Welcome Home

Last weekend, Katherine and I went exploring in northern Arkansas in search of a town called Welcome Home. We found it southwest of Marhsall. We took the scenic route, mostly old country roads, and we diverted from our destination often in hopes of finding other oddly named villages (like Beverage Town, which we sadly failed to decisively locate).

We goofed off in the antique stores in Leslie, ate terrible things at the Daisy Queen in Marshall, and decided against seeing a drive-in movie at the Kenda there as we had both already seen Spider-man 3. We did descend the steep hills to find the Natural Bridge of Arkansas, a roadside attraction that I have neglected to witness for 31 years now.

We also found scads of Hendrix College dorm furniture for sale at an antique mall. $50 and you can take home a set. I have to admit I really enjoyed seeing those things again. I marvel at what they’ve seen: awkward romances, drug experimentation, late-night studying, deep conversations among new friends, and surely more. Goodbye, dorm furniture. We’ll miss you as you travel on to your new lives among the rural stepchildren you’ll support and the kindling you’ll eventually become.

Context-Intelligent Spam?

I just got three blog comments from spammers using the fake names of “Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers” and “Mahavishnu Orchestra.” I can’t help but wonder how or why these actual band names, reasonably obscure as they are, managed to get employed in the name of spam. Did they come about at complete random, or are the spam bots aware that I have several Mahavishnu CDs in my collection? I don’t have any Blakey, though. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Which would be a nice illustration of correlation that does not equal causality…

Breakfast and Other Hoaxes

I’ve recently discovered that breakfast is, in fact, the least important meal of the day. I know this because after a decade of eating cereal every weekday morning, I’ve switched to just wheat toast and orange juice, and I don’t get noticeably hungrier around lunchtime. So all those bowls of cereal really weren’t accomplishing much.

Also, I’ve found that, if you’re the type of guy who showers in the morning and shaves immediately afterward, you really don’t need to use shaving cream. It’s pretty unnecessary if your shower has sufficiently cleansed and moisturized your face, and if the facial hair growth isn’t very extensive after 24 hours. After a few days’ growth, then sure, you’ll want some shaving cream. But not daily.

I’ll be saving some money now with these new bits of information. My milk intake will drop to near zero, so I’ll be sure to get the orange juice with the calcium added.

Rant: Stop the Singer-Songwriters with Band-Like Stage Names

OK MySpace is plugging this kid named “Young Love.” What the hell kind of stupid name is that? Could you possibly pick a more irritating stage name than “Young Love?” Is it even possible? The only thing that might be worse would be to name yourself “Basket of Puppies of Kittens.”

While we’re on the subject, I’m really really getting sick of all these singer-songwriters who give themselves stage names like they’re bands. It has to be the most annoying, pretentious trend in semi-popular music since the whole mid-90’s “one random word band names” (Sponge, Wax, Filter, Bush). Today we have individuals named Bright Eyes, Aqualung, and Iron & Wine, and more are popping up every day.

A case can be made for artists like Nine Inch Nails and Aphex Twin (ask me about my Aphex Twin story) who present themselves as something larger than their individual selves – for example you don’t see a picture of Trent Reznor on his album covers because it’s not about a man and his songs, it’s about a whole imaginative universe of sound. But if you’re just a bearded guy with an acoustic guitar and you walk up to the mic and say “Hi, I’m Iron and Wine?” No. Sorry. Get real. I love Iron & Wine as much as everyone should, but come on. It’s just goofy and trendy. You’re Sam Beam. It’s a perfectly fine name. No need to puff yourself up by fooling new listeners into thinking you’re a band.

But anything is better than “Young Love.” It just makes my skin crawl. Even more than the impossibly saccharine “Bright Eyes.” And this is coming from a guy who loves a band called The Softlightes.

I’m not saying my position is logically defensible, I’m just saying that this trend irritates me. But then, most trends irritate me.

Everybody Panic!

When reading or watching the news, beware the phrase “a new study today revealed,” or its myriad variations. One of the many sad things about the news media today is that they will go out of their way to find studies to get you freaked out. What’s particularly sad is not the goofy science they find (studies that only correlate things, which the news media then present in such a way as to assume causality), but the alarmism that the newsfolks want to generate, because that’s what makes them money.

Let this be your mantra: correlation does not equal causality. If a study finds that eating baby seal liver is linked to a longer lifespan, it may only mean that the experiment was conducted using Eskimos, who just happened to be eating a lot of fish oil or something else that gives them a greater life expectancy. You don’t know the methods because the articles often conveniently leave them out.

What I’m noticing even more today is that, as all these studies proliferate and contradict each other over time (1980: margarine is great, butter sucks! 2000: holy crap are you still eating margarine?), people trust science and scientific studies less, when the people they really need to stop trusting are the alarmist/money-grubbing news media who profit by your fear. Scientific studies at an individual level will always produce varying results, and only over long spans of time do we really gain knowledge that we can rely upon with confidence. So the next time you read about a study that links an activity with a particular outcome, don’t assume that one causes the other. They may just be correlated somehow.

Just Maybe the Songs

Perhaps the iTunes revolution will help to detach us somewhat from the musician cult of personality. Last year I was suckered into a subscription to Blender[1], which is the most heinous rag of celebrity music journalism (complete with Us Weekly-esque paparazzi shots of musicians clearly unaware that they’re being photographed), and it reminded me that the primary focus of music magazines is not music, but the people who make it. Of course this has probably always been the case, but it seems like today it’s even worse, as every magazine out there has a section full of pictures of famous people at parties, famous people buying groceries, famous people doing whatever.

I do know that there was a day when a hit song was a hit song, and ideally it didn’t matter who sang it [2]. But especially after the Beatles, the songs became unextractable from the musicians. So the musicians became more important (and easier for writers to talk about, as songs are far less often to be found stumbling out of a nightclub with Lindsay Lohan). But as we move away from albums and back to singles, just maybe the artists will become less important. MTV and ProTools have made the artist irrelevant anyway, as today almost anyone can sell millions of records, given the proper marketing push.

We’ll always be attracted to the vicarious thrills of watching celebrities, but I think as the music industry loses focus, the ocean of celebrity will be diluted. I’m probably wrong, but one can hope.

1.) If you want my full rant on Blender, say the word.
2.) So long as they were white.

Overdue

I’m tired. The last few weeks have been a lot of work. The first gigs of the new Bryan Frazier band went well. Riverfest was a lot of fun to play – the weather was perfect and the stage guys totally made me feel like a rockstar by providing me with a guitar stand and by taping down my setlist. Bryan got a good recording of the show so hopefully I can make that available to people soon.

Working Riverfest wasn’t as eventful as previous years. Pat Benetar was a diva who didn’t consort with the help. Keb Mo was laid back and cool, though. I didn’t take many pictures at all this time. On Sunday Trey and I drove up to Harrison for my grandmother’s 93rd birthday. She’s been dealing with cancer for over a year now and beating everyone’s expectations.

This morning I posted several things on Freecycle, which is something everyone needs to know about. It’s a way to get rid of things by giving them to people rather than taking them to the landfill. You post a message with what you’ve got, someone responds and they come pick it up. I got responses in less than an hour. I’m glad to finally be cleaning out the garage. It’s my first step toward the large-scale divestiture that I’ll need to consider if I’m serious about moving.

Did I say moving? Yes, I’m debating moving to New York City. Have I mentioned that? It’s been in the back of my mind since Arika encouraged me to consider it last February when I stayed with her. I’ve got a lot of friends there now, and money isn’t the obstacle it once was. The thing is, Little Rock is comfortable and I have a lot of stuff I’d have to live without were I to move.

In other news I’ve been catching up with an old high school acquaintance, Michelle Arcand, via MySpace. She’s really done well for herself creatively; she has come a long way from the girl I remember. I’m always interested in how people change over time because I still don’t feel like I’ve ever really changed since junior high.

Assorted Clearance Blowout

Here are several small things hardly worth full blog entries, but that nevertheless need to be said:

  • The Under the Influence of Giants show at Vino’s Tuesday was canceled. I am sad.
  • I’m rediscovering Led Zeppelin’s “That’s the Way” and “Tangerine.” I listen to side 2 of Led Zeppelin 3 constantly now. As I listen to more vinyl I find myself becoming attached to sides. Like Side 3 of The Allman Brothers’ Eat a Peach.
  • Bryan and our new band will debut at Sticky Fingerz next Wednesday, in preparation for our gig at Riverfest at 1:30 next Saturday at the Triple S Alarm stage.
  • I was going to post a video from youtube of my friend Elizabeth playing on Conan O’Brien last week but NBC Universal already pulled it down. I swear they must pay somebody to scour youtube looking for NBC stuff. Why can’t I have that job?
  • I haven’t mentioned my new friend Jody McCall. She’s a singer-songwriter guitarist/pianist. She rules.

Also, I added new products to CafePress, Mostly artwork from high school and from this book of Japanese advertising art from 1957 that I got at the Arkansas Art Center’s book sale some years ago:

The Old 97’s in Dallas

Meredith and I went to Dallas last weekend to see her friends The Old 97’s play at the brand new House of Blues that opened this week down there. Here’s a picture of her and her friend Murry, the bass player. He got us tickets and All Access passes so we chilled backstage like rock stars after the show.

We stayed two nights with my friend Allison and Saturday I ran around catching up with Odie and Torrey and going to Ikea where I bought an Expedit shelf. Good times.

Oh, and I bought another guitar. Shhh.

Bowie on Drugs

I’m slowly devouring Cameron Crowe’s archive of interviews, and came across this fine nugget from David Bowie:

CROWE: Did you ever get into acid?

BOWIE: I did three times. It was very colorful, but I thought my own imagination was already richer. Naturally. And more meaningful to me. Acid only gives people a link with their own imagery. I already had it. It was nothing new to me. It just sort of made a lot of fancy colors. Flashy lights and things.

This helps confirm my long-held suspicion that illicit drug use only tends to medicate psychologically injured people (with ailments ranging from simple stress to childhood trauma) and/or to make boring people seem more interesting to themselves. I don’t begrudge anyone their drug of choice; I just hope they know what they’re doing – that they’re not hiding from something they need to deal with, or that they’re not using drugs as a crutch to get them somewhere that they could get to on their own.

If only Nancy Reagan had said “Just say ‘meh’ to drugs.”