Excerpts from a Conversation

Here is an outtake from a discussion I had recently that a friend said was helpful to him, and it’s one of those things that I’ve felt but never verbalized, so here goes. His comments are indicated with a >, and mine are the replies.

>Britney Spears serves a purpose other than the enjoyment of music.

Yes, entertainment. In fact the same could be said of all rock and roll – it is by definition a package of music, theatrics, and often dance. Elvis’s hip shaking performances were what separated him from Carl Perkins (arguably the better musician) and made him so revolutionary. Musicians like us tend to miss the fact that the fashion, ideology, and socio-politics of rock and roll are more important to most people than pure music. And that’s fine. It’s tricky for music being an art form and an entertainment form, but insisting that all music should be art is like insisting that all speech should be poetry.

>why shouldn’t a person who has developed musical talent over the years be paid as well?

Because life isn’t fair. Getting paid for something involves things like luck, connections, and responsibility. It involves a lot more luck than most people realize. Just because you build it, that doesn’t guarantee people will come. And getting paid for making music? You’re at the mercy of an audience (the ultimate employer) who have their own interests which probably don’t match yours. To expect payment, you often have to make phone calls, get in front of club owners, sell yourself, promote, bargain, negotiate, compromise, and these are just more things that great artists are not often good at. But entertainers more often are.

>For some strange reason, I really like that song and can’t hear it enough!

I came up with a theory recently after sitting through the top 40 crap they play at the movie theater before the previews start. I actually liked one of the tunes, and that’s when it hit me…

Songs are like children: They can be conceived under the worst circumstances by horrible people whose motives are less than honorable, and yet they can still turn out to be absolutely magical. A great song can be born of complete insincerity and crass commercialism and, despite all of that, authentically move you. Occasionally works of art transcend the limitations of their maker.

Man of Leisure

It’s already Friday. An entire week of joblessness has passed. I went to Harrison on Monday to drop off guitars at mom’s for storage. I took the scenic route home on Tuesday through Mountain View – a great little town in the middle of nowhere. It’s a bluegrass music destination, though. Nice place to escape or retire to[1], if you don’t mind the homogeneity.

I’ve packed up most everything that I know Trey won’t need in the house, which doesn’t look like much, actually. I need to Freecycle the couch[2] and the mattresses, move the dining table into the garage, and a few other small items and figure out what stays and what goes kitchen-wise. Hopefully I can get everything squared away by Wednesday, my intended departure date.

I was taking down the posters from my music room yesterday and was briefly overcome by the sensation that this is all so much sooner than I had intended. I always knew this house wasn’t permanent, but I had assumed that I would leave it only when I had a family to outgrow it (i.e. a second child). The death of that small unconscious dream bummed me out for some time, before I shook myself out with the realization that it could still happen, and if not there are plenty more little dreams yet to be born.

1.) Or escape from, if you were born there.
2.) I’ve had this couch since senior year of college. It’s gone through several couch covers and remains the most comfortable, if moderately gross, couch ever.

Why Facebook Sucks

Sure, MySpace allows people to put up crummy animated gifs and otherwise design their profiles to look like a circa 1997 GeoCities webpage, but Facebook gives people a zillion little plug-ins that don’t really do anything. I don’t log in to Facebook often, but when I do I get besieged with things I don’t understand:

1 music invitation
1 pandora invitation
3 likeness quiz requests
2 compare requests
1 tv trivia invitation
1 tv show trivia invitation
1 werewolves invitation
1 booze mail request
1 pirate invitation
1 hi five friend request
1 super wall post request
3 my questions requests
1 get superlatives invitation
1 live it up invitation
1 top friends friend request

I guess I’m just not taking advantage of the website, but the few things I’ve clicked on turned out to be utterly pointless, so I’m never sure what I’m getting into when I click on something.

Also weird is that on Facebook you can buy “gifts” for people for a dollar, and apparently all that you get is an icon to display on your page. $1 for a gif image. What a great racket they’re running.

Eerily Prescient

I just finished the aforementioned Lies My Teacher Told Me by James Loewen, and I’ve been meaning to pass along this bit of sad truth:

Textbooks’ failure to put Watergate into this perspective is part of their authors’ apparent program to whitewash the federal government so that schoolchildren will respect it. Since the structural problem in the government has not gone away, it is likely that students will again, in their adult lives, face an out-of-control federal executive pursuing criminal foreign and domestic policies. To the extent that their understanding of the government comes from their American history courses, students will be shocked by these events and unprepared to think about them.”

That was published in 1995.

Renewing Your Passport

I’d heard horror stories of people trying to fast-track their passport renewals, only to be held up by things like subtle differences in signature, etc. Given the price difference of $100+ between the fast-track and slow-boat methods, I opted for slow-boat since I’m not in any hurry to leave the country. They said I should have my passport by December.

I got it in the mail yesterday.

Sometimes, not often but sometimes…the federal bureaucracy surprises you with its efficiency.

Movie Gallery on the Ropes?

Movie Gallery called me yesterday offering a free rental. Apparently they’re working hard to keep up with the advent of the Netflix and Blockbuster DVD-by-mail business models. I hope it’s working for them; I went there last night and while I was there, every other person who came in was there for their free rental, too. I have to wonder if the video store isn’t going the way of the music store. I don’t generally rent movies as a habit, mainly because I tend not to enjoy watching movies by myself. If I’m alone with nothing to do I’m usually playing guitar, keyboard or reading a book.

By the way, all of Movie Gallery’s pre-viewed DVDs are on sale at 50% off. I bought Pan’s Labrynth, Good Night and Good Luck, Children of Men, and Talladega Nights all for less than $7.50 each. I also rented The Painted Veil, which was thoroughly enjoyable.

More Strange Dreams

If this keeps up I’ll have to add a new category.

Last night’s scary dream took place high above the backyard of my mom’s house. I was clinging to the top of a very tall, very flimsy tree. The location changed to a full forest, and I transferred precariously to various other thin, unsupportive trees. I don’t remember how I got down, but I was under a very thick canopy with lots of leaves on the ground. I needed directions on how to get somewhere, and Brad Brown told me which way to go. I went deeper into the forest and found a barbecue shack. So, happy ending I guess.

The other dream consisted of me being stuck in an elevator with Stephen King. I told him I’ve never read any of his books, but that I really enjoyed Stand By Me and Shawshank Redemption. We then proceeded to talk about guitars. He was a cool guy.

Strange Intersection

I’m reading Lies My Teacher Told Me, and one of the latter chapters is called “Down the Memory Hole” (a reference to Orwell’s 1984), which was an interesting coincidence for me because I’ve been listening to Kevin Moore’s Memory Hole, a very, very interesting pastiche of found-audio that I highly recommend. It hovers somewhere between music and sample collage. It’s a meditation on politics, religion, and humanity. You can listen to it for free at ChromaKey.com (click on “Audio” and then on “Memory Hole.”

The first paragraph of that chapter in the book is the same paragraph that starts Kevin Brockmeier’s The Brief History of the Dead. So I was twice struck. Here’s the passage in question, which sparked Brockmeier’s novel:

“Many African societies divide humans into three categories: those still alive on the earth, the sasha, and the zamani. The recently departed whose time on earth overlapped with people still here are the sasha, the living-dead. They are not wholly dead, for they still live in the memories of the living, who can call them to mind, create their likeness in art, and bring them to life in anecdote. When the last person to know an ancestor dies, that ancestor leaves the sasha for the zamani, the dead. As generalized ancestors, the zamani are not forgotten but revered. Many…can be recalled by name. But they are not living dead. There is a difference.”

-James Loewen. Lies My Teacher Told Me

In other news, I just got back from seeing Resident Evil 3, and while I lament the relegation of Milla Jovovich to the land of post-apocalyptic zombie movies, I have to say I completely understand the appeal of her status as an icon of bad-assery. I may even go see the inevitable part 4. But I won’t rush to see parts 1 or 2. Once upon a time she was a really good singer and musician. I also came to realize the appeal of zombie movies: they are the best excuse to see excessive violence without remorse. After all, they’re just zombies. They are the last frontier of justifiable slaughter.

Paging Dr. Freud

I didn’t sleep well last night. I had a series of turbulent dreams. The first and longest of which consisted of me and my friend Torrey living in some secluded house on a high ridge with a view of the Buffalo River. But we were the only people left; zombies had taken over the world.

The next batch took place at my house. I had committed a murder. I forget who it was that I killed, but it was an accident (this undoubtedly came from having watched Truffaut’s Shoot the Piano Player before bedtime). That storyline faded into me finding all my mail opened and scattered across my front yard, ants crawling all over my legs, and the driver’s side doors of my car being unable to lock.

Apparently I’m stressed out. My last day of work is a week from today. I’m about to experience the single biggest shift in my life since maybe moving to college. Or moving to Little Rock after college. Either way it’s something I haven’t had to do in over eight years. I don’t feel outwardly antsy; but apparently there’s a lot going on underneath my hood.

Anyone care to offer me some dime-store psychoanalysis?

Rodrigo Y Gabriela

These kids must have the best marketing team ever. I keep seeing them mentioned in all the magazines and blogs, and I am completely impressed by the fact that people enjoy them. They are fantastic, but musically they are doing nothing that Megadeth and Pantera haven’t done. They just do it in a different format. Indie rockers are apparently allowed to enjoy virtuosity when it comes in an unfamiliar context. And the added novelty of the female guitarist cranks up the appeal a few notches.

And by the same token, we’ll sadly never see Al DiMeola. John Mclaughlin or Paco DeLucia in Spin or Blender. Rodrigo Y Gabriela are the Gypsy Kings for a new generation. Here’s hoping more kids start playing guitar as a result. This may be the only way to get kids excited about playing the ever loving crap out of their guitars again.