Lately in the schnazzy advertising world. Budweiser, the piss of Beelzebub, holds the crown for high-stakes ads. People still drink Guinness by reputation but that took a hundred years to foster. Without huge financial backing, who can get noticed anymore?

2006-09-16T18:01:00.000-07:00

I don't do much of anything when I get really depressed, and that seems to happen a lot. The only thing I have any solace in is playing music(and even that seems like an elaborate fraud)so it's all I've really accomplished lately. I don't touch my blog, I have trouble going out for reasons other than work and my whole being feels like complete caca.

So, Saturday night and...well, I guess I can tackle something.

When I talk about music "coming around again," I characterize it as having a social cycle. Social Cycle Theory posits a repeating of events and stages of society which nullifies the possibility of social progress. I have always thought the theory could accomodate various tenets of Multiverse Theory("Wiki" it- I'm always learning shit just browsing that darn site)by arguing as all events are relative to the observer and as we occupy vastly different dimensional aspects since the last iteration, so we hold one variable(and let's assume quantifiable)in common though our chronological basis differs. I may then state "Yes, history does repeat itself. However, the participants cannot be where(as in "when")they were on any event's last occurrence. There can ALWAYS be something new, and there is no need to celebrate defeat with Anti-Art(when it becomes average, we are all dead)when there is real æsthetic Terra Incognita remaining to be embarked upon."

Well, when's it coming around again?

The pendulum arcs are accelerating. Changes happen so quickly now that an insufficient time is given for any music to really sink its teeth into our DNA. As soon as acts are shuffled in, they are quickly shuffled out or they haul their one-trick-pony out thousands of times until they die in Vegas. In the past ten years, I've seen (c)Rap, Pop-Punk, Post-Punk, Metal Punk, Black Metal, Metal Metal, Teen Ingénue, Thiry-Something Ingénue, Male Teen Ingénue, Male Trailer Park Ingénue, Hip-Hop, Trip-Hop, House, Dance, Trance, Club, Drum and Bass, Crunk, Spunk, Funk, R&B(a FAR cry from Rhythm and Blues, sadly...),Gospel, Blues, Jazz, Lite-Sexy-Funk(most jazz is now this), A&R, EMI, BMI, ASCAP, NARAS, The Napster Effect, and shit, I could just go on and on. The point is, Music has never been bigger business than it is right now. Perhaps that is why it all suffers. Honestly, I just can't get into anything at all that is new. One might chalk it up to the depression, but Chopin, Herbie Hancock, Steely Dan and Zappa still do it for me. So, scratch that.

No, music just sucks today.

I feel like there is no ambition. There is just celebration, mostly of the self. Everything sounds too slick, all the time. Life in Listening to Music has become a Pro-Tools fantasy in which reality can be changed or erased at the whim of the Whim. Everything is loud, all the time. Hasn't anybody heard of Modal Interchange chords other that bVI or bVII?(Fucking Aeolian chords at that!) Voice leading? REAL Theme and Development? Keys other than Db for rock songs? More of the good things that people like Justin Timberlake and Pharell do instead of the posturing bullshit? REAL instruments behind rappers? REAL instruments, engineers and songwriters in the R&B thing? Jazz players that don't waste all their energy on volcanic chops-infested playing or pentatonic safety?(John Scofield, in particular...)

So, if music is such big business and as a result the music suffers, must the business fall for the music to succeed?

I think, yes. Musicians will need only each other at this point and they can get back to doing what they do best without corporate masters. I bet Rupert Murdoch's I-Pod playlist would be amusing.

2006-09-05T12:00:00.000-07:00

Ah, the wonders of "On Demand"(trademark thingy here)cable programming! There is considerable contenet for music and musicians, though little of it is more than vanity pieces. The Celebrity Lessons portion featured some schmoes named "Dragonforce." I have heard their recordings and though, while technically impressive, was unlistenable- kind of like Super Nintendo's "Actraiser" audio track played at ten times speed. Their Celebrity Lesson was fucking laughable. The Asian guy plays a messy series of Amaj7 arpeggios in twelth position and, proclaiming "betcha can't play this!"(the new tagline of the young quasi-shredders that appear on this program), fawns over himself and the fact that it is NOT an A major arpeggio but something else...what's it called?...uhh...(messily plays sweep arpeggios of something like Amaj7)...ees gott eleventh frett, uhh...so ees different...uhh...

I'd rather see some memorable riffs, good songs, and the permanent unemployment of Cookie Monster from the Vocalists' Guild than the continual sledgehammer assault compositionally, tonally, and production-wise. Oh, while I'm on that subject, check out this link concerning...

The Death Of Dynamic Range (My computer skills suck, so the following will not appear as a hyperlink, but I'm still a mean Wiffle Ball player.)

http://www.mindspring.com/~mrichter/dynamics/dynamics.htm

2006-09-05T11:55:00.000-07:00

I'm amazed at how many young musicians are described as, in the breadth of some journalism concerning their haircut's effect on Kurdish politics, "classically trained." It seems like said adepts of the Church of the Twelve Tones are just finding more difficult ways to play the same lousy shit. The Department of Turd Polishing has become a huge network of graft in which billions of dollars(and precious minutes of my listening time)are lost.

2006-09-02T10:16:00.000-07:00

A PLEA TO ALL MUSIC LISTENERS

I have taken it upon myself to save the world from that devil in the airwaves, THE WORST CHORD PROGRESSION IN THE WORLD. If you are theory-illumined, you will come to revolt against the...

I - V - vi - IV

...progression. If you don't know what I mean, I will try to explain, following.

All western music is easily quantifiable thanks to what is known as "even temperament". Even temperament is the wavelength adjustments given that allow twelve even steps distributed within an octave. A piano is a good tool for visualization; start on any C and there are twelve keys(including that one itself)before the next occurrence of C which is described as "up one octave." However, a major scale skips keys in a specific pattern; these patterns are replicated no matter where one begins. The key of C is an easy place to begin because there are no black keys("accidentals")in C - all the notes that belong to the scale are white keys exclusively. For our purposes, they're all we need for now. As one ascends from C up to another C using only the white keys, let him/her say aloud:

C=1 D=2 E=3 F=4 G=5 A=6 B=7 C=1(start again, etc.)

These are the "diatonic"(tr. from Gr. meaning 'of the scale')notes. Diatonic chords contain ONLY these notes. For any major scale, the following order of major and minor triadic(1+3+5, 2+4+6, 3+5+7, etc.)chords is ALWAYS true...

1=Major(Cmajor) Another key:Bmajor
2=minor(Dminor) :C#minor
3=minor(Eminor) :D#minor
4=Major(Fmajor) :Emajor
5=Major(Gmajor) :F#major
6=minor(Aminor) :G#minor
7=diminished(Bdim) :A#diminished

No matter what key or major scale you use, the order is always the same. The chords are named the same way. The I chord is Cmaj, the IV chord is Fmaj, the vi chord(read "six minor")is Amin.

Now, let's look at the worst progression in the world.

I=Cmajor V=Gmajor vi=Aminor IV=Fmajor

I found myself auditioning for a really cock-rock-endorsed ensemble and a number of tunes by some sorry-ass-non-playing-white-motherfuckers(A term used by Miles Davis for Steve Miller which I heartily agree with and apply to those who deserve it)named "All-American Rejects" are on the docket. I had encountered them once or twice in the course of teaching suburban urban punks in Richtown, CT but having to actually learn the songs is a special kind of torture. Every last fucking song uses this fucking progression. 90% of the new non-metal rock tunes uses this fucking progression in some fucking other key or whatever. However, there are little nuances throughout the songs that actually make them worse but FORCE YOU TO LISTEN TO ENTIRE SONGS. The vocalists(both they and their lyrics)are beneath contempt with their lyrics about middle school infidelity and their non-vibrato-havin' nasal screeches that pass as singing. But I digress.

The progression is as ubiquitous now as its predecessor from every 50's song,...

I=Cmajor vi=Aminor IV=Fmajor V=Gmajor(Just sing "Earth Angel" and try every other 50's song lyric...)

My pitch...

I FUCKING STRONGLY URGE FUCKING EVERYONE TO FUCKING TRAIN THEIR FUCKING EARS SO THEY MAY FUCKING RECOGNIZE THIS FUCK PROGRESSION(thanks, Lewis Black)AND IN THE FUCKING FUTURE STOP FUCKING LISTENING TO, FUCKING PURCHASING OR FUCKING DOWNLOADING THESE FUCKING SONGS WITH THE CONSCIOUS FUCKING EFFORT OF ENDING THE FUCKING TYRRANY OF THE THE FUCKING GLUT OF THESE GOSH DARNED SONGS.

Let the comments enlighten anyone interested in just which songs have the demoniac keystone in question.

2006-09-02T10:14:00.000-07:00

Apparently, hyperlinks are easy to execute(though there should be a right-click access...)-

http://www.orourkesdiner.com/

There...can I have that cookie now? And the tech-esque double entendré to boot...

2006-09-01T10:16:00.000-07:00

The day after visiting O'Rourke's and posting the story, the fucking place burned down. Eighty years and I ate there on the last day of its existence. Lamb curry with goat cheese cakes and colcannon, $10.95. Coffee. A delicious butterscotch bread. All gone.

The place was an historical landmark. Antiprincess mentioned there being a website set up to take pledges(the building was apparently not insured)but in my limited internet gangsta I was unable to find it.

It's small wonder why Red Sox fans are so apt to believe in curses. I'll find myself saying things like "If I didn't turn the game on at that exact moment Damon wouldn't have hit that three-run triple" or "If I didn't write that quasi-Lieberman-smacking missive the place wouldn't have burned down."

I'm just sad it's not there for other people to find anymore.

2006-08-28T20:25:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd tell a fun anecdote about our hopefully lame-duck Senator Joe Lieberman(?- CT) and perhaps shamelessly plug the best breakfast in the state.

I accompanied a lovely redhaired sack of wet rats(at the time I was enamored, but my colossal failure to make any real presentation was probably a blessing, if you know what I mean)to O'Rourke's Diner in Middletown. Dates come and go, but O'Rourke's is here to stay, and that's where my fond memories of the occasion lie. For workingman's prices truly gourmet breakfast can be had in an authentic antique metal box-car diner. Fifteen dollars will get you coffee(it's good- not the best, but in this case easily overlooked), various fresh-baked breads(scones, cakes, oddities like grape rye)and a main course. Brian O'Rourke, the Godfather of Middletown, gets really creative with these. If typical breakfast is not adventurous enough try a trout and peach remoulade with a smoked salmon and gruyere omelet served with crab risotto. Yikes. Everyone is super friendly and the food is rockin'. I always leave with at least a long giddy giggle.

Redrats and I met here and began the eating breakfast ritual. Perhaps ten minutes pass when a gaggle of journalists convene outside the restaurant. Soon, the cameramen show up. Now, the gadflies. Naturally all in the joint had eyes trained heavily on the front of the diner. The front door opened.

Enter Senator Papsmear.(footnote below)

The air was electric. Spines were erect, pencils were scribbling every utterance that could be heard. Handshaking became a contact sport. Next to us a family consisting of a comely late-thirties blonde woman with three seemingly equally-aged peach-fuzz-haired children- each of them wearing a UConn sweatshirt- was 'installed' at a table. Most of the activity was centered around this Potemkin family. I spoke with Joe and said some bullshit about honest debate. I should have mentioned the conflict-of-interest problem with government, but oh, well. I think I did make the news on Channel 8 and I guess they got me saying the Iraq issue would hurt him. He probably wasn't planning on me being there; a Lieberman campaign sign has hung in the window of O'Rourkes for some time now(also easily forgiveable).

There were so many little details that remain strong in my memory. Politics is like a drug, an electromagnetic drug that simply requires its presence to affect others. The Channel 8 reporter, a silver-haired gentleman with caked-on foundation(it couldn't cover his bloodshot nose)had his cameraman usurp Redrats' seat quite aggressively to film the Potemkins. The Waterbury-Republican lady, a forties-ish young version of Barbara Starr, wanted to get snippy with me about my antiwar stance but such a thing wouldn't fly and the possible debate rightly was avoided. Goddamnit, the only thing I can't remember is what I ate.

FOOTNOTE- A friend I have not spoken to in some time told me of this moniker. His wife had their first child, a girl, and they promptly disappeared from everyone's circle. He is a law student with interest in entertainment law as pertaining to video gaming(and he'll gladly kick anybody's ass in Marvel vs. Capcom anytime- get this- I beat the living piss out of him in Madden so he erased it)and sees the Senator as a huge opponent of First Amendment rights. The name I gave was his addressee.

2006-08-28T20:15:00.001-07:00

Let the nothing blogging commence.

Repetitive-motion injuries are a huge caveat for musicians. So, if you practice an arrangement of Paganini's Fifth Caprice on guitar, playing the thing over 500 times in a night from midnight to 3:30 in tempi ranging from quarter-notes equalling 80 through 124, you're going to be sore the next day. Well, duuuh. Especially if you've got 13 lessons to teach. God bless violinists and their advice on remedy(morning stretching and cold compresses at night are a religious devotion).

2006-08-25T20:34:00.000-07:00

If a person had serious issues with certain everyday occurrances most people take for granted and needed help, would he or she really want to turn to the blogosphere for aid? I've seen forms of rhetorical evisceration USMC drill sergeants would wince at and I would not want to raise such ire by displaying any delicious weaknesses. Nonetheless, I feel compelled to start a dialogue on courtship.

I'm intimidated even in writing about it. I wouldn't even know where to begin other than to say all aspects of this subject resonate fear through my all. I'm not even sure what it is I'm afraid of; I do know I have not known for so long I have overrationalized my fear. Mostly I just beat myself up.

The last paragraph took me an hour to write.

I've erased about five sentences here. I'm just afraid to tell you anything. I wouldn't know where to begin. Does anyone out there have raging phobias about things like this?

2006-08-08T23:08:00.000-07:00

Joe Lieberman is besquirted!

I'm no Marilyn Manson fan but I've always respected his mind, if not his art. And I bet he's sitting pretty right now.

2006-08-08T22:35:00.000-07:00

Does this make sense?

There is a specific connection an audience has to a live performer that cannnot be fabricated. Thus, it is in the best interests of the current leadership of the music industry to ELIMINATE live music from local settings, reducing participation for a live audience to shows by the producer's own vested ensembles in overpriced festival settings.

I don't know about your town, but all we have now are DJ's.

2006-08-06T22:10:00.000-07:00

Due to unforeseen fallout, this famous post about the famous Sully's Pub in "famous" Hartford has gone the way of the dodo. More than famous, this has become INfamous.

Let the mystery begin.

2006-08-04T21:39:00.000-07:00

Screw it. Here goes.

I have a friend who is rather active in the blogosphere. "I Shame the Matriarchy"(formerly "Paleofeminist")swings a heavy bat at the plate; it is referenced in Wikipedia as a mover/shaker-type blog. I was impressed(though who knows? Lots of blogs may be referenced nowadays...I'm a little behind the nanocurve)and even moved enough to attempt to post comments on her subjects. I discovered one needed a blog of their own to post.(or maybe not...there's lots of ways around everything but I'm a thirty-year-old dinosaur) So, I hemmed and hawed over justifying having a blog by making entries. I must admit I felt dwarfed by the breadth, acumen and importance of posts and posters on Antiprincess' blog(Hi!)so I hemmed and hawed some more. Nothing was done.

Tonight I am mad enough to be creative. I won't be specific as to events but suffice it to say if I came across a special interest group handing out leaflets bearing the words "Ban Marriage Now!" I might at least read it. Humans are the universe's most emotionally irresponsible beings. Most people just aren't ready.

In addition, I have been mad about the state of music for years. Theory geeks are more than welcome here; your thoughts and thinking are sorely underused in composition today(everything's a composition)and it shows in many places. General audience music is like the slowest ride at the carnival you've been riding for years and your body can tell down to how many fractions of a second when that next turn is, what concession stand you'll see coming out of that turn, how many degrees you've turned, what the ride operator looks like, etc. Many rock bands are now exploring semi-virtuosic two-guitar attack but have still not grasped the essence of a song. Film music all sounds like three scores now(one of them was "Braveheart")and has tarnished a few otherwise good or even great movies.(Long aside here..."The Lord of the Rings" trilogy, right. I adore the books and feel, aside from a few changes(Tom Bombadil, Faramir does NOT take Frodo and Sam back to Osgiliath, The Scourging...)I was awed by the movies, all. The score sucked. Flat. Out. Sucked. Perhaps the lamest moment was the introduction of Shadowfax in "The Two Towers". Flabby and ignoble. In comparison to Star Wars ad infinitum it pales because of a lack of truly memorable music. Seeing as how both Henry Mancini and Bernard Herrmann are gone, John Williams should have done the score. This Howard Shore guy is a schmutz.)

Jazz all sounds so safe now. The heady days of exploration that birthed Bird, Trane, Miles, Herbie, Chick, and countless other luminaries seem gone. Most new jazz seems a volcanic exposition of chops or some clinical, overproduced lite-sexy-funk thing. Bring back Rudy Van Gelder and his two Neumann microphones! Rap might improve if real musicians backed artists. I can't take the synthetic digital everything. They should hook up with gospel musicians.

In 662 or so years that bullshit John Cage compostion that lasts 663 or so years will come to a conclusion. The celebration of such vanities simply imply all the good music has already been written. It seems a death knell for classical music as "High Art." Sure, it's still celebrated but the genre's inflated sense of exclusivity draws a socio-economic caste-line much like golf, tennis or skiing do.

I guess I'll stop now. Maybe someone, someday, will read this and say "what a jerk." Please say so!