Blog Gregory Bem

Translation

2008-05-11T17:54:00.002-05:00

Since Blogger's been giving me some formatting issues (see a couple posts ago), I'm switching over to WordPress. At least for the time being.

Click here.

My Stepfather Always Used to Tell Me to Get with the Program . . .

2008-05-11T15:34:00.002-05:00

the void is more of an aspiration for thought. meaning thought should strive to be snuffed out, like a candleflame lighting only a small space of a room, the dark corners more approachable when all is dark. humanity is only one small form of existence. to get the huge picture of what's going on, zoom out of earth until earth is only the size of a pinhead and then from there, close your eyes.

snuff out the candle, then blow up the room the candle was in, and you have a cloud of smoke covering EVERYTHING

that is my metaphorical spirituality.

Some Art Just Won't Be Better

2008-05-11T10:29:00.004-05:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/11/world/asia/11scene.html?_r=2&hp&oref=slogin&oref=slogin

A Conversation

2008-05-08T19:51:00.012-05:00

Discussions on art lead the man with the big, floppy hat to think that inside his phone there is a stasis button, a button he can press where he does not even have to listen to the topics of conversation. This distraction unnerves him. With hardly any food in his body, the displaces sculpture on the college campus appears as a moldy mass--perhaps a cheese puff or a green apple.

He was talking with a good friend. They had known each other for many years. The most significant years of my life, he thought, were spent with my friend. It is disturbing to think she is going away. It is hopeful that she has such courage. It is enduring that her skills have also massed, though not like a moldy cheese puff or a green apple. These skills, are they much different from Adam and Even being expulsed? What is expulsion, allegorically? These thoughts all drifted around like the undry splashing of oil paint. He wanted to create a new universe, but all he could think of was the half-empty mailbox that would be completely empty after five minutes, emptied by his own hands, expulsed simply by the changing of the guards. He thought about the mail and he also thought about the sun little more than a cowardly blanket above the clouds, and not some great holy symbol that is was cracked up to be. And he imagined how air outside felt thick and heavy. It was disturbing to imagine all the faults of the oncoming summer.

The call was lost. Quick and redial, he thought. And he did so. It's true, part of him did feel merely obligated to talk to her, to formally say goodbye as soon as it got time to clock into the one point five hour work shift. But it's also true that part of him felt a gentle misery in talking to her, a misery of the past. It was the usual longing, the usual romanticism associated with home. Home as the place he convinced himself never to return to. Home, as the place he associated with suicide. No, he could definitely not live there again, he thought. But how could he solve such a stumper? How could he leap over such a wet, brick wall? He continued to listen to her, a lovely though dispirited or concerned voice. It was her all right. Not being enough, the electric light overhead dimmed as he closed his eyes, setting the telephone down.

He had not had coffee at all, not since fifteen completely separated hours ago. Maybe that was the cause of such absurd, finger-twiddling damperings. Or maybe the combination of two other stimulants inside of him at once, another type of swirl, a type hardly fashionable for someone in his position. Or maybe it was that lack of hunger. That ferocious voracity covered up by guilt, shame, sorrow--all the great piqued traits. Behind him was the past. In front of him was the future. The present was transition, and he looked at it meekly. The optimism of previous days was temporarily damning him. Another juxtaposition, similar to when he had sat on the stone bench and stared at days-old flower bloomings, all bright pink. That day had been a good day. There had been an understanding on that day. Why not this day? Why couldn't he notice the pink on this day?

A little later the man sat down at a desk in the basement. The sounds of mechanical fans whirring behind him went on unnoticed, as they usually do. He talked about sea salt and thought about sadness, and tried to remember single room occupancy in Toronto and the last time his shoelace broke. He thought about his friend and stared at the clock for a while longer, before reaching for an orange highlighter.

Returning to the Warzone

2008-05-05T22:17:00.008-05:00

Let's get back, and up, to speed:

Now dreaming through newfangled
medications, things move along
in ways you might not have imagined
(the time we clenched even after
the room went dark and sleep consumed)
and in ways you did not desire
(feeling each pluck of grass
prickling the back behind individual
motion) because life is sometimes
easier to figure out through coils
than straight-faced bored life.

So I've been editing.

Pandora on the Freeway

This is dreaming
of Pandora
on the freeway
riding a giant
box, made of gold,

glittering, and
inside, directly
beneath that
gilded box top,

are tiny scraps of
paper, rolled up
tight like how the
Chinese do it—

wind forces the
lid off, and the faded
scrolls dance beside
the vibrating Woman,

unleashing strings of
pitch-breaking
words, blankets
of scrolls fluttering

on down the
center lane,
seen and known
only through
rearview.

The scrolls’ words
form magically
atop each crack of
the dusted pale
current, and the

distracted will
never see these
sources of fortune,
flame or falter
under the roars
of their engines.

Only the hitchhiker,
sitting entranced,
is able to hear the
ripping paper.

Also, there have been some fresh happenings.

Dancing with Vltava

As it sways, the Charles Bridge is a gently-cropped vision
balancing snowflakes, umbrellas, stretched wrists
and yes you (too swaying forward to damp metal sheens
forgetting about those pickpockets so invisibly soft)
and yes these tourists (mass of bugs knifing like a plow
maybe causing your short fingers to snuggle my icy wrist
offing clumps of snow from skin to stretches of cobblestone)
are part of this scene of stone statues restricted with frostbite

. . . down, down into those frozen plates of ice that sparkle,
chucked rocks shatter our reflections, and then you start spinning,
fast as you can, twirling in the middle of some sunburst field,
then down, down you mimic an angel’s epileptic sputter, an
ecstasy over your mother’s front yard—just a frosted smash of weeds,
and the noon’s frozen phosphorescence picking eyelids apart,
pulling open a halo of color, forming my silhouette, all concrete . . .

Squint and you can make out Josefov, once a center of oppression,
but now a monster of rows, clean-slated apartment faces, capitalism
with its crowned whitewash center: Paris Street, where art is bravery,
where the designers hope the mosques will draw in crowds of coins:
no, that Jewish Quarter is lost in a blanket of thick white haze,
forcing imaginations to lead machinations from your bright mind,
our history as two beggars’ hands weaving folktales and mythologies.

. . . even after the rocks have spiraling, spasming images out
into the jagged ice edges, our eyes still notice below, where
four hands without mittens redden quickly, as spring is summer,
and winter is not far behind, locking competition to delusion:
but the best part is looking past our hands and finding out there
has always been melt here, there has always been a source of water.

The Aerospace Museum

I imagine intellectuals forming intimidating lines,
my eyes clamping shut so I can flee to past loves.

The overarching mental madnesses push me out,
but beyond the glass trolley horns blast me back in.

I feel like I am an ocean of lost balloons, trapped
beneath a ceiling, trying to escape, to burst:

I want to believe that this feeling will pass on, so
I can move my body past the door-guard, to the huge

gallery of traveler’s things, long needling things
that pierce, things that understand the sky’s sides,

whether way up there, or like the weather way down
here, in the land of scurrying sparse-haired creatures

who cannot escape their own damned weight, or
their fate, moving around like ants seen from a car

(these planes will fly far away, through galaxies,
or maybe they will shine as they are shot down

from the sky; loads of debris ready to swoosh
past, and in an interradial blast, we will look,

sending symbols, following the messenger’s way,
colored in the respect of red, in the silence of grey.)

Even with air spinning around me in this corridor,
it appears there's still dust to be touched after all.

Pandora on the Freeway

2008-01-11T01:33:00.001-05:00

Dreaming of Pandora
on the freeway
riding a giant
box, made of gold,
glittering, and
inside, directly
beneath that
shiny red ribbon,
are tiny scraps of
paper, rolled up
tight like how the
Chinese do it--
faded wise scrolls
dancing beside the
vibrating master,
singing the calm
words, strings of
circuit-bending,
pitch-breaking,
tire-screeching
words, blankets
of scrolls fluttering
up a center aisle
seen and known
only through
rearview,
the words forming
between each crack
on the dusted
pale current,
where no one
can know fortune
flame or falter
until passed by,
the faint sound of
paper ripping
through the ears--

Temporal Sundown

2008-01-10T21:27:00.000-05:00

So I've been thinking a lot about my future. I can't say this is definite, but it's the best I have got: the top three things I want to do before I die: go to "midget night" at a strip club; do jail time; ride an airbus for more than an hour.

The honorable mention? Pay off my credit card debt and my student loans.

I think I owe this world that much.

Temporal Sundown

Last night the clock struck again,
for I was a man of cast iron
and single slices of skin tissue
knocking about the roof of my head.

These things were
perfect in their pink-
ness, neckties aside,
strangling the other who
gallopped and broke-back-mount-
ain-ed, I just a little boy
then, in that splintering mind's
eye, that goo-goo-gew-gah forgetful-
ness--

You see, last night
the drums were loud,
really loud.

Last night, there were girls
crying and mothers laughing
and Camery dancings going
on, the goings-on just a thick,
white carnivale smoke-tide--
we watched the Good the Bad the Ugly
and Sam Cooke singing in the backdrop,
no we, just... yes, we: the ghosts and I
the veils and I

the dancing and I
the spacing and I no tide no spacing
just I just I just fear-flickering-fish-eye

Pores draped in dirt
it's been a long day at work
smoke-skin jacket with
undoable pockets
and the putrid flesh a-rotting
has got us all talking
like we did back in the day
what day the day what day
the day the whole world came back
"went away"

imagining pinks and fours
and fives and blues
the coastal rising coming through
the joking and the mything the busting
of lies, the tables crossed the eyes
flashes nothing gold will last dies

Little girl speaks with afro
on her head
and the man at the counter
didn't hear what she said
This house changes people

this house this mad old house

questions like wormholes,
nothing asked will stay

no quest will last
no quest as gold
as the one before last

no quest just a chuckle
just a movement to the right
we turn our eyes
we check our blinds
and fall down inside

Making three wax pieces
out of candlelit destruction
the muse under the dust
is the same one as above

(we think in tongues)
(we think in rhythm)
(we think in signs))(we think

And turn on all those closet door lights
with their woodworking finish targets the
same way our eyeballs are the real
targets of the lights
but we will never displace ourselves
and we will never think in rosebuds or
rosehicks or cherry garlands under-
neath the porchdeck there's a diamond.

It's a body, they say

in the newspapers for weeks

an unfolding case

We are not alone,
no, we
are not alone.

The same glass that be shiverin'
is the same glass back home, and
time will jump forward
just as rain leaps down, displacement passage
quest journey sequence
this is time this is time this is time
I heard the lace lumping next door
the portly-promise of the flesh
and I despise it as the dreams
you left me in soiled mesh,
a dream of cheesybread
and underwater layers
(Oh please God don't let them
slay us)

Black man white man, how is it mixed to?
can grey ever be attractive in a world of
stone and dynamite?

Last night the clock struck
and I noticed after a gaze
a black man tying his shoe
his eye relentless in that haze.

Again, Writing

2007-12-30T21:30:00.000-05:00

After reading some Alice Notley, I started writing again. My biggest conflict is trying to merge imagery and style with content. I can usually get one or the other, but combining both without being one billion percent imaginative is trying indeed. I'm not feeling like any are winners, but they are moving in a winning direction. I've also started keeping recording and converting to verse certain diarist / electronic nonfiction bits and pieces, derived from online letters, postings, and conversations. My next goal is to relearn rhythmic skills from oration and performance.

Written on 12-29:

Label Calls

The cat shaped as satin shooting-starred
the rosebush, pretending not to look my way;
corks left in the wine bottles wave like leaves,
their image a trance-signal catching certain
sobrieties, and coaxing fingers along: dance of
the merlot. Would it be fair to remember
cable cars and collars too tight to come off?
I too pretend, the stone giant standing dumb,
lips stained bright purple marked in a circle,
a ghoulish improv hum going unanswered,
another momentary mating call
exploding in secret.

Vision: Lips

Strange is bending to look at light
cascading off inseparable lips,
a pair dry from kleenex-rub upon
urine clean, duties we do not remember

when bending over to give those lips
a little kiss, and this is normal,
those lips, are freed from multiple
meaning, staring red and shined

somewhere.

Written on 12-30:

Apprentice

I am the apprentice,
the one you want,
the chance
for bringing
home dinner.

Turkeys fear
my wrath
just as bullets
fear my courage,
knowing too
(yes, they do know)
that as flesh seekers,
they never signed
up for the job.

I dreamed of white curtains.
I dreamed them all.
Beat hmm.
I smoked too much
these past days
and I am worried,
about all the haze,
all the affectations,
affecting my mind's processes.

And it's true, you
can't get your oil change
in this town, or that town,
on brittle Sunday afternoons--
the horror, just horror.
All you wanted was
one oil change.

And now we must go together,
tomorrow, to Carter's where
we can get our cars fixed
and head to the coffeeshop
and pretend
on brittle wooden seats
that we are kids again,
always will be.

Three Frames

Earlier today mindfield pangs grabbed body
threw body into gumlike transition familiar
texture bussing busily into clothings tight
and worn, from all those before-times

(yes, believe, please believe it to be yesterday)

movement toward breakfast
two eggs scrambled Red Hot from Red Hot sauce
and deep-dreamed eggnog as beverage, how thick, this
body, as on fire, scooped seeds from pomegranite
dreaming of dorm room jewels and cute artist
named Cait, short for nothing just Cait thanks,
another one missed, should've tugged around with
but no, much better in theory not practice,
mind's splinter eye dancing jingles all days and nights
ignored by the by and through turntable synergy so
windswept Cait swept away and now look at this
this sticky red pom-blood varnishing
peaceful blue of quilt up and down shaded countertop

(it better not stain it better not stain
we believed this happened yesterday
but the patterns on the sky oval-shaped
and growing much bigger scream: deception.)

Churning stomach downs soy milk heartily
and grabs broom handle with admission,
the chance of a lifetime blooming into
butterfly precision, the joys of deep voice
echoing into latenight shower stall,
splicing one period of time into two.

accusation coldly creeping:
"You didn't move around
your furniture in your room today
did you?"

response rough and sugary sweet:
"Don't try to make me
the culprate of this
phone debacle."

Vision: Jogging

Dozens of cubist croquet players
dance the wild jack rabbit
across rhombus-shaped greens,
and thouigh shaded by the sun,
swarming black grass blades brush
up the feet of bulbuous-bellied
brawn, the earth-limbs pumping
and padding strangely, those
heavy lights blanketing dusk.

To Sam

Four things:

1) Hello hotstuff.
2) Did you get my message?
3) If not: I'll be in Bristol
the 2nd or 3rd of this month
(ie. a few days) to escape Maine
and look for a fourth job,
and I live in a house now
so if you want to visit you'll
get to see more than just DORM.
4) Why is "RWU Police" on your
interests list? That's just weird.

Vision: Garment

The cold wraps itself around necks
like a scarf or scarves or pile of
bandages, mint and blue, a band
trailing off into the thick sky.
This cold is criss-crossed with our
air, liquid gaseous and volatile,
the change of matter mourning its
own spirited existence as ghost spit,
the kind of tricky stumbling hash
dreams and blistering nights in Maine
redeem these chapped throats with.

The American and the Bidet

After the rise there was the fall:
a burbon binge, a belching bidet,
and trickling peach-colored streams
waterfall across the crux of cheeks,
the stage (yes this is a shit poem),
while millions of American tourists
in Japan hear from darkened Tokyo Mariot
bedrooms one screeching surprise
from the assailed, the man, woman, victim,
with underwear around ankles, and there,
several feet up, the bidet's second speed,
the second intensity level, levels
marked only in the Engrish picture language,
is selected, do not be alarmed:
the asshole is clean, the job is done.

To Amanda

Don't be sketchy. Be bronze brawn
under the majestic vision of
rainbow oil droplets!

Vision: Digital Birds in Conflict

I wake up
and understand
that these parrots,
these squawking
distractions
have been designed
by our lord
(God or Man
or Death itself)
to dislodge me
from my proper
place. I will
them gone and
they remain,
I will them
here and they
are gone, so
I lay still,
waiting for
their beauty
to be drowned
out by plane,
or volcanic
explosion.

These are the happiest holidays?

2007-12-10T15:20:00.000-05:00

Amy, Jeffrey and I wrote these last night around 1:00am. We've since distributed them out as holiday gifts.

Last Fall Cantos

As told by: Gregory Bem, Jeffrey Brennan, and Amy Falcone

Originally written in the early hours of December 10, 2007

Fragrant supple banter is draining bereaved

apocalyptic nutrition, spasmodic music

tries and trickles to the holistically condemned.

I.

Swizzle like impossible chairs

Flabbergasted in a rain, slowly

Stringy on the hands of earthworms

II.

Denim cluster abound the thing, a skyward

Mechanism prowling distances,

Lucid in such freedom.

III.

Saucer eyes howl innumerably

Buoyant and fallow dips the gentry

Cracking heels ooze

IV.

Grapples with the wheel, and skin-leather snow while the

Armature widens as the light enters and gravel drags...

Propagandization! booming to a close

V.

The precipice looms while bauble guards these

retentively brandished pork forms, who follow

sustenance in wake of patient passages.

VI.

Panama heaves from behind gripped fingers

Porridge tastes foul and rots, congealing wounds

Bamboozled by propriety, now elongate former woe

VII.

Phalanges thumbing dully dense

Novelettes trickling

Botanical symbols streaked in single file prose

VIII.

Brazen, fingertips streak the strange pose hole,

eradicating us from our token tombs;

we, the buttons, evicted from those pockets.

IX.

Schematic filtration system slightly marred

Cardboard up windows with frail tin panes

Basket maker and bowmen contemplate musings

X.

Fornicating, shivering, stalling

Damselian mason's wife, all floured, enamored--

Juxtaposed with purgatory

XI.

Mezzanine coaxed to crumble

Congeal serrated fingertips and divide

Suspension on tight lines, cuts flesh into bone

XII.

Ah! --! Those catacombs rot beneath

all these melodic and transformitory floorbeams--

some volume we find ourselves above.

XIII.

Pontificate trumpets and buff the maze

Hans Castoprian routine dweller and the coughing

"Envoy: a great messenger of our time, you might say"

XIV.

Cantalopean mounds of fickle hash

Skulk and stalk your dripping filth, dropping ash and thimble

Taiga fauna, spherical visage holding silent vigil aglow

XV.

Until the terminal quake bullies its last laugh and

drowsy, a visceral crowd pours forth that same response--

lumber prepared through the fatalist blaze dying dim.

Growing Seeds of a Game

2007-12-09T22:43:00.000-05:00

Remember Magic the Gathering and other collectible card games of its sort? Well JB and I had a nice chat about our own idea for a CCG. This one involves writers, and it's going to be big. I've included the full conversation since most of it is pretty laudible in the usual JBGB fashion.

Here's the transcript:

TrainTrackTrees (8:06:31 PM): that's right, i installed it

corrinad0 (8:06:34 PM): nie.

corrinad0 (8:06:36 PM): cei

corrinad0 went away at 8:32:30 PM.

TrainTrackTrees (8:32:33 PM): this is brutal

corrinad0 (8:32:37 PM): why

TrainTrackTrees (8:32:52 PM): because i've never written a long paper on something unliterary.

corrinad0 (8:33:01 PM): hah

corrinad0 (8:33:06 PM): yeah, i hate writing those

corrinad0 (8:33:13 PM): lots of citation

corrinad0 (8:33:19 PM): and objectivity

TrainTrackTrees (8:33:31 PM): i know. that's what i hate. and this paper can't be objective because it's essentially a position paper.

TrainTrackTrees (8:33:44 PM): even though it's supposed to be objective

corrinad0 (8:33:51 PM): what a maniac

corrinad0 (8:33:57 PM): she likes william blake quotes

corrinad0 (8:34:04 PM): i remember that from my critical writing class

TrainTrackTrees (8:34:20 PM): i should just write the entire thing without citing and then go back nad cite it. oh wait, creativity won't be understood by the mandatory peer-reviewers.

corrinad0 (8:34:21 PM): i feel like a baby being shaken

corrinad0 (8:34:27 PM): hahahahha

corrinad0 (8:34:29 PM): YES

corrinad0 (8:34:34 PM): welcome to my history career

corrinad0 (8:34:43 PM): and why i never write papers in groups

corrinad0 (8:34:47 PM): unless its with craig

TrainTrackTrees (8:34:58 PM): now i'm coming down off the one adderall i was able to buy off hilary earlier today and i've got approximately one and a half pages.

corrinad0 (8:35:11 PM): get some of that Rock Star

corrinad0 (8:36:17 PM): boil boil

TrainTrackTrees (8:36:18 PM): hah. i should. want to leave at 10 or 1030 so i
don't get an aneurism?

just so you know what we're dealing with and what your answer depends on, http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/aneurism

corrinad0 (8:36:49 PM): brain bleeds

corrinad0 (8:36:51 PM): love those

corrinad0 (8:37:04 PM): i honestly feel like slow electricty

corrinad0 (8:37:07 PM): damn this taurine

TrainTrackTrees (8:37:21 PM): taurine and doppelgangrine

corrinad0 (8:37:28 PM): thats the worst

TrainTrackTrees (8:39:30 PM): i use Destroyer as one of three epigrams in my paper

TrainTrackTrees (8:39:39 PM): soften up the reader before they get to the shitty material, i guess

corrinad0 (8:39:51 PM): ahaha

corrinad0 (8:39:56 PM): what is the epigram

corrinad0 (8:40:08 PM): what is the topic

ATTENTION (8:46:53 PM): Direct IM session initiated. What is this?

TrainTrackTrees (8:47:06 PM): houssssing foreclousres

TrainTrackTrees (8:47:08 PM): cloures

TrainTrackTrees (8:47:09 PM): closures

corrinad0 (8:47:16 PM): oh yeah

corrinad0 (8:47:19 PM): how boring

ATTENTION (8:47:26 PM): Direct IM session disconnected.

TrainTrackTrees (8:47:28 PM): If that is what it takes
to be a stone, a stone's throw from your throne,
no man has ever hung from the rafters of a second home.

corrinad0 (8:47:35 PM): hahahh

corrinad0 went away at 8:47:40 PM.

TrainTrackTrees (8:47:52 PM): yeah, the quote... from a great song with the title of a publishing company

TrainTrackTrees (8:48:00 PM): farrar, straus and giroux

TrainTrackTrees (8:48:03 PM): (sea of tears)

corrinad0 (8:48:07 PM): nice

corrinad0 (10:01:41 PM): new monster avenue

corrinad0 (10:01:44 PM): sad f*cking tune.

TrainTrackTrees (10:02:01 PM): listen to... High Doses #2 of the acoustic version of Sunset Tree

corrinad0 (10:02:11 PM): yeah, i just did

corrinad0 (10:02:14 PM): for the first time

TrainTrackTrees (10:02:12 PM): awesome

corrinad0 (10:02:20 PM): a few minutes ago

TrainTrackTrees (10:02:23 PM): you trickster mindreading hero

corrinad0 (10:02:36 PM): just call me nestor

TrainTrackTrees (10:02:38 PM): man, one bottle of wine is not going to make us pass out. good thang i gotz weed, nigga

corrinad0 (10:02:45 PM): nance E nestor

corrinad0 (10:02:48 PM): haha

corrinad0 (10:02:49 PM): same.

TrainTrackTrees (10:03:02 PM): tho maybe H-luke von Skywalker has more of the Danielson

TrainTrackTrees (10:03:07 PM): i can't believe i just wrote that

corrinad0 (10:03:27 PM): haha

corrinad0 (10:03:40 PM): what a meta-conversation

TrainTrackTrees (10:04:15 PM): i should use it as an appendix for this paper. maybe nance (e) will find it groundbreaking

TrainTrackTrees (10:04:17 PM): or just breakage.

corrinad0 (10:04:31 PM): worth a try

TrainTrackTrees (10:08:14 PM):

TrainTrackTrees (10:08:19 PM): is that blank?

corrinad0 (10:08:31 PM): ?

TrainTrackTrees (10:08:32 PM): i'm assuming it is

TrainTrackTrees (10:08:53 PM):

TrainTrackTrees (10:08:55 PM): oh well

corrinad0 (10:09:20 PM): http://www.jstor.org/view/00267910/dm980900/98p0254a/0

corrinad0 (10:09:26 PM): really cool article

corrinad0 (10:09:44 PM): modernist fascist

corrinad0 (10:09:59 PM): ugh, that should've been my paper title

corrinad0 (10:10:05 PM): er, topic

corrinad0 (10:10:17 PM): but we didn't discuss enough Eliot

corrinad0 (10:10:24 PM): and I guess I know Beckett better

TrainTrackTrees (10:10:34 PM): eliot! great killer of modern poetry!

corrinad0 (10:10:53 PM): ok charles olsen

TrainTrackTrees (10:11:00 PM): hahaha. and williams and rexroth

corrinad0 (10:11:10 PM): kenneth.

corrinad0 (10:11:13 PM): nuff said.

TrainTrackTrees (10:11:14 PM): we should have a fantasy writer league.

corrinad0 (10:11:25 PM): guy had a bone to pick, straight up.

corrinad0 (10:11:30 PM): ok

corrinad0 (10:11:41 PM): i get shakespeare and dante, you get everyone else

TrainTrackTrees (10:11:41 PM): or come up with a trading card game like magic that utilizes novelists, dramatists, and poets

corrinad0 (10:12:01 PM): i like the idea

corrinad0 (10:12:08 PM): we've been throwing this around for years

TrainTrackTrees (10:12:04 PM): i was thinking something a little less lame than that. you antiquitous bumble breath

corrinad0 (10:12:13 PM): hahaha

TrainTrackTrees (10:15:39 PM): should each writer get like 3 special "abilities" or "attacks", or should we have a more quantatative way of going about it, with certain categories of stats

TrainTrackTrees (10:15:40 PM): ?

TrainTrackTrees (10:15:51 PM): or both

corrinad0 (10:16:02 PM): i think it should be relativly simple

corrinad0 (10:16:05 PM): so kids get into it

TrainTrackTrees (10:16:10 PM): fair enough

corrinad0 (10:16:37 PM): Schopenhauer's power will be to spread a bleak malaise on your opponent's morale...draining their manna

TrainTrackTrees (10:18:47 PM): mana? i was thinking we could use a system that replaces mana and life with logic / rationale and passion / irrational or something

corrinad0 (10:19:01 PM): hmm

corrinad0 (10:19:14 PM): yeah, and use some of those famous A's

TrainTrackTrees (10:21:03 PM): the A's could be other card types. if you played magic, then you know there were cards like "instants" and "land" -- instead of having this game be based primarily on physical movement and physical battling (though due to Pound's physical isolation, for example, we'd have to have a minimal physical part) we could have the game be based primarily around spiritual / philosophical / mental environments and gameplay. so then we could have Alienation be a card type, Authenticity be a card type, et cetera et cetera

corrinad0 (10:21:34 PM): interesting

corrinad0 (10:21:47 PM): how would hit points be determined

TrainTrackTrees (10:21:59 PM): maybe the alientation would be the way to incoporate the physical, though it would have extreme affects on the spiritual. again with pound as example, if he gets locked up at st. elizabeth's, he's not going to be able to function very well.

corrinad0 (10:22:39 PM): perhaps all players get sent to an asylum upon defeat
corrinad0 (10:22:40 PM): to recover

corrinad0 (10:22:46 PM): but then return weakened

corrinad0 (10:22:49 PM): until the next battle

TrainTrackTrees (10:23:08 PM): it'd be more interesting to have a sliding scale that balances logic with irrationality. go too far to logic and you might kill yourself. same with the opposite? i think that'd be an interesting thing... to keep yourself sane. but you could sacrifice a character like Nietzsche (special power perhaps?) to benefit all your other writers in a great, great way

TrainTrackTrees (10:23:18 PM): yeah yeah, that sounds good good

TrainTrackTrees (10:24:14 PM): i guess we have to start out with "what's the goal of the game?" since we're talking aesthetics and purpose as winning and losing. perhaps intellectual liberation? or some kind of nirvana type thing? i don't know.

corrinad0 (10:25:22 PM): i suppose we'de have to be the first to successfully define what it means to be a successful artist

corrinad0 (10:25:38 PM): Stephen King would wreck Samuel Beckett, for instance

corrinad0 (10:25:58 PM): Wallace Stevens would be in Bedlam within 10 minutes of meeting Maya Angelou

corrinad0 (10:26:17 PM): Should we also have an Oprah card that boosts the reputation of a writer exponentially

TrainTrackTrees (10:26:20 PM): hahahah

corrinad0 (10:26:45 PM): and I think critic cards should be modifiers

corrinad0 (10:27:10 PM): In descending order from era and l'ouvre

corrinad0 (10:27:23 PM): like, Hazlitt would outweigh Frye who would outweigh Bloom

corrinad0 (10:27:27 PM): that fat-ass

TrainTrackTrees (10:28:56 PM): yes... there's got to be a "community" aspect that enhances how characters function. for example, you have a level of "aspiration" or "ambition" (two ideas) that exists separately, and only be having it at certain points are writers able to perform certain actions. joyce can't automatically write ulysses... you've got to raise the meter a certain amount. writing portrait would require less ambition or aspiration. but by doing portrait it would raise the bar enough to write ulysses. OR there could be a system where certain cards (a type of card called "work") would have a prerequisite before it could be played. the origin of species would be requires for maggie a girl of the streets to be played. something like that.

corrinad0 (10:29:52 PM): cool

TrainTrackTrees (10:29:52 PM): hahah yeah the critics... forgot about them. certain cards could be unaffected though. shakespeare's critics would be his fans i guess... some writers wouldn't even be able to be affected by critics... like Homer, for instance.

corrinad0 (10:30:05 PM): How would you do that with poets though

TrainTrackTrees (10:30:15 PM): do what?

corrinad0 (10:30:28 PM): especially a work like the Cantos

corrinad0 (10:30:34 PM): or Faust

corrinad0 (10:31:01 PM): or Les fleurs du Mal

TrainTrackTrees (10:31:11 PM): lifelong poems you mean?

corrinad0 (10:31:19 PM): or guys like Rimbaud who give up on poetry at the age of 25

corrinad0 (10:31:20 PM): yeah

corrinad0 (10:31:30 PM): to run guns and have anal sex

corrinad0 (10:31:50 PM): haha, there could be a social conventions! card

corrinad0 (10:31:52 PM): censoring the work

corrinad0 (10:32:13 PM): as a defense by the opposition

TrainTrackTrees (10:32:06 PM): i don't know. special rules for each writer perhaps? certain works require the writer to die in a certain amount of time after they are written, or certain works like the cantos are more than one card that has to be played in a chronological sequence?

TrainTrackTrees (10:32:17 PM): definitely censoring

corrinad0 (10:32:25 PM): hmmm

TrainTrackTrees (10:33:12 PM): there could be mythology cards, or model cards, where the idea of Faust would have to be played for Marlow to write Faust or Goethe to write Faust

corrinad0 (10:33:26 PM): can we leave

TrainTrackTrees (10:33:26 PM): soon, in a few minutes

corrinad0 (10:33:37 PM): ok

Northbeast Poetry Slam Recording

2007-12-09T17:14:00.000-05:00

On December 7th, AS220 hosted the (1st annual?) Northbeast Slam Competition. This regional event brought together eight poets, who came from the cities Worcester, Boston, Manchester, Providence, and New York. The show was a smash hit. Jeff was, oddly enough, one of the judges. At times he had assistance from his friends, who were more sober, or at least more present as audience members.

This is the description from the myspace of the Providence Poetry Slam (which you should visit if you have any interest in spoken word events--there are events every Thursday):

December, 6 2007 at NORTHBEAST Individual FINALS!!
115 Empire Stree, PROVIDENCE, Rhode Island 02903
Cost : $6.00

The NorthBEAST Individual Poetry Slam FINALS at AS220!! 7 OUT OF 8 POETRY GRANDSLAM CHAMPS FROM NEW ENGLAND/ NEW YORK CITY & SELECTED NOMINEE’S! Featuring: *Simone Beaubien, 2007 Boston Cantab Champ *Aja Monet, 2007 NYC New Yorican Cafe Champ *Iyeoka Okoawo, 2007 Boston Lizard Lounge Champ *Darian Dauchan, 2007 NYC Urbana Champ *Jared Paul, 2007 Providence Champ *Trevor Byrne-Smith, 2007 Worcester Champ *Eric Urban, 2007 Manchester Champ *Brian S. Ellis, Bos. Cantab Champion of Champions *Oz, Indy Finalist@2007 National Poetry Slam *Gary Hicks, published author/local LEGEND. What else can we say?! THIS IS GOING TO BE A SLAM LOADED WITH 10-12 OF THE TOP PERFORMERS IN THE NORTHEAST: 7 OUT OF 8 GRANDSLAM CHAMPS IN THE REGION!! THIS IS A MUST SEE SHOW!! PROVIDENCE FOLKS, COME OUT AND REPRESENT: HELP US SHOW WHAT PROVIDENCE SLAM AND AS220 ARE ALL ABOUT!! THURSDAY DECEMBER 6TH AS220: 115 EMPIRE STREET $6 SHOW STARTS AT 8PM NO SLAM/NO OPEN MIC WWW.AS220.ORG

I enjoyed the performance myself. Unlike usual slams, the styles and presentations of the poems were much more diverse. There was the usual sentimental, tear-jerking drivel, but there was a wide assortment of social critique and sheer humor bits.

In editing the audio tracks, I did not include the scoring because it took up a lot of time. I figured a little audience cheering at the end made each track as realistic as possible without putting too much into the track. For those who are more interested in hearing every part of the show, the easiest recommendation I can provide is that you attend one of these stellar performances.

Here are links to free mp3 files from that evening. Just click on the link of each part of the evening and it'll take you to a page where you can either stream the file or download it (so you can listen to it forever).

Intro and Sacrificial Poets:
01 - Intro to the Slam
02 - Sacrificial Poet 1 - Sham
03 - Sacrificial Poet 2 - Meg

Round 1:
01 - Simone Beaubien
02 - Iyeoka Okoawo
03 - Jared Paul
04 - Gary Hicks
05 - Eric Urban
06 - Trevor Byrne-Smith
07 - Oz
08 - Darian Dauchan

Round 2:
01 - Round 2 Intro
02 - Darian Dauchan
03 - Oz
04 - Jared Paul
05 - Trevor Byrne-Smith
06 - Eric Urban
07 - Iyeoka Okoawo
08 - Simone Beaubien
09 - Gary Hicks

Round 3:
01 - Eric Urban
02 - Jared Paul
03 - Iyeoka Okoawo
04 - Trevor Byrne-Smith
05 - Darian Dauchan
06 - Oz
07 - Closing Remarks

Oh yeah. Oz did win the slam. I agree as far as that goes, though each performer had their own strengths.

Old News, Good News

2007-12-04T23:16:00.001-05:00

"Daytime went into the river, and night came out of it." - Peter

There are some semi-new Mountain Goats songs available at Daytrotter. I encourage you to check the page that the tracks are hosted on. Provided are background descriptions for each of the tracks. The one fault I find is that the last track of the session, "Babylon Burning," was only limited to 1000 downloads.

Pinklon
Ethiopians
Red River Valley

Also, Pitchfork recently posted a news bit on the John's new album, coming out in early 2008. Looking at the track list, the album appears to be a reversion to the past quirks of We Shall All Be Healed and before.

Heretic Pride:

01 Sax Rohmer #1
02 San Bernardino
03 Heretic Pride
04 Autoclave
05 New Zion
06 So Desperate
07 In the Craters on the Moon
08 Lovecraft in Brooklyn
09 Tianchi Lake
10 How to Embrace a Swamp Creature
11 Marduk T-Shirt Men's Room Incident
12 Sept 15 1983
13 Michael Myers Resplendent

Noticing the strange likenesses between pictures of Mr. Darnielle is quite addicting.

Also check out this page for other links to free downloadable mp3 tracks by the Mountain Goats.

Other great nuggety findings spliced with the latest images from the latest NYC adventure:

A great bit on Destroyer

A special blog discovery

A New York Times article whose associated picture dominates

A web community for remixes and mash-ups

Another side project by members of Frog Eyes and Destroyer

That side project's super-duper non-myspace page

A link to a track by that side project courtesy of The Devil Has The Best Tuna blog

Strange Occurrences of the Ocular Kind

2007-11-18T15:51:00.000-05:00

Some new writing, poor and what not (but ideas in the make)!

Lack of updates due to big projects and life progressions. The sort of dilly-dallying one might expect with the onset of colder months.

10-10

so
you
don't
sing
anymore?

why not, dear friend?
take that recorder out,
as bright and shiny,
dull or skyline grey--
we care, we care!

porch dreams should be
reiterated, planned sequencer--
this drug use, that we do,
denial and repression,
oh so sacred, yet we
want to sing!

10-11 - unedited version of a story

A Freshly Mulched Garden

“I never was very good at explaining our problems, Chris.” The domes on the ceiling noticeably flashed small bursts of light. They looked like fluttering eyes. They were eyes lacking lashes, eyes with pupils the size of dinner plates. His briefcase was propped against a dirty column several feet behind him. Several feet above, an advertisement recently posted, complained about a lost pet. Chris stared at the absence of light emanating from the tunnel.

He could hear the rustle of a train, but knew it was not his.

Days, days, days. The path to the office was so long. Why did I walk it? Did I mean to dirty my slacks? Soda’s gone stale by now. Must be in the briefcase with the red apple. Apples get moldy so fast. An apple a day makes one buy in bulk. The economics of the thing. Loved those times next to the newspaper office. Friendly communities, never got into fights. Never listened to anything but rap, jazz, blues. No not my music, not our music, their music.

Clicks against the concrete floor woke him up. They were sharp sounds that echoed through the interior space, which he shared comfortably. But he pretended not to notice. The unnatural breeze, the electric hum, the thoughts of billions of pounds of sheer weight above him. He searched his mind for a metaphor.

Chris felt like a fragment of glass.

Chris felt like a fragment of windshield.

Chris felt like grains of sand.

Chris felt like disjointed kernels.

Chris was uncomfortable.

The train is horrible at night. I should have walked. Just sacrifice the sleep. Much more distracting. Subways focus it all. Lighting changes minimal. Eyes are perfect. No, just present.

Back at the house, she was sleeping. He picked up White Nights and read for several pages. He preferred the movie version, and could never read more than a few pages before reminding himself. There were times when things were simple. Work never seemed to be a dominating factor, never seemed to be impossible, unbearable, unbearable, impossible. If I keep going to my job, I will find myself. This is what he told himself. In front of the mirror each morning never having had enough sleep. A routine eight hours, I will fall into a pattern.

No-no-no-no. Patterns do not exist, cannot. Not everybody can do this.

But the blue light of dawning sun would wake him each morning to a miserable condition. Chris did not drink, and neither did she. They slept soundly.

Did it really matter mentioning her name? It was not symbolic, maybe. It was the same as his mother’s. All the issues were not derived from their time in bed.

No, it was the lifelessness of it all. The power going out, the rain coming down in flaccid disappointment. The picture would get fuzzy every time they returned to their seats. From having fixed it the first time.

Psychologists talk a lot about projection. Feed me a psychologist. Give me my students back!

But whatever his students had told him to keep him afloat then, would never work as memories now. All Chris could do was cower in his own sweat. He was not a failure, he was just unstable. The word carries more meaning than the easy answer: underrated admission to the cosmos.

“I thought you would be back in before I went to sleep. Put some hot tea on the stove for you.”

Pause pause pause pause.

There was no denying the silence, and Chris was so aware, a blue emotion in a red room.

“Didn’t see it . . .”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about, Chris. You do not care. You never asked and I never asked myself. Getting a grip on the situation first requires acknowledging it.”

“But I didn’t . . .”

And of course this went on, days after days, until finally, Chris walked down to the beach. It was a beach in that he could see far, into the horizon, Poseidon’s mannequin strings forming crests and troughs—yaddayaddayadda. I’m here to redeem myself. Yeahyeahyeah. Play the part the way I always have. Be civil, agree—the storm can come and be ready, be ready, don your cape and your pushpins.

The junkyard, trashheap, funerary firepits, existing right before the eyes of a doomed sailor.

Should’ve gone to Iraq, would’ve been pleasanter there. Root of evil exists—no more than the desert sun looking at you with the weeping tears of dew struggling so hard to slide off such delicate petals in a freshly mulched garden . . . a horrid quote.

The journal entered the flames crisping, calling, screeching . . . now will I never miss such disappointment.

Before awakening, the dream felt like a tsunami of sweat to Chris as she stared at her husband several inches away, a red bed carrying blue emotions. The next day would be better for her. Her struggle was not over but was not impossible.

10-26 - story in progress

Part I

His phone was dead. That was the big problem. The battery the phone carried was not efficient. The battery was obsolete. When the phone was first purchased, the battery worked as a battery should. At that time it had been perfect. But now the battery was not working. The battery was not working at all. He would have to purchase a new battery. He would have to purchase a replacement.

But not now. No, at the present moment his eyes moved beyond the phone. He stared at the wall. Outside of his bedroom, he heard the cries. The high-pitched grunts of a dog. They spurted out. The dog was calling with high-pitched squeals. He heard the cries continue in bursts. The cries spurted out. Then he listened. He heard scratching. The sounds reminded him of nails scratching against wood. These sounds he heard. He thought of them endless. They disturbed him.

The dog wants to be let inside, he thought. But his house mate was not letting the dog in. The dog spurted out more cries. He listened. The wall was white and soft. The wall was cluttered with paper. He had posted these important documents some time ago. They did not seem important to him. The cries began to cease. They occurred less often. The scratching died down. He understood this. The dog was getting tired, he believed.

But the dog continued to scratch. The dog continued to cry, to call. Though less frequent, the dog wanted to be let in. His house mate was not letting him in. His house mate must be sleeping, he thought. He should call his house mate. He should wake him up. Then the dog could be let in. The door would not be scratched. The cries would continue.

He looked down at the desk. His phone was dead. The problem existed. His phone continued to bother him.

So he could not tell his house mate to let the dog in. But he listened. The dog has stopped scratching altogether. The dog had stopped scratching altogether. He moved his glance from the phone to the wall. The important documents appeared to have dust on them. Beneath one document there was a picture. He tilted his head to see beneath the important document. The picture was old. The image on the picture was faded. But he understood. He saw a picture of himself. He was with his younger sister and his mother. The picture was from a long time ago. They were all smiling in the picture. He wore a white sweater. His hair was short. His sister wore a green gown. His mother wore a red sweater. It was hard to believe. It was so old. The image was faded.

He heard the dog again. He listened to a new sound. The dog uttered a new type of cry. It seemed the dog was further away. But the dog's cry was just as loud. It was a different type of cry. The dog cried in desperation now. It was the dog's final cry. After it, the dog would stop. The dog would give up. The dog would go lie down somewhere. It would sleep, he thought.

The picture was so old. The sweater was so white. The gown was so green. The sweater was so red. Their smiles appeared sincere. He could make out each set of teeth. How strange, he thought. He felt drawn to his phone. He looked down at the phone on the desk. It was his phone. It was a black phone. The battery was black too. The battery was dead. That was the big problem. He would have to purchase a new battery. His phone was new. It was not shiny anymore. It had been shiny when he purchased it. Now it was not. It had scratch marks on the front of it. It had scratch marks on the back of it. The battery had scratch marks. He would have to purchase a new battery. Yes, he thought, he would purchase a new battery. The new battery would not have scratches on it. It would be shiny. It would be new. His phone was not shiny. He looked at the picture. The picture hid under all the important documents. He had to tilt his head to look at it.

He tilted his head. It was hard to believe. They were all smiling. The dog was silent. His phone was dead.

10-27

Sharks try this way,
seeing spots instead of waves,
shapes instead of designs,
the cloth not the fabric.

Bath scents fill air patiently,
a smooth ascend to breathing,
where chance and changelings
get along, along the path, and so.

Pressed tylenoal on tongue
waving buds like churning butter.
The lasting effect, wear a cartigan
and flame along the edges in red pen.

11-03

What is behind that curtain?
Oh the master's breath is fierce,
lit up by these cold nights,
the wind chilling and collected.

Woodblock pattern on the floor--
these sighing noises heard
clanking against the walls,
burrowing up from sight,

it's the time of mortal troups,
the guise of stepping plays,
matters big and small and the
chimes are porcelain, up, up!

Over the flames, bound together
we sit apart, spaced away
we latch to the same surface,
cold concrete with rugged tines--

movements the rain could slap
if only we had not hid so
far inwards, if only the thing
in its beauty would come forth.

The thing turning, making minds
matter more than stopped watches
and harpy cries over jagged rocks
waving, bound for a lighthouse,

and the keepers snore pleasantly
behind a closed storage bin
potent in its upkeep, and rolling,
grins in sleep move toward water.

11-16

Radiology

Darkness likes to bring
all the birds to their
hiding places,
branches warm in winter
notches black and porous
roots in nature won't be seen

Listen to the taps on wood
the light-hearted pecks
brown wings afluff
eyes broken beads
just confusion nothing
justified here, in this place

Conversation between beeps
just peeps and propels
through crazed windstorm
cyclone cries cryptic
stance an under-current

Old age the lingering
stasis we forgot about

Perfection is polled
by millions every day
in that slithering apathy

Antipathy as black-slap-stick
burdening boroughs
chances are the webbed feet
offer more than slick slices

-----

Not all the writing and not all the imaging, but a splattering manner, burst-bubble and bunion on the half-shell.

2007-10-12T18:46:00.000-05:00

Remember the zombie nights? The thread and spool and fun in the hot sun under great blankets of sand covering till quilted quintet of thoughts shrouds mind face sand gravel sand portrait of a piece of sand of a grain of sand--

wicked thoughts with manic cackle forward pouring shout through the haunted bank, little dog introduced to new household, we live with these beasts, we live as these beasts, we live as.

Journey and jackle, jester and jipper! Joy, joy, joy!

Slight sort of, lots of goldenrods here, no wait that's pavement.

No wait, that's pavement.

(Did you see the guy ride past Viola's on a bike when you were in that car and did you see him start to swerve and then of course fall down literally no support no hands or limbs out to save fall? Well of course you just kept on driving past Violas.)

"What a hastle."

Guilt is the speed of the wind, even the times you close your eyes.

Early October 2007 Events of Interest

2007-10-07T17:10:00.000-05:00

My plan is to post local events a couple times a month. These events that I post will be of interest to me, and events that I will try to be going to, or will definitely be going to. Some will be academic, some will be musical, some poetic, and some just zany. Here are the events for early October. You will notice too that some events will be far, far away, but since the information has already been revealed, there's no reason for holding back on listing said information!

October

Tuesday, 10-09-07: Gotpoetry Live at Reflections Cafe (Providence)
Thursday, 10-11-07: Mono plays at the Middle East Downstairs (Cambridge)
Friday, 10-12-07: Mono plays at the Living Room (Providence)
Saturday, 10-13-07: Health plays at May 'n' Kevin 4 Eva (Providence)
Saturday, 10-13-07: Puppet Death Scenes at RISD Auditorium (Providence)
Sunday, 10-14-07: Puppet Death Scenes at RISD Auditorium (Providence)
Thursday, 10-18-07: Susan Howe reads and lectures at RWU (Bristol)
Thursday, 10-18-07: Smashing Pumpkins and Explosions in the Sky play at PPAC (Providence) *
Friday, 10-19-07: Ghost-themed Party at Mark's Band Space (Providence)
Wednesday, 10-24-07: Greg takes the GREs! (Warwick)
Thursday, 10-25-07: Tunng plays at the Middle East Upstairs (Cambridge)
Friday, 10-26-07: Dave Prague visits RWU for the weekend! (Bristol)
Monday, 10-29-07: Boris (from Japan) plays at the Middle East Downstairs (Cambridge)
Monday, 10-29-07: The Thermals plays at Space Gallery (Portland, Maine) *
Tuesday, 10-30-07: The Thermals plays at the Middle East Downstairs (Cambridge)

November

Thursday, 11-01-07: Buck 65 Release Party (with Sage Francis, Bernard Dolan, and Jared Paul) at the Middle East Downstairs (Cambridge)
Friday, 11-02-07: Casiotone for the Painfully Alone plays at the Middle East Upstairs (Cambridge)
Monday, 11-05-07: Casiotone for the Painfully Alone plays at the Living Room (Providence)
Tuesday, 11-06-07: Sea Wolf plays at the Middle East Upstairs (Cambridge)
Thursday, 11-08-07: Melt Banana plays with Daughters at the Middle East Downstairs (Cambridge)
Friday, 11-09-07: Melt Banana plays at the Living Room (Providence)
Monday, 11-12-07: Final Fantasy and Cadence Weapon play at Middle East Upstairs
Sunday, 11-18-07: OM and Grails play at the Middle East Upstairs (Cambridge)
Monday, 11-29-07: Andrew Bird plays at Lupos (Providence)

* = There is a high probability that I will not be attending this event, although it is still noteworthy.

It should also be noticed that there is a high probability that every Friday evening the Picked Pockets will be playing at RWU in Bristol. As they are scheduled for Friday evenings. This may be subject to change based on other events.

Deep Economy: A Close Reading and Critical Analysis

2007-09-09T16:23:00.000-05:00

For the seminar Visual Utopias: Dreams and Delusions, I had to write a response to several fairly open-ended questions concerning two chapters in the book Deep Economy. Since the book has sort of started a moral wildfire within me, the simple response turned into an accellerated heap of words, reaching several pages in length, and resulting in the analysis of my Internet life since fifth grade.

Deep Economy: A Close Reading and Critical Analysis

on Chapter One

I am a middle class, Caucasian American. Although I do not always consider myself a normal or average American, a piece or statistic of the economic masses, Bill McKibben’s Deep Economy has placed me in a pot of observance, where I wait simmering, attempting to digest, with expected depression, his points and volleys. What becomes important is not only the economy of the country—and further, the world—I live in, but the state of life on Earth as well.

In the first chapter McKibben reveals his thesis: there are three super-economic challenges that the world must first be aware of, and then face. These are: the state of economic inequality, the current use and depletion of energy throughout the world, and the lack of happiness that results from growth (11). While McKibben’s thesis is not fully explained through this introduction, it is the doorway to the provocative points, case studies, and findings that will accelerate to his conclusion, drawing relevance, interest, and involvement from the reader along the way. As the reader I find myself relating much of what McKibben states to my own life in some facet, and thus it is difficult to choose particulars that outweigh the others in terms of importance. But that is not to say choosing points that affect me the most is impossible. McKibben’s various statements on economics are not entirely of consequence to me. While the economic statistics—regarding both America as well as the globe—do have importance in terms of my family and future, I am drawn to alternative, less theoretical, less economically-abstract arguments.

One of these is focusing on the environment. Shortly after revealing his thesis, or plan for his novel, McKibben states, “Even before we run out of oil, we’re running out of planet” (18), and I, the reader, the white American, am concerned. Perhaps this is because my family has always advocated environmental safety, or perhaps my friends have always been those that live environmentally-conscious lifestyles. Whatever the case, McKibben uses many examples throughout Deep Economy to discuss Global Warming, oil depletion, and water depletion, on an “every man” level, bringing environmental destruction and abuse to doorsteps of relevance and small communities, including my own communities—Gorham, Maine, and Bristol, Rhode Island. McKibben’s detailed analysis presents two forms of environmental destruction: the incorrect use of materials in the environment, which is simply the “result from something going wrong,” and the subtle over-use of correct habits and processes throughout the environment (22). Attuned to philosophy and abstract insight when directly derived from surface-level, visual problems, I believe these two forms of destruction extremely important pieces of the global problem, pieces worth knowing about and understanding.

But McKibben makes an interesting point, one which arguably excites me more: people throughout the world do not consider the above destructions as a new problem; as humans who have had a long history of toil and struggle, we have not taken into the account that this problem should be treated differently from problems of the past (24). McKibben observes “utility maximization” (30), a theory arguing that humans make rational decisions in their lives. But he finds this suspicious, and after inspecting how, relevantly, behavioral economics work (31), utility maximization might not be based on rationalization at all (32), for there is always a force of control that is the production, the influence, of the above rational behavior.

Going back to the top, what are the implications of accepting environmental destruction? First, it will take a long time to accept the problem, because human beings will have to admit to themselves that they are at fault, or have made mistakes (potentially many). But once the state of the world’s environment is affected enough that humans are forced to address and accept the issues, the problems, and the mistakes, positive roads can be travelled upon. Books like McKibben’s are tools that can be used to help approach the issues gradually before the world reaches a state of irreparable quality. Additionally, accepting the second issue of environmental destruction, that which is much more subtle, it is implied that human beings can begin to look at alternative lifestyles and solutions, and if McKibben is correct, that is what we have needed since the beginning of the industrial revolution, when the rapid economic growth system was first initiated (8).

This theme of alternative movements can be traced to utility maximization and behavioral economics as well. How the average human lives is based on one ideology. What underlying forces, primarily economic, exist are based on one ideology. How average humans are controlled is based on one ideology. What? McKibben says that what worked in the past will continue to work in the future, and humans rely upon this philosophy: “Growth is always the final answer, the untrumpable hand” (13), but like the issues with the environment, if creative thinking is able to approach the previously-installed systems, what first must come is the admission to these systems, and everything negative lying beneath. Humans will have to gradually develop alternatives, many examples of which McKibben describes throughout the book, and at the same time will have to deal with moral and social repercussions: changes will have to be made.

What if changes are not made? What if problems are not addressed? If we reject the problems of the environment, including the depletion of fossil fuels, will force us: “the nature of our lives may fundamentally change as the scarcity wreaks havoc on our economies” (17). I have always believed that this planet is self-regulating. The planet will continue to exist after life ceases to exist here; it will be a different planet and undergo many changes (see Mars for example), but if we do not aid our planet in the course of aiding ourselves, we will be erased because of our own actions. The implications of rejecting the problems at hand not only reveal our weakness, it also accentuates what human beings, or the select few that do most of the political-economic controlling throughout the world, truly value. These values are not necessarily definable, and might not be measurable, although throughout the book McKibben incorporates various studies that attempt to define values, such as the scientific progress inspected by McKibben in regards to happiness (33), but with each movement in inequality, and each consistent step towards calling Global Warming a farce, or calling economic inequality a farce, just to name to examples, will reduce us to our moral core, and by then I believe we will be shriveled, completely unhappy beings. Through all my thoughts that McKibben has begun to cultivate, my mentality remains based on free-will. As much as the planet will regulate itself, the world in which human beings live is not a deterministic one. We have the ability to become aware and accept certain issues, and we also have the ability to throw issues in the trash—but the freedom, regardless of the inequality and environmental damage that is affecting us, is still there, and will exist until the world gets to a point where it is too late. Too late means we waited too long.

on Chapter Three

By approaching the current state of communities in America, McKibben creates and defines the term “hyper-individuality”: “We surrendered a fixed identity—a community, an extended family, deep and comforting roots—for, quite literally, the chance to ‘make something for ourselves.’ Now we create our own identities. We build from scratch the things our ancestors once took for granted . . . it is exciting, and it is lonely . . . Our affluence isolates us ever more” (96). What does one do with this backbone? McKibben believes that the nature of hyper-individualism we have designed for ourselves allows us, Americans, is a propelled force gathering momentum. Hyper-individualism allows Americans to hide life characteristics of the past and focus on life characteristics of the now that allows such problems as economic inequality to appear invisible: “Our commitment to this hyper-individualism allows us to tolerate, and even celebrate, inequality so gross that it’s almost as much farce as tragedy. The gap between the rich and everyone else is not a cause for concern, but for celebration; its beneficiaries are often hailed as our exemplars (106).

When thinking about hyper-individualism in my own life, I instantly trace my personal activities to the computer. The computer, and Internet in particular, becomes a pseudo-institution that is perhaps one of the prime mediums for the backbone of hyper-individuality—and I hardly mean that Internet users as conscious of their behavior and lifestyles as being negative. Take, however, my own life, as an example: in the fifth grade I began to use computers, and soon after began to use the Internet. It never seemed like a problem, and my mother constantly advocated it, as many other parents (who were able to afford computers) did to my friends. Before high school, the Internet allowed me a position as a “gamer” in American society (and beyond). Online gaming is of course ironic, as it brings together a “community” that kills one another. But most of my friends, regardless, were found on the gaming servers. Additionally, and perhaps more authentically, gaming forums existed online and were a way for peers of the gaming community to talk with one another, and not only about games. Everything from television to music to teen problems could be talked about. But everything seemed exaggerated, unreal—I knew I felt the imaginary quality every time I went outside to ride bikes with neighborhood friends. The difference could be felt—the emotions with the kids from the neighborhood were much more genuine, yet I still went back to the Internet because I had more freedom there—I did not depend on a limited number of neighborhood friends to be able to have fun, to have a community. There were always people on the servers. It should be noted that I still participate in online gaming today, although I have, through so many years of Internet use, gotten to a state of numbness where it is extremely difficult to find any sense of joy or happiness, or fun, on a gaming server. That could, however, be due to the correlation between youthful experience and online gaming.

In any case, after gaming, the next big period of Internet use in my life was in High School. As I began to “fall out” with the school community (I did not participate in clubs, did not have many friends), it was much easier to turn to the Internet for a supportive group of people. How was this possible? Well, gaming and the forums helped, but the medium of Internet journals, all inter-connected and easy to communicate between, popped up. Websites like Blurty and Livejournal were the two I used. The freedom to write what I wanted on these journal sites, and know that I could have “friends” read them (from all over the place—i.e. like-minded individuals), was not available elsewhere; however, something changed at the end of school, my senior year. I had been reclusive, depressed, yet somehow content (like having an everlasting wound but with an everlasting band aid) for three or more years, and then I reached a peak. I had numerous episodes with wanting to kill myself, crying uncontrollably, and the easiest way to get rid of these thoughts was by engaging in games where I could kill other people, over and over again, or by writing poetry or personal thoughts on my journal and getting a response from them. But two factors probably propelled me away from the seclusion, safety, freedom, and unhappiness of the Internet life.

The first was sexual desire. Throughout school I always had several close friends but was never extroverted and never wanted to do more than go to a metal concert or movie. Eventually girls became involved in my life, mostly from nearby towns, and the notion of sexual pleasure got its stamp on me. Additionally, and perhaps derivatively, the adolescent substance experimentation began at this time too. Smoking pot, consuming alcohol, and drinking Robitussin cough medicine to get high were only a few of the mediums through which I could connect with my close peers, and the psychological and emotional pleasures and escapes were much greater than gaming and journals could ever offer me (this is all objectively approached, and I am not trying to say my decisions were right or not). Strangely enough I became much more outgoing with all of the kaleidoscopic release. I began to make more friends at school, and these were people I never associated with previously. I felt better about myself, and let my barriers down a little. I still maintained a sense of the Internet and gaming, but it was in the background. My grades got better, my interests grew intense (probably thanks to the intellectual strive many of my favorite drug-taking writers shared), and although life was not particularly physically healthy, and it was all a rush of one day to the next, it was hardly the reclusiveness I knew in the past.

Once at Roger Williams University, my experimentation increased, and I stopped using the online journals at all. Gaming was subtle but still present. Websites like Myspace and Facebook began to grow heavily used, and depended on—more so than the previous websites. Why? They were “efficient,” a word that McKibben uses quite often in terms of hyper-individualism. Perhaps these “friend sites” were the first real sense of hyper-individualism where I actually was able to feel like something was wrong. They were not like gaming, where it took time to join a server and get in a game. They were not like online journals or forums, where you had to do a lot of writing and reading—relatively a lot of effort—in order to gain satisfaction. Myspace and Facebook allowed you to type in a name, or simply browse a list of pictures and names, to find friends and, almost robotically spend your time. “You have 1 New Friend Request” was one of many “notifications” that would pop up on these sites, and it turned everyday into a mini-birthday, or mini-Christmas. It means someone has acknowledged your existence. It means that you are connected. People write on your profile page and it’s like someone recognizing you in the hall at school, an occurrence that happened rarely for me throughout high school.

But in college, these websites were what created my first base of friendships, and many of the first friends I made on these pages I am friends with today. At a new environment, this instant-friendship is extremely important. I made friends other ways, but I did not even have to really know the person that lived right down the hall in order to “friend him” on Facebook. And the behavior was like an addiction, satisfied with a small thirty seconds of your day, or your hour, or your minute.

I will summarize this sprawling history with several words about hyper-individualism. I believe it exists, but I believe it exists always, as a constant, at least in terms of the online world as I have put into example (but also there are comparisons with my jobs, my education, passing common conversations like “What’s up?” and the response “Not much,” and just about every other facet of my life and the lives of the people that live around me). Hyper-individualism exists with a subtle hint of conflict. This is perhaps my most interesting insight because McKibben, throughout Deep Economy’s third chapter, insists that it exists and is a problem, but does not mention very often, if it is consciously opposed by those who live it. Looking at the Internet examples, users strive for the freedom that the Internet provides, yet what does the Internet do? In its nature it allows you to “connect” with other people. You cannot play a game by yourself for so long. You cannot write on forums without other people, otherwise they would be monologue spaces, or something of the sort. This continues on and on, even to AIM, AOL Instant Messenger: a program that is only used for real-time electronic messaging, which I have not discussed. Internet users are conflicted because they attempt to be part of a community but cannot reach past the boundaries of their hyper-individualism.

Let me be fair. Not everyone is an Internet junky lost in a time warp. I have begun to use the Internet less and less, as I stated above, because of the numbness, the unsatisfaction, the unhappiness, that I receive. It is like a relationship turned sour. If it is my lover, things are simply not working anymore. And this has been a slow conclusion to get to since I am dependent on the Internet now more than ever (look at how many jobs require you to apply online, as just one example). I do play games online from time to time, but they are not nearly as fun as they once were. I find my pleasures in hanging around with friends, and even the substance abuse is fading out. Now I enjoy sitting around campfires, or visiting farms my friends live on, to spend time and help work, or, on a more local note, going to local concerts where local musicians perform (and then getting the benefit of praising a local artist to college friends), or going to local poetry readings and being one of the performers myself.

I believe that McKibben’s points and solutions (many of which were not described here, and many of which occur in Chapter 2) are already being approached. Americans might not be entirely aware that they are stepping in better directions, and it is far from the majority of Americans that are going in the right direction, but there are a select number that have started to grow more associated with community involvement, and less associated with disassociation. My friend Katherine goes to the College of the Atlantic in Bar Harbor, Maine, and studies sustainable farming. The college itself is a sustainable community. My friend Neil used to be a gamer more than I was, in the height, and now does not play games at all. Myspace is fading out, as it is more and more dominated by the media and advertising, and offers less freedom and pleasure. Facebook is still around, but I do not spend nearly as much time on it now as I used to. I think that hyper-individualism is a problem, and that McKibben’s claims are correct, but to a point. There are many specific, micro-focuses that can be addressed to show in some areas hyper-individualism is already being overtaken. Economically it will take much longer, but if free will allows human beings to take charge in the community through non-economic processes, the economic processes will be overtaken and undergo reformation as well.

Works Cited

McKibben, Bill. Deep Economy: The Wealth of Communities and the Durable Future. New York: Times Books, 2007.

William Carlos Williams, Objectivist Poetry, and a Writing Assignment

2007-09-05T15:02:00.000-05:00

William Carlos Williams

Charles Olson

This semester I'm taking a William Carlos Williams seminar. The first creative writing assignment (one of few, since most of the writing will be critical / analytical) was to write poems based on his famous saying, "No ideas but in things." Williams essentially started the Objectivist movement that took place in the early 20th century, and inspired Charles Olson's projectivist poetry (made famous by his statement on poetics, Projective Verse). Here are some of the poems I wrote for the assignment. Some of the attempts are straight up Objectivist-style, at least consciously I wrote them out, but Williams did stray from the objectivist style at points in his life, and I decided to add some variation to some of the poems, which are easy to spot, I believe. A couple of the last small poetry segments are taken from a journal; they were written in late August in Boston.

Written on September 5:

Mind Painting

Deep purple ripples are
pushed along by wind,
a calm grace on these cracked,
dried arms; dried stalks
sprout from the center--
the pond is like a face,
with facial hair, jigsaw boulders,
cracked too, but darker brown,
a brown, of late summer,
that creates that scene,
just like all these things here.
Look--watercolor shadows!

Voices

The first fountain turned off yesterday.
These passing trucks will never turn off.
Moving along pedestrian paths, they
have rumble grumble engines.

The engine of the power box, grey like seagulls,
hums in its electric fan voice, without falter.
I stay silent, as does Matt, who reads about
criminology out of a big book that looks important.

My gut has a voice of its own.
So does the pen above the gut,
and the branches above the pen,
moaning in the breeze.

The second fountain cackles incessantly.
This blue table has the greatest voice
of all right now--it has actually learned
to shut up.

Displacement

Over on the other t able
there is a bunch of cords, tangled,
yellow like ear wax, or microwaves,
electrified jaundice behind an oven door.
Here, my fingers are so red and scarred,
and they are peeling red, like apples;
there are specks of blood above the cuticles,
a close inspection is like staring at steak.

Over on the other table, a pencil sharpener
rests, and how many of these appliances--
dusty, ancient--have been abandoned this year?
Here, my Poland Spring water bottle is held;
it may just be tap water, but it's the best tap
I have ever had.

Thick cream walls are on all sides,
dusted, and busted, my messenger bag
is on only one side, and the soles
of my shoes tap tap tap the floor.
I think of these last things and am,
fortunately, lost.

Eyes

The audio-visual office is both
hearable and seeable.
Let me describe how I see.

My fingers see cylindrical pen.
My hands see smooth-faced notebook paper.
My arms feel smooth stick of counter-top.
Elbow? Well it's blinded,
by some red and white poetry book.
My beard is brown, but I can't see it.
It watches my blue shirt flirtatiously.
My hat sees a million dandruff flakes
as tidal white in deep dark hair ocean.
These glasses see nothing on their own,
or maybe everything on their own,
but my eyes abuse them regularly,
like a child holding a parent's hand.

My bag, it sits still, and watches
my eyes, like a malnourished puppy
waiting for its master's acknowledgment.

The Room

There is a room
right over there
and although I'm here
I know that room
exists.

5 = 2 + 3

Chocolate metal
that is
three-sided

opens the brown doors--
each flat
and gritty.

Behind all these things
secrets
wait, quiet.

Secrets in the form
of great
beeping blips,

that not even I
can know
with these eyes.

Duty

I

The word on the page,
it is composed, like an environment,
or home, of particles,
particulars, peculiars:

two computers sit soft spoken,
unused, beyond a wall.

Many walls are here, and they
are like boxes, like I am
being boxes in, at least intact.

Yet there is not much duty
to be found in a canker sore.

It is probably a cherry-red sore
with an off-setting look, in the ilk
that is similar to smiling and
clowns, or hated memories of my father.

Another living body breathes nearby.
Is this duty, then?

Does duty mean accompany?

II

One memory screams quite loud: laundry;
it is instantly flushed.
Sweeping sound behind me.
Floor is smooth, polished,
like the night sky viewed
from a meadow.
Now there is clunking,
a dreary, mysterious pounding--
books, books, books!

This is the library's basement--
there is life down here,
so there must be answers.

Written on September 6:

Bag as Womb

Frilled edges
brown or tan
with haunting
insides:

book stolen from store:
Newport: An Exciting Experiment—
has a lot of worth, but
also a lot of siblings:

Brian Evenson’s
& Williams’
& Deep Economy
stuck deep in there
somewhere

Color coded notebook
every-color binder
Marx-Engels Reader
pressed taut to one side
in symbiosis

Metallic strap support
glimmers the light from
library ceiling

No punctuation on bag;
no writing, no brand—
just an empty pill bottle
(Dante) at the very bottom
with Ezra Pound
(Virgil) in form of VHS tape:
Voices and Visions

Bag of gifts sprawled across
hallucinogenic pattern
carpet designed by madman
somewhere in Korea on
methamphetamines
and the carpet is like an ocean—

Hallway Minus Walls
Roger Williams University Library, the Learning Commons

Computer
Computer Computer
Computer

Computers line up like soldiers,
Waiting to be abused by prying
Fingers, all white—minus ethnicity
Minus walls minus color or
Variation, like Puritans in Massachusetts

Computer too, incomplete
Without keyboard, but keyboards here
Are black, with color, without color
Like someone from Maine
Racially confused
Like someone from this school
Racially isolated

Every object here is a statue
Or ceramic pot, waiting to be stolen

The countertop we ignore has strange pattern
Mellow creaminess with brushstroke texture
Yet smooth, smooth, computer smooth

All stares concentrated, contracted pose:
Lips conform to one position, like statues

Not museum though, just hallway,
Minus walls—yellow amber light
Ambience with mechanical noise,
Contractions, severe look,
Concentration—warm outside,
People there too, walking, but mostly
Green branches, dangling and dancing

Calm and Scarred

Spider bite on face itches,
If that is what it is
It is rooted deeply like a birch,
Thin but straight, rough, packing punch

Red boil fault line
Caught several days ago

“Did you get into a fight?”
“Oh, that. Woke up with it on me.”

Red puffiness draws view downward
To stomach like kettle drum

Back on my head, the hair grows
back quicker than once imagined,
In a way descriptively magical
It is still dark brown and still requires care

Dandruff shampoo in shower
Orange gooey bargain shampoo above
(you know the type)
And then ‘course satin breeze conditioner

For satin breeze conditioning

Skull still not cured, just scarred,
Deep rivets like trenches, like
Nihilism—“once you pop you can’t stop”
Or maybe just Hinduism:

“As if in a dream, the couple leaves in the morning, not before paying obeisance to the neermadalam tree, standing royally in the yard, its flower gently caressing the woman who longed for its touch.”

Or maybe just Hinduism
Is sky turn white to blue
Over the course of three hours:

Mugginess evaporated
And now it is pleasant outside,
Gardening weather
Stanley Kunitz weather
(with dead scalp skin flurries)

Written Sometime in Late August

Outside the MFA
On another lump-white day
And two lovers atop
A bench, lay, cause
Me to stop, and
All this green, is it
For me?
A soft, lamentable shade,
Hand in hand, swift as
With the blue sea.
But I see no sea,
No wolf pack waiting
In the scrub bush,
The tide a mask over the howl.

…

Very dark, hark hark
the cell phone rings.
We answer but in mist;
as a shield, born into this.
Under Frost’s moonlight,
there is not another puff left
in his cigar smile;
out of spite
we acted like children
and in turn
given children’s guilt.

My back could have
ached. It does a slight.
Jazzy moonlit music.
--had I not fucked
so many days in a row,
I’d stand up straight,
no hunch to the gait,
but those flower petal women
dance like fingertip golf-claps.

The Picked Pockets Return

2007-08-23T21:07:00.000-05:00

Late summer brings late recordings, filled with music that blooms and grows. Welcome to our latest cultivation of tribal, folk, lo-fi indie, and overall improvisational songscapes.

Click here to download the double disk Hardwood Grove performance.

Recorded live at the new studio in Bristol, studio name to be announced in the fall.

The track list:

Disk 1

01 - No Children (Mountain Goats cover)
02 - Mild Prep Work
03 - Five Parts Concordance
04 - Assemblage and Reflection
05 - Official Borders Rewards Card Interlude
06 - King Phillip Seance
07 - Small Interlude
08 - Hal Puts Down the Wine
09 - A False but Honest Start
10 - Neutral Introduction
11 - Two Headed Boy pt. 2a (Neutral Milk Hotel Cover)
12 - What the Other Head was Doing
13 - The Cries of the Immeasurable Siren
14 - Two Headed Boy pt. 2b (Previous Cover is Continued and Completed)

Disk 2

01 - A Strange Collection of Voices (a conversation)
02 - Fake Plastic Trees (segment)
03 - The Visigoth's Sneak Preview
04 - Intro to the Visigoth's Gifts
05 - The Visigoth's Gifts
06 - Peyote Slinger Slings Some Sound
07 - The Incredible Aquasounds Interlude
08 - Short Electric Insect
09 - Evening Update on Hallucinogens
10 - A Certain Perspective - Peyote Slinger Backs Spoken Word
11 - Outtro - Bukowski Nightcap

Animal Collective's Strawberry Jam

2007-07-19T10:35:00.000-05:00

Click here to download the album.

Foo Fest 2007 (Providence, RI)

2007-07-18T21:21:00.000-05:00

(Bernard Dolan)

(Sage Francis)

I took some pictures (with zee cell phone, how boojie) and recorded a bit of audio from this year's Foo Fest in Providence. Bands included Sage Francis (with pal Bernard Dolan, Jared Paul, Buck 65, Buddy Wakefield and many others), Aa (pronounced "Big A Little A") and Battlesnake. Some of the audio's from my own drunken musings too. All of the recordings are in MP3 format, so if you can't play them, I don't know what to say.

Aa songs (recorded):
http://www.box.net/shared/qdicfvxn8s
http://www.box.net/shared/054449yeiy

Bernard Dolan's Bombzo the Clown Spoken Word:
http://www.box.net/shared/6nxj3i5jvc

Sage Francis and Friends performing "Jah Didn't Kill Johnny":
http://www.box.net/shared/ndfketa951

My own antics:
http://www.box.net/shared/cetk0e0ti7
http://www.box.net/shared/p8mcbpjcg3

As of now, I'm just happy to have files from my brand new digital audio recorder accessible. The quality isn't that great, since I'm just using the internal mic as of now, but the recorder's small, convenient, and the file sizes are not extraneous. Personal plan: upload and post all audio files, including pot-induced recorded thoughts, drunken conversations, live Sage Francis show in Portland, and other musings.

The following three links are to galleries of photos taken this month:

The July Story So Far
The Installation Artists
Rhode Island as Deep South Summer

What We Say When We Talk About What We Say

2007-06-02T19:20:00.000-05:00

It's taken a handful of days, a psychedellic adventure, and enormously (so far) pointless job hunting, but I think I'm getting back into the groove I left in Rhode Island. The band Carissa's Wierd is a fun orchestral prog band that a dear friend (featured below) has turned me onto.

Also, I read Jim Carroll's Living at the Movies, a book of his poetry. He's most famous for The Basketball Diaries, which I have not yet read. That diary is most famous for its movie adaptation, which I have not yet seen. Aside from a small bash on Brautigan, Living at the Movies is a wonderful sprawl of nitty-gritty New York poetry. Jim Carroll's obvious draw is from Frank O'Hara, the Beats, and the Frisco Renaissance crowd. He also released a few albums with his own band, something kind of like Lou Reed, ACDC, David Bowie, with Dylan-esque phantasmic spirit.

Some albums taken by the Mirror of Truth during the Evening of Truth:

One

Two

Three

Four

Here are some notes for reading pleasure:

What to expect baby deer?
What to expect in the deep forest?

There are hides! They hide the life!
Or bring it out in the most crafty, exquisite of motions!

Just leaves in the wind--bristle blower holder open!
Leaves hold the doors open, trying to get in--it's like a marquee of stock brokers on Wall Street after the crash.

Did you figure out zee wall???

Cracks in the wall open up as you walk closer. Worlds open up to your vision. Close your eyes and understand the same with your ears.

Seventeen forever is a world in it's own. Would call it limiting but hey, never done the thing myself and who has? Maybe a stasis happening somewhere, to somebody!

Which came first, the fire or the sunrise?
The sunrise came first, then fire just wanted to be it.

Blue Hairy ocean.

I was sipping on the sun.
I thought I was drinking by the glum.
It was just the moon shinin'.

Particles of Paint
I gotta go check and see if there are particles of paint in my pubes.
Get in the zone. Snotto zone.

Lisa Jarnot and Corruption of Poetics

2007-05-13T22:48:00.000-05:00

So I just got done reading Lisa Jarnot's third book of poetry, "Black Dog Songs."

It hit me in the same way reading Susan Howe's did when I first read one of her books, "Pierce Arrow" I believe, one night stoned out of my mind, riding the RIPTA.

In "Black Dog Songs," which is composed of three subsections, titled "Early and Uncollected Poems," "My Terrorist Notebook," "They," and "Black Dog Songs," the combination of repetition, rhythm, and other, more specific sonic techniques, warms and warps the brain. The one link to a poem by Jarnot points to the Coconut Eight online poetry journal, which is worth checking out for its visuals and interactive site design.

After finishing the read, I wrote a few poems in the style of Jarnot. I'd recommend checking out her own blog, as well as her personal website (which has a bunch of great links to poetry and other fun bits) when you get yourself some free moments.

These are the poems / prose-poems I ended up writing in the style of Jarnot, partially edited, as per my usual process:

The Eclipse

Everything in the whole wide world
held on to them and they held on
to everything that was whole and
wide and the wide whole held
together their world and their world
understood them, and they were
wide and held the world with vigor
and understand so that their
standing vigor was wide and
whole and the whole vigor shook
the world as it danced whole,
held together by the whirled
understanding as wide as them
and their vigor was a wide vine
upon which danced their world and
they danced, held wide with the
vigor of the world and their vigor
was wide with whirled understanding
held whole with wide dancing.

Nestled Beneath a Bridge

The sun went down and so the moon followed and so their eyes followed the sun’s escape and the moon’s chase and so the two lovers went down behind the moon, which went down following the sun and so the orbit was a lover’s pattern and the sun turned back and looked at the moon and the moon turned back and its eyes followed the sun and the escape went down before the lovers’ eyes and so the eyes orbited the escape and so the pattern was of the lovers and so the escape was the pattern and the eyes followed the orbit of the followed sun and so the eyes followed the pattern of the lovers and so the pattern went down in an orbit of escape, turned back as lovers’ eyes following the lovers’ sun and the lovers’ moon and so the escape followed the lovers’ pattern.

Band Space

The room has statues,
shells, penguins and lights,
and the people in the room
are dirty.
At two in the morning
there is room for anything.

The Olneyville statues are
paper posters and drum kits,
stereos penguins dance to,
lights that dirty the people,
shells exploding like desecrated
statues, and two in the morning
rooms.

The Olneyville statues are dirty
from a long day,
and the end of the day is long
with cans of Pabst and long
containers rooming French Fries
and cornbread.

Olneyville people bounce around
like penguins tossing and trading
shells, discussing morning lights,
mourning dirty drum kits,
exploding statue rooms with light
and smoke and glass bowls
endlessly traded and dirty,
dancing the whites and blacks of
desecrated penguin statues.

Olneyville people are smoke
and glass of shattered shells
and the trading of cornbread
crumbs.

The dirty room is all of
two in the morning and
the dirty people are
desecrated shells.

What Cheer?

They felt the car stop running and the engine turning off and their bodies turning the corner of the dirty city streets and they felt too the cool air of passing automobiles chugging by on the dirty city streets and turning around hollow night corners, and they felt their eyes turning toward adult video stores and their minds turning backward in time to an ode they composed about their Puritan professor, and they felt the wobbling surreal night of it all that can only be felt through sobriety, and they felt themselves turning into waking bugs, and they felt the vacancy of dimly lit bookstores staring into them and they felt the hollow mouths of doorways staring into them and their souls fearing the rapist hiding out in the flickering tongue shadow, waiting to turn them into victims felt only by the sentience of the city and they felt that the city was living and breathing, and they felt the city was a felt-like bug creeping around like a giant millipede with all of its feeling fiddling frothing legs trailing and turning and guiding automobiles and rapists and gang members, all dressed up for a night of parties, and they felt themselves answering the primal call of the night parties, and they felt the hot stuff of the night in the air and they felt humid and claustrophobic and they felt like the party was night and it was waiting with binocular vision glazed over with humidity and they felt their glasses glazed over with humidity and they felt their vision turning hazy like the hazy vision of automobile windshields on a night of neon fog, and they felt the water spit down on to their sweat-coated necks and their sweat-coated arms, and they felt like it was the air conditioner vent up above them that was doing all the spitting, and they felt the water drip onto skin like sweat on hair turning and sliding down to the neck, soaking their tee shirts, and they felt the sweat brushing up against their glasses fogging it over and they felt like they had turned back to the car with the coma engine and the hazy windshields taking in all the city sentience and neon sentiments, with the three dimensions of a blind man’s world of shadows, and they felt their feet turning back to the floor of the night where the party had brass that played the foggy melodies of the night, and they felt the articles of clothing beneath stomping feet and they felt their stomping feet stomping the turning swirls of the beat and they felt pops in their ears from the bass drums being smashed and the snares being rattled and the lighters flicked the beers cracked open the foam surging out like creamy white magma, and they felt the brushing limbs of the ritz and the hip and they felt the hips gyrating and the smiles contorting and the cigarettes growing so old and toppling over into crumbled dust like the foggy deterioration of the streetlamps’ sight, and they felt the speed of the music the smacks of the trumpets the smirks of the tubas the chugs of the sousaphones the muffled dying cries of the French horns the glass-breaking dazzle burst of the symbols the twirl of the woman’s arms bursting those same clashing clanging news breaking symbols the sly rusty squirm of the trombones the entire eighteen slashing dashing splashing the audience with sweat conditioned under the red light and red and black uniforms uniform under the red light madness turning the night into a party turning the crowd into a millipede dancing and sucking and flailing in and out of corners praying beer bottles tree limbs backpacks hats and shoes would become instruments, and they felt this cavalcade of night sweat and felt their stomachs coated in the sweat and felt their feet dancing and spinning and felt their bodies churning like bugs in the hazy sweat of the night as the hours passed one by one and the tunes started stomped rose fell forgot remembered, and they felt memories from back home wherever they came from, and they felt their senses slipping away and being burned back into them and they felt their bug bodies bruised and turning back to ethereal night bodies without any disguise or alliteration, and they felt that same old sweat chafing the skin between their legs and the beer between their legs became the last shield between the cool calm of skin coated with melted sweat and the insanity of outdoor night brass and percussion pivoting eyes and instruments upward as a call to the neon streetlamps and the neon fog blanketing the party of the night, and they felt the fugitive’s timid eyes glazed over by booze, and they felt the neon courage of the tree climber, and they felt the stubborn pride of the cop manning the electronica synthesizer police siren, and they felt the dancing hips around them, and they felt the man in the monkey suit turning toward them with paragraphs of the night’s text tattooed onto both of his drum-beating night-breathing arms, the sweat turning the melted text into a jumbled mutation of the night, and then they felt the monkey’s hollowed eyes digging into their own and searching with beat after beat, climax after climax, female orgasm as a spasm in the night, and they felt their own eyes receiving the primate’s binocular grip, and they felt the whole world growing hazy and fogging and the night receding into muffled foam and melted ink, and they felt their own mouths mouthing mimicry in response to the monkey, and they felt their own mouths become the millipede night’s mouths, turning back to the masquerade of the waking bug, and they felt their stomping question spit out toward the monkey like humid drips of sweat, and they felt the monkey still pounding drum beat after drum beat and they felt the tension of the forthcoming reply but all that spat forth from the monkey’s manic mouth was the humid screech of laughter mimicking the night, and then they felt the memories and it felt like film tape rewinding, until completely turned, and then, in the silence of transition, they felt nothing.

Some Final Accessibiliy

2007-05-12T23:30:00.000-05:00

There's only a week left in the semester for me, here at RWU. My last final is on Wednesay, but I'm going to stay in Bristol or Providence, whether it be in car or on couch, until Friday. Apparently there's a secret Sage Francis show at AS220 on Thursday. That's the main, reason, I suppose. And the blossoming flowers are always a pleasure. Sure Maine'll see the explosive sex of nature soon too.

With the coming of the end, I've got the last reviews of the semester. It's always a surprise to see what's emerging. The new Grails album is probably the most powerful of the new releases, but that just be my bias toward all that post-rock tastiness. Lots of great releases in every genre thusfar this year. And anyone who has not heard Dan Deacon yet, definitely should. Check out some free tracks by him here.

Artist: Dntel
Album: Dumb Luck
Genre: Indie Rock / Experimental Electronica
RIYL: Xiu Xiu, Cursive, The Good Life, Pedro the Lion, Bright Eyes, Deerhunter, Neutral Milk Hotel, Onelinedrawing, Norfolk and Western, Sigur Ros, Conor Oberst, Jenny Lewis, Grizzly Bear, Lali Puna, Mia Tai Dodd, Battles,

Dntel combines the work of artists Conor Oberst, Jenny Lewis, Grizzly Bear, Lali Puna, and Mia Tai Dod in this third release. The production is wonderful, with the most accurate description being a cross between The Good Life and Norfolk and Western. All of the vocals, done by the various contributors, are softly sung; the strange accompanying synth experimentation and folk music provides a delightful contrast that holds steady throughout the record. The only fault is that the record goes by very fast, and so once you really get into the groove of its pace and tonal patterns, it is over.

Artist: Nurses
Album: Hangin' Nothin' But Our Hands Down
Genre: Indie Punk Rock
RIYL: Muse, Radiohead, Wolf Parade, The Arcade Fire, Paloalto, Blood Brothers, RX Bandits, Kay Kay and His Weathered Underground, Q and Not the U, Dog Fashion Disco, Mr. Bungle

Nurses basically sounds like a combination between The Arcade Fire, Blood Brothers, and Mr. Bungle. The other obvious influences and similar sounds are listed above. While the band's instrumentation is fairly standard for a punk rock band, the whiney vocals and the great innovational sounds from the band as a whole (including structure, melody, rhythm) make this album very solid. There is anger, remorse, fun, and a plethora of other emotions that revolve from song to song. The album flows ceaselessly and seems the perfect length for an album of this nature. Interestingly enough, the later tracks in the album are the most experimental and the most fun to listen to, but the beginning of the album is just as enjoyable.

Artist: Secret Mommy
Album: Plays
Genre: Found / Experimental Electronica
RIYL: The Books, Venetian Snares, Aphex Twin, Squarepusher, Bjork, Radioboy, Sigur Ros, Radiohead, Architecture in Helsinki, The Good Life, Mum

Secret Mommy is a group of uncountable musicians who have gotten together and made an experimental electronica compilation with a crazed assortment of samples. The music is similar to the Books in spirit, but has more a more electronica-based sound, something like Architecture in Helsinki mixed with Aphex Twin. The music is all entirely melodic and the experiments with tonal modulations and shifts works wonders for the ear. Although fans of mainstream electronica might not find it pleasurable to listen to, the music is well made and might grab many fans fast.

Artist: Frog Eyes
Album: Tears of the Valedictorian
Genre: Indy Rock
RIYL: Wolf Parade, the Arcade Fire, Interpol, Animal Collective

The whining cacophony of Frog Eyes brilliantly leaves you sitting there begging for more, wondering where the album went. The opening track sets the stage for the type of whiny, dark, chemical sludge of an indy rock album this is--imagine the Arcade Fire on hallucinogens--but quickly paces from track to track, featuring even tracks that are high in energy and the most accessible, while the odd tracks are aesthetically diluginal, unappealing, gross, yet in their latency, the odd tracks are somehow beautiful. Don't look for cohesive song lyrics here--the album is full of strange abstractions, but half the time you can't understand what the singer is saying anyway, and the album can only be approached sonically. When this happens, however, the CD turns into a marvelous wall of sound that can only be described as "incredible."

Artist: Feist
Album: The Reminder
Genre: Singer-Songwriter / Jazz / Folk
RIYL: Cat Power, Joanna Newsom, Broken Social Scene, Amy Winehouse, Lily Allen, Bjork, Shearwater

Feist of Broken Social Scene acclaim, has been devoting her time with social projects under her own name. Following up last year's EP release, the Reminder is a full-length (fifty minutes) of captivating songs. Most of the tracks on the album are rather quiet, but stunningly beautiful, like Cat Power or Joanna Newsom; but when the music does find itself exploring louder volumes and more jazzy premises, the music breaches toward Bjork and Amy Winehouse, but never losing the authentic Feist style, consisting of numerous acoustic instruments, including piano, with a solidly built bass backdrop. On occasion, too, the traditional American jazz and folk transfer over to more African and European styles, that incorporate electronica whole-heartedly for a wild, fiery edge.

Artist: Grails
Album: Burning off Impurities
Genre: Psychedellic Prog-Rock / Prog-folk
RIYL: Godspeed You Black Emperor!, This Will Destroy You, Red Sparowes, Do Make Say Think, Russian Circles, Battle of Mice, Jesu, Faust, Hawkwind, Gore, Hendrix, Santana, Boris, Corrupted, Isis, Pelican, Moss, Deadbird, Aereogramme, Stars of the Lid, Mono, Mouth of the Architect, Set Fire to Flames, Battles,

The new album by post-rockers Grails is filled to the brim with psychedellic energy that twists, turns, distorts, contrasts, expands, and moves about your ears through 4-6-minute-long songs. The music is epic, but does not suck you in the way bands like Godspeed do; however, Grails's unique ability to fuse together explosive movements with folk and psychedellic rock is a force to be reckoned with.

(found under search in Google Images for "Nurses Hangin' Nothin' But Our Hands Down")

Throughout the summer I will be taking small "retreat" sessions where I come back down to Rhode Island and help clean up the WQRI booth. The sessions will also be to promote my writing, visiting Jeff and others to work on manuscripts and larger projects, including the Picked Pockets, hopefully.

Records You Might've Missed

2007-05-03T18:04:00.000-05:00

Well it's drawing upon the end of the semester, so I've decided to do a wrap-up of all the record reviews I've done this semester for the college station. Instead of posting all the records I've reviewed (in a good, bad, ugly sort of fashion), I'm going to display only the best of the best. A certain selection of albums that might take your interest. The reviews are both objective and subjective at times, so not everyone will agree with my tastes and opinions, but that's for the reader to decide. I'll attempt to post links to free mp3s along the way.

Speaking of mp3s, before the reviews get started, check out http://www.downloadfestival.com/ (site discovered via Pitchfork).

And now with the top record reviews of the semester!

(p.s. RIYL means "recommended if you like...")

Artist: Long Distance Runner
Album: The Fire of Cumulative Hours
Genre: Electronica / Turntablism
RIYL: Air, Caribou, The Books, Four Tet, RJD2, Kid Koala, DJ Shadow

Long Distance Runner uses a plethora of samples and synth melodies that progressively build tension throughout the song and end in a series of climaxes that show both the master as a DJ and the master of selector. There are also raw drum samples and other surprises that pair Long Distance Runner with the likes of various prog-rock collectives. Definitely a king of his genre, Runner's "The Fire of Cumulative Hours" does not hold back and even with its songs being only five in amount and all relatively short, they offer essential listening enjoyment.

Artist: Pablo
Album: Half the Time
Genre: Singer-Songwriter / Pop-Folk
RIYL: Devendra Banhart, Bright Eyes, The Long Winters, Replacements, Onelinedrawing,

Pablo, a band of folky nature but also highly unconventional, has the ability to create the tonal atmospheres similar to Bright Eyes and Onelinedrawing and keep them from reaching the over-the-top, overly-dramatic point by softening them up and adding pop-melodies as well as song variations (in structure, for example) that are experimental and exciting. The songs on Half the Time are a great mixture that move seemlessly from the beginning of the album to end, but also capture the listener's attention by being more than just pop-folk to throw on as background noise.

Artist: The Reverden Peyton's Big Damn Band
Album: Big Damn Nation
Genre: Delta (Gutbucket) Blues
RIYL: Primus, Charley Patton B

The Rev. Peyton's a complex guy and at first light it might seem like his band's pretty simple, but it's complex too--both in musicianship and in spirit. The combination of folky Mississippi Delta blues guitar, the stomping background drums, and the ever-present, chain-grinding washboard turn Big Damn Band into a collossal steamengine of sorts where the Reverend Peyton's voice is the only thing that gives the machine life. And the life is a brutally muted horn outta Hell, almost like cries from Hell. Some of the songs carry the same theme, which makes the album both string together, and at times, get repetitive, but the sheer force keeps the foot tapping, and the obscure yet beautifully haunting style and skill drives Big Damn Nation far from a becoming a bore.

Artist: Polar Goldie Cats
Album: Feral Phantasms
Genre: Abstract Noise / Prog Rock
RIYL: Explosions in the Sky, Isis, Sleepytime Gorilla Museum

Where to start with Polar Goldie Cats? Feral Phantasms is their third album, holding eight songs of medium length. The album starts with a track of cat noises... a Bookesque found music comprisal; the album picks up from there. Each song is worth listening to, but the three listed above are most notable because they take the haunting prog-rock themes of Polar Goldie Cats to the highest level. As many fans describe, this is the work of genius; the work of Classical composers; the work of Beethoven. But it is fused with a noisy harshness, as if the band had sold their souls to the devil and became stylistic experts because of it.

Artist: Quit Your Day Job
Album: Open Up, Coconut!
Genre: Punk / Dance-core Alternative Rock
RIYL: The Clash, Liars

Swedish trio Quit Your Day Job make silly songs that are full of synth-pumped energy. Songs about getting wasted, being freaks, and pissing on pandas are only a couple of the chanting punk-based songs that comprise this album. While the lyrical intelligence may not be much higher than a high school garage band, Quit Your Day Job fuses the standard rock setup with strange, sexual noises and covers it all with highly memorable choruses that are straight-out fun to listen to.

Artist: Harlem Shakes
Album: Burning Birthdays EP
Genre: Garage Pop
RIYL: Magnetic Fields, The Shins, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Fiery Furnaces, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The Shines, Beach Boys, David Bowie, Grizzly Bear, Islands

Harlem Shakes are a New York-based pop band with a lot of revitalized energy. There is a fusing of non-conventional rhythm tracks paired with accordion, synthesizers, grooving guitar, and catchy main and backing vocals tracks. While this album is short, it offers a lot--more than you can get with just one listen.

Artist: Sleeping in the Aviary
Album: Oh This Old Thing?
Genre: Punk Rock
RIYL: Buzzcocks, Thermals, White Stripes, The Kinks, Ima Robot

Sleeping in the Aviary's new album opens with a bang. And then it continues with some more bangs. But the bangs keep changing their style through each track that it's hard to tell what Sleep in the Aviary is doing until the CD is almost over. One part speed-punk, one part catchy rock ballad (complete with backing vocals as chorus), and one part nonsensical Zappa-esque craziness, the band's all over the place, never leaving you alone. The in-your-face styles would get old, but the album isn't long enough for that to happen.

Artist: Explosions in the Sky
Album: All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone
Genre: Post-Rock / Prog-rock
RIYL: Godspeed You Black Emperor!, Silver Mt. Zion, Do Make Say Think

The long-awaited new album from Explosions in the Sky opens up full-throttle with the same sound. The tones and melodies have changed, and it seems like there is a generally more agressive approach stylistically, with faster and harder drums. The songs are all still medium-to-long-length, so the album floats from one to the next without much problem. Critics of the album might say that the band has not made much headway into new territory, as the second track almost reflects the band's past albums exactly, but there are corners that the album touches upon that seems new and frighteningly different in an eerie, spooky manner that includes synthesizers.

(newspaper review)

When I first heard Explosions in the Sky, it was with their second major album release, and this was several years ago. I listened to it like my life depended on it. Because isn't that what most people want? Music that they can relate to? Music that reflects their lives inner workings? In High School I had a bunch of emotional stress, just like everybody. Explosions in the Sky is the kind of band that musically, orchestrally imitates the stress and the moods that everybody goes through. They don't provide lyrics because the lyrics are for you to make up in your head. The music is there to remind you. That something special is there. That you have the ability to feel it. That the band's songs are a medium to experience the emotion over and over again. For me, at the time, this style of music bridged everything from death metal to punk to hip hop to classical compositions together into musical dynamite that was strung into my ear and waiting to go off. On their latest album, "All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone," Explosions in the Sky furthers their progress as a band of both professional musicians and wonderfully empathetic songwriters, and reminds their fans and new listeners that they can recreate the wondrous songs of the past, as well as add new elements. These new elements are what transforms the album into a twisting time travelling device. Because on track two, "Welcome, Ghosts," for instance, I was reminded of all their previous work combined. As if they were paying their past work homage with this tributary track. But the album does not start that way. Just popping it in and listening to the first track, called "The Birth and Death of the Day," the album seems much faster, more intense, and more glorifying than ever before--the guitars are played faster and at weird tonal angles; the drums are taken to new levels and go beyond their normal, pitter-patter backdrop that the band's so known for. After the first two tracks, the album becomes a guessing game. Does the band want to stick to their roots and routines? Or is Explosions in the Sky up to something. The answers comes clear not more than two minutes into their third track, aptly entitled "It's Natural to be Afraid," where a three part epic song structure uncurls itself through the aural waves for near-thirteen minutes. The most stunning aspect of both this track and the following--the sparkling "What Do You Go Home To?"--is the inclusion of synthesizers. In the past the guitars and snare drums were always the focus of prog-rock (or "post-rock") bands--this was their signature--but both keyboard and piano take a dominant, earth-shattering, tidal-wave sputtering role through these two tracks. One can only think of Godspeed You! Black Emperor, infamous orchestral post-rock band of the middle 90's, who fused power chords with string instruments and keyboards into their own epic, thirty-minute-long tracks. But don't misread me--Explosions in the Sky is far from Godspeed!, perhaps because of their song lengths. The songs, as past albums have seen, are accessible to the average listener. Take track five, "Catastrophe and the Cure," a tour de force that's seemingly long at eight minutes. But it's far from being bluntly epic; the ability that Explosions in the Sky has developed--the ability to suck the listener in to each song--cuts the listener's consciousness of song length in half. You could hear this song playing on the airwaves and not even realize that you just got smacked over with the catastrophic movement of the three guitars, the pounding tribal drums, the maracas, and the ambient sound-scaping noise in the background. But why is this? Why is it so easy to get sucked into a band's maneuvering and song progression? It's captivating. Like a romance, war, mystery, horror, or crime novel, it's captivating. Like that hit crunk song you heard on the radio, or that line of poetry you'll always remember, Explosions in the Sky has that ability of working its way into the dark corners of joy, sorrow, and sentimentality, and staying there. The band's success is that it doesn't focus on one emotion, one "piece of the puzzle," so to speak. In a lightning speed, blitzkrieg fashion, Explosions in the Sky is able to pick you up, then throw you down; make you cheer and grow excited, then almost cry right after. But is that crying out of joy or sorrow? It's entirely subjective. The band's simply the auditory drawing pad and is giving you the opportunity to sift through some of that raw energy you've got building up inside of you. It's an outlet. For a college kid, a professor, or an anybody. There's something to be gathered, gained, inspected, or just felt when listening to them. On this latest release especially, the band's two hands are outstretched, beckoning like an angel or devil, or some obscure mixture of both--an Aladdin with a magic carpet, perhaps--inviting you into your own world that you might have forgotten or misplaced. Just listen to the album and wait for the last song, "So Long, Lonesome," which took me closer to the band I'd ever been before, through all of their past albums.

Artist: Babyshambles
Album: The Blinding EP
Genre: British Pop-Rock / Reggae / Ska
RIYL: The Living End, Rancid, the Clash, the Good the Bad & the Queen, Dirty Pretty Things, Wolfman, Cold War Kids, Libertines

Although often compared to his LPs negatively, Babyshambles' Blinding EP has is a potent pack of songs that reach out to a variety of musical genres, including pop-rock, reggae, ska, alternative rock, and countless other influences are prominent on the album. The songwriting is creative, and the vocals are, although sometimes abrasive, tolerable. The key aspect of Babyshambles is the originality--the bands above are similar but nowhere near the style of Babyshambles completely.

Artist: Frenemies
Album: Birds in High School
Genre: Indie Rock
RIYL: Talking Heads, John Frusciante, Neptunes, the Smiths

Frenemies is the guy who founded the post-rock / heavy metal group Oxes, and the album shows but does not linger on Oxes-inspired material. Trying to imagine just what this album is and what it does stylistically is almost impossible. Just imagine many, many styles of music trying to come together at once, and succeeding. There are hip-hop influences, punk influences, folk influences, alternative rock influences, and noisy / electronica influences. By listening to Birds in High School, you'll not only remember your appreciation for many styles of music, but perhaps develop it further.

Artist: The Spares
Album: Beautiful and Treacherous Thing
Genre: Americana / Roots / Folk
RIYL: The Ennis Sisters, Mindy Smith, the Weepies, Allison Krauss and Union Station

The Spares are a bluesy / folky roots rock group, or "Americana" as the band calls themselves. The lead vocals is female--lighthearted and soft spoken (or sung). The music that is conveyed is beautifully fixed with the tremolos of a mandolin, subtle drums, the lead acoustic guitar, and even other instruments at surprising times. Each song flows mellowly together, and the songs have an absolutely full sound.

Artist: Yoko Ono
Album: Yes, I'm a Witch
Genre: Electronica, Jazz-Fusion, Trip-Hop, Alt. Pop
RIYL: Hank Shocklee, Peaches, Shitake Monkey, Blow Up, Le Tigre, Porcupine Tree, DJ Spooky, The Apples in Stereo, The Brother Brothers, Cat Powre, The Polyphonic Spree, Jason Pierce, Antony and the Johnsons, Hahn Rowe, The Flaming Lips, The Sleepy Jackson, Craig Armstrong

Yes, I'm a Witch, is Yoko Ono's new collection of songs. But how new is it? The songs are all collaborative masterworks where Ono combines her power with indie / pop / electronica artists of the time, remixing older songs that Yoko Ono and Lennon have written throughout her musical career. Most of the songs are surprisingly good renditions of the original versions. Fans of Yoko Ono might not find the songs up to par, but for the average listener, the full-force vocals of Yoko Ono (in all of her rage and eccentric tones) play well with the various styles of music that the other artists offer.

Artist: Of Montreal
Album: Icons, Abstract Thee EP
Genre: Indie Pop-Rock
RIYL: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, The Beatles, Frank Zappa, the Beach Boys, the Postal Service

The bonus EP to Hissing Fauna Are You the Destroyer, the latest LP by Of Montreal, is a five-track romp both touching and enlightening. Although some of the narrative love songs are sorrowful, the music composition is masterfully put. There are multiple vocal tracks harmonizing, the inclusion of piano / keyboard, stunning guitar work crossing various pop styles, and ambient electronics in the background. The songs, at first seeming traditionally pop, are actually filled with indie innovations. The lyrics are quirky and add a strange dimension--especially the last song, "No Conclusion," which is based on the lyric "Tonight I need to explode myself." The combination of 60's boy pop with indie swirls and twists works brilliantly.

Artist: Love is All
Album: Imagine the Shapes
Genre: Pop-Rock
RIYL: Ima Robot, Modest Mouse, Blondie, Karen O, Sugarcubes, Psychedellic Furs, Annabella Lwin

This compilation album by Swedish band Love is All plucks many correct strings. It's hard to define the musical style because the music is chronological and literally covers the progression of the band stylistically. The first few tracks are all from the band's most recent LP, which is fused with 80s chick-pop rock and roll--aggressive and enthusiastic. The female vocals get cut off afterwards with several songs that are much more punk-infused and of lower sound quality. Afterwards the female vocals return (track 8) and most of the music is much more somber and haunting--but highly involved. As a whole, this album has many great points and should not be missed for fans of indie pop.

Artist: . . .And People and Crocodiles. . .
Album: Indoors
Genre: Trance-Fusion / Classic Prog Rock / Thrash Jazz
RIYL: King Crimson, John Coltrane, Nirvana, Sound Garden, Oxes, Oxford Collapse, Radiohead, Dredg

APAC's Indoors album is something not quite like anything that's come before. The bands listed above are only slightly similar, but have no complete relation in musical sound to APAC. The style of APAC is most similar but not limited to the post-rock band Oxes. There are interesting samplings from Bush layered throughout the album, half-hearted vocals that sound like old Oxford Collapse albums. The music is a mixture of powerful, in-your-face rock with somber, slow prog-rock jams.

Artist: Tiny Hawks
Album: People Without End
Genre: Post-Punk with a touch of Noisy Power-Thrash
RIYL: Fugazi, Fiya, the Body, Hot Water Music, Sparta, Oxford Collapse, At the Drive In

Tiny Hawks is a Providence punk/hardcore/thrash band that is composed of two people. Like Lightning Bolt, the basis of Tiny Hawks is sound and aggression--in your face, cut-throat power. Most of the songs work because they're very fast and have a Melt Banana duration to them. Some of their songs are a bit longer and are similar to post-punk groups like At the Drive In or Sparta. Regardless of what they really sound like, the album has a very good structure to it, and the it's not easy to get bored with the switch between raw energy and pacing progressive build-ups.

Artist: Wolf Eyes
Album: Human Animal
Genre: Noise / Ambient / Soundscape
RIYL: SUNN O))), Merzbow, Boris

The complete falsification that is the modern conveyance of minimalism = quiet is wrong, and so is minimalism = simple. Wolf Eyes steps up to the plate with their wretched, haunting ballads of intoxicated noise and nothing that builds and builds through the first three tracks to the album's title track, which is also right in the middle. Combining layers of screaming haunts that sound like the pit of hell itself, with squeaks and squeals, Human Animal is a grotesque monstrosity of rejection and delusion that is at the heart of the crippling ear drums itself--and the drum beats sound like the hearts pumping out blood. What little blood is left. Somehow the random strings of ear-splitting sound, and the erratic drums that move forward throughout the album, give a bit of listening coherency--in that the music becomes tolerable through its minimalistic distortion.

Artist: Teddybears
Album: Soft Machine
Genre: Dance-Rock
RIYL: Mad Cobra, Iggy Pop, Neneh Cherry, Royksopp, Elephant Man, Annie, Ebbot Lundberg, Gorillaz, Malte, Daddy Boastin', RJD2, DJ Shadow, Kraftwerk, U.S.E.

Much acclaimed latest release from the trio-plus-guests Teddybears, Soft Machine is a tour de force of dance-pop music, but there is also a fusion of punk and indie-rock that makes the album as wondrously bright as many of the major reviews make it sound. The songs are all varying in style because of the guests, but the songs are all fairly short or medium in length, making the totality of the album a success and fun to listen to whenever and wherever you may be.

Artist: Eluvium
Album: Copia
Genre: Ambient / Piano Prog-Rock
RIYL: Sigur Ros, Explosions in the Sky, Do Make Say Think, Mono, Godspeed You Black Emperor!, Chopin

Eluvium combines the the epic post-rock / prog-rock song structures of Explosions in the Sky and Godspeed! with the chivalric dazzle of pianist Chopin or power-group Sigur Ros. The songs lack percussion entirely, which is the defining quality of Eluvium--this is what sets Eluvium aside from all the other post-rock groups out there. Eluvium's songs on Copia are mostly somber, string and piano-based tunes that stretch on for five-plus minutes. The music has its charm and does not lose momentum at any point in the album. Definitely listen to this if you're a fan of the above music, or anything that is able to caress and tear the aural heart with the twist of a note.

Artist: Winterkids
Album: Memoirs (Little House)
Genre: Indie Pop-Rock
RIYL: Blink 182, Depeche Mode, the Smiths, the Cure, Ima Robot, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, the Killers, Bloc Party, Idlewild, Pulp, Greenday, Dresden Dolls

Winterkids is a British indie pop group that combines qualities of pop-punk wonders like Blink 182 with rock-infused energy similar to the Killers and adds in a new twist: there are synthesizers (similar to Ima Robot or Grandaddy) and spurting, perky female vocals hidden in each song, and they pop up when least expected. The progressions of the songs are great energy builders, and all of the songs are extremely catchy. For a pop album, Memoirs does justice and is not at all a "little house" but something massive, just waiting to explode--if you can get used to the cliches--which, although they are not new stylistically, are performed quite well.

Artist: Amy Winehouse
Album: Back to Black
Genre: Soul / Pop
RIYL: Joss Stone, Lily Allen, The Fratellis, James Morrison, Lucinda Williams, The Shins, Norah Jones, Billie Holiday, Janis Joplin, Simone, Ronnie Spektor

Like Billie Holiday in the past, or Regina Spektor more recently, Amy Winehouse has an incredible locomotive voice that screams pain, power, courage, and sorrow. Her beautiful singing is back by other vocal choir-type tracks (like 60s chick pop), and very soul and funk-based instruments, such as horns, old-school synthesizers, tamboreens, and clapping.

Artist: Mason Proper
Album: There is a Moth in Your Chest
Genre: Indie Rock
RIYL: Blonde Redhead, Weezer, Radiohead, Grandaddy, Menomena, Spoon, Birdmonster, Pixies, Sonic Youth, Cranberries, Garbage, Jimmy Eat World

Mason Proper's new release takes sonic sounds and spins themselves a pop-rock record that rivals the best out there, but all the while keeping up their own unique sound. The band is fueled by dance-rock-style progressions similar to Ok, Go or Rooney but there are interesting space-rock-style guitars and synthesizers layering each song with utmost intensity. The intensity rises like Radiohead but should not be limited to such, for the music has great differences.

Artist: Cadence Weapon
Album: Breaking Kayfabe (Clean)
Genre: Hip-Hop
RIYL: Ghostface Killah, MF Doom, Sage Francis, Eminem

The best word to describe the hip-hop beats and rhymes of Cadence Weapon is "nonconventional." Cadence Weapon takes the lyrical wit of Sage Francis, MF Doom, and Ghostface Killah, and goes further by creating strangely vibrating beats with crazed samples and obscure turntablism. Perhaps this will be strange to mainstream listeners, but for real fans of hip-hop, Cadence Weapon has a lot going for him.

Artist: Joakim
Album: Monsters and Silly Songs
Genre: Industrial / Trance / Dance Rock
RIYL: LCD Soundsystem, the Rapture, the Pop Group, Collette, Talking HEads, Robert Wyatt, Thelonious Monk, Hermeto Pascoal, Conny Plank, Aphex Twin, Arthur Russell, Larry Levan, Fingers Inc, Xenakis, Throbbing Gristle, Teddybears

French musician Joakim masters his music making skills with Monsters and Silly Songs, his latest album that combines a very large number of musical styles and influences into a whirlwind of music. Most obvious are the dance electronica styles, but looking further, Joakim ranges all the way into dance rock and industrial forms. There are surprisingly haunting vocal tracks on some of the songs--most of the vocals seem somewhat distant or disconnected, which adds a nice contrasting touch when paired with most of the upbeat synth melodies.

Artist: Low
Album: Drums and Guns
Genre: Prog-Rock
RIYL: Silver Mt. Zion, Sun Kil Moon, Gruf Rhys, Guided by Voices, Alan Sparhawk, Micah P. Hinson

How does one approach Low on their eighth album? The experience as a band shows, and one of the greatest aspects of Drums and Guns is, while remaining slightly on edge and containing a level of horror and shock in all of the tracks, the band stretches out its boundaries by using the electronica backing as a key thread but going to new places with it. The intro track is very similar to the segregated vocals of Silver Mt. Zion, while the second track is more along the lines of Sun Kil Moon, and the fourth track even hints at Micah P. Hinson's wasteland wails. But each song is so tightly connected to the one previous and the one following that the album works as a whole--it does not lose contact with the listener for one moment--through its strange samples to its half-hearted beats, Drums and Guns blasts and pounds in the cruelest emotional ways possible.

Artist: Of Montreal
Album: Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?
Genre: Indie Pop
RIYL: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, The Beatles, Frank Zappa, the Beach Boys, the Postal Service, Ima Robot, the Kinks

Of Montreal's latest major full release, Hissing Fauna... is a triumphant display of 60s-inspired pop music (a la the Beatles) combined with electronic space rock similar to pioneers Grandaddy. The vocals are wild and deranged but show a great range that's both playful and spirited away. The synthesizers and drums add a wonderful edge to the songs that cannot be easily matched or topped by other bands of the scene. The best way to discover Of Montreal and all of their hysteric followings is to hear their sexy power of dance and light for yourself.

Artist: Sterling
Album: Cursed
Genre: Post-Rock (instrumental prog.)
RIYL: Godspeed You Black Emperor!, Explosions in the Sky, Led Zeppelin

The music of Sterling is dark. Like Godspeed!, Sterling's songs are epic in nature, heavy and upsetting in focus, and the energy slowly intensifies and becomes beautiful with each progression of the song. There are only three tracks on this album but they are all worth listening to, multiple times. The music has a dual focus: the loud electric guitar that churns filth up from the netherworld, and the keyboards that become eyes looking at the filth and making it seem beautiful through melodic juxtaposition. Somewhat like Cradle of Filth in the dark nature, the keyboards almost seem out of place but never worn out or wrong, and the their improvisational accompaniment only adds to the intensity of the musical swelling--especially when both musical channels--left and right--are utilized the fullest possible extent. This is the type of band that shakes you, breaks you, and puts you back together again.

Artist: Lesbians on Ecstasy
Album: We Know You Know
Genre: Electronica-Infused Chick Rock
RIYL: Front 242, My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult, Pigface, Le Tigre, Tracy and the Plastics, Scream Club, Sean Kosa, 1-Speed Bike, the Butchies

Chick rockers Lebsians on Ecstasy is a trance-like rock band that incorporates the club-scene electronica with alternative rock/chant styles and bouncing beats and claps like house music. The music is infused with interesting innovations, and the samples are delectable. Fans of both lesbian rock and electronica as well as non-lesbian rock and electronica will most-likely find this album to be both appealing and entertaining. The vocals at times are both dusturbing, as seen in track five, and light-hearted, as seen in the Moldy Peaches-esque track eight, which makes for an comparison from track to track that easily encapsulates the listener.

Artist: Unknown Instructors
Album: The Master's Voice
Genre: Experimental Jazz Rock (with Spoken Word)
RIYL: Sun Ra, MC5, Tom Waits, Pigface, the Stooges, the Minutemen, Allen Ginsberg, Jim Morrison, Frank Zappa

Unknown instructors includes members of the Minutemen and much more. Each song is based on Allen Ginsberg-ey spoken word vocals, while there is classic / jazz rock played over it in abrasive, sometimes incoherent, realms. The music, however, is well-produced and the energy works its way through from song to song like a charm, while the lyrics are provocative, compelling and entrancing.

Artist: Patrick Wolf
Album: The Magic Position
Genre: Indie Rock, "Electric-Folk Glam Rock"
RIYL: PJ Harvey, Stockhausen, Chet Baker, Kate Bush, Antony, Current 93, Adam Ant, David Bowie, Andrew Bird, Damien Rice, Morissey

Patrick Wolf's sauve maneuvering is back in full swing on his latest album, which takes Wolf's talents and makes full use of them all. The music is beautifully orchestrated, with lots of string instruments and keyboards / synths. Wolf sings and acts out in an experimental fashion many of his songs that are both filled with stories and filled with a poetic sensibility similar to Morissey, Bowie or Andrew Bird. The infusing of certain distorted indie noise and electronica club beats only furthers Patrick Wolf's ambitious record into a raw collection of emotion and progress for Wolf as an artist.

Artist: Agatsuma
Album: En
Genre: Traditional Tsugaru-Shamisen Music (from Japan)
RIYL: Yoshida Brothers

Agatsuma, like the Yoshida Brothers, is working to bridge the gap between traditional Japanese music and modern, more Westernized music. Unlike the Yoshida Brothers, Agatsuma works by himself, playing the traditional Japanese string instrument, the Shamiesen, which is like the guitar, backed by a band (or synthesized band) that plays everything from easy listening to jazz music. The gap is certainly closed through Agatsuma's work, and the his masterful skills with the shamisen are compelling through even the more boring songs because of the dramatic build to the various musical climaxes. The inclusion of various Eastern musical qualities outside of the shmisen, such as wind instruments and Japanese vocals, transform the CD into a collection of even more dynamic songs.

Artist: Bill Callahan
Album: Woke on a Whaleheart
Genre: Pop-rock
RIYL: David Bowie, Lou Reed, the Velvet Underground, Cat Stevens, Nilsson, Murder by Death, Johnny Cash

Bill Callahan's first full length is a womping romp of songs in the style of Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground. The songs have very simplistic beats, but have a long-ranged, full sound, complete with background synth / electric guitar, female backing vocals, and plenty of other surprises. Some of the songs are similar to David Bowie, like track three, "Diamond Dancer," but for the most part, the voice is a mixture of Lou Reed, Johnny Cash, and the singer of Murder by Death.

Artist: Ola Podrida
Album: Self-Titled
Genre: Indie Folk
RIYL: Iron and Wine, Norfolk and Western, Murder by Death, Micah P. Hinson

Ola Podrida is a delightful band, the songs of which are soft and sweet, with a focus on guitar plucking and light percussion. The band most resembled here is Norfolk and Western, although Ola Podrida is in actuality closer to Iron and Wine because they focus more on typical folk songs and less on orchestral, or instrument-heavy songs. The lead vocals are somber (like Pink Floyd) and loom in the background, the foreground, and in all the corners, waiting to peek out at any moment. The songs are catchy and memorable, quiet but striking, and great as mediums by which to groove (similar to Micah P. Hinson).

Artist: Maps & Atlases
Album: Tree, Swallows, Houses
Genre: Indie Rock / Math Rock
RIYL: Mr. Bungle, Minus the Bear, Battles, Hella, Modest Mouse, Las Pesadillas

Maps & Atlases are not your standard math-rock band. They have the insane lightning-intensity that can be found in Battles, Las Pesadillas, and the fastest Mr. Bungle tracks. The singer's high pitched voice sounds a little bit like Ozzy or Jane's Addiction, but the complex song patterns and structures go far beyond these two bands into a realm achieved by little, if any, math rock groups. While this is only their EP, the songs are brilliantly sensational, and give the listener a grand taste of only good things to come.

Artist: Johnny and the Moon
Album: Self-Titled
Genre: Alternative Folk-Rock
RIYL: Blind Melon, Nirvana, the Arcade Fire, Wolf Parade, Jesse Malin, Ryan Adams, Animal Collective, Neutral Milk Hotel, Brakes

Johnny and the Moon is composed of members of Wolf Parade and ex-members of Hot Hot Heat. The music is a cross between indie rock, modern folk, and traditional folk. The singing sounds somewhat like Blind Melon and Nirvana on some of the tracks, but is closer to Ryan Adams or Jesse Malin. The music is catchy and the beats are quite pronounced (especially for the folk-based tracks), probably due to Wolf Parade ties. The CD is delicately balanced, but might not be enjoyed by mainstream listeners. The highlight track, number 3, might appeal to the most amount of people due to the incredible vocal performance and chant-like nature.

Artist: Polyethylene
Album: What Goes on Inside Houses
Genre: Indie Rock
RIYL: Shearwater, Death Cab for Cutie, The Slip, Built to Spill, Explosions in the Sky, Jefferson Airplane, The Breeders, AFI

Polyethylene is an interesting band. First off, they combine the instrumentation of bands like Shearwater and other indie orchestral rock. Secondly, the female singer reminds, on some of the tracks, of bands like the Breeders and AFI, with songs that are very punk rock. However, by the end of the CD, the listener realizes that the album has many ties to post-rock collectives like Explosions in the Sky, due primarily to the instrumental qualities of the music that are both high in emotional appeal and range in dynamic energy.

Artist: The Eames Era
Album: Heroes & Sheroes
Genre: Indie Pop-Rock
RIYL: Rilo Kiley, Tilly and the Wall, Semisonic, Josie and the Pussycats, Modest Mouse

Amazing pop comes in many forms. Most of the time the pop isn't that great, but relies more on popular music's standards for the music's definition. This is not the case in the new Eames Era CD, which is an amazingly long and amazingly fun and amazingly compelling disk. There is a wide variety of pop music styles incorporated here, all with an indie edge that incorporates weird samples, acoustic tracks, and experimental vocal harmonizing that strings the CD together. The music is accessible because not all the tracks are too long, and the longer tracks are original and exciting enough to not get bored or dulled by them. Fans of any sort of happy, energized pop-rock will probably like Eames Era.

Artist: Thee Oh Sees
Album: Sucks Blood
Genre: Indie Noise-Folk
RIYL: TV on the Radio, Jennifer Gentle, Panda Bear, Of Montreal, Animal Collective, Silver Mt. Zion, Microphones, Mt. Eerie, Deerhoof

Unstandard in their techniques and styles, Thee Oh Sees (or OCS) are still primarily built up from traditional folk elements. The seemingly separate yet equal guitar and vocals combine in trippy, hallucinogenic forms that are psychedellic and hippy-ish. While probably not perceived very well by mainstream listeners, eccentric music fans will definitely dig this minimalist montage of beautiful auditory soundscapes. The songs are both ghostly and yet ever-present, which gives them a dynamic that the listener gets sucked into.

Artist: Cloud Cult
Album: The Meaning of 8
Genre: Indie Rock
RIYL: Modest Mouse, Boards of Canada, Neutral Milk Hotel, the Unicorns, Blink 182, Comas, Architecture in Helsinki, TV on the Radio

Following up their last release of over a year ago, Cloud Cult return with an epic disk of many tracks, and many surprises. Described by one reviewer as "Modest Mouse on lithium," Cloud Cult may sometimes sound like Modest Mouse, but they are certainly in their own corner of the music scene as well. Most of the songs are beautiful memories from childhood, including stories about playgrounds and school, and these get transferred into the musical accompaniment as well, which includes a variety of electronica, string, and percussive instruments, for example. The music is compelling and almost every song on the record is recommendable--the album succeeds where many fail, and that is because there are no filler songs and no boring moments.

Artist: Au Revoir Simone
Album: The Bird of Music
Genre: Indie Pop
RIYL: the Postal Service, Iron and Wine, Bright Eyes, Sigur Ros, I'm From Barcelona, Architecture in Helsinki, Cranberries

Au Revoir Simone's new CD treks their progress in the indie scene, and the progress is definitive. Their music is balanced and bold, careful yet mysterious. Woven into the pop song structures is layers upon layers of keyboard and soft drums that are similar to post-rock bands like Explosions in the Sky. The fast-paced songs are similar to Postal Service, but the combination of positive and negative tones reflect a variety of bands and thus the Bird of Music is a unique CD in itself. Fans of pop and indie music, both wide fields, will probably become empathetic with the emotionally drawn curtains of Au Revoir Simone's music. The music is easy to become drawn to, easy to fall in love with in the most Romantic of fashions.

Artist: Gonzales
Album: Solo Piano
Genre: Classical / Jazz Piano
RIYL: Ravel, Satie, Nina Simone, Keith Jarrett, Debussy, Rachel's, Modern Jazz Quartet

Gonzales, who has worked with many artists on electronic projects (including Peaches and Miss Kitten), has released a full length of his own original classical / jazz pieces for the piano. As one reviewer described it, each song paints a picture, and this reviewer was correct--the music is subtle and mostly light. It is full of moods and emotion, but nothing that is overwhelming. The music is beautifully composed and reminds of Charlie Brown movies, with obvious influences and similarities found in the artists above. This is not just for classical / jazz lovers, but for anyone who is interested in hearing a brilliant wash of sound delight your ears for sixteen lovely tracks, Romantic at times, Spanish-influenced at others, with a distinct Western sound to it overall.

Artist: Aa
Album: gAame
Genre: Tribal Percussion / Electronica ("Art-core Krunk" . . . "Urban Dance Noise")
RIYL: Lightning Bolt, Boredoms, OOIOO, Aphex Twin, Animal Collective, Blue Man Group, Liars

Pronounced "Big A Little A," Aa consists of three drummers (on drum sets complete with a wide array of specialized percussion) and one electronica artist. The music is strange, intense, and varied. There are tribal beats and chants / screams, the most random yet compelling and well-fitting samples and electronica tidbits, and when everything comes together, rising to the peaking climax, the music explodes in a frenzy where anything can and does happen. Although the music might seem eccentric indie noise to some, it's top-notch and does not fail to captivate and gain every ounce of energetic attention from the listeners. gAame is filled with tracks recorded up until 2006 and the quality of the songs is amazingly raw. Although the tracks are seemingly short, the energy in each is packed full and almost just enough for each listener to handle.

Artist: Sage Francis
Album: Human the Death Dance
Genre: Hip Hop / Spoken Word
RIYL: Solillaquists of Sound, Atmosphere, Buck 65, Bernard Dolan, Odd Nosdam, Mr. Cooper, Reanimator, Jolie Holland, Nathon Harrop, Tom Inhaler, Mark Isham, Alias, Eaters, Christopher Sneddon, Sixtoo, Ant, Buddy Wakefield, Big Cats!, Kurtis SP, Mles Bonny, DJ Orator, Roughneck Jihad of 3rd Sight, Laura Escude, Scott Begin, Bryan Lewis Saunders

Human the Death Dance is the third major album release by Sage Francis, Providence hip hop artist and spoken word performer. The new album is definitely the most abstract of Sage's records in terms of musical composition and experiment in lyrics. However, the album is also the most mature of his albums thusfar; such common topics and themes deal with relationships, growing older, dealing with the change from past to present, especially the growth of being an artist. The album stays true to his nature and approaches world politics on all fronts. The combination of his older, more underground and straight-forward hip-hop styles with the more mainstream styles of his past album, A Healthy Distrust, form a wondrous culmination of his various faces. The beats are complex, and his rhymes are as well, as he begins to cite other poets and authors, literary characters, political situations and sayings, and cultural remarks.

Artist: The Fratellis
Album: Costello Music
Genre: Britpop / Pop-Rock
RIYL: As Fast As, Ok Go, David Bowie, the Beatles, Lou Reed, Blur, Oasis, the Clash, Madness, the Arctic Monkeys, the Living End, Flogging Molly, Green Day, Of Montreal, the Kinks

The Fratellis are very similar to the Arctic Monkeys in terms of style and band approach; however, they are not the same band. The Fratellis have "sold out" and are now mainstream pop, but this does not mean the album is bad. In fact, the album is very, very well written. Costello Music is a kind of Kinks-esque concept album, including locations, characters, and experiences that are all fictionalized but highly realistic. Essentially, looked at as just a pop-rock album, the CD is a collection of love tunes that include catchy lyrics, fun choruses, and a variety of genres integrated into the main, simplistic pop sound of the band. The lyrical verses are original and interesting, although sometimes difficult to understand (a la the Living End or Flogging Molly), but by the end of the album, the singer's distinct vocals are clearer than ever. Unfortunately, after the eighth track, the album slowly winds down, loses its pace, and is not worth the listener's time. Fortunately the opening eight tracks are worth every minutes of the listener's time.

Artist: Joanna Newsom
Album: & the Ys Street Band EP
Genre: Indie Folk
RIYL: Eastern European Folk, Gypsy Music

Joanna Newsom, after recently releasing her famous and extremely well-produced, well-received album Ys (pronounced "yees"), has followed up with her new EP, this time with the Ys Street Band involved. There is a heavy emphasis on percussion, heavy being relative to her last album, and endless other musical accompaniments too. There are only three songs on this EP, but they consist of one brand new song and two "classic" Newsom tracks that have been rearranged and re-performed, so they are all entirely new in a sense, and finally Joanna's own voice is becoming easier to listen too--far less abstract and much more coherently tonal. The tracks are of decent length, so they should provide a lot of listening pleasure for fans and non-fans alike.

Artist: The Apples in Stereo
Album: New Magnetic Wonder
Genre: Pop-Rock
RIYL: Comas, Rooney, Ok Go, Velvet Underground, Of Montreal, Grandaddy, Minus the Bear

The Apples in Stereo return after a five-year silence with a new Elephant Six label recording, featuring Jeff Mangum of Neutral Milk Hotel (on various instruments). The album is light pop-rock with an electronica/noise backdropping. They sound most similar to Comas (who are also just released a new album), and have obvious influences to 60's indie revival groups like Of Montreal and Rooney, as well as Space/Math rock groups like Grandaddy and Minus the Bear. The vocals are done by a various assortment of the Apples in Stereo collective, both male and female, and at times call forth similarities to Velvet Underground and a less-enthusiastic Ok Go. The music ranges in pace and tone, but it's what you can expect (and more) from your average pop-rock album. There are love ballads, strange Romanticist spiritualy tracks, and everything in between. The innovations of the band seem bland at first, but once track five rolls around, it's an epic journey that reaches its climax with the Neutral Milk Hotel-inspired tracks 21 and 22.

Artist: Various Artists
Album: Soundtrack: Deathproof
Genre: Classic Rock / 60s-style Rock and Roll, Pop, Soul
RIYL: Jack Nitzsche, Smith, Ennio Morricone, T Rex, Pacific Gas & Electric, Joe Tex, Eddie Floyd, The Coasters, Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick * Tich, Pino Donaggio, Willy DeVille, Eddie Beram, April March

Quentin Tarantino's latest movie, Deathproof, part of the Grindhouse double feature, comes with this intense soundtrack of 60s and 70s-style rock and roll, pop, and soul music. The music is mastered in the highest quality production possible, and the soundtrack as a whole incorporates the above genres and more, with only minimal clips from the movie (see "non-airable tracks," as they are two of the three are profane). Not only is the soundtrack diverse in musical styles, but the music is amazingly enjoyable, as Quentin Tarantino's music generally is in his movies (Kill Bill, Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs). Check out any of the tracks and get sucked into the Deathproof world.

And that pretty much wraps up how I spent my music life this semester (positively--as there were also a lot of bad records I listened to). Further questions are welcome, although I can do little more than point you in right directions. Also, I refrained from throwing in the links to free mp3s. Who knows how long that would've taken. Look for a post of direct links to these artists' mp3s (for download) in the near future.

If you want to listen to any of the above artists and can't wait for me, either check for their myspace pages, or go to these two free mp3 downloading sites (that work and will continue to work):

http://www.mp3-center.org/

http://sonicx.com/

Old Greg

2007-05-02T12:06:00.001-05:00

Thanks to Owen Brady, I discovered a wonderful series of videos themed around the character "Old Greg." Apparently the character was in an episode of "The Mighty Boosh," a British cult television show. There might be more "Old Greg" clips here.

And if you aren't into strangely tasteful British humor, check out some upcoming show information for The Mountain Goats benefit activities here.

Some free Mountain Goats mp3s:

There Will Always Be an Ireland

Warm Lonely Planet

(more from themountaingoats.net can be downloaded here)

Some more free Mountain Goats mp3s:

No Children

The Best Ever Death Metal Band in Denton

The Fall of the High School Running Back

(more from mp3-center can be downloaded here)

John Wieners Bit

2007-04-30T22:39:00.000-05:00

I am to write some poetry in the style of John Wieners for Wednesday. Decided to do a bit of research, as per the usual routine, on the poet beforehand. Came up with this bit from his memorial page:

John attended a party with Charlie Shiveley Sunday around 7:30 PM. Charley drove from Cambridge and picked up John even though the party was just across Cambridge Street. Charley stopped at the drugstore first and bought John some medicine, a box of candy, and an inhaler. The host of the party had a cat and John was feeling slightly under weather because he was allergic to cats. Charley thinks John left the party around 9:30 or 10. He was found in a nearby parking garage by the parking attendant and was admitted to the ICU at Mass General at midnight that night. John tried feebly on Monday morning to breathe on his own, but to no avail. He was put on the respirator machine. An MRI was taken that showed little or no brain activity. Friday, the doctors took another MRI and it confirmed that he was brain dead. Also, as he was lying in the hospital, there was a social worker who doggedly pursued finding John's identity. If it wasn't for her and the nurses at MGH, he may have never been ID'd. John's cousin (Walter Phinney's mother) stopped by after she was contacted by the hospital Friday afternoon. John was pronounced dead at 5:11 on March 1st. I arrived at 5:30 and Charley arrived an hour later. John was still breathing on the machine and his heart was still beating. Charley and I spent some time with him and then summoned the on-call priest to administer last rites. The priest said an "Our Father", and anointed John's forehead and hands. Around 8:00, the technician arrived and removed the breathing tube and shut down the respirator. Charley and I stood by. I had my hand on John's chest as his heart fluttered. We watched as his blood pressure dropped and his heart rate decreased from 111 down incrementally to 28 and then to X. His heart stopped beating at 8:16 PM. Immediately at that moment, the lights over the sink and the hospital supplies began flashing on and off in a strange rhythm. I pointed it out to Charley saying, “Look it's John”. Charley responded, "He must have gotten into the electrical system" It was a strange, sad and beautiful moment. We said our final good-byes and left him looking peaceful, serene, and almost heroic - eyes closed , full beard, and worry-free. Love, Jim

There is a respectable amount of Wieners material on http://tomraworth.com/wieners.html that anyone can look at, including pictures, quotes, and poems.

Additional links:

http://www.geocities.com/dickmac01/pjw01.html
(A Poem for Record Players)
http://www.echonyc.com/~poets/poetry/wieners.htm
(a couple more poems)
http://www.fauxpress.com/a8/wieners/a.htm
(videos of John Wieners reading)

Successive Whale Sniff

2007-04-26T03:30:00.000-05:00

Well I am now back on track toward the "blogger" I always wanted to be. Hopefully by tomorrow there will be an official title. I don't want to mimic Ron Silliman more than I already am planning on imitating him.

On a lighter note, check out http://cca.org/pm/ for some cool Providence zines. They make great use of word art and stylistic formatting.

I guess I'm going to have to start sounding professional, like all the other media sitting-logs out there.

Gregory