26 February 2006
Serene Basements
Walking home from a party that I wasn't really in the mood for, I passed all manner of Brooklyn brownstones, some darkened, some with a single light illuminating various elements of domesticity - a desk with scattered papers, a kitchen counter, an armchair upholstered in smooth leather. There's something soothing about these little glimpses at the life of the other half, at least if the mood is right and the alcohol has gone slightly to the head. They hint that somewhere, somehow, there are tiny pieces of calm to be had.
24 February 2006
Church On White
Good show on Wednesday, all around. I really like playing Southpaw, it's a good-sounding room with really nice staff. Thanks to everyone who came out.
Similarly to what I posted earlier about a new oneness with my guitar, I feel I've relaxed into my singing in recent weeks. And concentrating more on it definitely paid off Wednesday. Nice monitors certainly help as well.
Which leads us back into the technology/creativity nexus. Recent improvements in our gear has had a huge effect on our capabilities and confidence. The new power amp for our PA means I don't have to shred my throat at every practice just to be heard, and the new Fender Deville amplifier means that each guitar line rings out clear and true, finding its place within the sonic swarm and helping us grow into an organic, symbiotic unit. Once Colombo gets his new bass head we should be really cooking.
I'm reminded of an odd, almost unrelated anecdote. Many musicos are familiar with Nuemann microphones, sort of the gold standard of studio mics. Well did you know that the first Neumanns were manufactured in Nazi Germany? A friend of mine works in a studio that has an original Neumann, serial number something ridiculous like 0010, and if you peel back the white tape wrapped conspicuosly around its base, you find a swastika logo. So the Beatles and Hitler do have something in common. Maybe the Germans didn't really fall under the sway of Hitler's words, just the crisp, clean tones of his super hi-fi mics.
Similarly to what I posted earlier about a new oneness with my guitar, I feel I've relaxed into my singing in recent weeks. And concentrating more on it definitely paid off Wednesday. Nice monitors certainly help as well.
Which leads us back into the technology/creativity nexus. Recent improvements in our gear has had a huge effect on our capabilities and confidence. The new power amp for our PA means I don't have to shred my throat at every practice just to be heard, and the new Fender Deville amplifier means that each guitar line rings out clear and true, finding its place within the sonic swarm and helping us grow into an organic, symbiotic unit. Once Colombo gets his new bass head we should be really cooking.
I'm reminded of an odd, almost unrelated anecdote. Many musicos are familiar with Nuemann microphones, sort of the gold standard of studio mics. Well did you know that the first Neumanns were manufactured in Nazi Germany? A friend of mine works in a studio that has an original Neumann, serial number something ridiculous like 0010, and if you peel back the white tape wrapped conspicuosly around its base, you find a swastika logo. So the Beatles and Hitler do have something in common. Maybe the Germans didn't really fall under the sway of Hitler's words, just the crisp, clean tones of his super hi-fi mics.
16 February 2006
Guy Debord, Where Are You Now?
Spectacular society has certainly reached its apex with the current administration. While the press and public concern themselves with fragmentary diversions, all the world over power is exerting its influence and rearing its ugly head.
In the meantime, the apparatchiks of the presidency are content to sing the praises of spectacular dominance, asserting, in regard to the judgments of the House investigation into Hurrican Katrina, that "the President is not interested in the past." Rarely has power more clearly, and publicly, stated its intentions. The obvious interpretation is that it no longer feels threatened in any meaningful way by anyone or anything. And why should it, when just 2 years ago the American public pronounced its own judgment on itself in one last depressive nod to the pretensions of participatory democracy?
History no longer exists for the American President, nor for the American people, and so one is justified in wondering whether history exists at all anymore, or if we are not indeed doomed to wander blind.
In the meantime, the apparatchiks of the presidency are content to sing the praises of spectacular dominance, asserting, in regard to the judgments of the House investigation into Hurrican Katrina, that "the President is not interested in the past." Rarely has power more clearly, and publicly, stated its intentions. The obvious interpretation is that it no longer feels threatened in any meaningful way by anyone or anything. And why should it, when just 2 years ago the American public pronounced its own judgment on itself in one last depressive nod to the pretensions of participatory democracy?
History no longer exists for the American President, nor for the American people, and so one is justified in wondering whether history exists at all anymore, or if we are not indeed doomed to wander blind.
15 February 2006
I'm Sticking to Red Wine
Last night I watched an old Simpsons episode where Homer eats blowfish and thinks he's going to die. The confronting mortality thing hit me really hard for some reason. I was almost moved. By a cartoon.
I must admit that I am psychologically unwell. I suppose it's not really the thing to go into here, but let it suffice to say that I've been at a low ebb for a while now. I'm reticent even to speak of it because mostly I just want to kick myself and say "shut up and get on with your life," and because I strongly disagree with our fetishized culture of victimhood and the way people talk about their "struggle" with such and such disease/disorder.
I have qualms about treatment as well. I don't really buy the ethics of psychopharmacology. I've been on pills before, and that time they were just flung at me, free of charge, and I thought it was creepy. Beyond that, I simply cannot ignore the socio-political implications of having millions of people zoned out on Paxil. I resent the philosophy that motivates this type of treatment; that if people just have the right prescription, they'll be able to fit in to this lovely little society of ours and feel better. Is it so ridiculous to suggest that this absurd and fucked up world is just as much a culprit as neurochemistry? That people have trouble dealing with reality because reality is immensely troubling? When I was on medication it made me care much less about the things that matter to me (care much less about anything really) and that was disturbing. The things I care about (and the thwarting thereof) may upset me but at least I care about them.
I think this may sound exactly like what I didn't want it to be; the ramblings of some self-absorbed prick. For that, I apologize to the Gods of Blog.
I must admit that I am psychologically unwell. I suppose it's not really the thing to go into here, but let it suffice to say that I've been at a low ebb for a while now. I'm reticent even to speak of it because mostly I just want to kick myself and say "shut up and get on with your life," and because I strongly disagree with our fetishized culture of victimhood and the way people talk about their "struggle" with such and such disease/disorder.
I have qualms about treatment as well. I don't really buy the ethics of psychopharmacology. I've been on pills before, and that time they were just flung at me, free of charge, and I thought it was creepy. Beyond that, I simply cannot ignore the socio-political implications of having millions of people zoned out on Paxil. I resent the philosophy that motivates this type of treatment; that if people just have the right prescription, they'll be able to fit in to this lovely little society of ours and feel better. Is it so ridiculous to suggest that this absurd and fucked up world is just as much a culprit as neurochemistry? That people have trouble dealing with reality because reality is immensely troubling? When I was on medication it made me care much less about the things that matter to me (care much less about anything really) and that was disturbing. The things I care about (and the thwarting thereof) may upset me but at least I care about them.
I think this may sound exactly like what I didn't want it to be; the ramblings of some self-absorbed prick. For that, I apologize to the Gods of Blog.
14 February 2006
It's Late
I took some painkillers tonight in an attempt to mellow out. Which was all well and good, except now they seem to be keeping me wide awake. The other problem is the anxiety I now get whenever ingesting foreign substances. When I was a kid I could take whatever drugs whenever I wanted, it made no difference to me. I don't think I'm suited to drug use anymore.
13 February 2006
Postscript
Walking home through the snow last night I was singing "Screaming Skull" by Sonic Youth to myself. When I got home I flipped on iTunes and "Screaming Skull" was the song queued up, paused about halfway through. I think iTunes has been spying on me.
William Bowers has a pretty good article about the new music listening technologies up on Pitchfork. He's just about the only Pitchfork writer I always enjoy.
William Bowers has a pretty good article about the new music listening technologies up on Pitchfork. He's just about the only Pitchfork writer I always enjoy.
I Would Like To Exert Hegemony All Over Your Body
I am developing a new relationship with my guitar. The exact character of this new relationship is still a little obscure, as the notion really just popped into my head randomly during rehearsal last night. Perhaps it was simply a by-product of loopiness brought on by the typical weekend lack of sleep, water and food, or even the radio chatter I perceived coming through Colombo's bass amp (I think it was there, or else I was a bit more out of sorts than I thought).
In any case, I found myself looking at my guitar in a different way. It felt different in my hands and draped over my shoulder. There seemed to be a different perspective glancing down at the strings and neck. The strings themselves seemed to vibrate with more authority and clarity, standing up to plectrum punishment and never hinting at snapping. This has a lot to do, I think, with my recently acquired and insanely powerful amplifier, which finally allows all the guitar parts to ring out with elan, thus giving me a more solid confidence in my instrument, a new sense of identity.
I got to thinking about technology and its mediating effects on creativity. I don't really believe in pure creativity - technology and creativity are inseparably fused. The piece of wood and metal and electronics that I bash on at practice and on stage is fundamentally just an object, but for an object I sure invest a lot of psychic energy in it. It has its quirks and limitations - a certain inherent bassiness that I'm not all that fond of but am learning to work around, a loose cable jack that's always causing problems at the very worst times - but it's also the surest device I know to transmit what I feel into the physical world (albeit the invisible physical world of signals and sound waves). I don't have nearly the same relationship with this keyboard I'm typing on, for example, even though, regrettably, I spend much more time hammering away at it. And I don't even take particularly good care of my guitar, well at least not in the heat of playing anyway. Maybe the abuse I levy upon it when we play is some sub-conscious reaction to it's object-ness. In order to get the best sounds it's necessary to break it a little bit.
Actually, I don't really know what I'm talking about. It's Monday. I just want to get to rehearsal tonight.
In any case, I found myself looking at my guitar in a different way. It felt different in my hands and draped over my shoulder. There seemed to be a different perspective glancing down at the strings and neck. The strings themselves seemed to vibrate with more authority and clarity, standing up to plectrum punishment and never hinting at snapping. This has a lot to do, I think, with my recently acquired and insanely powerful amplifier, which finally allows all the guitar parts to ring out with elan, thus giving me a more solid confidence in my instrument, a new sense of identity.
I got to thinking about technology and its mediating effects on creativity. I don't really believe in pure creativity - technology and creativity are inseparably fused. The piece of wood and metal and electronics that I bash on at practice and on stage is fundamentally just an object, but for an object I sure invest a lot of psychic energy in it. It has its quirks and limitations - a certain inherent bassiness that I'm not all that fond of but am learning to work around, a loose cable jack that's always causing problems at the very worst times - but it's also the surest device I know to transmit what I feel into the physical world (albeit the invisible physical world of signals and sound waves). I don't have nearly the same relationship with this keyboard I'm typing on, for example, even though, regrettably, I spend much more time hammering away at it. And I don't even take particularly good care of my guitar, well at least not in the heat of playing anyway. Maybe the abuse I levy upon it when we play is some sub-conscious reaction to it's object-ness. In order to get the best sounds it's necessary to break it a little bit.
Actually, I don't really know what I'm talking about. It's Monday. I just want to get to rehearsal tonight.
Snowy Skies and Starry Eyes
We knew we wouldn't be able to just give winter the slip. Still, for all the wind and snow, what I enjoy most is the calm of the day after. Beatific and peaceful.
09 February 2006
Abstractly optimistic
Resolute in an ambiguous way.
Last night I dreamt that Smashing Pumpkins reunited and played the coolest, swirling meta-rock ever. Now today I read that Corgan and Chamberlin have indeed signed a new management deal under the SP name. Gotta steal some of those dream riffs before it's too late.
I'm listening to the Broken Social Scene record You Forgot It In People and feeling foolish for taking so long to realize how good they are. I saw them once, back in the day at Pier 54 on the Hudson River, and wasn't that impressed. Now I see that the album is practically tailor-made for me. Call it The Walkmen syndrome Part II.
Reading about the French Revolution. We could use a Reign of Terror around here. Who's with me?
Last night I dreamt that Smashing Pumpkins reunited and played the coolest, swirling meta-rock ever. Now today I read that Corgan and Chamberlin have indeed signed a new management deal under the SP name. Gotta steal some of those dream riffs before it's too late.
I'm listening to the Broken Social Scene record You Forgot It In People and feeling foolish for taking so long to realize how good they are. I saw them once, back in the day at Pier 54 on the Hudson River, and wasn't that impressed. Now I see that the album is practically tailor-made for me. Call it The Walkmen syndrome Part II.
Reading about the French Revolution. We could use a Reign of Terror around here. Who's with me?
08 February 2006
07 February 2006
Fought Through Another Long Night
Between the rue du Four and the rue du Buci, where our youth so completely went astray as a few glasses were drunk, one could feel certain that we would never do any better.
- Guy Debord, Panegyric
- Guy Debord, Panegyric
02 February 2006
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