I've finally started reading a book my good friend gave me for my birthday last year. A novel called Walking On Glass by Iain Banks. And I am overwhelmed by the pure imagination of it. The actual prose doesn't quite meet Elmore Leonards 10 rules of writing, but it is a great read nonetheless. A crazy story about a guy in love and two strange people locked in a strange castle, forced to play games endlessly, and a hole in a ceiling that can put you inside the head of anybody on the planet. Its even more remarkable that it was written in 1985.
I had a job in the summer that was so tedious that one particular day, during the course of my eight hour shift, I attempted to list in my mind, chronologically, every band I discovered and the corresponding albums, all the way from my very first memories of listening to music to present day. Essentially a family tree of musical influences, for better or for worse. On another day I tried to list,mentally, every great film I have seen, and if possible where I saw it. That level of tedium has to be experienced first hand, for one to truly understand it.
I was thinking earlier about the most important components of writing. This is what I came up with: Prose, your writers voice, structure, and pure imagination. I'm not really very good at any of them but I think its true all the same.
I've been watching An Idiot Abroad and The Trip recently. Both are fantastic. And more to the point, both are quintessentially british. The Trip is a show wherein you literally watch Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon talk and argue over dinner. An Idiot Abroad is a travel documentary that follows Karl Pilkington as he travels to the seven wonders of the world and basically complains to the camera about all that he sees. The final episode was filmed back in the studio, though. And features Karl talking to Steven merchant and Ricky Gervais about his experiences. While watching these shows I tried to imagine ever watching a similar program from any other country and enjoying it. Let alone this much. The Trip, especially, is a work of near genius. And like I said a minute ago, is literally two men having a discussion over dinner. Albeit, a hilarious discussion. And this seems to me, to be a distinctly british creation. You would never see a similar show made in Canada or America. Especially a show of such honesty, such intelligence, that most importantly, isn't contrived or pretentious. And its what makes great british television so great.
For me, british television and films have always produced the best comedy, and continue to do so. I think its an irrefutable law of nature, really.
Oh and I am still struggling to get past just how good the Terry Wogan hosted episode of Nevermind the Buzzcocks was. Man alive. No wonder the man is an institution.
Also, I recently read The Killer Inside Me by Jim Thompson. I was amazed at how well it was written. Such a well realized, singular vision. The line "it was like pounding on a pumpkin, hard at first then everything just gave in.", will be stuck in my brain forever.
I've been tired for a week. Well, technically speaking I've been tired forever, but especially this week.
Discipline is something that has been sorely missing in my life, also I miss Barcelona.
And now, quite abruptly, I seem to have run out of stuff to say.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
In praise of the Horror film, a strange and wonderful thing.
Having just sat here watching the latest news update on the Liverpool situation, and now watching images of Wayne Rooney warming up on the Wembley pitch, coupled with images of Adrian Childs presenting the pre-game coverage, my mind has inexplicably wandered onto the subject of my favourite horror films.
Yeah, sure, you might be thinking that Halloween being just around the corner might have something to do with it too, but in comparison with the aforementioned horror shows, only partially.
When I get right down to it, the horror genre might be my favourite of film genres. It is coincidentally also the hardest to get right. For every ten horror films you watch, you might, if your lucky, see one good film. And every once in awhile you'll see a great one. But the bad horror films are generally capital B Bad.
All half joking aside, October is traditionally the season for watching and celebrating horror films. Last night I watched the first part of a three part documentary on the history of the horror film. It was fantastic and got me warmed up and in the mood to watch my old favourites. Films like John Carpenters The Thing, starring the brilliant Kurt Russell, and of course his seminal Halloween. A film I still struggle to watch by myself. I got the urge to watch all the classic Vincent Price films. The Pit and the Pendulum, Fall of the House of Usher, The Raven,House on Haunted Hill, House of Wax, Masque of the Red Death, and The Last Man on Earth.
I started thinking about the Evil Dead trilogy. Starring the iconic Bruce Campbell, and the brilliant kinetic camera work of Sam Raimi. I got the urge to watch Rosemary's Baby, and The Exorcist. And the original and greatest vampire film, Todd Browns Dracula. Starring Bela Legosi in one of the most memorable performances of all time. My mind wandered to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, still possibly the most disturbing horror film I've seen. The list goes on and on. James Whales Frankenstein. The 1978 remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, starring the legendary Donald Sutherland. And while on the subject of Sutherland, you can't not think about Nicholas Roags brilliant and disturbing Don't Look Back.
And that's not even getting into the modern french horror films like Martyrs, L'Interior, Switchblade Romance,or Ils. Or Brad Anderson's Session Nine. And I've skipped over the films of Dario Argento. The list, when you get your brain going, really is stupendously long. Peter Jackson's sensationally gory classic Brain Dead. The Friday the 13th films, though only good for their comic value now. Or the recent Paranormal Activity and Rec.
Horror films if nothing else, are easily the most fun. The other night I watched a couple of Lucio Fulci films. He was an infamous and legendary Italian filmmaker famous for his graphic violence and realistic special effects, who frequently combined extreme gore with religious themes. I watched The Beyond, and The House By The Cemetery. His films definitely aren't for everybody, especially if judged by today's standards, and both the films I watched, featured laughable (badly dubbed)over-acting, and both plots were a bit weak to say the least. But the effects were ingenious and even by today's standards oddly disturbing. And the weird melodramatic music added strange, sinister, otherworldly overtones to the whole thing.
Its a weird thing about horror films, in particular with horror film buffs, that unlike most other film genres, bad acting and silly plots and even cheesy special effects doesn't necessarily equal a bad film. It's why critical reviews of horror films are often misleading or even miss the point completely. You can't really judge a horror film the way you would a drama or a thriller, where good acting and writing, and a strong plot are essential to keep the viewers attention from beginning to end. A horror film might be awful but if you watch it in the right circumstances, it can still be a fun experience.
Take the Midnight Madness program at the Toronto International Film festival. Midnight Madness is a program of films shown at midnight through out the festival, purposely made up of the weird, terrible, horrifying, and hilarious. Plenty of great films have played this program, alongside many a terrible film. And oddly, the best experience is often watching the terrible film. The audience laughs together at all the bad dialogue and groans together at all the ridiculous plot twists.
That experience doesn't really exist with other film genres.A horror film can have less than good dialogue, and wooden acting but can still disturb you so much that you struggle getting it out of your head.
Of course, in the end, the great ones, the truly great horror films, stand tall against any of the classic films from other genres. Its a rare thing to get the story, the acting, the dialogue, the effects, and most importantly, the pacing right in a horror film. And when it works, it is something to behold.
Of course, in recent years, great horror films have become even rarer. Especially in America. Mainstream American horror films have been embarrassingly exposed by groundbreaking French, Spanish and Korean horror films. International filmmakers seem genuinely interested in subverting the genre. In raising the bar and testing the limits of the horror film. Where as mainstream American horror films seem startlingly uninspired. Content to rehash old ideas. To remake old or foreign horror films(films often loved and celebrated), and turn them into empty vessels made as generic as possible, presumably to ensure the largest possible audience. Hollywood seems afraid to take risks now.
Fortunately we can turn to the classics. To the great American horror films of the seventies and eighties. And all the rest.
It is a strange thing, that it could be so much fun trying to scare the shit out of yourself.
Yeah, sure, you might be thinking that Halloween being just around the corner might have something to do with it too, but in comparison with the aforementioned horror shows, only partially.
When I get right down to it, the horror genre might be my favourite of film genres. It is coincidentally also the hardest to get right. For every ten horror films you watch, you might, if your lucky, see one good film. And every once in awhile you'll see a great one. But the bad horror films are generally capital B Bad.
All half joking aside, October is traditionally the season for watching and celebrating horror films. Last night I watched the first part of a three part documentary on the history of the horror film. It was fantastic and got me warmed up and in the mood to watch my old favourites. Films like John Carpenters The Thing, starring the brilliant Kurt Russell, and of course his seminal Halloween. A film I still struggle to watch by myself. I got the urge to watch all the classic Vincent Price films. The Pit and the Pendulum, Fall of the House of Usher, The Raven,House on Haunted Hill, House of Wax, Masque of the Red Death, and The Last Man on Earth.
I started thinking about the Evil Dead trilogy. Starring the iconic Bruce Campbell, and the brilliant kinetic camera work of Sam Raimi. I got the urge to watch Rosemary's Baby, and The Exorcist. And the original and greatest vampire film, Todd Browns Dracula. Starring Bela Legosi in one of the most memorable performances of all time. My mind wandered to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, still possibly the most disturbing horror film I've seen. The list goes on and on. James Whales Frankenstein. The 1978 remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, starring the legendary Donald Sutherland. And while on the subject of Sutherland, you can't not think about Nicholas Roags brilliant and disturbing Don't Look Back.
And that's not even getting into the modern french horror films like Martyrs, L'Interior, Switchblade Romance,or Ils. Or Brad Anderson's Session Nine. And I've skipped over the films of Dario Argento. The list, when you get your brain going, really is stupendously long. Peter Jackson's sensationally gory classic Brain Dead. The Friday the 13th films, though only good for their comic value now. Or the recent Paranormal Activity and Rec.
Horror films if nothing else, are easily the most fun. The other night I watched a couple of Lucio Fulci films. He was an infamous and legendary Italian filmmaker famous for his graphic violence and realistic special effects, who frequently combined extreme gore with religious themes. I watched The Beyond, and The House By The Cemetery. His films definitely aren't for everybody, especially if judged by today's standards, and both the films I watched, featured laughable (badly dubbed)over-acting, and both plots were a bit weak to say the least. But the effects were ingenious and even by today's standards oddly disturbing. And the weird melodramatic music added strange, sinister, otherworldly overtones to the whole thing.
Its a weird thing about horror films, in particular with horror film buffs, that unlike most other film genres, bad acting and silly plots and even cheesy special effects doesn't necessarily equal a bad film. It's why critical reviews of horror films are often misleading or even miss the point completely. You can't really judge a horror film the way you would a drama or a thriller, where good acting and writing, and a strong plot are essential to keep the viewers attention from beginning to end. A horror film might be awful but if you watch it in the right circumstances, it can still be a fun experience.
Take the Midnight Madness program at the Toronto International Film festival. Midnight Madness is a program of films shown at midnight through out the festival, purposely made up of the weird, terrible, horrifying, and hilarious. Plenty of great films have played this program, alongside many a terrible film. And oddly, the best experience is often watching the terrible film. The audience laughs together at all the bad dialogue and groans together at all the ridiculous plot twists.
That experience doesn't really exist with other film genres.A horror film can have less than good dialogue, and wooden acting but can still disturb you so much that you struggle getting it out of your head.
Of course, in the end, the great ones, the truly great horror films, stand tall against any of the classic films from other genres. Its a rare thing to get the story, the acting, the dialogue, the effects, and most importantly, the pacing right in a horror film. And when it works, it is something to behold.
Of course, in recent years, great horror films have become even rarer. Especially in America. Mainstream American horror films have been embarrassingly exposed by groundbreaking French, Spanish and Korean horror films. International filmmakers seem genuinely interested in subverting the genre. In raising the bar and testing the limits of the horror film. Where as mainstream American horror films seem startlingly uninspired. Content to rehash old ideas. To remake old or foreign horror films(films often loved and celebrated), and turn them into empty vessels made as generic as possible, presumably to ensure the largest possible audience. Hollywood seems afraid to take risks now.
Fortunately we can turn to the classics. To the great American horror films of the seventies and eighties. And all the rest.
It is a strange thing, that it could be so much fun trying to scare the shit out of yourself.
Friday, October 08, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
...transmission...
"...strong winds from the east...heavy organ rain...the deep rumble of horses running somewhere in the distance...babies crying...on the other side of the forest...darkness falls...the tall stranger smiles..."
Friday, September 03, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Sweden Stories (part one): Songs and Sunrises
We rode the train from Stockholm up to Ostersund City, the site of Tomas and Cecilia's wedding extravaganza. Stockholm is on the bottom of the country and Ostersund is in the middle, and the train ride was roughly seven hours. We departed just before midnight and arrived early the next morning. We grabbed our seats, our barely reclinable,fairly uncomfortable seats, after an uncertain thirty minutes waiting on the platform, wondering if we had somehow made a mistake and missed our train.
We sat in our seats, trying to relax and prepare ourselves for the journey ahead. We got our books out and our ipods and our water and then sat in that awkward silence you always find sitting on a train with its engine turned off. Everybody around us sat in the same silence. We talked in that hushed whisper you always seem to use in these social situations. A dude sat across from me, in the seats across the aisle, looked kind of like Iggy Pop, and Nic, a bit louder than she had intended, whispered to Ryan, "Hey,that guy looks like Iggy Pops brother." I'm not sure if the dude heard her, but I heard her and I tried laughing as quietly as I could.
The light on the train was murky and strange. The interior of the car had a vaguely 1970's kind of look going on. Still a far cry from the trains running from Budapest to Greece though. I can tell you that.
Once we set off, we all tried to relax and stretch out a bit. Books were read, little conversations were had, windows were stared out of, eventually Ryan and Nic closed their eyes and tried to sleep. I'm terrible for sleeping on trains, or planes or cars and though I have less experience on them, I'd imagine boats too. So I read for a bit longer and stared out a bit more. Then I turned to my i-pod Clarence the second. The recently and tragically deceased Clarence the Second.
I put on my headphones and searched for music that would be appropriate for an overnight train journey through the Swedish countryside,such as the one I was on. I was feeling something quiet. Something soundscapey, if that's a word? Something beautiful. Maybe something melancholy.
Very quickly I was drawn to a few albums to which I am always drawn when on long quiet beautiful journeys and a few new records as well.
For the next six or seven hours this is what I listened to, not necessarily in this order:
- All three discs of Joanna Newsoms newest record Have One On Me, and Joanna Newsoms previous record Ys.
- Explosions In The Sky's albums All Of A Sudden I Miss Everyone, and The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place.
- Mum's albums Finally We Are No One, Yesterday was Dramatic Today Is Okay, and Summer Make Good.
- Arvo Part's beautiful album Alina.
- Brian Eno's album Music For Airports.
- Manitoba's debut record Start Breaking My Heart
- Boards of Canada's album Twoism.
Now I realize that's roughly ten hours of music I've claimed on a seven hour train ride. So I must have skipped a bit here and there, though I have no recollection of doing so. I also feel like I've left out a few things that escape my memory. Who knows, maybe this was a magic train journey, where having become so enraptured with the stunning natural beauty of the Swedish countryside, seven hours turned into twelve!
This time of the year in Sweden, the sun never really sets. In Stockholm it got to a kind of dark dusk for three or four hours before brightening again. When you walked out of a club at 3am you found yourself standing in a weird half light, and sleepiness abandoned you and you just wanted to keep going. Maybe run down the main street kicking garbage cans and ringing door bells. Maybe try and run over a construction site like you were on the Japanese game show Ninja Warrior. And maybe Ryan would slip and hurt his ankle. Or maybe not.
Ostersund being much farther north, the night stayed even brighter. This made the last half of the journey to Ostersund kind of strange. I remember sitting looking out the window, with the new Joanna Newsom record on my headphones, as the sunrise began somewhere around 2 or 3am and it seemed to sit just on the horizon,clinging to the side of the earth, for the rest of the journey. I remember listening to the uplifting crashing drums of Explosions In The Sky as the sky carried the same light in it hours later. A never ending sunrise. Everything bathed in deep reds and oranges and yellows. The trees and forests and fields of Sweden silhouetted against an always rising sun. It was something to behold.
Suggested listening for anyone riding the overnight train from Stockholm to Ostersund:
1.) Mum - Finally We Are No One. Yesterday Was Dramatic Today Is Okay. Summer Make Good.
2.) Brian Eno - Music For Airports. Thursday Afternoon.
3.) Explosions In The Sky - The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place. Suddenly I Miss Everyone.
4.) Arvo Part - Alina
5.) Joanna Newsom - Ys. Have One On Me.
6.) Boards of Canada - Twoism. Hi-Scores.
7.) Manitoba - Start breaking My Heart.
8.) Caribou (formerly Manitoba) - Swim.
I would suggest though, if you do happen to find yourself sat across from a gentleman who may or may not be Iggy Pop's brother, that you tell your friends discretely. Then sit back and enjoy the great hair, tight jean, weathered face combination.
We sat in our seats, trying to relax and prepare ourselves for the journey ahead. We got our books out and our ipods and our water and then sat in that awkward silence you always find sitting on a train with its engine turned off. Everybody around us sat in the same silence. We talked in that hushed whisper you always seem to use in these social situations. A dude sat across from me, in the seats across the aisle, looked kind of like Iggy Pop, and Nic, a bit louder than she had intended, whispered to Ryan, "Hey,that guy looks like Iggy Pops brother." I'm not sure if the dude heard her, but I heard her and I tried laughing as quietly as I could.
The light on the train was murky and strange. The interior of the car had a vaguely 1970's kind of look going on. Still a far cry from the trains running from Budapest to Greece though. I can tell you that.
Once we set off, we all tried to relax and stretch out a bit. Books were read, little conversations were had, windows were stared out of, eventually Ryan and Nic closed their eyes and tried to sleep. I'm terrible for sleeping on trains, or planes or cars and though I have less experience on them, I'd imagine boats too. So I read for a bit longer and stared out a bit more. Then I turned to my i-pod Clarence the second. The recently and tragically deceased Clarence the Second.
I put on my headphones and searched for music that would be appropriate for an overnight train journey through the Swedish countryside,such as the one I was on. I was feeling something quiet. Something soundscapey, if that's a word? Something beautiful. Maybe something melancholy.
Very quickly I was drawn to a few albums to which I am always drawn when on long quiet beautiful journeys and a few new records as well.
For the next six or seven hours this is what I listened to, not necessarily in this order:
- All three discs of Joanna Newsoms newest record Have One On Me, and Joanna Newsoms previous record Ys.
- Explosions In The Sky's albums All Of A Sudden I Miss Everyone, and The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place.
- Mum's albums Finally We Are No One, Yesterday was Dramatic Today Is Okay, and Summer Make Good.
- Arvo Part's beautiful album Alina.
- Brian Eno's album Music For Airports.
- Manitoba's debut record Start Breaking My Heart
- Boards of Canada's album Twoism.
Now I realize that's roughly ten hours of music I've claimed on a seven hour train ride. So I must have skipped a bit here and there, though I have no recollection of doing so. I also feel like I've left out a few things that escape my memory. Who knows, maybe this was a magic train journey, where having become so enraptured with the stunning natural beauty of the Swedish countryside, seven hours turned into twelve!
This time of the year in Sweden, the sun never really sets. In Stockholm it got to a kind of dark dusk for three or four hours before brightening again. When you walked out of a club at 3am you found yourself standing in a weird half light, and sleepiness abandoned you and you just wanted to keep going. Maybe run down the main street kicking garbage cans and ringing door bells. Maybe try and run over a construction site like you were on the Japanese game show Ninja Warrior. And maybe Ryan would slip and hurt his ankle. Or maybe not.
Ostersund being much farther north, the night stayed even brighter. This made the last half of the journey to Ostersund kind of strange. I remember sitting looking out the window, with the new Joanna Newsom record on my headphones, as the sunrise began somewhere around 2 or 3am and it seemed to sit just on the horizon,clinging to the side of the earth, for the rest of the journey. I remember listening to the uplifting crashing drums of Explosions In The Sky as the sky carried the same light in it hours later. A never ending sunrise. Everything bathed in deep reds and oranges and yellows. The trees and forests and fields of Sweden silhouetted against an always rising sun. It was something to behold.
Suggested listening for anyone riding the overnight train from Stockholm to Ostersund:
1.) Mum - Finally We Are No One. Yesterday Was Dramatic Today Is Okay. Summer Make Good.
2.) Brian Eno - Music For Airports. Thursday Afternoon.
3.) Explosions In The Sky - The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place. Suddenly I Miss Everyone.
4.) Arvo Part - Alina
5.) Joanna Newsom - Ys. Have One On Me.
6.) Boards of Canada - Twoism. Hi-Scores.
7.) Manitoba - Start breaking My Heart.
8.) Caribou (formerly Manitoba) - Swim.
I would suggest though, if you do happen to find yourself sat across from a gentleman who may or may not be Iggy Pop's brother, that you tell your friends discretely. Then sit back and enjoy the great hair, tight jean, weathered face combination.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Friday, June 04, 2010
Thursday, June 03, 2010
.!.!.!.!.!.!...!.!.!.!.
Electronic Night Music Vol.3 (Oct.8th, 2009, 3:14am)
1. Dog Got A Bone - Beta Band
2. Through The Night These days - Jason Collett
3. The Continuing Story Of Bungalow Bill - The Beatles
4. Heather Knights(Porch version) - Buck 65
5. Bad Dream/Hartford's Beat Suite - Magik Markers
6. Please Don't Go - Floyd Dixon
7. Old Grey House - The Dinner Is Ruined
8. Five String Serenade - Mazzy Star
9. Salty Dog - Cat Power
10. Heart Of Stone - The Rolling Stones
11. Tragedy - Hayden
12. Mercy - Timber Timbre
13. The News Of Your Son - The Joel Plaskett Emergency
14. North - Phoenix
15. Indifference - Pearl Jam
16. Long As I Can See The Light - Creedence Clearwater Revival
17. Bird On the Wire - Leonard Cohen
1. Dog Got A Bone - Beta Band
2. Through The Night These days - Jason Collett
3. The Continuing Story Of Bungalow Bill - The Beatles
4. Heather Knights(Porch version) - Buck 65
5. Bad Dream/Hartford's Beat Suite - Magik Markers
6. Please Don't Go - Floyd Dixon
7. Old Grey House - The Dinner Is Ruined
8. Five String Serenade - Mazzy Star
9. Salty Dog - Cat Power
10. Heart Of Stone - The Rolling Stones
11. Tragedy - Hayden
12. Mercy - Timber Timbre
13. The News Of Your Son - The Joel Plaskett Emergency
14. North - Phoenix
15. Indifference - Pearl Jam
16. Long As I Can See The Light - Creedence Clearwater Revival
17. Bird On the Wire - Leonard Cohen
The joy of discovering.
You ever stumble on something, a book, or a newspaper column or a website, or a magazine or something, read it and just think shit. Whoever wrote this is way smarter and way cleverer than me. You know, when you read someones opinions on stuff and they just seem more informed, and grammatically gifted than you? And witty on a level you can barely grasp? This happened to me when I first read A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. It happened the first time I discovered Charlie Brooker and Marina Hyde in the Guardian newspaper. It happens a lot when I read The Onion. And most recently it happened while I was reading the monthly email from McSweeneys Quarterly magazine. They put up a link for a website called The Rumpus. I clicked on it, and to tell you the truth I'm still trying to get my head around it. The link on McSweeneys was advertising a new book club The Rumpus have set up, but once I got on the website I just started reading snippets of all the different stuff on the site, and I signed up for the newsletter.
I just received the latest newsletter about five minutes ago, and its why I'm writing this right now. The newsletter, and I assume most of the website is written by this guy called Stephen Elliott and the stuff he writes makes me interested, makes me laugh, makes me think and makes me despair for this world all at once. I guess like all the writers I love reading. Writers like that always give me the feeling that at anytime something they're writing might go right over my head, or simply make me pause with admiration at any moment, and it is exhilarating. But then again, I might be alone in this line of thought. I often am.
Either way, you should check it out and judge for yourself. The Rumpus. He writes about politics and popular culture and all sorts of other random stuff. Currently he's talking quite a bit about a bill some politicians are trying to put through in San Francisco that would make it illegal for homeless people to lie down. To stop them sleeping on the streets.
Anyway, you should check it out and if your interested or haven't already done so you should also look out for Marina Hyde and Charlie Brooker in the Guardian. Their respective columns(and books) make for hilarious and very satisfying reading. Writers like them give me hope in this increasingly hopeless world. Sorry if that sounds grim. I didn't mean to put you in a downer, friend. If it helps my neighbours have three giant gorgeous black Newfoundland dogs named Oscar, Angus and Yogi. They are the gentlest dogs you'll ever meet. I try to stop by and see them at least once a day. Oscar is my favourite. He has a grumpy old man face and tries in vain to make people think he's intimidating but he can't hide his gentle nature. His eyes give it away. Hope that brightened you up a little bit. Now go read The Rumpus.
I just received the latest newsletter about five minutes ago, and its why I'm writing this right now. The newsletter, and I assume most of the website is written by this guy called Stephen Elliott and the stuff he writes makes me interested, makes me laugh, makes me think and makes me despair for this world all at once. I guess like all the writers I love reading. Writers like that always give me the feeling that at anytime something they're writing might go right over my head, or simply make me pause with admiration at any moment, and it is exhilarating. But then again, I might be alone in this line of thought. I often am.
Either way, you should check it out and judge for yourself. The Rumpus. He writes about politics and popular culture and all sorts of other random stuff. Currently he's talking quite a bit about a bill some politicians are trying to put through in San Francisco that would make it illegal for homeless people to lie down. To stop them sleeping on the streets.
Anyway, you should check it out and if your interested or haven't already done so you should also look out for Marina Hyde and Charlie Brooker in the Guardian. Their respective columns(and books) make for hilarious and very satisfying reading. Writers like them give me hope in this increasingly hopeless world. Sorry if that sounds grim. I didn't mean to put you in a downer, friend. If it helps my neighbours have three giant gorgeous black Newfoundland dogs named Oscar, Angus and Yogi. They are the gentlest dogs you'll ever meet. I try to stop by and see them at least once a day. Oscar is my favourite. He has a grumpy old man face and tries in vain to make people think he's intimidating but he can't hide his gentle nature. His eyes give it away. Hope that brightened you up a little bit. Now go read The Rumpus.
Friday, May 28, 2010
What would Lance Bangs say?
I stopped buying Mojo Magazine a couple of years ago, having grown bored of the predictable front covers and feature articles featuring/recycling bands like Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Nirvana, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Joy Division, and the occasional genre special. I expected nothing from music publications like Q, Spin, Rolling Stone, and especially NME.
None of those magazines have ever been accused of having much integrity or substance with regards to the music they feature and review. Choosing mainly to give false press to lesser bands to help create trends and hype, and especially in the case of the NME, to then perpetuate that myth, by giving blanket coverage to the bands they've hyped up, constantly moving on to the next new band in an effort to keep their readers from realizing the truth of it all.
But Mojo has a strong pedigree of music journalism. Of quality and substance. Which makes it so disconcerting to read it in its current manifestation. Like I said, I was a loyal reader until a couple of years ago, when I couldn't take the mediocrity anymore. But yesterday while passing through Tescos I was suckered into buying one more issue. They had put Tom Waits on the cover which ordinarily wouldn't have been enough, despite my love of everything Tom Waits does. But not only was Tom Waits on the cover but he was the guest-editor. Sorry, but my willpower is only so strong, and I bought it without another thought.
Now don't get me wrong, this months issue does have some strong articles and features. Not the least of which being a cd specially compiled by Tom Waits for Mojo magazine, featuring a bunch of his favourite artists and songs. Who doesn't want the knowledge and history contained on that cd?? The issue also features several lists of Tom's favourite films and music, and several articles about albums and artists that impacted him personally. It also has a great article on Harry Belafonte and an extended article about some of the major moments in music in the last 200 issues of Mojo. Sorry, I forgot to mention this issue was also the 200th issue of Mojo Magazine. So yeah, plenty of quality to be found, and to warrant the spending of £4.50.
But then you reach the reviews section. What I consider to be the infamous Mojo reviews section. And at this point Lance Bangs would have laughed his ass off.
This month Mojo reviewed 81 albums. 81 albums. Now of those 81 albums they gave 39 albums a four star review. They gave 39 albums a three star review, and they gave 3 albums, a mere 3 albums, a two star review. Just so you can gauge the ridiculousness of this, here's the Mojo ratings legend as featured in Mojo Magazine:
***** MOJO classic
**** Brilliant!
*** Good
** Disappointing
* Best avoided
no star - deplorable
So by their own standards Mojo considers 78 of the 81 albums reviewed this month to be Good to Brilliant!78! Keeping in mind I have heard none of these albums personally, just by ratio alone I find this very hard to believe. I mean, included amongst the three and four star reviews are albums by Tom Petty, The Chemical Brothers, The Apples in Stereo, Roky Erickson, Solomon Burke and Crowded House. It seems perfectly plausible to me that these bands might very well deserve their review. But also included and more importantly, are albums by Scissor Sisters, Nas and Damian Marley, We are Scientists, Hot Hot Heat, Mike Patton, Robyn, Kele Okereke(singer from Bloc Party), Scorpions, Sandi Thom, and Micah P Hinson.
I should mention, the only albums of the lot to get less then a good review were an album by Dan Sartain, an album by The Magic Numbers, and an album by the Pernice Brothers.
But that's irrelevant right now. I mean, are Mojo honestly telling me Mike Patton put out a good album? That Hot Hot Heat are once again capable of making good music? That We Are Scientists, Jack Johnson, and Scorpions all put out good albums? Or even more staggeringly, that Kele Okereke, Sandi Thom(??!!), and Micah P Hinson all made Brilliant! albums this month?
Obviously, I'm falling into a bit of a rant here, and the last couple of paragraphs come down to personal taste and would undoubtedly be strengthened if I had actually heard any of the reviewed albums. But in my opinion, one thing here is clearly unavoidable. 78 of 81 reviewed albums receiving a good to Brilliant! review indicates a severe lack of critical integrity. Mojo Magazine seems to have lost any critical faculty, and with it has lost sight of what makes good music journalism and in turn a good music magazine. And this makes me despair just a little bit more for the current state of popular music.
In a side note, and this again is down to my personal taste, I was also disconcerted if not totally surprised to read Keith Cameron describe Oasis as the greatest British band of the last twenty years. And I was disappointed to see Mojo give the new Jon Spencer Blues Explosion compilation two stars, seemingly because they decided to leave off a few songs the reviewer really liked. He also, bizarrely, criticized them for including a song sung by RL Burnside, and a song sung by Calvin Johnson. Saying:
"Others, like Lovin' Machine, Do You Wanna Get Heavy, and Soul Typecast, have been bumped, in favour of a 'representative' sampling of scratchy first-album tunes, live cuts and instrumentals. When two of the first four tracks are sung by R.L Burnside and Dub Narcotic's Calvin Johnston, rather than Yowlin' Jon hisself, we are surely so far from 'Best of' territory as to be slightly malicious."
That's probably because as far as I can figure this release isn't supposed to be a greatest hits compilation, but rather an introduction to the band. And how can you properly introduce anybody to the mighty Jon Spencer Blues Explosion without including R.L Burnside, Calvin Johnston, and the raw power of their first album?
Like I said, I loved the Belafonte interview and all the insight and inside information about the legendary Tom Waits included in this issue was fantastic, and as always I found the reissues and reissues extra section very insightful. It's just a shame that however many years ago the editors of Mojo got stuck celebrating the same bands of the 1970's and 1980's over and over and that for some reason they had to park the once great Mojo Magazine's critical review square in the middle of the road. Oh and it also annoyed me that Florence of Florence and the Machine was included in the All Back To My Place section. But that's just because her music gets on my goddamn nerves. Nice job getting Can's keyboard player though.
I guess my journey through the wilderness of Music journalism shall continue until Mojo suck me in again a couple of years from now with another weird rare coup, like Tom Waits guest-editing.
None of those magazines have ever been accused of having much integrity or substance with regards to the music they feature and review. Choosing mainly to give false press to lesser bands to help create trends and hype, and especially in the case of the NME, to then perpetuate that myth, by giving blanket coverage to the bands they've hyped up, constantly moving on to the next new band in an effort to keep their readers from realizing the truth of it all.
But Mojo has a strong pedigree of music journalism. Of quality and substance. Which makes it so disconcerting to read it in its current manifestation. Like I said, I was a loyal reader until a couple of years ago, when I couldn't take the mediocrity anymore. But yesterday while passing through Tescos I was suckered into buying one more issue. They had put Tom Waits on the cover which ordinarily wouldn't have been enough, despite my love of everything Tom Waits does. But not only was Tom Waits on the cover but he was the guest-editor. Sorry, but my willpower is only so strong, and I bought it without another thought.
Now don't get me wrong, this months issue does have some strong articles and features. Not the least of which being a cd specially compiled by Tom Waits for Mojo magazine, featuring a bunch of his favourite artists and songs. Who doesn't want the knowledge and history contained on that cd?? The issue also features several lists of Tom's favourite films and music, and several articles about albums and artists that impacted him personally. It also has a great article on Harry Belafonte and an extended article about some of the major moments in music in the last 200 issues of Mojo. Sorry, I forgot to mention this issue was also the 200th issue of Mojo Magazine. So yeah, plenty of quality to be found, and to warrant the spending of £4.50.
But then you reach the reviews section. What I consider to be the infamous Mojo reviews section. And at this point Lance Bangs would have laughed his ass off.
This month Mojo reviewed 81 albums. 81 albums. Now of those 81 albums they gave 39 albums a four star review. They gave 39 albums a three star review, and they gave 3 albums, a mere 3 albums, a two star review. Just so you can gauge the ridiculousness of this, here's the Mojo ratings legend as featured in Mojo Magazine:
***** MOJO classic
**** Brilliant!
*** Good
** Disappointing
* Best avoided
no star - deplorable
So by their own standards Mojo considers 78 of the 81 albums reviewed this month to be Good to Brilliant!78! Keeping in mind I have heard none of these albums personally, just by ratio alone I find this very hard to believe. I mean, included amongst the three and four star reviews are albums by Tom Petty, The Chemical Brothers, The Apples in Stereo, Roky Erickson, Solomon Burke and Crowded House. It seems perfectly plausible to me that these bands might very well deserve their review. But also included and more importantly, are albums by Scissor Sisters, Nas and Damian Marley, We are Scientists, Hot Hot Heat, Mike Patton, Robyn, Kele Okereke(singer from Bloc Party), Scorpions, Sandi Thom, and Micah P Hinson.
I should mention, the only albums of the lot to get less then a good review were an album by Dan Sartain, an album by The Magic Numbers, and an album by the Pernice Brothers.
But that's irrelevant right now. I mean, are Mojo honestly telling me Mike Patton put out a good album? That Hot Hot Heat are once again capable of making good music? That We Are Scientists, Jack Johnson, and Scorpions all put out good albums? Or even more staggeringly, that Kele Okereke, Sandi Thom(??!!), and Micah P Hinson all made Brilliant! albums this month?
Obviously, I'm falling into a bit of a rant here, and the last couple of paragraphs come down to personal taste and would undoubtedly be strengthened if I had actually heard any of the reviewed albums. But in my opinion, one thing here is clearly unavoidable. 78 of 81 reviewed albums receiving a good to Brilliant! review indicates a severe lack of critical integrity. Mojo Magazine seems to have lost any critical faculty, and with it has lost sight of what makes good music journalism and in turn a good music magazine. And this makes me despair just a little bit more for the current state of popular music.
In a side note, and this again is down to my personal taste, I was also disconcerted if not totally surprised to read Keith Cameron describe Oasis as the greatest British band of the last twenty years. And I was disappointed to see Mojo give the new Jon Spencer Blues Explosion compilation two stars, seemingly because they decided to leave off a few songs the reviewer really liked. He also, bizarrely, criticized them for including a song sung by RL Burnside, and a song sung by Calvin Johnson. Saying:
"Others, like Lovin' Machine, Do You Wanna Get Heavy, and Soul Typecast, have been bumped, in favour of a 'representative' sampling of scratchy first-album tunes, live cuts and instrumentals. When two of the first four tracks are sung by R.L Burnside and Dub Narcotic's Calvin Johnston, rather than Yowlin' Jon hisself, we are surely so far from 'Best of' territory as to be slightly malicious."
That's probably because as far as I can figure this release isn't supposed to be a greatest hits compilation, but rather an introduction to the band. And how can you properly introduce anybody to the mighty Jon Spencer Blues Explosion without including R.L Burnside, Calvin Johnston, and the raw power of their first album?
Like I said, I loved the Belafonte interview and all the insight and inside information about the legendary Tom Waits included in this issue was fantastic, and as always I found the reissues and reissues extra section very insightful. It's just a shame that however many years ago the editors of Mojo got stuck celebrating the same bands of the 1970's and 1980's over and over and that for some reason they had to park the once great Mojo Magazine's critical review square in the middle of the road. Oh and it also annoyed me that Florence of Florence and the Machine was included in the All Back To My Place section. But that's just because her music gets on my goddamn nerves. Nice job getting Can's keyboard player though.
I guess my journey through the wilderness of Music journalism shall continue until Mojo suck me in again a couple of years from now with another weird rare coup, like Tom Waits guest-editing.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
.!.!.!.!.
Awhile ago I started making a series of mixtapes late at night. The idea was to give myself an hour or so late at night to try and put together a mixtape I thought would suit the early morning hours.Something I might play on the radio if I had the opportunity. Kinda try and capture the mood of those moments at 3am or 4am. I find the act of making a mixtape highly relaxing and theraputic, and especially suited to the early hours. It seems to be when I make most of mine. I already put Vol.1 on here and now here's Vol.2.
Once again, I don't have the knowledge or technology to actually put the songs on here for you to hear, but I thought it'd be sorta interesting to put the list up here, anyway.
Electronic Night Music Vol. 2 (Oct 7th, 2009, 3:38am)
1. I Can't Explain(stereo) - The Who
2. The Snowy Parts of Scandinavia - Kinski
3. Subway Song - The Cure
4. Dear Darkness - PJ Harvey
5. St. You - Constantines
6. A Song For - Townes Van Zandt
7. Hollow Log - Beck
8. Helpless(Live at Massey Hall 1971) - Neil Young
9. Arms Akimbo - Two Hours Traffic
10. All My Friends - Broken Social Scene
11. Sad Eyes - Bat For Lashes
12. The Longest Winter - Julie Doiron
13. Come On Up To The House - Tom Waits
14. 3am - Jim Guthrie
15. Blind - TV On The Radio
16. Emily - Joanna Newsom
17. The Crystal Ship - The Doors
Once again, I don't have the knowledge or technology to actually put the songs on here for you to hear, but I thought it'd be sorta interesting to put the list up here, anyway.
Electronic Night Music Vol. 2 (Oct 7th, 2009, 3:38am)
1. I Can't Explain(stereo) - The Who
2. The Snowy Parts of Scandinavia - Kinski
3. Subway Song - The Cure
4. Dear Darkness - PJ Harvey
5. St. You - Constantines
6. A Song For - Townes Van Zandt
7. Hollow Log - Beck
8. Helpless(Live at Massey Hall 1971) - Neil Young
9. Arms Akimbo - Two Hours Traffic
10. All My Friends - Broken Social Scene
11. Sad Eyes - Bat For Lashes
12. The Longest Winter - Julie Doiron
13. Come On Up To The House - Tom Waits
14. 3am - Jim Guthrie
15. Blind - TV On The Radio
16. Emily - Joanna Newsom
17. The Crystal Ship - The Doors
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Black Rock
He climbed down the steep bank to the rocky beach below. Sea gulls squawked over head. The tide rolled in gently almost up to his feet. He breathed in deeply, and sighed. Looking out across the water to the distant horizon. He glanced down the beach at the rocks and sand, large bare trees hanging over, clinging desperately to the grassy embankment above. He turned right and began running down this beach. Leaping from stone to stone as fast as he could. The stones rolling and jerking beneath his tattered sneakers. He kept his eyes ahead, singling out one stone after another. His feet moving faster and faster as his confidence grew. He hurtled across the stony beach, no, glided across the stony beach, his feet merely brushing over each rock.
The wind pushed the long mess of hair back off his forehead. Tears began running down his cheeks but the wind quickly grabbed these too, pushing them back towards his ears, into his hair. His vision blurred, and the quickness and unexpectedness of this caught him off guard. In full flight and in mid stride he lost track of the stones in front of him. His right foot already descending upon a large rounded stone, glanced off the side of the stone and he stumbled, his arms flailed as he tried to regain his balance, his left foot caught on another stone and he tumbled through the air. He landed hard on the rocks and stones in front of him, the impact punching the air from his lungs.
He hit the side of his head hard. He lay still for a few seconds, trying to find his breath. His ankle throbbed, his elbow throbbed and his head pounded. He rolled over and sat up awkwardly. The side of his face was warm and wet. Blood ran down into the neck of his shirt. Trying to clear his head, he glanced around and his eyes stopped on a large grey mass fifteen feet up the beach.
Squinting, he stood up carefully, wary of his ankle. The large grey mass didn't look like any rock he'd ever seen. He took a step forward and his ankle buckled. He redistributed his weight to his other ankle and regained his balance, slowly hobbling forward. Four or five steps later he stopped. His tears forgotten. He starred at the huge grey mass in front of him, and his heart grew heavy.
Just in front of him, on this rocky beach lay the grey/black mass of a whale. He didn't know what kind of whale it was, but the stench rising from its body made him wince. He hobbled around the side of it. Its big sad eye watching him unseeing. He sat down on a rock,wrapped his arms around himself and starred at the whale. Time faded into nothing. Days and nights seemed to pass. The wind grew strong, and dropped down. And grew strong again. After a time he felt no cold and no hunger. He forgot what cities were. And couldn't remember the faces of anybody from his past. He was alone with the whale.
Centuries seemed to pass. After a time he looked up from the sad eye of the whale and out at the vast ocean before him. The tide rolling slowly in and out. He could no longer remember his own name, he couldn't remember language or words.
As he watched the ocean, his eyes suddenly fell upon a tiny brown spot that had broken the horizon. He starred without wonder or concern as the brown dot grew. The only sounds, the tide, the wind and his breathing. As he watched the brown spot grew into a wooden boat. The boat approached slowly.
As it grew steadily closer he could make out the shape of a man. The man had his back to him and was rowing slowly but steadily. He watched the boat and the rowing man, and another century passed. Night rose and the stars appeared. The stars faded and night fell. And as the dawn of the last day grew brighter, the clouds parted and the sun broke the horizon and rose into the sky. It had been so long since he had seen the sun, that he no longer knew what it was. But he knew it was glorious. He stood up and lifted his face to its warm light.
Finally the man and the boat reached the shore. The edge of the boat coming to rest softly on the sand between the rocky beach and the waters edge. The man lay his oars gently in the boat, stood up and turned to face the man on the beach.
The man on the beach, after a time, looked away from the sun high up in the blue sky. He looked briefly again, at the whale, and turned to the boatman.
The wind pushed the long mess of hair back off his forehead. Tears began running down his cheeks but the wind quickly grabbed these too, pushing them back towards his ears, into his hair. His vision blurred, and the quickness and unexpectedness of this caught him off guard. In full flight and in mid stride he lost track of the stones in front of him. His right foot already descending upon a large rounded stone, glanced off the side of the stone and he stumbled, his arms flailed as he tried to regain his balance, his left foot caught on another stone and he tumbled through the air. He landed hard on the rocks and stones in front of him, the impact punching the air from his lungs.
He hit the side of his head hard. He lay still for a few seconds, trying to find his breath. His ankle throbbed, his elbow throbbed and his head pounded. He rolled over and sat up awkwardly. The side of his face was warm and wet. Blood ran down into the neck of his shirt. Trying to clear his head, he glanced around and his eyes stopped on a large grey mass fifteen feet up the beach.
Squinting, he stood up carefully, wary of his ankle. The large grey mass didn't look like any rock he'd ever seen. He took a step forward and his ankle buckled. He redistributed his weight to his other ankle and regained his balance, slowly hobbling forward. Four or five steps later he stopped. His tears forgotten. He starred at the huge grey mass in front of him, and his heart grew heavy.
Just in front of him, on this rocky beach lay the grey/black mass of a whale. He didn't know what kind of whale it was, but the stench rising from its body made him wince. He hobbled around the side of it. Its big sad eye watching him unseeing. He sat down on a rock,wrapped his arms around himself and starred at the whale. Time faded into nothing. Days and nights seemed to pass. The wind grew strong, and dropped down. And grew strong again. After a time he felt no cold and no hunger. He forgot what cities were. And couldn't remember the faces of anybody from his past. He was alone with the whale.
Centuries seemed to pass. After a time he looked up from the sad eye of the whale and out at the vast ocean before him. The tide rolling slowly in and out. He could no longer remember his own name, he couldn't remember language or words.
As he watched the ocean, his eyes suddenly fell upon a tiny brown spot that had broken the horizon. He starred without wonder or concern as the brown dot grew. The only sounds, the tide, the wind and his breathing. As he watched the brown spot grew into a wooden boat. The boat approached slowly.
As it grew steadily closer he could make out the shape of a man. The man had his back to him and was rowing slowly but steadily. He watched the boat and the rowing man, and another century passed. Night rose and the stars appeared. The stars faded and night fell. And as the dawn of the last day grew brighter, the clouds parted and the sun broke the horizon and rose into the sky. It had been so long since he had seen the sun, that he no longer knew what it was. But he knew it was glorious. He stood up and lifted his face to its warm light.
Finally the man and the boat reached the shore. The edge of the boat coming to rest softly on the sand between the rocky beach and the waters edge. The man lay his oars gently in the boat, stood up and turned to face the man on the beach.
The man on the beach, after a time, looked away from the sun high up in the blue sky. He looked briefly again, at the whale, and turned to the boatman.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
modern guy
Gonna get a tattoo of a moth on my face. Gonna start wearing suspenders and ride a bike with one good tire, everywhere. Gonna listen to jangly british indie pop circa 1994 and a smidge of psych folk circa 1971. I'm only gonna talk to Asian girls with green eyes. Gonna drink Labatt 50 and get an undercut. Gonna look down on people with pets, only quote Allen Ginsberg and live in a tree.
Gonna buy a fake leather jacket and stop eating bread. Gonna walk around with an empty guitar case. I'm only gonna wear discontinued Reebok hightops from 1983. Gonna keep all my John Grisham novels wrapped up in sleeves from old socio economic text books. Gonna hum Japanese pop songs and only eat Captain Crunch cereal. Gonna throw old batteries at people and preach about the new world order.
Gonna key car doors, grow my hair out and shave my head. Gonna buy an umbrella and set it on fire, then laugh at the self image you project because it's boring. Gonna wear old beat up cowboy boots and sigh at you in a condescending manner for not getting my obscure references to psych folk circa 1971. I'm gonna buy a couch and sit on the floor. I'm gonna stand by a pond and cry into my own hands.
Gonna buy a fake leather jacket and stop eating bread. Gonna walk around with an empty guitar case. I'm only gonna wear discontinued Reebok hightops from 1983. Gonna keep all my John Grisham novels wrapped up in sleeves from old socio economic text books. Gonna hum Japanese pop songs and only eat Captain Crunch cereal. Gonna throw old batteries at people and preach about the new world order.
Gonna key car doors, grow my hair out and shave my head. Gonna buy an umbrella and set it on fire, then laugh at the self image you project because it's boring. Gonna wear old beat up cowboy boots and sigh at you in a condescending manner for not getting my obscure references to psych folk circa 1971. I'm gonna buy a couch and sit on the floor. I'm gonna stand by a pond and cry into my own hands.
Monday, April 19, 2010
...static...transmission...
...blood......blood.....blood.......blood....blood......blood.....blood.......blood...
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
...
Somewhere around the age of sixteen, I bought my first Leonard Cohen album. It was a vinyl copy of either Songs From a Room or his Greatest Hits. I'm struggling to remember now. I probably purchased it from Discovery Records on Queen Street East. Though I may have purchased it from the long gone Eargasm Records that used to be located a few blocks from Discovery Records at Jones Ave and Queen St East.
I remember looking at that album cover, it was the backcover that really caught my attention, for the first time and being completely enamoured with it. Before I had even got the record home I had fallen in love with it. It's a pretty romantic image for a sixteen year old boy just discovering great music. A boy in love with rock and roll, who dreamed of becoming a writer.
Fourteen years later that image is just as powerful. The impact when I look at it now exactly the same. The front cover is a simple black and white photograph of a young Leonard Cohen standing in a small room tightening his tie in a mirror. The backcover is a simple black and white photograph of an old room, sun pouring in through the window. The room empty but for a single bed, a table, a typewriter and a girl, sat at the typewriter. That's it. What a simple beautiful idea. I mean, you listen to a song like Bird on a Wire or Suzanne while looking at that record sleeve and it moves something way down inside of you.
To me that image represented an ideal. Truth. Something to strive for. It was pure. Like reading On the Road for the first time. Kerouac always gave me that same feeling. So did a lot of the songs on Lou Reeds album Transformer. But that image on the back of that Cohen sleeve was always first I think? That idea of living so simply. And the idea of being moved in such a way by the artwork on an album sleeve.
It's an image and an idea I still hold on to. I have a lot of memories of myself on Sunday afternoons sat with a stack of vinyl, listening to music, closely examining the record sleeves of albums by bands like Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Neil Young and the Allman Brothers. It always added to my enjoyment of the music, to the emotional impact of the songs.
It's something that's been lost in music today. In this age of digital downloads. I don't listen to albums much anymore, I listen to songs. I listen to songs on playlists and I listen to songs on shuffle. And it's fucking tragic. But maybe I'm just being nostalgic. Maybe I have no one else to blame but my own lazy ass? Maybe it's a bit of both? Either way I guess I'll always have those memories.
I remember looking at that album cover, it was the backcover that really caught my attention, for the first time and being completely enamoured with it. Before I had even got the record home I had fallen in love with it. It's a pretty romantic image for a sixteen year old boy just discovering great music. A boy in love with rock and roll, who dreamed of becoming a writer.
Fourteen years later that image is just as powerful. The impact when I look at it now exactly the same. The front cover is a simple black and white photograph of a young Leonard Cohen standing in a small room tightening his tie in a mirror. The backcover is a simple black and white photograph of an old room, sun pouring in through the window. The room empty but for a single bed, a table, a typewriter and a girl, sat at the typewriter. That's it. What a simple beautiful idea. I mean, you listen to a song like Bird on a Wire or Suzanne while looking at that record sleeve and it moves something way down inside of you.
To me that image represented an ideal. Truth. Something to strive for. It was pure. Like reading On the Road for the first time. Kerouac always gave me that same feeling. So did a lot of the songs on Lou Reeds album Transformer. But that image on the back of that Cohen sleeve was always first I think? That idea of living so simply. And the idea of being moved in such a way by the artwork on an album sleeve.
It's an image and an idea I still hold on to. I have a lot of memories of myself on Sunday afternoons sat with a stack of vinyl, listening to music, closely examining the record sleeves of albums by bands like Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Neil Young and the Allman Brothers. It always added to my enjoyment of the music, to the emotional impact of the songs.
It's something that's been lost in music today. In this age of digital downloads. I don't listen to albums much anymore, I listen to songs. I listen to songs on playlists and I listen to songs on shuffle. And it's fucking tragic. But maybe I'm just being nostalgic. Maybe I have no one else to blame but my own lazy ass? Maybe it's a bit of both? Either way I guess I'll always have those memories.
Thursday, April 01, 2010
3am, a good hour.
...I've always been a nighthawk, a nightowl, a nightanimal. And I've always been fascinated by late night radio. It's always had a weird kind of mysterious, melancholy magical appeal to me. Even songs or genres of music in which I had no interest gained a strange kind of appeal, took on a certain emotion when I heard them in the late night/early morning hours. The DJ's on the nightshift sounding like they were talking to me from far far away, off in the darkness, yet intimately close. Ethereal, sinister, comforting, nostalgic are all words that come to mind thinking about it now.
When I was twelve or thirteen I would listen to 640am and 680am as I went to sleep. I was naive to music then, and didn't care what the stations played(top 40 mostly). I just enjoyed the sounds of the radio in the quiet of the night.
About the age of fifteen, having discovered Guns n Roses, Jimi Hendrix and The Doors, I began listening to the Overnight Show with the legendary Andy Frost on Q107. I'd sit in bed, in the dim glow of the light coming from the display panel of my stereo receiver and listen for hours every night. Songs by The Doors, Pink Floyd, Tom Petty and Bob Seeger took on a whole new power in those early hours. But the real treat was listening to Andy Frost and his deep baritone voice. Telling me stories and strange interesting facts about the songs and bands he played. Telling me what was coming up, just talking to me really. In those hours, in the warm darkness, it felt like only me and the radio exisited. I could picture the radiowaves travelling through the night sky, through space, across the sleeping world. And I can't describe how peaceful it made me feel. Listening to songs like The Crystal Ship, Radar Love, Breakdown, and Time in the dead of night,in that warm Toronto summertime air.
Around the time I was seventeen or eighteen I began listening to late night radio on my walkmen. I remember finally trading in my old clunky black walkmen with the equaliser on the front, for a fancy silver superslim sony walkmen. I'd put in the ear buds late at night, round 2am or 3am and scan the channels for something interesting. I had discovered that if you scanned the edges of the dial a little bit, late at night when the world was quiet, you could find pirate radio broadcasts and obscure college radio broadcasts, that weren't on at other times. I was completely fascinated. I'd listen to dance music shows, hip hop shows, classical music shows, talk radio, it didn't matter. Good signal or weak fuzzy signal, that didn't really matter either. I was totally and completely under the spell of this beautiful secret world. I loved discovering weird music I'd never ever heard of before. Listening to people from a seemingly different world from mine discuss things I never understood or at least never knew the context of.
Going down this road, it wasn't very long till I discovered what will probably always be my favourite radio show ever, the brilliant CBC radio 3 late night show, Brave New Waves. Tragically, since 2006, no longer on the air. When I first stumbled upon this show, hosted by the great Patti Schmidt, I never even understood what I was listening to. She'd play hours of music by artists from all over the world. Japan, Iceland, Sweden, France, England, Canada. Music I'd never ever heard in my life. Weird experimental noise, electronic soundscapes, obscure hip hop. Whatever genre she played, it was always cutting edge and experimental. Groundbreaking. It blew my mind open. I purposely started staying awake in bed even later just to listen to more of the show.
A couple of years later when I was working as a security guard in a head office in west Toronto, quite often doing the midnight to eight shift, I'd relish the hours I spent in the main office, or in the gatehouse alone with the radio on. Still Brave New Waves every night. Quite often Patti Schmidt would take a whole section of a show and play the music of a single artist. It was in this way I discovered the music of Amon Tobin. Then known as Cujo. She played a selection of songs from his groundbreaking album Adventures in Foam and I was excited(It was about this time I became obsessed with the Ninja Tune label.). Not long after I heard Buck 65 in the same way. I'd only recently discovered his music, first through the song Pants on Fire, having watched an interview with him on the great Muchmusic television show Mucheast. During the interview Buck gave the interviewer a tour of a pants factory, directly afterwards Terry Mulligan played the video for Pants on fire and I was in awe. Hooked from the first line. I still am to this day. I immediately, the very next day after watching Mucheast, ran down to Rotate This and bought a copy of Man Overboard. Goddamn I was excited in that moment. I felt like I'd really discovered something. Anyway, it wasn't long afterwards, maybe a few months, half a year, that Patti Schmidt told me over the radio she was about to play a selection of Buck 65 songs. That really cemented it for me. Both my love for Buck 65 and Brave New Waves. I also first heard the Japanese mad geniuses the Boredoms on here too, but it would be many years later before I really understood what I'd been listening to in those late night hours.
Finally, the last great late night radio show I remember listening to, in genuine excitement and anticipation, was Little Stevens Underground Garage, on Q107. A different kind of radio show to Brave New Waves in terms of the music it featured, but really very similar in terms of introducing me to music I'd never heard before. Music I drank up just as eagerly. He'd play, and actually I think he still does play, garage rock from the sixties and seventies, mixed with old soul and a few songs by new bands. He'd play obscure songs by Sam the Sham, The Zombies, The Kingsmen, and The Troggs, as well as new songs by bands like The Mooney Suzuki. But aside from the great music, the real treat in Little Stevens Underground Garage is "Little Steven" Van Zandt himself. The legendary guitar player for Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, the man is a fountain of musical knowledge and has a natural talent for storytelling,
Unfortunately in recent years,I have (I am very sad to say) grossly neglected late night radio. For several reasons, travelling and the dawn of the digital music age being the two most obvious. I can't remember the last time I purposely stayed up till 4am just to listen to a great radio show, or to merely scan back and forth across the radio dial in search of the weird and the strange. The ever declining quality of radio programming in general hasn't helped either, it must be said.
But anyway, somewhere in thinking about all this, an idea came to me. This was way back in September or October. One night I sat down at the computer about 12:30 or 1am and started compiling a mixtape, with the idea of late night radio in mind. I was thinking about the feelings I used to get from late night radio, and what kind of music I'd play if I had the opportunity to host a late night radio show. With each mixtape I tried to create the feelings one gets from listening to music at 3am. I thought about different situations, the comedown after a great house party, late night highway driving(another passion of mine, but we'll talk about that another time), working the night shift, sitting around with good friends, laying in bed with a girl, laying in bed by yourself.
I've made five of these mixtapes so far, since October. And I've simply named the series Electronic Night Music. I don't have the technology or the knowledge required to actually put the tracks on this page for you to listen to, but I figured what the hell, I'll put the first mix in the series on here for you to take a look at, and if you want, you can search the songs down. I think the song names alone make interesting reading, but I'm weird like that. I'll put up the rest in the series over the next few weeks. Hope you enjoy.
Electronic Night Music: Vol. 1 (October 2nd, 2009, 3:20am)
I also made a shorter version that would fit onto cd, this version has been reduced from 24 tracks, down to 13. And contains mostly instrumental songs. I aptly named this version Vol. 1.5 less vocal short version.
When I was twelve or thirteen I would listen to 640am and 680am as I went to sleep. I was naive to music then, and didn't care what the stations played(top 40 mostly). I just enjoyed the sounds of the radio in the quiet of the night.
About the age of fifteen, having discovered Guns n Roses, Jimi Hendrix and The Doors, I began listening to the Overnight Show with the legendary Andy Frost on Q107. I'd sit in bed, in the dim glow of the light coming from the display panel of my stereo receiver and listen for hours every night. Songs by The Doors, Pink Floyd, Tom Petty and Bob Seeger took on a whole new power in those early hours. But the real treat was listening to Andy Frost and his deep baritone voice. Telling me stories and strange interesting facts about the songs and bands he played. Telling me what was coming up, just talking to me really. In those hours, in the warm darkness, it felt like only me and the radio exisited. I could picture the radiowaves travelling through the night sky, through space, across the sleeping world. And I can't describe how peaceful it made me feel. Listening to songs like The Crystal Ship, Radar Love, Breakdown, and Time in the dead of night,in that warm Toronto summertime air.
Around the time I was seventeen or eighteen I began listening to late night radio on my walkmen. I remember finally trading in my old clunky black walkmen with the equaliser on the front, for a fancy silver superslim sony walkmen. I'd put in the ear buds late at night, round 2am or 3am and scan the channels for something interesting. I had discovered that if you scanned the edges of the dial a little bit, late at night when the world was quiet, you could find pirate radio broadcasts and obscure college radio broadcasts, that weren't on at other times. I was completely fascinated. I'd listen to dance music shows, hip hop shows, classical music shows, talk radio, it didn't matter. Good signal or weak fuzzy signal, that didn't really matter either. I was totally and completely under the spell of this beautiful secret world. I loved discovering weird music I'd never ever heard of before. Listening to people from a seemingly different world from mine discuss things I never understood or at least never knew the context of.
Going down this road, it wasn't very long till I discovered what will probably always be my favourite radio show ever, the brilliant CBC radio 3 late night show, Brave New Waves. Tragically, since 2006, no longer on the air. When I first stumbled upon this show, hosted by the great Patti Schmidt, I never even understood what I was listening to. She'd play hours of music by artists from all over the world. Japan, Iceland, Sweden, France, England, Canada. Music I'd never ever heard in my life. Weird experimental noise, electronic soundscapes, obscure hip hop. Whatever genre she played, it was always cutting edge and experimental. Groundbreaking. It blew my mind open. I purposely started staying awake in bed even later just to listen to more of the show.
A couple of years later when I was working as a security guard in a head office in west Toronto, quite often doing the midnight to eight shift, I'd relish the hours I spent in the main office, or in the gatehouse alone with the radio on. Still Brave New Waves every night. Quite often Patti Schmidt would take a whole section of a show and play the music of a single artist. It was in this way I discovered the music of Amon Tobin. Then known as Cujo. She played a selection of songs from his groundbreaking album Adventures in Foam and I was excited(It was about this time I became obsessed with the Ninja Tune label.). Not long after I heard Buck 65 in the same way. I'd only recently discovered his music, first through the song Pants on Fire, having watched an interview with him on the great Muchmusic television show Mucheast. During the interview Buck gave the interviewer a tour of a pants factory, directly afterwards Terry Mulligan played the video for Pants on fire and I was in awe. Hooked from the first line. I still am to this day. I immediately, the very next day after watching Mucheast, ran down to Rotate This and bought a copy of Man Overboard. Goddamn I was excited in that moment. I felt like I'd really discovered something. Anyway, it wasn't long afterwards, maybe a few months, half a year, that Patti Schmidt told me over the radio she was about to play a selection of Buck 65 songs. That really cemented it for me. Both my love for Buck 65 and Brave New Waves. I also first heard the Japanese mad geniuses the Boredoms on here too, but it would be many years later before I really understood what I'd been listening to in those late night hours.
Finally, the last great late night radio show I remember listening to, in genuine excitement and anticipation, was Little Stevens Underground Garage, on Q107. A different kind of radio show to Brave New Waves in terms of the music it featured, but really very similar in terms of introducing me to music I'd never heard before. Music I drank up just as eagerly. He'd play, and actually I think he still does play, garage rock from the sixties and seventies, mixed with old soul and a few songs by new bands. He'd play obscure songs by Sam the Sham, The Zombies, The Kingsmen, and The Troggs, as well as new songs by bands like The Mooney Suzuki. But aside from the great music, the real treat in Little Stevens Underground Garage is "Little Steven" Van Zandt himself. The legendary guitar player for Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, the man is a fountain of musical knowledge and has a natural talent for storytelling,
Unfortunately in recent years,I have (I am very sad to say) grossly neglected late night radio. For several reasons, travelling and the dawn of the digital music age being the two most obvious. I can't remember the last time I purposely stayed up till 4am just to listen to a great radio show, or to merely scan back and forth across the radio dial in search of the weird and the strange. The ever declining quality of radio programming in general hasn't helped either, it must be said.
But anyway, somewhere in thinking about all this, an idea came to me. This was way back in September or October. One night I sat down at the computer about 12:30 or 1am and started compiling a mixtape, with the idea of late night radio in mind. I was thinking about the feelings I used to get from late night radio, and what kind of music I'd play if I had the opportunity to host a late night radio show. With each mixtape I tried to create the feelings one gets from listening to music at 3am. I thought about different situations, the comedown after a great house party, late night highway driving(another passion of mine, but we'll talk about that another time), working the night shift, sitting around with good friends, laying in bed with a girl, laying in bed by yourself.
I've made five of these mixtapes so far, since October. And I've simply named the series Electronic Night Music. I don't have the technology or the knowledge required to actually put the tracks on this page for you to listen to, but I figured what the hell, I'll put the first mix in the series on here for you to take a look at, and if you want, you can search the songs down. I think the song names alone make interesting reading, but I'm weird like that. I'll put up the rest in the series over the next few weeks. Hope you enjoy.
Electronic Night Music: Vol. 1 (October 2nd, 2009, 3:20am)
- Windowlicker - Aphex Twin
- Cendre - Fennesz & Sakamoto
- Sixtyniner - Boards of Canada
- Radio Void - Chris & Cosey
- Happy Ending - Manitoba
- A Letter From Home - Ulrich Schnauss
- 2/1 - Brian Eno
- Radioaktivitat - Kraftwerk
- Rhubarb - Aphex Twin
- Electricity - The Avalanches
- Last Night Over Norway - Funki Porcini
- June 9th - Boards of Canada
- Temple Bar - Chris and Cosey
- Idioteque - Radiohead
- Red Light - Tomas Jirku/Robin Judge
- I Wish You Could Talk - Squarepusher
- Gwely Mernans - Aphex Twin
- We Have A Map Of The Piano - Mum
- Understars II - Brian Eno
- Dundas, Ontario - Manitoba
- Aware - Fennesz & Sakamoto
- Sprig - Emily Haines and the Soft Skeleton
- Inside - Moby
- K/Half noise - Mum
I also made a shorter version that would fit onto cd, this version has been reduced from 24 tracks, down to 13. And contains mostly instrumental songs. I aptly named this version Vol. 1.5 less vocal short version.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
...
...been kind of productive recently. I got involved with this production company in town called Signal Films. Doing a bit of volunteer work and participating in a little film festival a couple of weekends ago. Did a workshop in Directing Actors for the Screen. Had a lot of fun and met a lot of cool people. Doing a Digital Art Workshop at the moment, playing around with Photoshop and Final Cut Pro and really enjoying myself. With those two programs alone, a whole new world has been opened up. The possibilities of what you could complete by yourself is staggering. I've been thinking a lot, looking at the environment around me in a different way. Brainstorming, thinking up ideas, makes me giddy like a child...
...I think things are finally on the move now. Plans are afoot and the wheels are starting to turn. We're leaving the wilderness,metaphorically speaking, just in time for spring. Its been a long winter...
...watched Irreversible for the first time since I saw the premier at the Toronto Film Festival in 2001, in the now, tragically, gone but never ever forgotten Uptown 1 cinema. It really is a staggering film. A brutal, unflinching, emotionally draining masterpiece, and a tour de force of technical filmmaking. Not for all tastes but definately worth the effort. Gaspar Noe is an astonishing filmmaker.
...I went to see scottish indie-rockers Idlewild perform Saturday. A decent concert is a rare thing in this town and they were fantastic. Even better than I expected. It's been a longtime since I saw a good old fashioned indie-rock show. Too long...
...and finally I caught a random episode of The Wire the other night. I go on about that show a lot on here but it really is the most satisfying television show I have ever seen. Every moment is the honest truth. And anybody interested in storytelling or television or life should sit down and watch it...
...oh and I'm really digging the new Massive Attack record Helgioland. Its incredible.
...I think things are finally on the move now. Plans are afoot and the wheels are starting to turn. We're leaving the wilderness,metaphorically speaking, just in time for spring. Its been a long winter...
...watched Irreversible for the first time since I saw the premier at the Toronto Film Festival in 2001, in the now, tragically, gone but never ever forgotten Uptown 1 cinema. It really is a staggering film. A brutal, unflinching, emotionally draining masterpiece, and a tour de force of technical filmmaking. Not for all tastes but definately worth the effort. Gaspar Noe is an astonishing filmmaker.
...I went to see scottish indie-rockers Idlewild perform Saturday. A decent concert is a rare thing in this town and they were fantastic. Even better than I expected. It's been a longtime since I saw a good old fashioned indie-rock show. Too long...
...and finally I caught a random episode of The Wire the other night. I go on about that show a lot on here but it really is the most satisfying television show I have ever seen. Every moment is the honest truth. And anybody interested in storytelling or television or life should sit down and watch it...
...oh and I'm really digging the new Massive Attack record Helgioland. Its incredible.
Monday, March 01, 2010
A little clarity.
Man, rereading some of the posts I've put on here makes me feel decidedly self-conscious. I think some times a lot of what I'm saying here comes out sounding contrived and cliched. Which is exactly the opposite of what I want.
I need to clarify a couple of things. While I do believe our civilisation is in decline, I believe the world we live in is an amazing and beautiful place. I don't want to come off here as being too cynical, it doesn't do anyone any good and it's something I'm really trying to improve on.I hate cynicism. And even more,I hate preaching.The world has enough preaching cynics as it is. So if I do it, slap me.
Also I don't want to compare this blog to art at all, in any shape or form. Not great art or bad art or anything. Let's face it. This is a blog. Nothing more glamorous than that. One of a million on the world wide web. This is simply a place for me to talk. To put ideas and other silly things like that.
So hopefully, with a little more care and practice I can improve the language and make this sound a little less heavy handed.
On the plus side, Canada performed wonderfully at the Winter Olympics in Vancouver, culminating in a truly great moment last night when the Canadian Mens Hockey Team beat Team USA 3-2 in overtime to win Canada's fourteenth gold medal. The winning goal, assisted by Jerome Iginla and scored by Sydney Crosby will be remembered with the all-time great Canadian hockey moments.
I would also like to congratulate the Canadian Women's Hockey Team on their gold medal, and for embodying everything that makes ice hockey great. Their skill on the ice and especially, their sportsmanship, are unparalleled.
Oh, and St Kev, you are a champion.
I need to clarify a couple of things. While I do believe our civilisation is in decline, I believe the world we live in is an amazing and beautiful place. I don't want to come off here as being too cynical, it doesn't do anyone any good and it's something I'm really trying to improve on.I hate cynicism. And even more,I hate preaching.The world has enough preaching cynics as it is. So if I do it, slap me.
Also I don't want to compare this blog to art at all, in any shape or form. Not great art or bad art or anything. Let's face it. This is a blog. Nothing more glamorous than that. One of a million on the world wide web. This is simply a place for me to talk. To put ideas and other silly things like that.
So hopefully, with a little more care and practice I can improve the language and make this sound a little less heavy handed.
On the plus side, Canada performed wonderfully at the Winter Olympics in Vancouver, culminating in a truly great moment last night when the Canadian Mens Hockey Team beat Team USA 3-2 in overtime to win Canada's fourteenth gold medal. The winning goal, assisted by Jerome Iginla and scored by Sydney Crosby will be remembered with the all-time great Canadian hockey moments.
I would also like to congratulate the Canadian Women's Hockey Team on their gold medal, and for embodying everything that makes ice hockey great. Their skill on the ice and especially, their sportsmanship, are unparalleled.
Oh, and St Kev, you are a champion.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
World Issues and Stalker.
I've been sat here in front of this computer thinking. I intended to write about the state of the world we live in. About celebrity worship. How celebrities are now becoming politicians and politicians are becoming celebrities. How overhyped empty stories about celebrity weddings and break ups have been given so much weight and importance they now overshadow vital world news. (I'm sure there was a devastating earthquake in Haiti recently...wasn't there?)
I was gonna talk about the dumbing down of music and movies but that's nothing new. It's simply happening on a grander scale now. Thanks a lot George Lucas, James Cameron and reality television.
I was gonna talk about the continuing reduction of human rights in the guise of national security and terrorist threats and the state of children today and the pope once again spewing hate on minorities and the precarious environmental state in which our world lies. About the damage political correctness has done to our society and blaw blaw blaw. But surely everyone already knows this? Or at least anyone who: can read/owns a television/or leaves the house.
The world is a cesspit. A sewer. A wasteland. And people write about it all the time, ram it down our throats. And some people ignore it, and some despair, and others just don't care anymore. Either way, writing about it is becoming pointless,so I'm gonna stop.
Thinking about this shit isn't doing me any good. Emotionally or physically. You want my advice: be media savvy, learn how to tell the truth from the lies, and turn off the goddamn news. That shit definately ain't doing anybody any good.
Get outside, go for a walk. Appreciate the little moments. Now that I'm done not talking about the state of the world...
I wanna tell ya about this great film I watched last night. A masterpiece by the late great Andrei Tarkovsky called Stalker, from 1979. It's an epic philosophical, existential, science fiction story set in an unknown time in an unnamed place in Russia. An industrial wasteland. All broken buildings and ruined earth, abandoned machines and pools of stagnant water, and fog and smoke everywhere. A good portion of the film is in black and white and looks absolutely gorgeous. It genuinely took my breath away when the film faded into the opening scene. Has a delapidated russian bar ever looked so good?
The story goes like this: at some point a meteor has crashed to earth and somehow created an area called The Zone. In this zone is a room that can make your most secret wishes and desires come true. No one really knows what's real and what's not regarding the zone, the government initially sent in a group of soldiers to explore the area but they never returned. So they sent the police to fortify the area and build a fence around the zone to keep everyone out. We find out though that there are certain individuals called Stalkers who can safely enter and exit the mysterious Zone.
The film opens in the house of one such Stalker, a man who gets paid to take people into the Zone, and to the room that grants your inner wishes. Through the course of the film we follow him as he meets two men, a writer and a scientist, leads them into the zone and guides them to the room. The film, up to the point the men enter the Zone is filmed in black and white, it switches to colour the moment they enter the Zone. The area outside the Zone seems to be made up entirely of abandoned factories, burned out automobiles, and dead streets. Inside the Zone we are shown glimpses of this world but most of it has been overgrown with grass and trees. We are told the path to the secret room is a perilous one. That they must navigate a kind of labyrinth and that failure to follow the Stalkers instructions will have grave consequences.
Because of the locations Tarkovsky uses, his startling use of both black and white and colour, the long slow(often ten to fifteen minutes at a time) tracking shots, minimal dialogue and sparse music, combine with the lack of action on screen to create a film of mesmerizing intensity and beauty. We follow the characters through this empty dying world. A place that feels like some kind of purgatory. A world that is simultaneously a dream and a nightmare.
Stalker is an allegory for mankinds dying wonder and growing cynicism. We see this mostly in the actions of the writer and the scientist(the intellectuals). The stalker, described as a dirty louse, a nobody, we learn is the one who truly cares.Who believes. And who is genuinely horrified by the actions of those around him.
This is the third film I've seen now by Andrei Tarkovsky. Ivan's Childhood and Solaris being the other two, and he truly is one of the great directors in the history of cinema. A visionary genius and master of his craft. He effortlessly mixed reality and dreams, conjuring beautiful heartbreaking images, creating films that challenge the viewer, that question our world and our civilization, films that question memories and love, and ultimately films that transcend the medium entirely.
I was gonna talk about the dumbing down of music and movies but that's nothing new. It's simply happening on a grander scale now. Thanks a lot George Lucas, James Cameron and reality television.
I was gonna talk about the continuing reduction of human rights in the guise of national security and terrorist threats and the state of children today and the pope once again spewing hate on minorities and the precarious environmental state in which our world lies. About the damage political correctness has done to our society and blaw blaw blaw. But surely everyone already knows this? Or at least anyone who: can read/owns a television/or leaves the house.
The world is a cesspit. A sewer. A wasteland. And people write about it all the time, ram it down our throats. And some people ignore it, and some despair, and others just don't care anymore. Either way, writing about it is becoming pointless,so I'm gonna stop.
Thinking about this shit isn't doing me any good. Emotionally or physically. You want my advice: be media savvy, learn how to tell the truth from the lies, and turn off the goddamn news. That shit definately ain't doing anybody any good.
Get outside, go for a walk. Appreciate the little moments. Now that I'm done not talking about the state of the world...
I wanna tell ya about this great film I watched last night. A masterpiece by the late great Andrei Tarkovsky called Stalker, from 1979. It's an epic philosophical, existential, science fiction story set in an unknown time in an unnamed place in Russia. An industrial wasteland. All broken buildings and ruined earth, abandoned machines and pools of stagnant water, and fog and smoke everywhere. A good portion of the film is in black and white and looks absolutely gorgeous. It genuinely took my breath away when the film faded into the opening scene. Has a delapidated russian bar ever looked so good?
The story goes like this: at some point a meteor has crashed to earth and somehow created an area called The Zone. In this zone is a room that can make your most secret wishes and desires come true. No one really knows what's real and what's not regarding the zone, the government initially sent in a group of soldiers to explore the area but they never returned. So they sent the police to fortify the area and build a fence around the zone to keep everyone out. We find out though that there are certain individuals called Stalkers who can safely enter and exit the mysterious Zone.
The film opens in the house of one such Stalker, a man who gets paid to take people into the Zone, and to the room that grants your inner wishes. Through the course of the film we follow him as he meets two men, a writer and a scientist, leads them into the zone and guides them to the room. The film, up to the point the men enter the Zone is filmed in black and white, it switches to colour the moment they enter the Zone. The area outside the Zone seems to be made up entirely of abandoned factories, burned out automobiles, and dead streets. Inside the Zone we are shown glimpses of this world but most of it has been overgrown with grass and trees. We are told the path to the secret room is a perilous one. That they must navigate a kind of labyrinth and that failure to follow the Stalkers instructions will have grave consequences.
Because of the locations Tarkovsky uses, his startling use of both black and white and colour, the long slow(often ten to fifteen minutes at a time) tracking shots, minimal dialogue and sparse music, combine with the lack of action on screen to create a film of mesmerizing intensity and beauty. We follow the characters through this empty dying world. A place that feels like some kind of purgatory. A world that is simultaneously a dream and a nightmare.
Stalker is an allegory for mankinds dying wonder and growing cynicism. We see this mostly in the actions of the writer and the scientist(the intellectuals). The stalker, described as a dirty louse, a nobody, we learn is the one who truly cares.Who believes. And who is genuinely horrified by the actions of those around him.
This is the third film I've seen now by Andrei Tarkovsky. Ivan's Childhood and Solaris being the other two, and he truly is one of the great directors in the history of cinema. A visionary genius and master of his craft. He effortlessly mixed reality and dreams, conjuring beautiful heartbreaking images, creating films that challenge the viewer, that question our world and our civilization, films that question memories and love, and ultimately films that transcend the medium entirely.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Exciting new developments!!(well, not that exciting really)
I had doubts long ago but am pretty confident now that no one actually reads this,nonetheless I shall continue undetered anyway. In fact I've actually gone one step further and added a brand spanking new followers tool on the left side of this silly blog. So the great hordes of humans out there regularly perusing this cornucopia of muddled thoughts and half realized ideas can click on this new tool, letting the world know they are followers. I don't like that word though, so ingeniously I renamed the currently empty list of followers : A list of people sort of interested in what I have to say. I am nothing if not modest and have absolutely no delusions of grandeur. Anyway, if you care or are even vaguely interested click on the link.
I have decided to make a concerted effort to keep this little blog updated regularly, to continue to tweek and play around with the format in an effort to keep this interesting. Because really, in the end, my only aspiration in maintaining this blog is to create something interesting. Something weird and different. I've never seen the point in creating anything that's not interesting and weird and different. Surely that's the driving force behind all great art? Not that I'm comparing what I'm doing here in the slightest to great art. Art is not something I believe blogging will ever become. Who knows though, if goddang Damien Hirst can preserve an entire sheep in formaldehyde, and call it art, I guess anything is possible.
In an entirely unrelated but no less interesting topic, a friend of mine gave me this incredible book to read a few hours ago. It's called Ulrich Haarburste's Novel of Roy Orbison in Cling-film, and is a collection of short stories about, yes, you guessed it, Roy Orbison wrapped in cling-film. I can already tell your as fascinated by this strange artifact as I am. There's no point in lying to yourself. It sounds amazing and completely supports my theory about creating something interesting, weird and different. Ulrich Haarburste definately knows what I'm saying.
I also had an idea earlier for a short story. Well, to be honest it wasn't so much an idea than an image. A man and a duck walking across a very long bridge, in the middle of a very long conversation, in the middle of very thick fog. That's all I have so far. Not sure where this could go, but you have to admit, the possibilities are endless.
Really it's not that surprising I don't have any followers yet. I guess this goes back to that whole thing of creating for ourselves. I'm going for a walk.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
colours.
Today I stood in the center of town, next to a bank. I ate a chicken bake from Greggs and three pigeons walked around me eating the crumbs. Throughout the course of the day I also consumed far too much coffee. Way beyond the suggested daily allowance. I spent the afternoon discussing films, football and New York City with a friend. On the way home I listened to Roots Manuva's latest record and managed to outwalk the rain. I briefly contemplated the glaring lack of discipline that's been a big part of my life from a startlingly early age. I gave up on that train of thought halfway through though. haha. I thought again about the fight scene in the middle of Mean Streets. It is a breathtaking piece of filmmaking. I spent sometime thinking about a new story idea. An existential day in the life surreal drama type science fiction sort of deal. I'll put that on top of the pile in the far corner of my mind. And maybe I'll get back to it one day. See: discipline problem a few sentences back. On a sunnier note I saw a hilarious picture of two pugs last night. One was dressed up as Yoda and the other was dressed up as Darth Vader. The Vader pug looked appropriately sinister. No small feat for a pug. Them being the only breed of dog bred solely for companionship. I could go on but I won't. I'm gonna go make some beans on toast(barbecue flavour) and relax before the men's Canadian Olympic hockey team begin their campaign tonight against Norway. In the meantime you really should go check out Roots Manuva's new album Slime and Reason. The first song on it Again & Again has this incredible horn sample that will blow your mind. Or at least it blew mine. Oh and I had learned the Russian word for cheers last week but I forget it now. That's not really relevant to anything but it frustrated me nonetheless.
Get outta here February.
Hey. I'm feeling a bit batty now. Too much time spent with too much time on my hands. Goddamn digital cable has sucked up most of it. My brain and my mind seem to have dried up. I'm practically void of original thought. But then I go on facebook or twitter or whatever and realize everyone else has too.
I got loads of new music recently. A big mess of stuff. Got some early Sun Ra and Eric Dolphy. Lots of hip hop old and new. The new Charlotte Gainsbourg record. The new Hot Chip record. A bunch of stuff. I'm super excited about the impending triple album release from Joanna Newsom. I think its out in a couple of weeks. I can't even imagine how good that is going to be.
I've watched loads of films. Just rewatched Mean Streets tonight. It never loses its impact. And the soundtrack is superb. Watched the Amelia Earhart (so called)biopic the other night and had to turn it off. It was literally too awful to watch. Watched The Killing of a Chinese Bookie the other week finally. It was fantastic. Now I need to watch everything else Cassavettes made. A Woman Under The Influence is gonna be next. I also recently watched the Pixies documentary loudQUIETloud, and thought it was excellent. Refreshingly honest. I watched loads of other stuff too but right now I'm struggling to remember what. I guess thats probably to do with that whole brain and mind drying up.
I'm really enjoying the Winter Games so far. Though they are doing nothing to help my homesickness. I'm excited about the Mens hockey finally starting Tuesday night. I have really been enjoying the womens hockey too. The Canadian Womens team are incredibly talented.
I don't know what else? I'm reading a great book about the films of Steven Seagal. The center of Barrow now resembles a bombed out area of Baghdad. And it seems that absolutely no one picks up after their dog in this town. You literally have to navigate around the shit.
Keep in mind I'm writing all this nonesense in an increasing sense of uselessness,powered by a dying brain. And it is 1:30am and I am tired.
I was thinking earlier how great it would be to have a Sega Genesis(megadrive) again. And an Atari. And a Nintendo. I'm pretty sure the novelty would wear off fast but the nostalgic feeling thinking about it provokes sure is nice. It would be especially nice to play Castlevania I and II again.
Anyway, keep on keepin on. Come on Team Canada!
I got loads of new music recently. A big mess of stuff. Got some early Sun Ra and Eric Dolphy. Lots of hip hop old and new. The new Charlotte Gainsbourg record. The new Hot Chip record. A bunch of stuff. I'm super excited about the impending triple album release from Joanna Newsom. I think its out in a couple of weeks. I can't even imagine how good that is going to be.
I've watched loads of films. Just rewatched Mean Streets tonight. It never loses its impact. And the soundtrack is superb. Watched the Amelia Earhart (so called)biopic the other night and had to turn it off. It was literally too awful to watch. Watched The Killing of a Chinese Bookie the other week finally. It was fantastic. Now I need to watch everything else Cassavettes made. A Woman Under The Influence is gonna be next. I also recently watched the Pixies documentary loudQUIETloud, and thought it was excellent. Refreshingly honest. I watched loads of other stuff too but right now I'm struggling to remember what. I guess thats probably to do with that whole brain and mind drying up.
I'm really enjoying the Winter Games so far. Though they are doing nothing to help my homesickness. I'm excited about the Mens hockey finally starting Tuesday night. I have really been enjoying the womens hockey too. The Canadian Womens team are incredibly talented.
I don't know what else? I'm reading a great book about the films of Steven Seagal. The center of Barrow now resembles a bombed out area of Baghdad. And it seems that absolutely no one picks up after their dog in this town. You literally have to navigate around the shit.
Keep in mind I'm writing all this nonesense in an increasing sense of uselessness,powered by a dying brain. And it is 1:30am and I am tired.
I was thinking earlier how great it would be to have a Sega Genesis(megadrive) again. And an Atari. And a Nintendo. I'm pretty sure the novelty would wear off fast but the nostalgic feeling thinking about it provokes sure is nice. It would be especially nice to play Castlevania I and II again.
Anyway, keep on keepin on. Come on Team Canada!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
