Chuck Klosterman and the Library
So, I’ve already finished
Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs and I must say it was a pretty enjoyable read. Klosterman talks about pop culture in some pretty original and unusually humorous ways. The most memorable discussions are his comparison and contrast of Pamela Anderson and Marilyn Monroe, the mostly sad tale of a Guns n’ Roses tribute band, the Lakers vs. Celtics as metaphor for just about everything, his hatred of soccer on principle, and his theory involving John Cusack, Coldplay, love and movies.
That said, though, I must say that sometimes his humorously academic deconstruction of pop culture gets a little tedious. But that’s his shtick. He talks about consumerist tripe as if it was really important. Sometimes a popular movie is nothing more or less than a popular movie.
But this book reminded me of why you borrow books from the library. Right on the title page is a sticky note that I’m looking at right now. Scrawled in pretty bad handwriting is the following:
I miss you
all ready, but
we will see you soon!
Have a wonderful time
And say hi to
everyone!
“Sea turtles come
to greet us”
The sticky note itself is a type of light blue turtle letterhead. This is like something out of
Found magazine. What does it mean? Was this someone’s attempt at communicating to future readers? Or is it just a misplaced, impromptu bookmark?
There is something oddly familiar about it all. Is this from a movie or another book? I can’t help but feel like I’ve seen, read, or heard those phrases before. Anybody recognize it?
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Give thanks with a grateful heart.
Whatcha' Readin'?
I finished
The Cambridge Companion to Heidegger last night. While I must say that I actually understood
some of what those dudes were talking about, say 20%, much more than the primary source, I proclaim that I am done with trying to figure this guy out. I wash my hands of Heidegger. Probably for the rest of my life.
On to Chuck Klosterman's
Sex, Drugs and Cocoa-Puffs.
The Course of True Love
Speaking of Moog Cookbook, it reminds me of my short-lived Moog-inspired romance from way back in the music store days. Her name was Sara and she was a bohemian-looking girl who came into the store looking for “moog artists.” This was no more than a month after I had discovered the genius of the Cookbook.
Was this the perfect woman? A girl who listens to moog music? Was this the hand of fate, subtly giving us a push, bringing us together?
No.
After about a week of phone conversation, it became obvious that we had nothing more than nerdy musical obsession in common. I had to set her free-- namely, stop calling her.
Live Music this Weekend!
This shall be the weekend of seeing my friends play music live. I would encourage you to do likewise.
Tonight (Friday, November 17)
The Stringents Rock n' Roll String Quartet
at the Red Cup 31st and Classen
8 pm
Tomorrow (Saturday, November 18)
Justin, Amanda and Stef Fortney (and other sepcial guests)
at Starbucks NW Expressway and Macarthur
8 pm
Maybe I'll see some familiar faces there.
The Moog Cookbook by The Moog Cookbook (1996)
A Random CD Review from the Stutzman Memorial Archive
The Moog Cookbook by The Moog Cookbook (1996)
Here’s why you should never let friends borrow CDs. It’s the equivalent of kissing that CD goodbye. I haven’t heard this album in about three or four years-loaned to a friend who shall remain nameless. But I know who you are.
There are two Moog Cookbook albums that I know about. This is the first one, a collection of mostly early-to-mid 90s hits arranged into instrumentals and played on vintage 70s analog synthesizers, most notably, the Moog. The brain behind this stuff was Roger Manning, who I know quite well from the criminally overlooked powerpop band Jellyfish, as well as some session work with Beck. This is some of the most amusing listening in the Stutzman Memorial Library. Why? A couple reasons:
1) Musical instruments, (no matter what kind- flute, sax, didgeridoo, or PolyMoog), attempting to recreate the subtleties of human vocals, especially rock n’ roll vocals, ALWAYS wind up sounding a little off-kilter and “white.” I think it’s well-nigh impossible to try to recreate a recorded rock n’ roll vocal performance on an instrument and make it sound cool.
2) On top of this fact is that the arrangements are intentionally non-rock n’ roll and lacking in the “power” and “soul” that we have come to assume in songs like “Rocking in the Free World,” and “Basketcase.” For example, as
Jay will tell you, it’s impossible for the synth sound on the verses of “Free World” to sound like anything other than an angry muppet. But that’s the charm of this music—it skewers our assumptions of the importance of rock n’ roll but not in a sneering, subversive way, but in a light-hearted, comical way. Most of the sounds contained herein were cutting edge about thirty or forty years ago.
Now that I think about it, I am heavily invested in the idea of musical satire like this. There is something about unnaturalness in music that just kills me. It’s just so hilarious. Ergo Frank Zappa and maybe even Grandpa Griffith.
Some of my favorite moments: the monotone speak and spell verses to Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’,” the laser battle in “Come Out and Play,” the melodramatic intro to Weezer’s “Buddy Holly,” followed by its’ mid-tempo polka and the entire arrangement of Green Day’s “Basketcase,” which sounds like the soundtrack to “Who Cares Wins.”
Anyway, you’ve not lived until you’ve heard rock favorites played with a latin organ beatbox, accompanied by blitzy, bloopy whiny synthesizers. This stuff is highly recommended.
Shepherd Moons By Enya (1991)
So, it’s been a little bit since last I wrote. I know the public is clamoring for more discourse from on high, so I must resign myself to their wishes.
A Random CD Review from the Stutzman Memorial Library
Shepherd Moons by Enya (1991)
#194 in the Memorial Library is Enya’s
Shepherd Moons. There is a lot of personal guilt and shame associated with this album. For one, Enya’s music is a bit of a guilty pleasure for me. There are some musical circles in which Enya is considered “uncool” listening-- fodder for upwardly mobile adult-contemporary folks and new-agey crystal worshippers. And of course, the general pleasantness of her music is anathema to anyone with a commitment to rock n’ roll of any kind. I’m not exactly sure who decides what should count as a guilty pleasure and what should count as a regular pleasure. Is there an actual person whose job title is “Tastemaker?” Don’t know.
But here’s what I know about this album. It’s simultaneously simple and complicated. The simplicity is demonstrated in how she serves up melodies on a silver platter in strophic forms, (i.e. verse-chorus, repeat as desired), with uncomplicated harmony that never strays further afield than the occasional secondary dominant. The two best examples of this are found in the traditional songs “How Can I Keep From Singing,” and “Marble Halls”-both fine tunes that sound kind of updated with the Enya treatment.
And that’s exactly where the complexity comes in—the pristine production style. I think that’s what I find so fascinating about Enya’s music. It’s a combination of state-of-the art electronics, (for the time), all kinds of digital synth textures and artificial reverbs, sounding alongside real world acoustic instruments. (The cornet solo on “Evacuee” is just gorgeous.) But all of the electronic sounds are in service to the songs, and therefore, are quite subtle. This ain’t a techno album.
The first time I heard this disc, I didn’t like it. The soft, pleasant sounds and her elf-like voice were unnerving to me. I came from a mostly rock n’ roll pedigree, in which nice sounds were usually just a temporary catch-your-breath moment before the crushing distorted guitars and screaming, angst-ridden vocals came back in. I reached a real aesthetic epiphany when I realized this subconscious uneasiness I had with her music. Music this fragile just had to foreshadow noisy angst. I was waiting for the explosion. Waiting for Enya to scream.
But it never happened.
Maybe this Enya lady was all right with leaving the angst out and just wanted to make beautiful music. Funny how foreign that idea was to me and my late junior high brain. Once I had that realization, I could relax and just appreciate the beauty. Now that I think about it, maybe this Enya music prepared me for Reich-ian minimalism six or seven years later.
I’ve also kind of felt sorry for Enya. Her process of making music seems so solitary and lonely-just her, a piano, and a room full of synths, most of the time. I think that one of the reasons her music is so recognizable is that it’s so personal. I don’t know that she ever collaborates with anybody in the creative process. As a musician myself, that’s a blessing and a curse. It would be a lot simpler to not have to deal with other musicians, not have to compromise or try to explain your ideas. But at the same time, you would miss out on some of the rare “magical” moments that arise in the process of performing music with other people.
Like I said at the outset, this album is a guilty pleasure for me. I think there are some really beautiful moments captured on here. But I also have some guilt in knowing that I have “permanently borrowed” it from my parents. But that’s all right; my mom stole my disc of Chopin’s
Nocturnes and
Preludes.
Adrian Belew Live at the Granada Theater 11/1/2006
I’m sitting here writing this in the odd confines of a service department waiting room. I wanted to get this down while it’s fresh in my mind. Last night, (Wednesday night), Jeff and Ryan and I went to see Adrian Belew live in Dallas at the Granada Theater. They were good sports for coming along, even though I am the one who is freakishly fanatical about Belew and his music.
First of all, the Granada. I had never seen a show there before. It was surprisingly easy to get to and parking was so easy it seemed like we were committing a crime, parking for free no more than thirty yards from the front door. And the usher was tearing our tickets just as Adrian and his two young musical co-conspirators were beginning their show with the blistering “Writing on the Wall.” We could not have planned the pre-show timing any better. The Granada is in a part of Dallas that reminds me of Western Ave in Northwest Oklahoma City. The venue itself is reminiscent of the Will Rogers Theater.
It was rather bizarre to walk up into a mostly empty balcony with the crushing rhythm of the Adrian Belew Trio as the soundtrack. I can’t describe to you the rush of walking into that room and seeing and hearing one of my musical heroes in person, so close that he could possibly see and hear me. It was just surreal. Until last night Adrian Belew didn’t even exist in the same plane of reality for me. He existed in my ears, on CDs, on King Crimson DVDs, but not in the same three dimensions as me. It didn’t seem possible. (Do I sound like a fanboy yet?)
But there he was, pulling off that strange beautiful music with more power than I had experienced before: the subs pumping when Julie Slick would play low down on the bass. (Insert comment about testicle-rumbling bass tones here.) We discussed in the car on the way down about the vague “something extra” that accompanies seeing music performed live. And I know I was certainly transfixed for the whole show. I know this music really well, so I can’t possibly give a clear, unbiased account of what occurred, but I can speak in some generalities.
The venue felt like just the perfect size for this group. They weren’t swallowed by a cavernous space and the mix was pretty clear and powerful the whole time, the vocals pretty comprehensible, those magnificently weird guitar sounds up front. As far as material, most of the Crimson standards were represented—Jeff and I sharing knowing looks during his new faves-“Dinosaur” and “Three of a Perfect Pair,” which sounded really powerful, as did “Frame by Frame,” "Thela Hun Jingeet," and “Elephant Talk,” off the
Discipline album. The Belew solo material focused on the newest
Sides 1-3 stuff: “Drive,” “Ampersand,” “Beat Box Guitar,” (which I have just recently come to love), and “Matchless Man.” But I was very pleased to hear some middle period stuff like “Of Bow and Drum” off my favorite album
Op Zop Too Wah, which Adrian said he never got a chance to tour behind and “Young Lions,” both of which I didn’t expect to hear.
It’s quite a thrill to see music like this stuff pulled off live with such aplomb. Adrian seems to be having a good time up there, with his young band, making those odd meters and guitar gymnastics look pretty easy. And I haven’t even begun to discuss how great his voice is. But all things come to an end, as this concert did. (I could have listened to them for another hour and a half or so, my love for the music is so great.) And Adrian ended the show a little oddly, by improvising some loops with synth and guitar and creating “walk-off music” for the audience, inviting them to leave whenever they wanted to or hang around and listen to the music “do its’ thing,” betraying the musical Minimalist mindset that I have come to know and love over the years.
I haven’t smiled so much during a concert in a long time.
It was pretty easy for me to stay awake for the three hour drive back home.
