The Ravonettes are playing a 'secret gig' tonight at Lock 17 in Camden, free of charge.
Info here. You owe me.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
The Rock Music is Tonight
The Ravonettes are playing a 'secret gig' tonight at Lock 17 in Camden, free of charge.
Info here. You owe me.
Track review: Tim McGraw (part 2 of 3)
After a while I settled into the theme of the summer, the daily wake and the schedule of breaks, the afternoon naps after a day on the jackhammer, the evening boozer on the beach. These things became my routine. One day wasn't much discernable from the other, barring of course the workman's appreciation for the weekend. Woo-hoo! And as things got normalized, coming into work early in the morning became a communal sentence. I mean, everyone is groggy at 6 in the morning, until someone decides to take upon themselves something physically strenuous. Then everyone else refuses to be out done, and the workday starts itself.
Every our of this day, the heigh-ho, is helped along by radio. Sometimes, if most of the guys on the site are black, someone would put on a soul station, or the foreman would cycle to his oldies station. But usually it was country. Ninety percent of the time. Contemporary country. 2004 was the summer of Gretchen Wilson, Big & Rich, and "Live Like You Were Dying". The latter song, written by the Goatee in Black Tim McGraw, is a great example of the kind of fatalistic melodrama that takes over half the country market. The other half, of course, belongs to ruckus tunes; good old boy music (or more recently bad little girl music, aka GW) about how good we do it down here. Friends in low places sort of thing.
All of that is well and good, and actually makes the workday go by faster than the grave tunes. Even if you don't agree with the ridiculous or rawcous lyrics, you can at least resign your brain to the standardized beat. Hammer bang bang. Drum machine bang bang. And who's to say you need to like the lyrics anyway. Singing along with a song with words like "save a horse, ride a cowboy" is actually kind of fun, despite the innanity of the sentiment. Who can be worried about banging a hammer when you can do it to the chorus from "Redneck Woman". The innanity works for most. But I can't really sing along to that kind of stuff. I'm a crooner. Perhaps it was hearing Randy Travis' "For Ever and Ever" at too young an age, I just like the slow and dramatic melody.
"Drugs or Jesus", by the same Tim McGraw, lays the drama pretty thick. The song begins with some pretty foreboding piano progression, the sort of thing that used to lead off a rock ballad in the 80s, and then a few taps of the high hat, just to let you know that things are going to get serious. A few poiniant vibrato notes on the guitar, and then you're ready. "In my hometown" McGraw begins, you're either lost or you're found." So begins the stark realities that reflect most everyone's experience with "coming home." You return and find the failed and the found haunting the same places you saw since you were 7 (the successful ones probably aren't around). One of the best songs about the subject, "Left and Leaving" by The Weakerthans, provides a similar sentiment:
i'm back with scars to show,
back with the streets i know,
will never take me anywhere but here.
McGraw is young enough to get away with a song about coming back home. He's been around a little, seen the big city and had his showbiz moment, and has returned to his hometown of Rayville, Louisiana to see two camps of people. Those that look for Jesus, and those that are looking for the next fix.
we follow the roads that lead us
...[dramatic pause]... to drugs or Jesus.
Of course, he's not going to get anywhere without any conflict. McGraw knows his audience. (in fact, you could say he knows Nelly's audience, too, given their recent collaboration) And he knows his audience would love to hear a story about spritual movement. And since a story about the Glory of God goes on the gospel channel, its important that McGraw sings about a time when he wasn't so holy, when he had to struggle through his faith. And then he has to tell us about it (it's just part of the salvation).
The music, however, doesn't endure the same kind of progression. The lyrical arrangement is a pretty standard chorus-verse affair, including even the recent rap trick of having the chorus fill in the last words of a verse (think Common's "Go" or Usher's "Burn"). The pianos and guitars crescendo when you expect them to, a solo sneaks in behind the crucial born-again moment, and after McGraw comes down on the side of God the outro uses perhaps the oldest trick in the Book ("Hallelujah, hallelujah, ...").
Every our of this day, the heigh-ho, is helped along by radio. Sometimes, if most of the guys on the site are black, someone would put on a soul station, or the foreman would cycle to his oldies station. But usually it was country. Ninety percent of the time. Contemporary country. 2004 was the summer of Gretchen Wilson, Big & Rich, and "Live Like You Were Dying". The latter song, written by the Goatee in Black Tim McGraw, is a great example of the kind of fatalistic melodrama that takes over half the country market. The other half, of course, belongs to ruckus tunes; good old boy music (or more recently bad little girl music, aka GW) about how good we do it down here. Friends in low places sort of thing.
All of that is well and good, and actually makes the workday go by faster than the grave tunes. Even if you don't agree with the ridiculous or rawcous lyrics, you can at least resign your brain to the standardized beat. Hammer bang bang. Drum machine bang bang. And who's to say you need to like the lyrics anyway. Singing along with a song with words like "save a horse, ride a cowboy" is actually kind of fun, despite the innanity of the sentiment. Who can be worried about banging a hammer when you can do it to the chorus from "Redneck Woman". The innanity works for most. But I can't really sing along to that kind of stuff. I'm a crooner. Perhaps it was hearing Randy Travis' "For Ever and Ever" at too young an age, I just like the slow and dramatic melody.
"Drugs or Jesus", by the same Tim McGraw, lays the drama pretty thick. The song begins with some pretty foreboding piano progression, the sort of thing that used to lead off a rock ballad in the 80s, and then a few taps of the high hat, just to let you know that things are going to get serious. A few poiniant vibrato notes on the guitar, and then you're ready. "In my hometown" McGraw begins, you're either lost or you're found." So begins the stark realities that reflect most everyone's experience with "coming home." You return and find the failed and the found haunting the same places you saw since you were 7 (the successful ones probably aren't around). One of the best songs about the subject, "Left and Leaving" by The Weakerthans, provides a similar sentiment:
i'm back with scars to show,
back with the streets i know,
will never take me anywhere but here.
McGraw is young enough to get away with a song about coming back home. He's been around a little, seen the big city and had his showbiz moment, and has returned to his hometown of Rayville, Louisiana to see two camps of people. Those that look for Jesus, and those that are looking for the next fix.
we follow the roads that lead us
...[dramatic pause]... to drugs or Jesus.
Of course, he's not going to get anywhere without any conflict. McGraw knows his audience. (in fact, you could say he knows Nelly's audience, too, given their recent collaboration) And he knows his audience would love to hear a story about spritual movement. And since a story about the Glory of God goes on the gospel channel, its important that McGraw sings about a time when he wasn't so holy, when he had to struggle through his faith. And then he has to tell us about it (it's just part of the salvation).
The music, however, doesn't endure the same kind of progression. The lyrical arrangement is a pretty standard chorus-verse affair, including even the recent rap trick of having the chorus fill in the last words of a verse (think Common's "Go" or Usher's "Burn"). The pianos and guitars crescendo when you expect them to, a solo sneaks in behind the crucial born-again moment, and after McGraw comes down on the side of God the outro uses perhaps the oldest trick in the Book ("Hallelujah, hallelujah, ...").
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Love is Always Sacred
For anyone that hasn't already crashed at my fabulously located flat in London (in other words the 2 people that visit this blog), I live within a stone's throw of Harrod's, the world's finest and most opulent department store, in the world's highest per capita earning district. Not that the residents of Knightsbridge actually work, mind you. Really they just buy expensive things from Harrod's and try to run you over.
Apologies. I'll eat the rich later. What is perhaps more repulsive, at least outside the class war, is a recent scuplture commissioned for the basement (re: lower ground floor) memorial to Dodi al Fayed and Diana, Princess of Wales. Visitors to the store will be familiar with the fountain and engagement ring encased in polyeurethane, a loving tribute to the heir to the world's most glorified mall and his royal girlfriend. Now we get to fawn our affections on this:
Apologies. I'll eat the rich later. What is perhaps more repulsive, at least outside the class war, is a recent scuplture commissioned for the basement (re: lower ground floor) memorial to Dodi al Fayed and Diana, Princess of Wales. Visitors to the store will be familiar with the fountain and engagement ring encased in polyeurethane, a loving tribute to the heir to the world's most glorified mall and his royal girlfriend. Now we get to fawn our affections on this:
That being a life-sized bronze of Dodi, Diana, and a seagull. That fire you see in the background isn't so much a foundry as an English Mount Doom. And i believe we're all familiar how that story ends. The statue will be grafted into the already borderline kitch in the Egyptian Room of the store, the section where you can buy makeup that costs a few hundred quid and is made from the ground bones of Somali children.
See more pictures of the sculpture here.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
...And in this corner a barking lunatic
George Galloway is going to debate Christopher Hitchens in NYC, and God Bless Us all if the world doesn't implode on that September day. The event is happening as part of Galloway's US speaking tour, though it might more accurately start another round in a proper shit-tip, if their past interactions are any indication.
Witness the end of political discourse as we know it. Tickets to this event are worth their weight in GOLD.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Hippomaster
Got my first scientific publication, a product of work done through long, cold winters at the University of Pittsburgh. The article, Patterns of Hippocampal Atrophy in MCI, will be published by The Journal of Neurology in the fall. I am second author. Let me know if you'd like a copy.
Suck it.
Suck it.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Walken 2008
If you want to learn how to build a house,build a house. Don't ask anyone, just build a house.
Gimme Some Blo'
The subheading has been answered: Bret Easton Ellis has come out of his Prada-leather-lined hole in the ground to publish a book called Lunar Park. It is apparently an autobiographical novel. The gut reaction to that style is a swift kick to the shins, but eschew for a moment your vision of an autobiographical novel, the endless parade of personal memoir that seem to need their own section in Borders (headlined "Wine about Life"). Consider that this is written by the man who has written of supermodeling anarchists, cork-snorting teens, and found the most despicable way to feed rats.
The most public aspect of this book's press junket is that Bret is gay. This wasn't exactly revelation. More surprising was the context of Bret's relationship with Kaplan died in January 2004, prompting a long mourning spent completely out of the limelight. He did not attend the funeral in Michigan, he said, because he could not even bring himself to leave his room - the room in his mother's house in the San Fernando Valley, where he grew up. And he stayed in Los Angeles for 19 months, shuffling from mother to sister to friend and finally a series of hotels, suffering what he calls "a midlife crisis."
So, perhaps we won't be expecting the same noncommittal slash-and-burn, choose your poison version of literature. How the personal events in Bret's life will effect his new direction remains to be seen; Lunar Park was largely finished at the time of Kaplan's death, though he has admitted to the death being the catalyst for finishing the book. Ellis seems to be working hard to distance himself from his bad-boy party-boy image:
"My worry is that people will want to know what's true and what's not," he said recently. "All these things that are in the book - my quote-unquote autobiography - I just don't want to answer any of those questions. I don't like demystifying the text."
- Read excerpts of Lunar Park
- Audio interview on Bookworm (realplayer)
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Track Review: 'Drugs or Jesus' by Tim McGraw (Part 1 of 3)
Last summer, from late May until the first week of September, I worked as a foreman on one of my father's construction sites. The building was the former location of my hometown's newspaper, The St. Augustine Record, which had moved across town to a bigger building next to a shopping center and a hospital, off of US1. Anytime I drive down the section of a town where all the Chili's and Barnes&Noble's and Blockbusters and Home Depots are congregated, I always refer to it as the, "you know, the US1-part of town", regardless of where they grew up, or if they even know that US1 runs up the east coast and harbors its fair share of traffic from the Chili-going public.
Anyway, I'm not being completely truthful by saying I was a foreman for the summer. At least, the whole summer. My dad hired me as foreman, because the building was a small project for his office and the fewer checks you sign the better. See, a foreman shows up early, opens the locks, gets out the tools, and then tells everyone what to do, and makes sure that they keep doing it until break. Sometimes he goes and buys doughnuts for everybody. Well, i got most of those done, except for the showing up early bit, and the locks, and the tools. But all the crews had their own tools, and their own keys to the place, anyway. Actually, I don't think we had doors at that point. The place had been gutted by the demolition crew by the time I got there.
So, perhaps, I was not the best decision for the job of foreman. He is, in many ways, The Boss, but only in that he takes orders from the contractor, or the architect, and delegates. Delegate and maintain. Crews come in (Demo crews, Roof crews, Plumbing crews), and you tell them where to go to do what they do. You also have to be something of a handyman, as there are always sidejobs to be completed; actually, all the jobs that you don't hire a specialized crew for, you and a couple of day-laborers punch it out in between the delegating and maintaining.
There's a fun bunch. Laborers are often viewed through broken glass, (if anything's ever stolen on a site it's usually the day-laborers that get fired first) and in plenty of cities in the nation they get blamed for racism even murder. The laborers in St. Augustine are a more humble bunch, at least the ones that came through the services we used. The overwhelming percentage are fellas looking for enough cash to fuel a weekend bender, but there are a few really good workers in the mix, who may have a rap sheet they aren't proud of, or just haven't found the right employer. I met a guy who weighs 250 pounds and has 3 DUIs, but could build (and demolish) a house in a week.
Anyway, I get fired as foreman. By my dad. I was staying at a little house on the beach that summer, with a couple of friends my age who lifeguarded full-time. They were always out of the door by 7, into the big yellow pickup and onto the sand. I always kind of prided myself at not getting up till 8, and showing up at work only after a big fuckin bowl of some highly sugared cereal. It's the only thing that gets me up. Well, pops wasn't keen on this. He's always been the one pushing me out of bed in the morning, for work or surf, and one morning, after the Count Chocula, I get a bell asking me why I'm not on the site. Then i get fired, then he asks if I want to be the assistant foreman, and then he asks me to remember to bring back his surfboard to the house.
So I stay on the job, but now i have to get up and be there at 6 (construction workdays: 6-3:30, with half-hour for break and two fivers at 10 and 2. Clockwork.). I won't say that i didn't die a little everytime i woke up late and had to rush out the door in wet sock without my sugar-soup, but i won't say that i didn't benefit physically from lifting bricks and 2x4s for eight hours. Builds character, too, apparently. But I would never say as such. Officially i was a carpenter, but I was put on any job that needed doing. I remember the spackling, the carpentry, the jackhammering, loved it after a while. But I'd be amiss to not say that everyone didn't consider me a bit odd being there. Not being the architect's son; nepotism on a site is standard, and if anything that got me more respect.
Anyway, I'm not being completely truthful by saying I was a foreman for the summer. At least, the whole summer. My dad hired me as foreman, because the building was a small project for his office and the fewer checks you sign the better. See, a foreman shows up early, opens the locks, gets out the tools, and then tells everyone what to do, and makes sure that they keep doing it until break. Sometimes he goes and buys doughnuts for everybody. Well, i got most of those done, except for the showing up early bit, and the locks, and the tools. But all the crews had their own tools, and their own keys to the place, anyway. Actually, I don't think we had doors at that point. The place had been gutted by the demolition crew by the time I got there.
So, perhaps, I was not the best decision for the job of foreman. He is, in many ways, The Boss, but only in that he takes orders from the contractor, or the architect, and delegates. Delegate and maintain. Crews come in (Demo crews, Roof crews, Plumbing crews), and you tell them where to go to do what they do. You also have to be something of a handyman, as there are always sidejobs to be completed; actually, all the jobs that you don't hire a specialized crew for, you and a couple of day-laborers punch it out in between the delegating and maintaining.
There's a fun bunch. Laborers are often viewed through broken glass, (if anything's ever stolen on a site it's usually the day-laborers that get fired first) and in plenty of cities in the nation they get blamed for racism even murder. The laborers in St. Augustine are a more humble bunch, at least the ones that came through the services we used. The overwhelming percentage are fellas looking for enough cash to fuel a weekend bender, but there are a few really good workers in the mix, who may have a rap sheet they aren't proud of, or just haven't found the right employer. I met a guy who weighs 250 pounds and has 3 DUIs, but could build (and demolish) a house in a week.
Anyway, I get fired as foreman. By my dad. I was staying at a little house on the beach that summer, with a couple of friends my age who lifeguarded full-time. They were always out of the door by 7, into the big yellow pickup and onto the sand. I always kind of prided myself at not getting up till 8, and showing up at work only after a big fuckin bowl of some highly sugared cereal. It's the only thing that gets me up. Well, pops wasn't keen on this. He's always been the one pushing me out of bed in the morning, for work or surf, and one morning, after the Count Chocula, I get a bell asking me why I'm not on the site. Then i get fired, then he asks if I want to be the assistant foreman, and then he asks me to remember to bring back his surfboard to the house.
So I stay on the job, but now i have to get up and be there at 6 (construction workdays: 6-3:30, with half-hour for break and two fivers at 10 and 2. Clockwork.). I won't say that i didn't die a little everytime i woke up late and had to rush out the door in wet sock without my sugar-soup, but i won't say that i didn't benefit physically from lifting bricks and 2x4s for eight hours. Builds character, too, apparently. But I would never say as such. Officially i was a carpenter, but I was put on any job that needed doing. I remember the spackling, the carpentry, the jackhammering, loved it after a while. But I'd be amiss to not say that everyone didn't consider me a bit odd being there. Not being the architect's son; nepotism on a site is standard, and if anything that got me more respect.
Throw the R Away
I'm working on a short essay on Christopher Hitchens, not because I have anything interesting to say about him, but just because I am so tormented by his journalistic existence, his means and his ways, his...well, anyway, in the meantime here's of gallery of media on George Galloway, politician noted for his rhetorical ability and his left-wing views, and who famously (in Britain anyway) called Hitchens a drink-sodden ex-Trotskyist popinjay. He is currently the Respect Member of Parliament (MP) for Bethnal Green. My mom loves him. And he deserves a bit of attention (don't send me hate mail) at least for being the biggest mouth in the highest office to critize so directly.
- Galloway believes that Londoner's are "paying the price" for Iraq
- A fun interview ( /arguement/shouting match ) with the BBC4.
- A video of Galloway appearing before the US senate sub-committee
- Hitchens' attack on Galloway in (ack!) the Weekly Standard. I can't believe I'm linking to that stone rag.
- Galloway believes that Londoner's are "paying the price" for Iraq
- A fun interview ( /arguement/shouting match ) with the BBC4.
- A video of Galloway appearing before the US senate sub-committee
- Hitchens' attack on Galloway in (ack!) the Weekly Standard. I can't believe I'm linking to that stone rag.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
HA
Welcome to the age of fear, London. Where a broken down bus closes a section of the city. The police is starting to use its public statements in the same way they did in the US; even though all of the failed-bombers are in custody, MPs are steamrolling in new 'anti-terror' laws to combat the new extremism. Racial profiling, passport checks, and ID cards.
Donnie Darko is getting big here. Related?
Donnie Darko is getting big here. Related?
Musichole
Today I thought i would give you a few interesting links for music. My interests generally lie in the "indie" domain, and most music on the internet lends itself to music uncorrupted by the hands of the EMISonyBMG boheomouth. Independent labels are alive and well in the age of the internet. And the nice thing about indie music is that it is often free.
First the basics: any decent hipster is going to visit Pitchfork at least daily. Forget Rollingstone stars, NME ratings, or the 'now playing' rack at your local used store. Pitchfork delivers daily: 4-5 new record reviews (reviewed 1-10, with decimals!), 3 singles (admittedly only useful for those living in cities where singles make in to stores), news from the like, a daily featue covering a live performance or a celebrity list, and a weekly feature.
Tiny Mix Tapes is in the same vien, but with significant differences; to say that they get sloppy seconds might be a big crude, as reviews actually differ quite a bit between the two sites. TMT do 2 reviews a day (shorter and terse-er than PF) and quite a few features, from 'The Dolorean' (reviews of old records) to interviews with artists, movie reviews, and original essays on topics like how much you should pay for a Brangelina sex tape.
Then there are the music blogs; people doing the same thing i'm doing here, but with more adverts and in a different time zone. A couple of my favorite:
Audiofile
Poplicks
Lacunae
Sixeyes
Audiofile is done by Thomas Bartlett (lead for Doveman) and is hosted on Salon, so go through the rigamarole in getting the Daypass. You can kind of lose your head downloading tracks off of Sixeyes, they have consistently good compilations of music (called 'sixpacks').
Which brings me to actually downloading/buying music. Everyone knows about iTunes, but fewer know about emusic, which features an amazing amount of music from independent labels. And not just new stuff (like the last Bad Religion, Xiu Xiu, or Decemberists album); I've gotten a decent education on British punk (The Fall, Throbbing Gristle, Buzzcocks), post-rock (The Sea and Cake, Tortoise, Laika), and even good goth (This Mortal Coil, Bauhaus, Young God Records). Admittedly, there is less for you if you're into techno or mainstream rap, but plenty if you're willing to search the underground roots of each. Plus you get a trial period with 50 free tracks! If you want to join, email me, as there are incentives for getting someone to join. Fuck yeah i'm selfish.
I also have hacks for select few of you. Email me for details.
First the basics: any decent hipster is going to visit Pitchfork at least daily. Forget Rollingstone stars, NME ratings, or the 'now playing' rack at your local used store. Pitchfork delivers daily: 4-5 new record reviews (reviewed 1-10, with decimals!), 3 singles (admittedly only useful for those living in cities where singles make in to stores), news from the like, a daily featue covering a live performance or a celebrity list, and a weekly feature.
Tiny Mix Tapes is in the same vien, but with significant differences; to say that they get sloppy seconds might be a big crude, as reviews actually differ quite a bit between the two sites. TMT do 2 reviews a day (shorter and terse-er than PF) and quite a few features, from 'The Dolorean' (reviews of old records) to interviews with artists, movie reviews, and original essays on topics like how much you should pay for a Brangelina sex tape.
Then there are the music blogs; people doing the same thing i'm doing here, but with more adverts and in a different time zone. A couple of my favorite:
Audiofile
Poplicks
Lacunae
Sixeyes
Audiofile is done by Thomas Bartlett (lead for Doveman) and is hosted on Salon, so go through the rigamarole in getting the Daypass. You can kind of lose your head downloading tracks off of Sixeyes, they have consistently good compilations of music (called 'sixpacks').
Which brings me to actually downloading/buying music. Everyone knows about iTunes, but fewer know about emusic, which features an amazing amount of music from independent labels. And not just new stuff (like the last Bad Religion, Xiu Xiu, or Decemberists album); I've gotten a decent education on British punk (The Fall, Throbbing Gristle, Buzzcocks), post-rock (The Sea and Cake, Tortoise, Laika), and even good goth (This Mortal Coil, Bauhaus, Young God Records). Admittedly, there is less for you if you're into techno or mainstream rap, but plenty if you're willing to search the underground roots of each. Plus you get a trial period with 50 free tracks! If you want to join, email me, as there are incentives for getting someone to join. Fuck yeah i'm selfish.
I also have hacks for select few of you. Email me for details.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)