History and the Past

We are all taught in history that we must learn from the past so that we do not repeat history's mistakes, but people are also taught to adhere to tradition and the teaching of elders. Often, tradition is built upon mistakes that are then magnified and compounded to a point of no recognition and no return. Then we have groups who want to kill one another because of a 1000 year old transgression no one can remember. 

How does one differentiate from mistakes and tradition? From Legacy and Fantasy? Where is the way forward in a world of tradition kindled thousands of years ago? 

Do not misunderstand, I love studying history and learning the past. I spent a good chunk of this very afternoon reading more about the history of San Francisco, which is fascinating and colorful with a healthy dose of pain and misery to temper the nostalgia.

We, in North America, all watched M*A*S*H while growing up. The Korean War was in our collective living room for almost four times as long as the actual original conflict, but in a weird twist, the conflict outlived even the television show, and North Korea has a young buck in charge who wishes to make his mark upon the world stage. He is staging tests and war games and rattling his sabres, and our stupid powers that be are responding in kind as they do to any troll on the internet. It makes the sense of fear rise among the populace. Forget fearing fear, that is an old, tired adage best left in the dusty catacombs of history.

But. Well, But, Well, Really, this is the point. Old Speeches mean naught. The old guard was weak and miserable, but the new guard has it all figured out, and more the better for our citizens. But, yet and still, this is a different time.

The first Korean War included the Canadians, Chinese, Russians, Australians, and more, but now.. ... . . . . ?

The Middle East is a kettle waiting to explode. There are little explosions every day, but there is a world stage watching every move already. Oil and fire and grease and butter and kindling and timber and news are a great fire indeed. And the war mongering, and the fear mongering of all our countries is perverse. Can we stop it?

What do we do if we cannot? Do we fight? Against whom? For how long? Toward what end? I cringe to know, but I do fear that World War III is nigh, and we are the tiny piglets who will be asked to go forth to die, and I am not afraid of dying. . . .  But I do not want to die for some snot nosed Power only looking for profit in the killing. 

But that is the truth, we are run by corporations and public interest groups. Oh the name is so perverse, 'Public Interest Groups' because really they are not interested in the public interest. They are only interested in their own interest, and they have so much money to throw around, but they do not throw at the people who need it, oh no!

It is only thrown at the politicians who get paid too much already anyway. 

This World War will be much messier and far more over arching consequences involving many more countries and regions  than any before, and the enemy will be nothing like before, and the world will really change as a result of this war, and i am not certain it will be for the better. 

And finally, I believe in Gun Control but I want to own Guns. That's the point too. Authorities are taking guns away from people who are documented as crazy or unstable, but they are lettling normal, reasonable people keep their arms.  There used to be a number of hospitals where known difficult people were kept under surveillance. How do you justify locking up an American Citizen? Well, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Most Armericans, indeed, most humans, are fine to leave alone to their own devices with their own lives, but there are a few who go a little wrong. We want to try to help, but sometimes wrong is wrong. 

Which is something else we've learned from history. Some decisions are alright to be left alone, and some must be scrutinized further. Nothing is simple, but life does go on.  

We've gotten too big
and we just cannot see
the lie that we are
and no one can be
as huge as we say
we never could be
as huge as we wish
as huge as we say
goodbye

Nick Cave; Ripples In A Lake

Nick Cave apparently knows no limits to the widths and depths of possibility.  Some of his records hit you over the head immediately and say here I am, look at me! Some lurk in the corner and wait for you to discover them in your own good time. 'Push The Sky Away' is one of the latter.

When the first single was released, I have to admit, I was a bit put off. It was spelled We No Who U R. For better or worse, I am still resistant to the text spelling trends though I find myself texting more and more these days. It seems to be the new email. Of course, it also sounded like his song 'Abattoir Blues', which I love (the song and album), but it sounded like a bit of a repeat.

Well, I need not have worried, well ok I did with Jubilee Street a bit at first, but I think it only took hearing it a number of times, without that video, for it to grow like ivy in the spring on brick.

That is the essence of this record. It lurks, and it grows. There is just enough of a hook here and there to bring you back in your haze of uncertainty. 'Wide Lovely Eyes' is beautiful. 'The Water's Edge' hearkens back to 'Sad Waters' with its quiet menace, but this new song has a little new release at the end.

'Mermaids' is endlessly fascinating. It prowls and meanders hither and yon from a bad relationship to  religion, to fantasy and hope. The melody does just the same rising when you least expect to a peak of hope that rises above all that came before. Hope is, after all, all that we really have from day to day.

The entire experience casts a spell. There appears to be a bit of a narrative and continuity. There is a connection with the elements of water and air and breath and life that lurks below in the undertow of the Bad Seeds' music that sets off the sometimes ambiguous words perfectly. I can't help but think of James Joyce a bit here. Except here we have Brighton, where Nick now lives, instead of Dublin. There are a number of voices and lives and experiences across this 45 minutes, and I find myself endlessly drawn back over and over.

I laughed and cryed to 'Mermaids' alone.

I wondered at 'Higgs Boson Blues' and its lonely protagonist on his futile journey of loneliness, and the seemingly more autobiographical, 'Finishing Jubilee Street', and I cried again a bit during the song, 'Push The Sky Away. Life is futile, but life is rich. Life is empty, but life is beautiful. You can try to end the futility, but you'll miss so much. That's what I get from this record.

At first, I was a little annoyed at Warren's loops. I love his violin playing, it's why I love him, and his loops, to me grew a little loathsome on Grinderman 2, but my mind has adjusted to the new template. Well, that is the thing. This is new. The first Grinderman, to me was amazing, and the second, not so much, but now it feels like a palate cleanser for this beauty of a record.

I highly recommend it, and I know my writing about it will never do it justice. It needs to be heard. It demands it. Only, if you do, do not just listen once, dive in again. Pick a spot, pick a song. It is like ripples. One song, whichever you pick, leads forwards and backwards again like ripples in the lake, until the whole is consumed by your ears and brains. See if you agree that this shadow lurking in the corner could become a central figure in the spotlight.

I have always thought that performing a song from another artist you admire is a chance to display your respect for their creativity and originality by exposing other aspects of light and shadow and possibility held within the framework of their creations. In short, what can you do differently? Imagine trying to stretch that notion across an entire album. That was the goal of the remaining members of Throbbing Gristle who had dubbed themselves X-TG after Genesis P-Oridge abruptly left the group via e-mail.

The idea apparently originally came from Peter 'Sleazy' Christopherson, and the final double album plus bonus remix album is dedicated to his vision. Released two years after Sleazy's death, we can wrap ourselves in the warmth of these tendrils of music. No longer confrontational, these strands of sounds are welcoming and warm like an old friend. This is, I suspect, the point, and I think it is my favorite release of 2012.

The first disc is chock full of guest artists singing to laid back tracks of sound and noise. . . nothing too jarring; all wrapped in love and comfort. There are standout moments, for me in particular, Blixa Bargeld's takes on the German tracks. He sounds at home in these soundscapes. Where else would he be after all? Blixa sounds at home in the bowels of hell and damnation while singing of love. Of course, Cosey Fanny Tutti sounds great. This is her home. Sleazy, her friend, Chris, her partner.  She brings a pathos to the words and the mood. The loss and the life are monumental and equal.

The noise and the fury that build only hint at that of the past fury. So again, it is comforting and warm.  Dissonace becomes harmonious and sound as antagonist becomes sound as joy.

Of course, it is difficult to write about this without mentioning that absent voice you cringe to name. The second disc really sounds barren and cold and wanting. It really makes me miss the Voice of Gen.
i can feel the hole. I can feel its roundness and limits. Whereas the first disc has its presence and voices, the second disc is wholly lacking. I suspect this is the point. Peter is lacking as well. Well. . . It is I believe a reflection of the lack of the whole. And that is I believe the point. Sometimes the guiding light is just in the shadows like a conductor. You can see the motion, but there is no sound of the conductor. Only the sound.

Old is new, and old is well, history. How? Why? Why? Indeed!

Here I am again immersed in early Hall and Oates. Specifically again, War Babies (1974). This is dark and unrelenting. There are no hits. There are no uplifting moments. There is reality, and there is life, and there is pain and fucked up human beings. There is also Todd Rundrgren who, i think, encourages and loves this aspect of life. There is the memory of the past juxtaposed with the reality of the present. Yet darkness uplifts in its own way. I love this disc. I have for years and years. Days lead to weeks to months to years to life and more and so on, and where does it end, if ever? There is darkness illuminated by tv screens and life illuminated by death scenes. Life and death. Begin and End. Sink and Swim!

I came to an interesting realization a few mornings ago while at work. We usually have some satellite radio station or other on. Often there is current music playing by young bands, and I usually do not care for much of what is presented.  Oddly, I try to listen to plenty of new music, and I enjoy much of what I hear, but (my realization) I never hear any of it on these satellite radio stations. I never hear Wild Flag or Corin Tucker or the new Sophie B. Hawkins or the new Lindsey Buckingham. And I most definitely never hear the new Rush though they officially released a couple of singles from the newest album, Clockwork Angels . I am certain I will not hear the new Scott Walker or Swans or X-TG either singles or no. 

I always marvel that Nick Cave is not better known in North America. Nick Cave! Sure when I go to see him live with the Bad Seeds or Grinderman, the theater is always packed and feverish, but in my daily life about town (San Francisco no less), very few have even heard of him. And yes, I mentioned Lindsey Buckingham! He of Fleetwood Mac fame. Even he is fond of commenting on the dual life he leads. It is even the title of his latest DVD, 'Songs From The Small Machine'. Fleetwood Mac fans swarm the largest arenas in droves, but Buckingham alone can play to an intimate crowd of a few hundred in town after town. Why the disparity? This even happens from small machine to tiny machine in that Mick Harvey has released some brilliant albums (Sketches from the Book of the Dead is but the latest), and worked on other brilliant albums (PJ Harvey's 'Let England Shake"), but he is almost a complete unknown here if you are not a music dork such as myself though he played with Nick Cave for  35 years or so years. 

Of course, there is seemingly a unifying theme to much of this music, disparate as it all is. None of it panders to the masses, and none of it lowers itself to what a listener might like. While they are all fantastic to my ears, they are not always (that dreaded word)pleasing. Or easy. 

Scott Walker's newest disc, 'Bisch Bosch' will likely find itself on several year-end lists and rightfully so, but it is no easy listen. It is startlingly funny in places, and the listener never knows where the song will head next as sound textures shift under Walker's voice like massive techtonic plates drifting hither and yon. The average listener who craves a beat, always a beat, will give up. It is, happily, not very predictable tho' it is also not very happy. 

I suppose this is Lindsey Buckingham's problem too. He is a part of the group that spawned 'Rumours' in 1977. It sold millions and millions right away, and he immediately rebelled. 'Tusk' was the result. I still don't understand why the song is called Tusk. It is sprawling, and it has beautiful tunes and heartfelt sentiment alongside a snotty, punk rock edge that was everywhere in 1979 and found its way to Lindsey's heart as well. All one has to do is juxtapose Stevie Nicks' 'Beautiful Child' with Buckingham's 'Not That Funny' to feel the push and pull. 

Really, Lindsey Buckingham has that in him as well which is why it works. In a live show, he routinely goes from whisper to scream and back again within the span of a song as if he was wringing out every ounce of life from its fabric. For a society that seemingly wants a consistent beat, this is just too much. How dare you stretch a song into almost unrecognizability over and over!

Without beating a dead horse needlessly because no one needs that, predictability will be our downfall. So many people wish to stand on tradition as the foundation of all that is good saying here is all we need. Absurd. Sure, we need to learn from tradition. There are stories to keep and practices to discard, but ultimately, the best part of being able to climb high upon a peak standing on what came before is the opportunity to see to the horizons. It is the ability to look beyond our tiny corner of the globe. What is leaving from here and what is approaching that's new. 

One of my favorite bands now is Einstürzende Neubauten.  I used to work with someone who had heard of them, but he said he could not listen because he would never be able to pronounce their name. I tried to explain that it is not that difficult to say, but no. He closed the door, without trying, to an entire part of the world because he cannot pronounce Einstürzende.

Well this really happens alot even when there is no language barrier. Kristin Hersh has been writing music and growing as a writer since the mid 80's. Her lyrics are in English, but they often do not make an obvious sense right away. There is truly a sense of poetry to the words. They are truthful and universal. The listener may not exactly know what Hersh is on about in a song, but that only allows us, the listeners, to fill in those gaps with our own experiential understanding which can then reflect back upon the songwriter in unexpected ways. Her band 50 Foot Wave released an ep earlier this year entitled, 'Love from the Men's Room'. 

I know this disc basically rocks, and I know there is sort of an underlying darkness to it that I think I feel as a reflection of my own difficulties in 2012, but I am still not really sure I understand the lyrics per se. Well, and I don't really care. It moves me in a way that goes beyond mere understanding and into something more visceral. 

This is and can be the power of music. It can go beyond the obvious. It can speak beyond words, and it can certainly delve beyond the basic beat and baser needs. That is exactly what I need: something beyond. Something deep. Something real. Something difficult.

I lost my beautiful Grandmother this last July. She loved music, and I played her lots of the music she loved in her final hours as a balm. I feel I have her personality and disposition. Like her, I love symphonic music and opera and ballet and string quartets and piano sonatas. She often said music should reflect the beauty and joy of the world, but I always wondered how music should be constricted to only the beauty and joy. 

Often, I am at a loss for the immense ugliness of the actions of others, and music can often convey for me what words cannot. You can call it difficult listening if you wish, but that does not mean it should not be heard. We digest horrifying bits of televison everyday on the news and on tv programs, but they become disjointed images and soundbites easily removed from everyday life with a smile of the anchor and a quick transition to the weather, sports and traffic. It is all someone else's problem. 

Music can often say something ugly that simple words cannot convey, or words and music together can create an unholy whole. To listen to it is to surrender to it. You accept automatically that all is not well, or you go and listen to Fun.

I suppose this is ultimately why so many of us search for a meaning that explains everything.  They say there is someone above who can explain but won't because we're not ready. We just have to accept. But, of course we don't either. That is the hilarity. We have to accept what we don't understand. But only if we wish. You don't have to accept homosexuality if you don't understand, but why must you understand? You do not live it, you do not have to live with it. You simply need to let others live it for themselves if they choose. I thought that was the basic premise of these United States:  freedom to speak, act and practice as we choose as long as we do not hurt others. Well, hurting each other! This seems to be an odd occupation of a certain, rather large, segment of our population. 

If you feel misunderstood, try listening to some of these less popular voices. They have been where you are, and they were able to redirect their visions into other arenas. There is always hope until you decide there is no more hope. All the seeds are scattered upon the soil. Which will take? Who can know?

Who can say? What will grow?

A name for next time along these lines:

Karen Carpenter!

Merry Christmas, if you wish,

and a Happy New Year!

Cheers,

Chris

Well, the year marches ever onwards. There are potentially new and exciting things on the horizon beckoning me forward to the new year. I am not exactly excited about Christmas, but I am not quite as hopeless and cynical about it as I think I felt last year. I am in a new job environment, and I am meeting new people. Those doors I see before me do not feel locked against me.  I do not have all the answers, but do we ever? The journey really is about looking for the answers. Yet there are always, always more questions.  The point is which do we focus on, and which do we ignore because there are simply too many to handle in any one lifetime?

I have been listening to The Carpenters a lot lately. I cannot help but be moved by the sad story of Karen Carpenter. She experienced, with her brother, a brilliant burst of sensational popularity and celebrity that few experience. Yet it brought her precious little happiness in the end. Richard Carpenter was and is a brilliant piano/keyboard player/arranger with a somewhat schmaltzy taste in music. I do not think he meant to exploit his sister. He just wanted she and him to be as successful as possible. The success blinded him to what Karen needed, and the record company, of course, wanted hits, media and publicity. And she felt exploited anyway, in my humble opinion. Or at least, ignored.

She died at the age of 32 from complications to an eating disorder that left her body weak and confused. It does beg, for me, the question of responsibility we have as individuals, to try to help the others around us in their times of need and suffering. What can we do to see more clearly what goes on around us day to day. What can I learn from this struggle.

Plus, I do love much of the music. The albums, 'A Song For You' and 'Close To You' are amazing. And I really like 'Passage' from 1976. Those records really show their range and talents as individuals working towards a greater goal.

Yet and still, Karen thought of herself as a drummer first, and the album, 'Passage' has no drumwork from Karen at all. In the earliest days of the group, she played drums with Rich on keyboards and a bass/tuba player. Later, Karen added singing (from the drum kit). The earliest demos and the first album all feature Karen drumming and singing. Many speculate that her forced removal from the drum throne precipatated in her eating disorder and, eventually, slowly, painfully, her death.

So, I again wonder at the doors ahead of me. I had my difficulties growing up, but I was, for better or for worse, given great freedom to roam and explore. Maybe I am lucky I was born a man. Many women would agree! I do not forget the paths of humans who came before me as I forge ahead. I always try to honor the past while not clinging to erroneous tradition that clouds our judgements about the future.

Yet, I am hopeful and grateful. I enjoy what I enjoy from the past while looking towards what I might enjoy of what will not last.

It has been an interesting and intense year. I am astounded that next week is Thanksgiving; yet I am looking forward to this year being over. I'm ready for a new chapter, and 2013 seems as good a chapter break  as any.  I have been terrible at staying in touch with some good, old friends while trying to maintain some good ties with a few new friends. It isn't that I don't want to still seek out the old friends. There is a strong desire in me however to blaze a new trail forward, and change is really the only constant in life, in the end. Well, that and my cats.

I went through a severe depression early this year. There were days when I could not stop crying. I was at Trader Joe's, and I just started balling uncontrollably. I went to a supervisor to ask if I could just go home. He asked why, and I just burst into tears again. He let me go home.

My friend Josh, again who I don't talk to enough really, called me to talk because he saw my pain. I am so grateful. We talked on his lunch break. Beyond words. I was supposed to go to my other job, and I was not sure I would make it. I lay in my bed, on my back with my right hand on my chest. Funny what you remember! My cat, Cora, loves to lay on top of me, and she picked this moment to clamber on top of me. She used my hand as a pillow, and she began to purr. Loudly. I could feel her little breaths. In and Out through her nose. On my right hand. It calmed me down enough that I made it to the other job. I cried. I wondered.

I often wonder about, well everything. Life, love, happiness, contentment, depression.

I wonder at the fact that species as different as humans and cats can coexist.

Yet, we all carry on. We try to figure out a way to understand, but we don't always. So, the question really is. . . .  if we do not understand, can we at least accept that we do not understand everything?

Accept. This is a word that seems to elude humans. We all have ideas. We all have visions.  We all have wants and desires. When do we accept that it is ok to not always understand, as long as we accept it?

I certainly don't understand everyone, and I do not try, but it does not mean that I should not accept that we are not all the same. That of course does not mean that every behavior I do not understand should simply be accepted either. That, again, goes towards understanding. Just like the richter scale, there are degrees of separation and understanding that are simple and brutal and unknown.

why do I love Vladimir Horowitz? many do. Some do not. It is his heart. Sure, he could be abrasive. He attacked the piano like a wild animal -  -- - - not to everybody's liking.

But here's the thing. He thought about music deeply and critically. In between performances, he thought deeply about the music. He memorized it and incorporated it into his being. both performances and the original notes on the page.

But, when he played, it all came from the heart and gut. Horowitz did not pretend to play the score. He had  his touch and his feel and his psyche. His playing was his own for better or for worse. you either liked it or you didn't. The true definition of an artist is that he or she performs an interpretation true to his or her own vision. Not all can pull this off. They think they can, but they cannot. They cannot. End/.

I have not written anything new in quite a long time but so much has happened in that time. Time stands still, and time marches on. It can feel so slow, and it can go so fast. confusing.

I have been composing and writing a lot. I think about recording a great deal, but the writing (and life itself) keeps getting in the way. I am sure i have at least two discs worth of music inside of me waiting to come out. Right now, I feel at a loss. I just lost my Nani (grandmother) last week, and I feel like something will come as a result of the loss. I loved her so much, and her love of her family was immense. She was often the foundation that kept this family sort of together during all the in fighting and back biting.

I want to write for her and to her when i can, but my emotions are tied down and convulsing, and i don't know if it is the right time or the best time. I wish for the best.

2012 has been a confusing year in many ways, and I feel I am at a crossroads to I do not know where. So I just keep listening and looking and, hopefully, learning. Forward is hard but backwards is harder and not desirable.

So I am looking forward by listening to Vladimir Horowitz in 1985. He constantly struggled with moving forward. He was world famous beyond belief, but he struggled with the idea that no one would remember him after a temporary retirement of a few years. Yet he came storming back, and he was broadcast around the world when he went back to Russia 60 years after leaving.

I am not so immense or so famous, or so fragile. I suppose I can come back in my small way too if I wish. If I wish.

So I go back to Nani. She was immense and tiny in her way in equal measure. She was a regular person who had to make extraordinary decisions. She saw war torn countries and tropical paradises. Her life well led is the envy of us all and beautiful. Extraordinary in all that word implies!

It's been awhile.

and i have been thinking. why? what? the usual. . . . . i have been listening

Wow!

Has it really been that long since my last post? I've been busy I guess. Maybe, I've been a bit lazy as well. There has been some amazing creativity leavened with long stretches of fallow plots of ideas. So I have listened to a lot of new music and a great deal of the old music I love to keep me going.

My cousin Carolyn asked me recently what I've been listening to lately, and that made me think that writing a list with some thoughts might be just the thing.

Kristin Hersh-Crooked. KH took advantage of the internet and its possibilities to bring a community of supporters (Strange Angels) together with the hopes that they might pay her, in advance, to make a record rather than asking a record company for an advance. Crooked is the result. Beautiful packaging houses a beautiful and somewhat sad yet hopeful work of beauty. This could not be mistaken for any other artist. I love the opener, Mississippi Kite. It's a corker that draws you into Hersh's world. It lets you know that whatever sadness or seeming fragility you hear through the course of listening will be survived. Indeed, she will survive and thrive.

Evangelista- Prince of Truth. This is Carla Bozulich and her current cadre of musicians. Carla's albums are always a journey. Joy and pain are woven together like threads in a shirt. It is the beauty and ugliness that is our existence. Difficult and stunning.

The Corin Tucker Band-1,000 Years. OK, I love Sleater-Kinney. So this album is a no brainer. It's also a surprise and a revelation. If you love S-K just listen. If you don't love S-K because of Corin's voice, give this a listen anyway. I think you may be surprised.

Tinariwen-Imidiwan: Companions. Sahara Desert Blues is the moniker. The moniker does not really do them justice. The desert is in the music as is their uprising and their joy. Their lives are hard and beautiful. You can practically feel the sand in your eyes and between your teeth after hearing this recording, but you may also feel a lightness of heart and buoancy of spirit.

ANBB-Mimikry. Blixa's shreik. Oh my. What a way to start. Then electronic tomfoolery, and a song appears. And a cover of Harry Nilsson's One? It sounds absurd on the surface of it, but then one remembers Blixa's cover of 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow', and one thinks OK this may be possible. And it is. It's noisy and weird and lovely, and I'm glad I have it.

White. White is shenggy and Shou Wang. They are a duo from China who recently released this album produced by the aforementioned Blixa Bargeld and recorded in the former Bunker (now Andere Baustelle) studio in Berlin. It is by turns fascinating and monotonous and fascinating again. Really, the devil is in the details. It may sound monotonous if one only listens tangentially, but if the listener listens he/she is rewarded with myriad little developments. They are like rings inside a tree. The tree is the tree, but the rings tell a story. Fascinating.

Rangda-False Flag.

Sun City Girls-Funeral Mariachi. These are very different albums that have the common link of Sir Richard Bishop, guitarist extraordinaire. Sun City Girls ceased to exist after the demise of drummer Charles Gocher, but there were some final recordings that Richard's brother, Alan finished. It's not as strange as much of their back catalog. In many ways it's the perfect gateway drug into the world of Sun City Girls. By turns strange and wonderful and the strange is wonderful too. You never know where they will take you next.

Rangda is Richard Bishop with Ben Chasny on guitar and Chris Corsano on drums. It begins with the hilariously titled Waldorf Hysteria. It lives up to its title. It is insane surf guitar antics played at thrash metal proportions. There are surprises galore in this record too. Calm soothing guitar at one point is then joined, out of nowhere, by furious, bashing drums and the guitars never join in the fray. They stay the course while the drums scream and bruise. And so it goes. Both are intriguing and some of my favorites of the year.

Gil Scott Heron-I'm New Here. Gil Scott Heron has never really left, but this is new territory I suppose. There is a fair amount of trip hop, and the words are maybe a bit more wistful for what might have been, but the poetry is still there in force. And things are still supremely fucked in our world. I love his admonition in the liner notes that you, the listener, should listen without outside distractions (like one used to listen). Turn off the phone, the computer. Turn on the brain. Just listen. This record, like any I think, deserves your full attention.

Derek Bailey and Agusti Fernanadez-A Silent Distant. Derek Bailey loved a challenge. He pushed against the acceptable boundaries of music, and more often than not, he leaped with abandon over those edges tearing them to shreds along the way. He approached his Motor Neurone Disease the same way. He had to learn a whole new approach to playing guitar, and his sound changed as a result, but his creativity and his desire never faltered. He wanted to face every challenge head on and document it as he did on an album that charts his progress from what was initially thought to be tendonitis. Anyway, this CD documents his last live public performance, and it is beautiful. It is the rather classical mixture of guitar and piano, but not really like anything you've heard before. It is exploratory and expansive and refreshing and pretty much different than anything else in Bailey's catalog which is astounding in and of itself considering how extensive his catalog really is.

Nels Cline-Dirty Baby. OK. Really. I have not quite wrapped my head around this yet. There is poetry and artwork. The music was meant to be a soundtrack to these, but, according to the liner notes, the music kind of took on a life of its own that still somehow lends itself to the words and visuals. It makes its own kind of sense. It's thorny and knotty and intriguing. I think I like it. One thing I can always say about the work of Nels Cline, as a guitarist, is that it is always fascinating. Sometimes it is stomach churning, sometimes beautiful, usually thoughttful. Mostly challenging. He can dazzle you with the most lyrical phrases and then shatter you with the most pernicious noises. I don't always know what to make of it, but I am always drawn to it: perhaps like a moth to a flame. Maybe I just like to feel the burn.

OK, most of that is new (more or less), but there were also some rereleases that caught my attention this year. First.

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds-Henry's Dream. you can feel the rumble of the strings rattling against the guitar neck in the opening. The sound is huge. Papa Won't Leave You Henry is an amazing opener, and it still grabs you by the throat when they decide to play it live. The band, apparently, were never quite pleased with this (Mick Harvey, I love you), and they leaped at the chance to right a few wrongs. The sound is, indeed, amazing in this disc. I don't have 5.1, but I am curious to hear how it sounds when I finally get it. Nevertheless, it is greatly improved. It sounds like the Bad Seeds are in the room playing for you alone. There are a slew of extras: live tracks, bonus tracks. The documentary video is sort of interesting once, but sort of not necessary. The music says it all.

Einstürzende Neubauten-Strategies Against Architecture IV. EN were one of the first groups to try to exploit the possibilities of the internet. There were forums and personal connections. Maybe one could be made here. This is an over view of that process and time. They made several albums (and missteps) along the way. They tried to get closer to the listeners while keeping a significant distance from them as well. There is an interesting paradox here that many of the members of EN are extremely private, but they put themselves into this public forum anyway. The music is often fascinating and beautiful. It is more gentle than in the earliest days, but it is still too thorny and difficult for the average listener that just wants marmalade and honey in their treats. For the collector, or dare I say it, former supporter, there is little that is unavailabe, but the Musterhaus collage is wonderful as is Waiting for the Call. Some of the formerly exclusive tracks are significantly different so that they are still sort of exclusive to us such as Palast der Republik (edited down or different) and Party at Meck-Pomm (cut down substantially). Still, fascinating glimpses into the world of EN.

I say, comb the internet for Grundstück, Halber Mensch and Unglaublicher Lärm, and be amazed.

July?! Already?! Where has the proverbial time gone?!

Every year goes by so much faster than the last. Now that I am, more or less, keeping a blog, and I am, no less, approaching 40 years of age, I suppose, I feel the time slipping through my fingers that much more keenly. I suspect this happens to every human being, but I suspect, further, we each have to endure this uncertainty ourselves.

I want to feel someone else's presence, but I still relish my alone-ness. I want to be wanted, but I want that on certain terms. I want to find someone who is fascinating in their own right who, in turn, is fascinated by me --as I am too.

I want to travel, and I want to stay close to the fold; I want to see the world, and I want to stay close to home. I want to look inside, and I want to see without; I want to be myself, and I want love without a doubt.

I suspect we are all full of contradictions and desires, and we all want something bigger than ourselves despite ourselves. How complicated it is being human? When did rational thought (or maybe it really is irrational in light of our primal urges) come to the fore and where do thought and instinct intersect, and how do they interact?

I would say this is so much thinking aloud except that the only noise is the tap, tap, tap on the keyboard accompanied by the guitar playing of Julian Bream. Thinking aloud in the 21st Century is like that I suppose. Bream was a 20th Century guitarist who sought out music from the Elizabethan age of John Dowland and William Shakespeare as well as the 20th Century music of Benjamin Britten and Igor Stravinsky and more. . . . not that I am Julian Bream - esque. It is, still, the idea of looking forward as one looks back. Are they really mutually exclusive. History teachers are fond of saying that we must look behind us to learn how to look forward.

There is beauty in every age. Where is our beauty? What challenges our beauty?

Is beauty all I should strive for? Isn't there more?

Is it enough?

Heart?

Mind?

Huh?

Ha?

I?

Lately, when I find myself picking up my guitar, more often than not I will simply start improvising. Literally, I will lay my fingers down somewhere on the neck and start plucking notes with no forethought of where or what may come out. Often, while doing this, the results will be lackluster. Sometimes, however, the music will just flow, and some strange new thing will emerge much like a person out of the fog. Like a person, it will grow and mature and go somewhere and have something interesting to say. This happened to me the other day.

I almost felt like a radio receiver tuned into the airwaves around me. It felt transcendant.

Afterward, I wished I'd had the forethought to turn on my recorder to capture the moment. That does not happen very often either which, funnily, led to some doubts about whether or not the improvisation would have been as good if the recorder was on. Thoughts are funny creatures. They can be looked upon as negative or positive so easily. Some people are incredibly good at bringing themselves down with their own negative thoughts. Who needs enemies? I really try to not fall into that trap. I am a harsh critic of myself.

Looking at it from the positive angle, I have come to the conclusion that all I need to do is turn on the recorder everytime I pick up the guitar and let it roll. Regardless of what comes out, I should just record it all. Who knows? There could be some good riff or progression that I simply toss off without further ado that would otherwise be forgotten. Who know?

The flipside to this is obvious though. To find the diamond, you have to wade through the rough, and I am not always fond of wading. Oh those thoughts. Like my 5th grade teacher, Mr. Glass, once said, I need to stop thinking so much. He was a very wise man, and I still look to him, believe it or not, for inspiration and knowledge all these years later. Thank You Mr. Glass.

Long day today. Long, long day. Which culminated in me turning pages for a pianist during an epic piano quartet by Schumann. I am not a pianist, and I warned them of this short coming. I blundered it a bit, and it was tough. Everyone could see the difficulties, and the occassional fucked up-edness of it all, but we all got through it all. I was actually complimented by a patron for my calm and professionalism amidst the difficulties that were obvious to all. I have to give credit to the pianist, Makiko Ooka, too. She was obviously frustrated by some of the difficulties during the performance, but she was very gracious afterwards. I was mortified a couple of times by my own gaffes, but I did keep a calm demeanour as I knew from the outset that things might go awry. I've studied a little piano, but I've never played a piece of music like this.

Thank you Makiko, for your understanding.

I seem to be in a highly receptive period for creative ideas. I almost feel like an antenna. Several kernels of songs seemed to float my way. One really took some serious shape tonight. When they come at me like this, it is almost completely impossible to look at it realistically to decide whether or not it is even good. These particular songs somehow seem to defy the notion of good or bad for me. It does not mean, of course, that anyone else will actually think they're good, but that is the subjective nature of creativity and personal taste. I figure, if I get the idea down into a tangible form and find a way to put it out into the world (so easy nowadays) then eventually the right someone's will find it (or it will find them as it seemed to find me).

I am drinking a Toasted Head Alexander Valley Barrel Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon from 2006 that my coworker, Jen, recommended (and even set aside for me{thanks Jen}. It is really good. It lives up to its name, I think, of being rather toasty and warm. It has a nice spiciness to it that I enjoy in wine sometimes with dark fruit, nice tannins and a long, luxurious finish. Some hearty food would really draw this wine out as it has a lot of character and layers, but it is also enjoyable on its own which is how I am drinking it since I am, unusually, not terribly hungry tonight.

Writing, writing, writing, reading, playing, writing, writing and more, well, writing. Will anyone want to read? What will it become? How ambitious am I? Good questions all, but it is all moot if a story isn't finished. So I keep writing. I know how I think it will end although stories, as they develop, often have their own ideas. So, we'll see.

It was a rare, hot, day in San Francisco, and I missed it due to pressing engagements inside. Writing, writing indeed. I will share bits and pieces when the time is right, and I hope someone will enjoy and encourage further development. Happy Saturday night to all and to all a good Saturday night.

So busy! In a good way. Lots of work and lots of creative ideas are flooding my brain right now. I have not been getting a lot of sleep as a result, but hopefully some of the ideas will actually bear interesting fruit that may even taste good to those inclined to take a nibble.

I started writing an outline of a story. I don't have any idea how the final shape will look, but I have an idea how it will end though sometimes stories have their own ideas about how they should end. So, who knows? Then I also intend to record a disc of my solo guitar music, and I want to finish an album I started in 2008 that sort of stalled for various personal reasons I won't go into now. Long story.

Plus, I am kind of jonesing to play some live music with some like minded musicians. I really like the idea of finding some people to play with who love to play something melodic and pretty one moment and something dischordant and/or atonal the next. They would be people who aren't afraid of mixing prog and goth and folk and classical and noise and whatever I can't think of into a blender. I don't know. It would be free and precise; loose and concise in equal measure and at the right moments. Everything in its right place and everything wrong fitting in just so too and sounding so right.

I have not been sleeping well for several nights now. My brain simply will not shut up. I've been trying to make myself sleep, but I think it is time to just listen to the cogs spinning in my head. I have a few burgeoning ideas floating around, taking shape that may take the form of what. . . short stories? My friend suggested that maybe one idea could make an interesting opera-which intrigues me. I've never written an opera, and there is the very serious question of whether or not I could even get an opera published and performed. Well, hey that's akin to putting the cart before the horse (before the horse is even born), so that's silly.

On another musical note, I am enjoying 'False Flag' by Rangda which is Sir Richard Bishop, Chris Corsano and Ben Chasny. I really love Bishop's guitar playing on his recent solo records, and the interplay, here, between the two guitars and drums is riveting and often unexpected. It is even more impressive when one knows that it was all improvised on the spot during a live performance. The spontaneity is truly apparent. I hope this is not a one off project.

So, today is my first blog. I feel a bit late to the game, and I am sure few will read this at first. It's like the pilot episode of a soon to be beloved television show where the viewers wish to retroactively view what came in the early days because of what came later. I love Buffy the Vampire Slayer the TV show, and I retroactively, loved the opportunity to see the original pilot online--different as it was.

I love music. I love wine. I love food. I like to cook, and I work in a store where I sell, stock and order wine for the time being. Cheese is a favorite though I have cut most dairy out of my diet, and will, getting back to the first part, talk about music for ever if you let me. I've been called a snob of music before, but I do not think that is quite it. I know what I like. I am willing to listen to the new. I either like it or I don't. I am not afraid to say, and in return, I like a lot of sounds and songs and recordings that the vast majority of humans may not like. My mind is open until it is closed, and I don't really want it to be closed prematurely because life is about openness and honesty and those can't happen without life having its way with each and every one of us.