Author: colter

Inspired Thievery

Perusing Spinsouth‘s recent blog entry containing a fine Johnny Cash mp3, I realized I should be offering occasional free downloads. The lowly pointedstick.net server is probably too clogged up, but the littlerockmusician.com server isn’t doing much (other than hosting a forum that may already be dead because I never think to promote it[1]), so I can store stuff there. With that in mind, I give you:

Millard Powers – Simple Thing

Millard fronted an amazing band called The Semantics, alongside Will Owsley and Zak Starkey (son of Ringo, now in Oasis), and has also played bass for Ben Folds and Counting Crows (of whom he’s likely to become a full member if he hasn’t already). Millard and Will also moonlight in Amy Grant’s backing band.

This track came from Millard’s old mp3.com page. Since their original business model folded, Millard has been without a home on the web. Evidenly he has no interest in getting his music out through traditional means. I just noticed that some guy in Panama registered millardpowers.com only two days ago. Weird. I love Millard. He can do Ben Folds better than Ben Folds sometimes.

1.) I set the site up years ago as a way to keep in touch with my guitar students, and for anyone who wants to find a music teacher in Central Arkansas. By all means, check it out and spread it around.

The Acceleration of History

Of course the Internet speeds the exchange of information, allowing scientific communication to accelerate and advancements to be made more quickly, but something I’ve noticed recently is that it has a similar effect on the distribution of historical facts. I have seen more references to Saturnalia this holiday season than in any previous year, and I blame the ease with which the Internet allows us to transmit information. In the case of Saturnalia, it’s likely a side effect of this hubub regarding references to “Christmas” versus “holidays.” Apparently the tide of political correctness is being turned back toward the Christian majority who want to make sure that everyone knows Christ is the reason for the season. I won’t get into that, though [1].

What I’ve been seeing lately are a flurry of emails and weblinks discussing December 25 and its Saturnalian origins. Much the way Easter was co-opted by the Christians from pagan tradition, so Christmas was conveniently placed at the same time of the Romans’ Saturnalia in an effort to convert the heathens. In fact, most biblical scholars put Christ’s actual birth a few years back into the B.C., and probably in spring or summer, as the Nativity would have been an unlikely scene in the dead of winter. Not many shepherds would keep their flock by night in the fields during the cold season.

Another, completely unrelated historical item I came across today was graffiti from the walls of Pompeii. For some reason I never considered that the scrawlings on the walls of truck stop bathrooms have a long tradition, stretching back very likely to the first days of indoor lavatories. The Pompeii markings read nearly identically to their counterparts in the modern day. The topics are alternately scatalogical (“show us your hairy privates”) and romantic (“Marcus loves Spendusa”). I also never realized “I was here” has been written on walls for millenia. Were we to intuit the central message of humanity from these writings, one could only assume that it would read: “We were here, we had sex, we loved.”

For anyone searching for the meaning of life, the answer may well lie right there.

1.) Yet.

Richard Pryor (1940-2005)

One of the great things Richard Pryor did was take the “bad words” and make them funny. I may be wrong, but I think that the more you laugh at words like “motherfucker” and “nigger” the less powerful they become. Pryor was so funny, all he had to do was say those words and their socio-linguistic[1] hegemony started to crumble. The more we laugh at the things that make us uncomfortable, the less power those things have over us.

Frank Zappa was a tireless crusader for the idea that words, in and of themselves, cannot hurt you. For the same reason that guns don’t kill people, people kill people, so also words can’t hurt you, only people can hurt you. If a word hurts you by itself, then that pain comes from inside you; it is but a dagger of the mind.

To extend that even futher, at 29 I still refuse to believe there is any qualitative difference between the word “shit” and the word “crap.” That whole “swear word” thing never worked for me as a kid, and it still doesn’t. If I train myself to say “crap” rather than “shit” or “fuck” when I stub my toe, the meaning and intent of the word hasn’t changed, only its linguistic garb. To say that one word is safe and another is not, when they both mean the same thing and convey the same image, is ludicrous. Another particularly vexing example is the phrase “that sucks,” which is somehow permissible to most people, even though the unexpurgated version of the phrase involves direct reference to either fellatio or cunnilingus [2]. That was the phrase’s intent and origin, yet stripped of its object it somehow becomes harmless.

Well now that I’ve set off all your pr0n filters, I guess I’ve made an effective tribute to Richard Pryor. I’d also like to say that, while Pryor’s films were rarely box office smashes, they have an easy amble to them; I don’t know how many times I’ve watched Brewster’s Millions, The Toy or his Gene Wilder buddy flicks. Or his best work as a screenwriter, Blazing Saddles, which he co-wrote and was supposed to star in, were it not for the studio’s fear of what Mel Brooks charitably termed as Pryor’s “sniffing habit.”

1.) Not sure if that’s a word, but let’s preted it is because it sounds really cool and pretentious.
2.) Somehow those terms are safer than “blow job” and “rug munching.” Perhaps because they are entirely devoid of all humor.

An Audio Obsessive

Not that anyone probably cares, but here are the records I got for $1 each in Memphis a few weeks ago:

Keith Jarrett – The Koln Concert
Keith Jarrett – Staircase
Keith Jarrett – The Survivors’ Suite
Keith Jarrett – Sun Bear Concerts
Keith Jarrett – Arbour Zena
Keith Jarrett, Jack DeJohnette – Ruta & Daitya
Keith Jarrett, Gary Peacock, Jack DeJohnette – Tales of Another
The Zombies – Odessey & Oracle
Al DiMeola – Casino
Al DiMeola – Scenario
Al DiMeola – Splendido Hotel
Richard Lloyd – Real Time
Calculated X – Some Change No Change
Chick Corea – Return to Forever
Chick Corea – The Leprechaun
Allan Holdsworth – Atavachron
Jan Hammer Group – Melodies
Billy Cobham – Life & Times
Stanley Clarke – Time Exposure
Stanley Clarke – Journey to Love
John Abercrombie – Night
John Abercrombie, Ralph Towner – Five Years Later
Bill Frisell, Tim Berne – Theoretically
Ron Carter – Blues Farm
Lenny White – Big City
Billy Vaughn – La Paloma
McCoy Tyner – Focal Point
Buddy Rich – Stick It
Pat Metheny – New Chautauqua
Bill Laswell – Baselines

Yes I had to update my vinyl list, too.

In Love with an Idea, Part II

About two years ago around this time someone said to me that she liked the fact that I had no expectations. We were in the early days of our relationship then and while I’m still not entirely sure what she meant by that, I suspect it had something to do with me not expecting us to be doing certain things[1] or for either of us to be fulfilling a particular role. We just acted naturally and were comfortable with whatever came our way. No pressure, no requirements, just a relaxed pace to our time together.

Unnecessary expectations may be tied to the appealing assumptions we make regarding someone to whom we know we are attracted but do not fully know.

Once the boyfriend/girlfriend exclusivity threshold has been passed, we assign different standards of behavior to the other person. These are expectations, and they vary from person to person. Perhaps it was the case that I had only the most essential expectations for our relationship: thou shalt not mug down with others, and thou shalt show affection often. Some people may extend these to more complex rules and regulations: thou shalt always call me at least twice daily, thou shalt have sex with me nightly.

Relationships work best when there is balance, and a balance of expectations is essential. However, for those of you who may find yourself discontent in your dealings with others (romantic or otherwise), examine your expectations and make sure they aren’t the problem.

Do I sound too much like Dr. Phil? I’m sorry. I just write this stuff as it comes and try not to judge it. Also a good way to approach a relationship…

1.) Maybe I wasn’t being pushy for sex.

Oh the Wells Fargo Wagon is A-Coming Down the Street…

Somehow a song about “the UPS truck” doesn’t quite fit. Maybe someone needs to update The Music Man. Anyway, shiny red keyboard goodess is all mine!

NE61

It’s a 61-key, Nord Electro 2. It does all the old cool organ and keyboard sounds: Wurlitzer, Fender Rhodes, Hammond, etc., in addition to standard piano sounds. And it doesn’t do a thousand crappy useless keyboard-programmer-wank sounds like so many companies make. It does a few classic sounds and does them exceptionally well. This is the best Christmas ever.

Stinkfoot the Brave

I took Zoe for a walk tonight, and Stinkfoot met us in the backyard and followed along the entire time. He always lagged several feet behind us, moving in uncertain spurts, but he stayed in the game despite the darkness and the occasional car. I can’t say I’ve ever taken a walk with a cat. I remember when he was afraid to go out the door.

Cats. They grow up so fast.

Don’t Be a Mr. Bungle

Fans of Pee Wee Herman will remember a video that played on his original stage show (later an HBO special) about lunchroom manners. “Mr. Bungle” (later an insane rock band led by genius/madman Mike Patton) was the central spectre in shaming children into behaving. Of course the good folks at The Internet Archive have tons of this sort of thing. It makes for multitudinous opportunities for MST3K-ification.

I enjoyed the keywords that classify the film: social engineering and puppet chaos.

Eudora Welty, Homely Woman

For some reason a thought passed through my mind about a passage I read some months ago about a Eudora Welty biographer who insinuated that the reason Welty became a writer was because she was unattractive. This caused something of a stir in some literary circles.

Obviously artistic talent has little to do with physical appearance, although Hollywood would have you believe otherwise. While I can say that in my experience the top 10 most talented people I have ever seen have been reasonably unattractive people, there are certainly exceptions. It’s really a non-issue, a purely coincidental affair [1]. What’s interesting to me is the disquieting truth that many unattractive people do tend to develop talents and generally become more interesting people because they can’t get by on looks. While I maintain that the reason I took up the guitar was to make weird noises, getting girls has certainly been more than one awkward-looking guitarist’s reason to start playing [2].

Writers, painters, musicians, actors…are we all doing what we do because we’re not good-looking and/or we sucked at football? It may well be true. If you’re an unattractive person, it behooves you to develop an interesting or pleasant or creative disposition so that people will be attracted to you. If I had been better at following through on my swing and had less acne, perhaps I would have been a baseball star and girls would have taken more notice of me, and I wouldn’t have had the free time or inclination to practice an instrument or write or read books, etc.

I think the critics of that Welty biographer feel threatened by the notion that homely people become creative people because they’re homely. I don’t entirely recoil at the idea. I wasn’t good at sports and I certainly didn’t get by on my looks, but I am what I’ve become and I like it. I don’t envy the beautiful people or the atheletes. Their world appears even more illusory and empty than the worlds the rest of us inhabit.

This reminds me of a line from an episode of Sports Night:

And in that moment, Dan was reminded once again why he wanted to write in the first place. It’s for the same reason anybody does anything: to impress women.

1.) The arguments of eugenics enthusiasts notwithstanding.

2.) I would like to remind the audience that, if anything, the guitar stole a social life from me in high school, and thus far has been responsible for bringing me only one girlfriend. And we only met because she was my bass player.

The Unhappy Life of “Used To”

I don’t know how this perverse little phrase was born. It has always struck a dissonant chord in my perception of language, although this is probably due to a personal grudge I have harbored since early childhood, when I thought it was a single word, “usta.” Life was so much simpler then. Eventually I learned that it was two words, “used” and “to,” which if you think about it, when put together, make absolutely no damn sense.

Stop and think about the different usages of the phrase “used to.” It is most often employed as a synonym for “previously” or “in the past” – “I used to love Bea Arthur,” or “crack whoring is not what it used to be.” Another, altogether different, definition is “accustomed to” – “Abe Vigoda is still alive, get used to it” or “I just need to get used to all these fistulas.”

But “use” is a word of utility; to use something or put something to good use – “I will use this coat hanger to perform an emergency tracheotomy” or “I should use a sterlizing agent to prevent infection.” To use something is perhaps to handle something, so to “get used” to something makes as much as sense as to “get handled.” Doesn’t that sound awful?

And did I mention that, for as much as I love the English language in all it multifarious permutations, it is truly deficient in that it only has one word for “love”? That’s what we get for leaving our linguistic development in the hands of Limeys and Jerrys.