It's come to this.
The end.
In the end of 2008, I attempted to embark on a project, a personal project. Document something of note for every day of 2009. I wanted an MP3 blog filled with audio clips, streaming videos, tons of photos, my own edited videos, whatever. It was to be a media frenzy. In the "my own edited videos" department I have a few works, a few blogs with them. But to be honest, my computer crashed to the point where I lost Adobe Premiere Pro, my video editing software, and I also lost my video camera capturing software. I am basically SOL on that front.
Thank god the audio aspect of my computer is intact, though. This is the most important aspect to my computer. Everything seems to be in working order on this front.
I think I did well in the media department.
The main crux of the blog was to document the daily trials and tribulations of Patch. Where was I a year ago? Where am I now?
Truth be told: not in a very different spot.
January 2009: I was recording Schematics tracks. Three more were to be fleshed out for the project. "Typosgraphy" was the current track, and I was having a hell of a time working with it. "In Hopes to Mend" was also a doozie, and if I remember correctly, it took two and a half months to record that one song. "Switch" took two weeks. Go figure.
I sent the tracks over to Schuyler for mixing and mastering in May 2009. He worked for two weeks then told me he had to stop and start over due to him not being happy with the results of his mixing, and because of a large three month trip to Europe he was to be on for the entire summer. I basically sat on my recordings for this time, playing with Taylor's Lizard People project in the meantime. After Schuyler returned, we started on the project again. From late September until early December he mixed. During this time, I was also finishing up Lizard People recordings as a tit for tat with Taylor for Schematics artwork that he had agreed to work on. I finished Lizard People in late October and immediately set about getting the live band together for Patch.
November and December were full of band meetings, lunch meetings, changing members, rehearsals and seeing how everyone interacted.
Where am I now?
1) I have to move out of my practice space due to noise complaints by my neighbor. I have a new space ready for our moving in in January, however.
2) I have four members of Patch intact. The lead guitarist role has once again been left vacant. Matt Anderson leveled with me yesterday and thought that he wouldn't be able to do both his band, The Engagement, and Patch. I'm currently looking to fill the last slot.
3) Schematics will be finished in mastering the week of January 11th. The artwork will be finished in the next couple of days here, as Taylor will be bunking up at my house for the next week. During this time, we will be finalizing all of the artwork for the CD, and starting to work on the Patch website art.
4) To coincide with the Schematics release, I will be recording new songs to be released as free MP3's for those who buy the physical Schematics EP. Simple and minimalistic in nature, the music will focus on Ommission, a loss of words, a loss of my intact nature. It's based off of some recent personal events in my life that would most likely cause some mayhem if I were to describe them here publicly.
5) Patch Live 1.0 will be onstage early March. Schematics and Omiss will be released at that time as well.
Patch will be public March 2010.
It's been tough. Constant uphill battles. My day job mixes with Patch in the afternoons due to so many calls that have to be made, plans set in stone, coordinating schedules without losing my mind.
So, Patch is still brewing. It's farther along, of course, but mainly in regards to having a lot of it out of my hands. "Hurry Up and Wait" is the main line heard in the popular music world. Deadlines are met and then you sit on your efforts for awhile. You think, "Did I really need a deadline in the first place?"
With this blog, I also wanted to document my personal life. One last attempt, since I'll be setting all of these aspects of my life to private once Patch goes public. I wanted to talk about my work with children, my relationships, my family drama.
One of the interesting developments in the personal life realm was the realization of friendship I had with the Brotherhood, the people who all lived in a little house on Monroe Street in Northeast, Minneapolis. It started from Citizens Banned wanting to share a house where we would all live, breathe, and create together in one nucleus. This fell apart, and Taylor and I brought home two women that we had picked up at a dance club downtown. We had these two meet another close friend of me and Adri. We became inseparable in 2007 and 2008.
2009 brought an end to everyone living at Monroe. Everyone moved away, leaving me with the house for Patch purposes. Now that Patch has been given the boot . . . this will most likely be the last year for me at Monroe. It still offers me recording space, but at 25 I've grown and procured too much stuff that my room is stifling and suffocating. I need to move on.
With everyone coming back for the holidays, though, this blog ends. Karmath was a term I came up with relating to Citizens Banned, and it since has been ingrained as the story of the Brotherhood. The songs on the Karmath EP were all written at Monroe, they are all about the Monroe residents. Karmath the Blog is a written testimony to their existence in prose. And how much I love them.
A basic need in my life, one that I've searched for since I was a small child, has finally reached a climax, a resolution. I've found a group of friends that will remain the closest soulmates to my own soul until the day I die. People I will always call on. People I will always visit. People who will father and mother my children, and help out my own true family. They're all going to be at Monroe tonight for a massive New Years party. A true homecoming. A true hurrah.
My brothers and sisters. This was my document to myself that this is where it all became realized. 2009 was the beginning of a new era. Schooling stopped in 2006, leaving the Brotherhood. The school of the Brotherhood stopped in 2009. Now, for me, it's Patch. School: check. Friends: check. Career: ?
2010 will be a very important year. My dream will become reality. I will most likely change and grow in a way I never imagined. It's a strange frontier, putting a new voice out in the world like I want to do. But I'm ready.
I've got the friends to back me up. The people to call on when I need help and a break. Support. Everything has led to this point. 2009 is the climax to my youth.
2010 will be the separation of the man from the boy in me.
-----------------------------------
To fully wrap this project up, I've linked some of my favorite entries below. These represent some of the more seminal 2009 moments, an entry I'm proud of, something special, etc. Most days' entries I'm proud of, but these stand out to me. I've had three quasi-official relationships in the past year, great successes, great moments of fear and stress. Here it is, a recap in Karmath the Blog form of 2009:
1. 1/5/09: Polish Sausages
2. 1/6/09: Pi
3. 1/7/09: A Call to Arms
4. 1/21/09: Brigade of Mascots
5. 1/22/09: No Longer Striding
6. 2/7/09: Finally Striding
7. 2/8/09: Slithers and Dust
8. 2/21/09: Metafiction
9. 2/28/09: A Prologue to an Epilogue
10. 3/1/09: Mustaches and Mayhem
11. 3/6/09: Casualties of War
12. 3/28/09: Marathon Sprints
13. 3/31/09: The Sandwich Crust Epidemic
14. 4/2/09: Yo'plaited
15. 4/13/09: I Hoped to End
16. 4/24/09: Army of Darkness
17. 5/4/09: SUCCESS!!!!
18. 5/17/09: Broom Stick Revolver
19. 6/28/09: Liquored Truths and Glittered Booths
20. 7/30/09: The Coma Child Incident
21. 8/4/09: That Girl Interrupted My Great Balls of Fire
22. 8/8/09: My Visit from Beelzebub
23. 8/13/09: The Foreskin Debate
24. 8/14/09: Rats and Revenge
25. 8/17/09: One Dollar Baby
26. 8/21/09: Lizard People IV: The Final Showdown
27. 8/28/09: Fine Print of Obligation
28. 8/30/09: Polish Sausages II
29. 9/4/09: How the Swedes Kill Kittens
30. 9/18/09: West's Dead End
31. 9/23/09: The Missing Beak
32. 10/5/09: Hair o' the Dog
33. 10/18/09: Tainted Love
34. 10/31/09: Mainstream Mania
35. 11/12/09: The Cost of Noise
36. 11/14/09: A Day of Firsts
37. 12/6/09: PATCH LIVE
38. 12/9/09: Hi, My Name is Robert
39. 12/12/09: Smokey and the McMuffin
40. 12/30/09: The Anchor-age
------------------------------
And now, 2010.
Karmath the Blog will exist, but nothing will be added to it. This is the last blog entry.
Welcome to Circadia will now be the main blog. I will most likely have another personal blog, but it will be pretty private, pretty exclusive. For now, Welcome to Circadia will have to suffice.
It's been a good blog, this here Karmath. But I'm tired of working on it everyday. But I fucking did it! I . . . beat . . . you . . .
2010, bring it on. Time to step into the next era. A scary, strange, foreign era of my life.
This is Peter . . . signing off.
Ennio Morricone -- "L'estasi Dell'oro"
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The Anchor-age
The stench was a mixture of seaweed and sulphur.
Echoes permeated out of the catacombs in such a way as to distill upon impact with the open air, distilling before a wayward passersby would happen to stumble upon the proceedings within The Anchor, a successful restaurant in the light of day, a secret meeting ground in the still of night.
I had traveled alone in the cold. Traversing slick roads, crying children, sickly men, I pulled my coat tighter around my vessel. As of late, the cold and society had proven to cause a sickish temperance within my mood. I was hurried, I was famished. Tarnished with need, it was an order by the powers that be that we should have the Brotherhood coalesce into one vecter. Want fled once the cold was let in.
Yet, I carried on. I was leisurely, I was fed, or so the mantra tried feverishly to implore upon my consciousness. Stopping along the corner of my destination, the aforementioned concoction brewed haphazardly for the fancy of the poignant sense, smell, perforated my innards with a grimacing bite. I was near.
Stepping up to the hidden door, I let loose my overcoat. The mantra left as cool reality rushed in. I cared not for the smell, but only for the mantra to be rendered mute by the redundancy of true warmth. But I had to keep my wits, my memory. There is an order to the elements of our strange universe, and I had to abide.
I bared the sign stitched into my chest, unbuttoning my shirt for the guard to ponder. He decided it was of good fortune to let me pass. I gave him a shilling for his ponderment.
Traversing into the dank hallways underneath The Anchor, I smiled, beside myself. This was my order, my doing. The human in me would always cry mercy from the outer environments, but once inside, where transcendency reigned, the warmth of hope triumphed. The proceedings were of my calling, and I was on time. Fashionably late in my arrival.
A turn here, a turn there, I reached my destination. Warm firelight attempted to sneak underneath the blocked doorchamber, to hardly any avail. Again, I smirked at the dichotomy between survival and want. Something as trite as firelight abided the laws of Karmath, the laws of the universe, needing to escape to new corners, to find sustenance in any place dark. Yet, I stuttered, it shouldn't be surprising to think of one of the four basic elements to be a primary example of law and truth.
I shook my head. Time to swim to the surface. Time to meet the Brotherhood.
I knocked. I heard a rasp on the other side. "I drive, you walk, I say-"
I answered. "Salsa."
The door opened on my party. Baring the stitch within my chest yet again, the stitch we share as Brothers, the stitch of the chili pepper, we all bared our chests. We were well met.
I took off my coat, my mantras expelled like I had surmised. Speech was of the essence, and in that quadrant of my brain I now tried to work.
"Sit down, Brothers," I began.
The order, which consists of men and women, eight including myself, sat in chairs. Jeremiah, the caretaker of The Anchor and overseer to the proceedings, also shared our company. I remained standing, cemented in pacing within the center of a celebratory circle of chairs.
"I've called us here to talk of the past, the present, and future." Good man, start vague, reign it into detail. "We Brothers have been through a lot together. And recently we hath seen trial and tribulation at having our order separated across the good land of America. We are in pressing times, I need not remind ye. The order is threatened only in new members, but it is hard to let new blood into an already established bond of entertwined vessels and veins, is it not? Trust comes to mind, mark it, trust is very mischievous, yes.
"We started as three. Adri, Lord High Genius of Salsa, Louis, Chief of Salsa, Taylor, Chief of Salsa. You hath procured a fourth, me, Peter, Thane of Salsa. Together we four traversed our vicinity, minstrels on the path of enlightenment within the alchemy of guitars, bass, drums, and vocals. What we made carried over not in art, but in friendship. The Brotherhood was established, and this order came to rise. Our art continues, but it pales in respect to the Brotherhood.
"Our activities were overseen with the guise of prankmanship. While we studied alchemy, we passed it off as if we were children surmising to frighten the weary citizens of our vicinity. A traveller on foot, lost in internal thought, would suddenly be swept out of his tired dream and into a harsh realm of realizing they had just been . . . salsa'd. We, screaming from a better means of travel, an automotive, perhaps, would make them know their inferiority. 'SALSA' we said to the world on high. Say it with me now, Brothers!"
They all screamed "SALSA! SALSA! SALSA!!!"
"Yes," I continued. "And new members infiltrated the four. Gregory, of the Second Circle, which was not called tonight, Louis' family and friends, also of the Second Circle, et cetera, et cetera. We became quite a clan. Alas, our alchemy was proven false, and we drifted. We set out to have an abode, a true epicenter to the Brotherhood. It is here where we began our true blood tying.
"We brought Nicole, Daughter of Mild Chili, and her beau Ryan, Chunky Down Under, Kristen, Hot Wild Winger, and Marta, Smooth Queso Dipster into the fraternity. And they passed. One's blood flows within the other. We are one. And we are met tonight.
"Two years passed as we let the Salsa slip and we delved into the Queso, the cheese of our innards. We were friends, meeting with happiness, sadness, anger, and wholesomeness. We have moved into a realm of the new life, where our Brothers thought it necessary to embark on their journeys, yet never distilling the blood of the other from out their travelled hearts. Seattle, Washington D.C., Rhode Island, now claim our Brotherhood.
"I will now talk about the future, my friends. We need not dwell on the past, only in that it would be redundant to do so. We know what I speak, I speak what ye know. Redundancy in tow. We will dispense of this foul play.
"Our Salsa Ship hath sailed. Anchors have been cast aboard and let loose to the new territories claiming our blood. We have reached a maturity, a transcendence, into travelling Brothers, a place where we will need to be remembered for our past but prepare for the future. Marriages will proceed, children of our blood, we must bear the insignia of the new and mature. Let's dispense of this Salsa, take the stitches of our Chili Peppers out from our epidermis, and brand ourselves . . . The Anchorage.
"Three of our women folk hath branded themselves in this very sign. The Anchor represents a tool of travel, yet when the Anchor truly shows, the travelling vessel is at rest. Anchors are sunken into the bowels of the shallow sea so that its sailors may take heed in the land they hath discovered. They will rust away as the sea taketh, once we have perished, like the waves on a sandbar.
"I now ask of ye to see my persuasion. My motives are clear. Our Brotherhood is now the Anchorage. We shall brand ourselves in the mark, we shall call the eatery above home. A nexus for our meeting. We shall bring new members to this very latitude and test their blood for appropriation within the Anchorage.
"What say ye, Brothers? Do I speak in vain? I ask not for an answer. I only ask for your silent pondering. I will take leave of this proceeding, and see ye in the open air in the days ahead to tell me of your answers. Be well, ladies and gentlemen. Pleasant merriments."
And with that, I stripped myself of my Chili stitches. I dropped them to the floor, turned, and donned my coat. The warmth of my speech had driven away my mantras permanently for the night. In that thought, I smiled again.
Dropkick Murphys -- "Kiss Me, I'm Shit Faced"
Echoes permeated out of the catacombs in such a way as to distill upon impact with the open air, distilling before a wayward passersby would happen to stumble upon the proceedings within The Anchor, a successful restaurant in the light of day, a secret meeting ground in the still of night.
I had traveled alone in the cold. Traversing slick roads, crying children, sickly men, I pulled my coat tighter around my vessel. As of late, the cold and society had proven to cause a sickish temperance within my mood. I was hurried, I was famished. Tarnished with need, it was an order by the powers that be that we should have the Brotherhood coalesce into one vecter. Want fled once the cold was let in.
Yet, I carried on. I was leisurely, I was fed, or so the mantra tried feverishly to implore upon my consciousness. Stopping along the corner of my destination, the aforementioned concoction brewed haphazardly for the fancy of the poignant sense, smell, perforated my innards with a grimacing bite. I was near.
Stepping up to the hidden door, I let loose my overcoat. The mantra left as cool reality rushed in. I cared not for the smell, but only for the mantra to be rendered mute by the redundancy of true warmth. But I had to keep my wits, my memory. There is an order to the elements of our strange universe, and I had to abide.
I bared the sign stitched into my chest, unbuttoning my shirt for the guard to ponder. He decided it was of good fortune to let me pass. I gave him a shilling for his ponderment.
Traversing into the dank hallways underneath The Anchor, I smiled, beside myself. This was my order, my doing. The human in me would always cry mercy from the outer environments, but once inside, where transcendency reigned, the warmth of hope triumphed. The proceedings were of my calling, and I was on time. Fashionably late in my arrival.
A turn here, a turn there, I reached my destination. Warm firelight attempted to sneak underneath the blocked doorchamber, to hardly any avail. Again, I smirked at the dichotomy between survival and want. Something as trite as firelight abided the laws of Karmath, the laws of the universe, needing to escape to new corners, to find sustenance in any place dark. Yet, I stuttered, it shouldn't be surprising to think of one of the four basic elements to be a primary example of law and truth.
I shook my head. Time to swim to the surface. Time to meet the Brotherhood.
I knocked. I heard a rasp on the other side. "I drive, you walk, I say-"
I answered. "Salsa."
The door opened on my party. Baring the stitch within my chest yet again, the stitch we share as Brothers, the stitch of the chili pepper, we all bared our chests. We were well met.
I took off my coat, my mantras expelled like I had surmised. Speech was of the essence, and in that quadrant of my brain I now tried to work.
"Sit down, Brothers," I began.
The order, which consists of men and women, eight including myself, sat in chairs. Jeremiah, the caretaker of The Anchor and overseer to the proceedings, also shared our company. I remained standing, cemented in pacing within the center of a celebratory circle of chairs.
"I've called us here to talk of the past, the present, and future." Good man, start vague, reign it into detail. "We Brothers have been through a lot together. And recently we hath seen trial and tribulation at having our order separated across the good land of America. We are in pressing times, I need not remind ye. The order is threatened only in new members, but it is hard to let new blood into an already established bond of entertwined vessels and veins, is it not? Trust comes to mind, mark it, trust is very mischievous, yes.
"We started as three. Adri, Lord High Genius of Salsa, Louis, Chief of Salsa, Taylor, Chief of Salsa. You hath procured a fourth, me, Peter, Thane of Salsa. Together we four traversed our vicinity, minstrels on the path of enlightenment within the alchemy of guitars, bass, drums, and vocals. What we made carried over not in art, but in friendship. The Brotherhood was established, and this order came to rise. Our art continues, but it pales in respect to the Brotherhood.
"Our activities were overseen with the guise of prankmanship. While we studied alchemy, we passed it off as if we were children surmising to frighten the weary citizens of our vicinity. A traveller on foot, lost in internal thought, would suddenly be swept out of his tired dream and into a harsh realm of realizing they had just been . . . salsa'd. We, screaming from a better means of travel, an automotive, perhaps, would make them know their inferiority. 'SALSA' we said to the world on high. Say it with me now, Brothers!"
They all screamed "SALSA! SALSA! SALSA!!!"
"Yes," I continued. "And new members infiltrated the four. Gregory, of the Second Circle, which was not called tonight, Louis' family and friends, also of the Second Circle, et cetera, et cetera. We became quite a clan. Alas, our alchemy was proven false, and we drifted. We set out to have an abode, a true epicenter to the Brotherhood. It is here where we began our true blood tying.
"We brought Nicole, Daughter of Mild Chili, and her beau Ryan, Chunky Down Under, Kristen, Hot Wild Winger, and Marta, Smooth Queso Dipster into the fraternity. And they passed. One's blood flows within the other. We are one. And we are met tonight.
"Two years passed as we let the Salsa slip and we delved into the Queso, the cheese of our innards. We were friends, meeting with happiness, sadness, anger, and wholesomeness. We have moved into a realm of the new life, where our Brothers thought it necessary to embark on their journeys, yet never distilling the blood of the other from out their travelled hearts. Seattle, Washington D.C., Rhode Island, now claim our Brotherhood.
"I will now talk about the future, my friends. We need not dwell on the past, only in that it would be redundant to do so. We know what I speak, I speak what ye know. Redundancy in tow. We will dispense of this foul play.
"Our Salsa Ship hath sailed. Anchors have been cast aboard and let loose to the new territories claiming our blood. We have reached a maturity, a transcendence, into travelling Brothers, a place where we will need to be remembered for our past but prepare for the future. Marriages will proceed, children of our blood, we must bear the insignia of the new and mature. Let's dispense of this Salsa, take the stitches of our Chili Peppers out from our epidermis, and brand ourselves . . . The Anchorage.
"Three of our women folk hath branded themselves in this very sign. The Anchor represents a tool of travel, yet when the Anchor truly shows, the travelling vessel is at rest. Anchors are sunken into the bowels of the shallow sea so that its sailors may take heed in the land they hath discovered. They will rust away as the sea taketh, once we have perished, like the waves on a sandbar.
"I now ask of ye to see my persuasion. My motives are clear. Our Brotherhood is now the Anchorage. We shall brand ourselves in the mark, we shall call the eatery above home. A nexus for our meeting. We shall bring new members to this very latitude and test their blood for appropriation within the Anchorage.
"What say ye, Brothers? Do I speak in vain? I ask not for an answer. I only ask for your silent pondering. I will take leave of this proceeding, and see ye in the open air in the days ahead to tell me of your answers. Be well, ladies and gentlemen. Pleasant merriments."
And with that, I stripped myself of my Chili stitches. I dropped them to the floor, turned, and donned my coat. The warmth of my speech had driven away my mantras permanently for the night. In that thought, I smiled again.
Dropkick Murphys -- "Kiss Me, I'm Shit Faced"
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
The Dyes of Patch 5
While all of the other main influences remain pretty much equal in terms of how much they influence me, how much I listen and study them, the final influence might be the biggest and most important because it is the one that holds everything together.
Patch relies on storytelling. The lyrics are usually the first component of a song ever written down. Not music. It's all poetry, or prose describing the storyline that will be turned into poetry or lyrics. Then the music is written to help carry the storyline in a personal, empathetical way, hopefully coalescing into a new sound.
I also like to use a lot of symbolism. Abstract images, speaking in small hints, giving clues, making up worlds and huge concepts. Plus, the stories and the lyrics are committed. I want to sound like I really believe in what I'm saying.
No one has given me greater influence in this regard than Marilyn Manson.
His work from 1994 through 2001 remains some of the most poignant storytelling and conviction I have ever heard in lyrical rock. The music is secondary to Manson's voice and lyrics.
However, Trent Reznor produced his first two records, having more of an input on Manson's greatest record, "Antichrist Superstar". He plays on most of the songs, even. It is on this record where both Trent's musical knowledge/production and Manson's gift of poetry joined together in the most perfect way.
"Antichrist Superstar" might be the most influential record of all time for me.
You've got theatre, found production and noise, a new sound (Trent's), challenging songwriting, and some of the best lyrics in rock n' roll. Boom! Patch was born while listening to this record on repeat in sixth grade back in 1996 and 1997. I wanted to put images and noises together. I wanted to perform crazy antics onstage. I wanted to shock people into thinking a different way.
The big three: "Antichrist Superstar", "Mechanical Animals", and "Holy Wood (In the Shadow of the Valley of Death)", are the main crux of Manson's good work. After these he delved into more campy goth territory. It's still interesting, he's still dealing with concepts and great influences and symbolism and metaphor, but it lacks the importance of the big three. Still, even "Mechanical" and "Holy Wood" don't hold a candle to "Antichrist". It's all here.
Every lyric is a symbol. Every symbol within the liner notes relates to a lyric. Everything in the music relates to the poetry. Everything in Manson's performance dealt with the story and the lyrics. Everything is connected, everything is whole. Perfect.
So really, listen to "Antichrist Superstar" in its entirety. It's a good place to start if you want to know where the whole Patch dream came from.
Here's "The Reflecting God", track 15 on "Antichrist", quite possibly my favorite Manson track:
Marilyn Manson -- "The Reflecting God"
Patch relies on storytelling. The lyrics are usually the first component of a song ever written down. Not music. It's all poetry, or prose describing the storyline that will be turned into poetry or lyrics. Then the music is written to help carry the storyline in a personal, empathetical way, hopefully coalescing into a new sound.
I also like to use a lot of symbolism. Abstract images, speaking in small hints, giving clues, making up worlds and huge concepts. Plus, the stories and the lyrics are committed. I want to sound like I really believe in what I'm saying.
No one has given me greater influence in this regard than Marilyn Manson.
His work from 1994 through 2001 remains some of the most poignant storytelling and conviction I have ever heard in lyrical rock. The music is secondary to Manson's voice and lyrics.
However, Trent Reznor produced his first two records, having more of an input on Manson's greatest record, "Antichrist Superstar". He plays on most of the songs, even. It is on this record where both Trent's musical knowledge/production and Manson's gift of poetry joined together in the most perfect way.
"Antichrist Superstar" might be the most influential record of all time for me.
You've got theatre, found production and noise, a new sound (Trent's), challenging songwriting, and some of the best lyrics in rock n' roll. Boom! Patch was born while listening to this record on repeat in sixth grade back in 1996 and 1997. I wanted to put images and noises together. I wanted to perform crazy antics onstage. I wanted to shock people into thinking a different way.
The big three: "Antichrist Superstar", "Mechanical Animals", and "Holy Wood (In the Shadow of the Valley of Death)", are the main crux of Manson's good work. After these he delved into more campy goth territory. It's still interesting, he's still dealing with concepts and great influences and symbolism and metaphor, but it lacks the importance of the big three. Still, even "Mechanical" and "Holy Wood" don't hold a candle to "Antichrist". It's all here.
Every lyric is a symbol. Every symbol within the liner notes relates to a lyric. Everything in the music relates to the poetry. Everything in Manson's performance dealt with the story and the lyrics. Everything is connected, everything is whole. Perfect.
So really, listen to "Antichrist Superstar" in its entirety. It's a good place to start if you want to know where the whole Patch dream came from.
Here's "The Reflecting God", track 15 on "Antichrist", quite possibly my favorite Manson track:
Marilyn Manson -- "The Reflecting God"
Monday, December 28, 2009
The Dyes of Patch 4
This next influence is the most direct, meaning it pertains specifically to songwriting and style. I'm a rhythm section writer by heart, guitars usually come second to drums and root notes in bass composition. One band has opened my eyes to guitars, to different time signatures, to challenging the audience by overwhelming means of writing and delivery.
The Mars Volta started out as mud to me. As time went on, I started to get them. More and more I came to realize that Cedric Bixler-Zavala's vocal delivery was my favorite out of any other vocal artist. He has quivers in his falsetto, his voice is gutwrenchingly high (meaning it's impossible for me to ever sing in his range), he conveys such emotion with each syllable. He's fantastic.
Omar Rodriguez-Lopez writes the music. He fuses latin jazz with punk rock. Again, a whole new sound all their own. But this might be one of the more challenging forms of "new sounds" in modern music today. A lot of people have a love/hate relationship with the Volta. They started out strong with their debut "De-loused in the Comatorium" and since have descended in critical acclaim. Their latest record, however, "Octahedron", has garnered praise, mainly because it is more simplistic in nature than their other recent ventures like "Amputechture" and "The Bedlam in Goliath". For me, "Frances the Mute" takes the cake as best Volta record. It was the most challenging record, but it was still riding on their success with "De-loused" for most people. It's the most mature and gutsy. The ends of songs have sprawling electronic ambient outros, but the songs themselves are pretty focused and well-written. The last song, "Cassandra Gemini", clocks in at 32 minutes.
After listening to this record and "De-loused" over and over, I welcomed the new material with open arms. The stuff that got more carried away, with lots of different sections and changes. "Amputechture" might have been the record that changed me as a songwriter. At this point, my songwriting was very 4/4 based, blues riffs, production oriented. After listening to "Amputechture", I immediately wrote "Typosgraphy", totally a play off of Volta. Since then, I've tried to make it a goal to have lots of different changes, challenging time signatures, challenging riffs, more story arcs in my writing. They can put mind blowing rock together with emotional music. Again, here's another band that can make me cry. I always get tears in my eyes at the end of "Frances" when the acoustic guitar comes in for the last minute after the thirty minutes of noise in "Cassandra Gemini".
Another song of mine is a good example of the change I've experienced. "Trachomanic" has a lot of changes, and could be the best example of things to come for Patch. Every one of my influences is exemplified here: NIN's electronica and punk beat, Beck's found production, Tom Waits' theatrical personality, the Volta's section changes and complicated solos. The last influence, tomorrow's, puts the final touch on all of these . . . a lyrical influence, symbollism. Intense, engaging storytelling.
Here's one of my favorite songs by The Mars Volta. It shows the section changes, the complicated solos, the complicated rhythm section, their own patented sound, the emotion in Cedric's vocals, and the intensity of the climax in the movements. This song makes me crazy (in a good way) whenever I listen to it. Especially the end.
The Mars Volta -- "Goliath"
The Mars Volta started out as mud to me. As time went on, I started to get them. More and more I came to realize that Cedric Bixler-Zavala's vocal delivery was my favorite out of any other vocal artist. He has quivers in his falsetto, his voice is gutwrenchingly high (meaning it's impossible for me to ever sing in his range), he conveys such emotion with each syllable. He's fantastic.
Omar Rodriguez-Lopez writes the music. He fuses latin jazz with punk rock. Again, a whole new sound all their own. But this might be one of the more challenging forms of "new sounds" in modern music today. A lot of people have a love/hate relationship with the Volta. They started out strong with their debut "De-loused in the Comatorium" and since have descended in critical acclaim. Their latest record, however, "Octahedron", has garnered praise, mainly because it is more simplistic in nature than their other recent ventures like "Amputechture" and "The Bedlam in Goliath". For me, "Frances the Mute" takes the cake as best Volta record. It was the most challenging record, but it was still riding on their success with "De-loused" for most people. It's the most mature and gutsy. The ends of songs have sprawling electronic ambient outros, but the songs themselves are pretty focused and well-written. The last song, "Cassandra Gemini", clocks in at 32 minutes.
After listening to this record and "De-loused" over and over, I welcomed the new material with open arms. The stuff that got more carried away, with lots of different sections and changes. "Amputechture" might have been the record that changed me as a songwriter. At this point, my songwriting was very 4/4 based, blues riffs, production oriented. After listening to "Amputechture", I immediately wrote "Typosgraphy", totally a play off of Volta. Since then, I've tried to make it a goal to have lots of different changes, challenging time signatures, challenging riffs, more story arcs in my writing. They can put mind blowing rock together with emotional music. Again, here's another band that can make me cry. I always get tears in my eyes at the end of "Frances" when the acoustic guitar comes in for the last minute after the thirty minutes of noise in "Cassandra Gemini".
Another song of mine is a good example of the change I've experienced. "Trachomanic" has a lot of changes, and could be the best example of things to come for Patch. Every one of my influences is exemplified here: NIN's electronica and punk beat, Beck's found production, Tom Waits' theatrical personality, the Volta's section changes and complicated solos. The last influence, tomorrow's, puts the final touch on all of these . . . a lyrical influence, symbollism. Intense, engaging storytelling.
Here's one of my favorite songs by The Mars Volta. It shows the section changes, the complicated solos, the complicated rhythm section, their own patented sound, the emotion in Cedric's vocals, and the intensity of the climax in the movements. This song makes me crazy (in a good way) whenever I listen to it. Especially the end.
The Mars Volta -- "Goliath"
Sunday, December 27, 2009
The Dyes of Patch 3
Anyone who knows me and my musical tastes shouldn't find this next icon to be a surprise.
Growing up, he was my main influence. The be all, end all. Nothing could take the reign as top dog in my book other than this man. Reflecting now on the last couple of years, where Patch has started to take a new direction and have a maturity in my mind regarding songwriting, I view this icon's music in a different way.
Trent Reznor, to me, is the ultimate producer. A producer who has crafted his own sound. When a Nine Inch Nails song comes on the radio, you know exactly who made it, even if you've never heard the song before. One of my main fears about Patch was that, because I've listened to NIN all my life and have pretty much studied Trent's production everyday since I was 10, my music would sound like Trent produced it.
People ask, "Would it be your dream to have Trent Reznor produce Patch?" I retort with a large "NO! That would completely make it his, not mine, then. My production skills would be nothing. I'd like for him to like my music, but never to produce it."
I want my own sound. I want to come up with something no one else could replicate. It's what I call "Typosgraphy", having something completely new that no one else can call their own. Make my own crime scene using evidence and markers from the past, my influences, and making it the Peter Kenyon sound.
Trent's lyrics are less than desired. But they have personality (just like Tom Waits). You can sense personal emotion in the delivery. The main treat of NIN is the music. When Trent spouts his thoughts on sex, loss, government, etc., it's the music that does most of the talking. He takes electronica and puts it together with acoustic instruments, very much what I like to do. I just hope to god it doesn't sound the same.
This blend of electro-acoustic is heard in "Just Like You Imagined" from The Fragile. This is one of the only songs in the music world to make me cry on occasion. It's instrumental, save for a chorus of "Ahhh's" by Trent. It's placed in a portion of The Fragile representing Trent's fall from helping another, someone who has been with him on his journey of repair, a lover perhaps, and he/she betrays him. At least, that's what sources say. To me, it's a representation of losing something you love in a terrible way. I broke up with a girlfriend of two years and immediately put this song on. It was a bad breakup, and it was everything that I was feeling. The music has personality, not just vocals. Trent speaks best through the instrumentation of his music. His vocal delivery just adds a cherry on top of the masterpiece.
Plus, on a live performance level, Trent's energy onstage is some of the best stuff I feed off of. Especially in the early NIN days, Trent was so crazy, you'd fear for your life if you were in the front row. I'd like to embody that intensity, that danger, in my live shows.
I hope my music has both a vocal personality akin to Tom and Trent's voice delivery, and the notion of an entirely new sound that speaks volumes in its own personality. A new language, a new school. "Typosgraphy".
Nine Inch Nails -- "Just Like You Imagined"
Growing up, he was my main influence. The be all, end all. Nothing could take the reign as top dog in my book other than this man. Reflecting now on the last couple of years, where Patch has started to take a new direction and have a maturity in my mind regarding songwriting, I view this icon's music in a different way.
Trent Reznor, to me, is the ultimate producer. A producer who has crafted his own sound. When a Nine Inch Nails song comes on the radio, you know exactly who made it, even if you've never heard the song before. One of my main fears about Patch was that, because I've listened to NIN all my life and have pretty much studied Trent's production everyday since I was 10, my music would sound like Trent produced it.
People ask, "Would it be your dream to have Trent Reznor produce Patch?" I retort with a large "NO! That would completely make it his, not mine, then. My production skills would be nothing. I'd like for him to like my music, but never to produce it."
I want my own sound. I want to come up with something no one else could replicate. It's what I call "Typosgraphy", having something completely new that no one else can call their own. Make my own crime scene using evidence and markers from the past, my influences, and making it the Peter Kenyon sound.
Trent's lyrics are less than desired. But they have personality (just like Tom Waits). You can sense personal emotion in the delivery. The main treat of NIN is the music. When Trent spouts his thoughts on sex, loss, government, etc., it's the music that does most of the talking. He takes electronica and puts it together with acoustic instruments, very much what I like to do. I just hope to god it doesn't sound the same.
This blend of electro-acoustic is heard in "Just Like You Imagined" from The Fragile. This is one of the only songs in the music world to make me cry on occasion. It's instrumental, save for a chorus of "Ahhh's" by Trent. It's placed in a portion of The Fragile representing Trent's fall from helping another, someone who has been with him on his journey of repair, a lover perhaps, and he/she betrays him. At least, that's what sources say. To me, it's a representation of losing something you love in a terrible way. I broke up with a girlfriend of two years and immediately put this song on. It was a bad breakup, and it was everything that I was feeling. The music has personality, not just vocals. Trent speaks best through the instrumentation of his music. His vocal delivery just adds a cherry on top of the masterpiece.
Plus, on a live performance level, Trent's energy onstage is some of the best stuff I feed off of. Especially in the early NIN days, Trent was so crazy, you'd fear for your life if you were in the front row. I'd like to embody that intensity, that danger, in my live shows.
I hope my music has both a vocal personality akin to Tom and Trent's voice delivery, and the notion of an entirely new sound that speaks volumes in its own personality. A new language, a new school. "Typosgraphy".
Nine Inch Nails -- "Just Like You Imagined"
Saturday, December 26, 2009
The Dyes of Patch 2
The next main influence to my songwriting doesn't happen to be an artist I listen to every day. I like half of his songs, I get bored from the other half. But I respect his whole repertoire due to the way that he carries himself as an artist. He blends reality and fiction into a whole where you're not sure where the story begins and the true artist ends. He has made a complete ethos out of himself, as much an actor as he is a musician. He is a more "down-to-earth" version of my number one influence. A more folky version. A lighter version. More quirky and campy.
One extreme in my songwriting to my number one's other extreme.
This man is Tom Waits.
His more straight ahead blues songs, his ballads, I don't much care for. It's the weird stuff, the stuff where you can hear the room ambience in the recording, where his gruff scream is the ultimate delivery, where bones are played instead of regular drums, where the theatricality of it all comes out. I picture some basement of a dive bar to be the locale for Tom Waits' music. A strange cabaret where something isn't quite right, but you'll go along for the ride. I like when an artist prompts the audience to constantly question the sanity of the man/woman behind the work.
I dabble in simplistic production from time to time. Set up pots and pans in a room, play a simple acoustic riff, and scream from across the room. It adds character and depth to the personality of the music. Mr. Waits is excellent at portraying character.
One of the best examples of Tom's work for my influence would be his song "Earth Died Screaming" from the album Bone Machine, and one of the main songs from the "12 Monkeys" soundtrack. It was actually the first song I heard of his. I thought it was special, a dark voice with such a strange personality to it. So much is going in the way he conveys the message, but it's done in such a simplistic way. There are bones for percussion, a distorted blues guitar, and Tom's voice. That's it, except for the Death song excerpt at the end. Hearing this song, it makes me want to find a random venue, not traditional, where the band takes garbage cans, water jugs, chains, one guitar and one amp (one of lesser quality) and put on a show entirely in this magnitude. I wrote a song called "Whisper a Scream" which consisted just of metal on stone hits and vocals. A lot of "In Hopes to Mend" is inspired by Tom Waits, as well. One of the main features of the bridge is a bongo drum played with me holding keys loosely in my right hand. I put the reverb up in such a way as to suggest that I played it in a lone basement room, which is where the song takes place.
A basement room not unlike the one I picture Tom to claim as his performance throne.
Tom Waits -- "Earth Died Screaming"
One extreme in my songwriting to my number one's other extreme.
This man is Tom Waits.
His more straight ahead blues songs, his ballads, I don't much care for. It's the weird stuff, the stuff where you can hear the room ambience in the recording, where his gruff scream is the ultimate delivery, where bones are played instead of regular drums, where the theatricality of it all comes out. I picture some basement of a dive bar to be the locale for Tom Waits' music. A strange cabaret where something isn't quite right, but you'll go along for the ride. I like when an artist prompts the audience to constantly question the sanity of the man/woman behind the work.
I dabble in simplistic production from time to time. Set up pots and pans in a room, play a simple acoustic riff, and scream from across the room. It adds character and depth to the personality of the music. Mr. Waits is excellent at portraying character.
One of the best examples of Tom's work for my influence would be his song "Earth Died Screaming" from the album Bone Machine, and one of the main songs from the "12 Monkeys" soundtrack. It was actually the first song I heard of his. I thought it was special, a dark voice with such a strange personality to it. So much is going in the way he conveys the message, but it's done in such a simplistic way. There are bones for percussion, a distorted blues guitar, and Tom's voice. That's it, except for the Death song excerpt at the end. Hearing this song, it makes me want to find a random venue, not traditional, where the band takes garbage cans, water jugs, chains, one guitar and one amp (one of lesser quality) and put on a show entirely in this magnitude. I wrote a song called "Whisper a Scream" which consisted just of metal on stone hits and vocals. A lot of "In Hopes to Mend" is inspired by Tom Waits, as well. One of the main features of the bridge is a bongo drum played with me holding keys loosely in my right hand. I put the reverb up in such a way as to suggest that I played it in a lone basement room, which is where the song takes place.
A basement room not unlike the one I picture Tom to claim as his performance throne.
Tom Waits -- "Earth Died Screaming"
Friday, December 25, 2009
By the Fire, Together Again
A low key day. Saw a movie at the theater (Sherlock Holmes), Cosmos, presents, dinner, board games, the newest Pixar movie viewing (I always ask for the latest Pixar movie every year from my mom) whilst sitting near a fire.
Pretty run of the mill for X-Mas with mom. I can't complain.
I do wish for the big family experience, but I guess that'll have to wait until I'm married.
Here's the end of my favorite Christmas movie, "Scrooged". I dedicate it to a friend who showed me that Christmas is okay, it's not as scary of a holiday as I sometimes make it out to be. Thanks LG!
Pearl Jam -- "Let Me Sleep"
Pretty run of the mill for X-Mas with mom. I can't complain.
I do wish for the big family experience, but I guess that'll have to wait until I'm married.
Here's the end of my favorite Christmas movie, "Scrooged". I dedicate it to a friend who showed me that Christmas is okay, it's not as scary of a holiday as I sometimes make it out to be. Thanks LG!
Pearl Jam -- "Let Me Sleep"
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Hallelujah
Whenever I've gone home this year, I've written about my father and stepmother, and how I become a little insecure around them, looking for acceptance. This Christmas Eve, my brother was in Kenya, it was just me at their house. I brought Chianti. It provided for a rather splendid evening. We were all drunk, laughing hysterically about everything.
It was the first time that I felt accepted by my father.
I can't think of a better Christmas present.
Here's the beginning of my favorite Christmas movie, "Scrooged":
Crash Kings -- "Mountain Man"
It was the first time that I felt accepted by my father.
I can't think of a better Christmas present.
Here's the beginning of my favorite Christmas movie, "Scrooged":
Crash Kings -- "Mountain Man"
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
GoodFellas
It was either a scene from GoodFellas or like going to a reunion with your family when you were younger, seeing friends from the past meeting up together, loud and drunk, making you feel uncomfortable since you were a helpless little child who wanted to stick around your parents and all types of strangers were pulling your cheeks. "You're gettin' so big!"
I feel like I became that adult yesterday, the one that is now old enough to meet up with people from the past at seminal establishments. Nicole (my good friend, not my awesome neighbor) and Ryan came back from Rhode Island yesterday, and another friend, Wade, decided to throw a little get-together old crew style. Karaoke at Grumpy's.
In the second entry of Karmath, I mentioned Karaoke at the U Otter Stop Inn bar near my home. There was something magical about last night, though. U Otter was before I knew everyone would be leaving Minneapolis. All of the gang is coming back this holiday season. We're throwing a large New Years party to celebrate the homecoming.
Adri and I decided to go to Grumpy's together. It was a quiet night on the streets. Downtown seemed dead. Grumpy's itself seemed a little empty as well. The alcove just off to the side of the bar holds the Staraoke event, what I consider to be the biggest Karaoke event in the Twin Cities. The place was packed with both the homecoming party and another birthday party. Friends from my theater past and people we used to hang out with who were friends of Ryan and Wade were all there.
It was like meeting people when you're older. "Nicole, howa de kids?!" "Ryan, ye sonuvabitch, you still ogglin' over Hot Lips Lucy?! Hey ye got a little, WHOA!, almost slugged ya!! It was always dat right flank you had a problem wit. Gotta woik on it, pal."
I felt a little out of place, to tell the truth. I started out strong, but soon became a little disassociative. It wasn't until some more of the Monroe House brotherhood's inner nucleus started showing up where I felt a little more in the zone.
The reunion of the past, something that will continue throughout the week and next, will be interesting. It will be bittersweet.
It will be with this reunion that I will end this blog. Where I've come from, how I've changed in the last year, where I'll be going. The past and present and future meeting up in a grand party to kick off 2010, what will most likely be one of the most seminal years of my life.
Tommy Dorsey & His Orchestra with Jo Stafford -- "Manhattan Serenade"
I feel like I became that adult yesterday, the one that is now old enough to meet up with people from the past at seminal establishments. Nicole (my good friend, not my awesome neighbor) and Ryan came back from Rhode Island yesterday, and another friend, Wade, decided to throw a little get-together old crew style. Karaoke at Grumpy's.
In the second entry of Karmath, I mentioned Karaoke at the U Otter Stop Inn bar near my home. There was something magical about last night, though. U Otter was before I knew everyone would be leaving Minneapolis. All of the gang is coming back this holiday season. We're throwing a large New Years party to celebrate the homecoming.
Adri and I decided to go to Grumpy's together. It was a quiet night on the streets. Downtown seemed dead. Grumpy's itself seemed a little empty as well. The alcove just off to the side of the bar holds the Staraoke event, what I consider to be the biggest Karaoke event in the Twin Cities. The place was packed with both the homecoming party and another birthday party. Friends from my theater past and people we used to hang out with who were friends of Ryan and Wade were all there.
It was like meeting people when you're older. "Nicole, howa de kids?!" "Ryan, ye sonuvabitch, you still ogglin' over Hot Lips Lucy?! Hey ye got a little, WHOA!, almost slugged ya!! It was always dat right flank you had a problem wit. Gotta woik on it, pal."
I felt a little out of place, to tell the truth. I started out strong, but soon became a little disassociative. It wasn't until some more of the Monroe House brotherhood's inner nucleus started showing up where I felt a little more in the zone.
The reunion of the past, something that will continue throughout the week and next, will be interesting. It will be bittersweet.
It will be with this reunion that I will end this blog. Where I've come from, how I've changed in the last year, where I'll be going. The past and present and future meeting up in a grand party to kick off 2010, what will most likely be one of the most seminal years of my life.
Tommy Dorsey & His Orchestra with Jo Stafford -- "Manhattan Serenade"
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Resolute in Chance
I have succumbed to the resolution that Patch has to pack up and leave my house. City officials and authorities operate out of a "if you're disrupting the quality of life of an individual, you are in the wrong". There are no decibel readers in law enforcement and law. The only group holding these machines is Environmental Control, and they only come out when they are enforcing noise ordinances, not as a service to a questioning band member. Even if I'm in the legal limit of 10db's or less, my neighbor could keep complaining and shut us down. I could say "We are totally legal. We are 10db's and less. My friend's decibel reader said so." They'd look at you and say "So what? Shut it off, she keeps complaining to us."
So, yeah, we're leaving.
I just got back from checking out a space just west of downtown that we would share with Solid Gold. It's a pretty cheap option. Not as ideal as my back room, but it works. I have no idea what the band will bite on, but I'm scared that certain members will potentially opt out of Patch completely. Maybe it's me being too anxious about the situation, but that's why this is such a big deal to me.
I would love to be completely confident that Patch is at a comfortable position of having set members and a set space, but that is not the case with this situation. Anything can happen right now.
I hate this. I want resolution. I want to know that we're okay.
Kings of Leon -- "Crawl"
So, yeah, we're leaving.
I just got back from checking out a space just west of downtown that we would share with Solid Gold. It's a pretty cheap option. Not as ideal as my back room, but it works. I have no idea what the band will bite on, but I'm scared that certain members will potentially opt out of Patch completely. Maybe it's me being too anxious about the situation, but that's why this is such a big deal to me.
I would love to be completely confident that Patch is at a comfortable position of having set members and a set space, but that is not the case with this situation. Anything can happen right now.
I hate this. I want resolution. I want to know that we're okay.
Kings of Leon -- "Crawl"
Monday, December 21, 2009
The Dyes of Patch 1
In these final entries, seeing as though Karmath the Blog has been primarily a personal MP3 journal, I'd like to share the main influences of my songwriting. My "greatest hits" if you will. What with all the MP3 "Best of the Year" lists and everything, I figured I'd show you where I take most of my inspiration from in the music world.
I s'pose I'll start at the back end of inspiration and work my way up.
I love artists who blend a lot of genres together into a hodge podge collage, creating an entirely new sound all their own. They aren't creating a movement, but they are creative enough to show that they are true geniuses. I take a great liking to raw rock, big drums and production. I also love riff rock, heavy recognizable riffs that are both easy to play and easy to remember. Riffs that get stuck in your head.
I'm a fan of music that changes its production from song to song. What happens when you take an electronic music duo production team that makes great heavy sample beats from all sorts of different sources and put them together with a singer/songwriter with a nack for folk/rock/blues/funk/dance/country/experimental music? Genre bender with production bender = Beck.
I consider Beck's best albums to be the ones where he teamed up with The Dust Brothers, best known for the Fight Club soundtrack they scored. These albums include "Odelay", "Midnight Vultures", and "Guero". There are so many different sounds from song to song, it's like a new palette was created for each. They're so interesting to hear and distinguishing and taking in each new timbre of each new song's aural palette is extremely engaging and fun. These albums are what gave me my love for really staying in tune to production and found noises. It keeps albums interesting. You're reinventing yourself with each new song. Beck does this better than any other artist I know.
I try to make all of my songs sound different. I want each record to sound different. I want all sorts of different styles within my music, blending together to create a new whole.
Here's a good example of a quintessential influential Beck song: Derelict from "Odelay". It has samples galore mixed with found, somewhat sloppy noises. It's dark, with a distorted vocal line. Plus, the eastern instruments provide for a sort of drug induced ambience that's not uncommon for Beck. His ridiculousness can sometimes provide for some far out noises and feelings.
So, we've got found noises, a great collage of different genres, great production, and an empathetical feeling due to all. I have no idea what the song is about, but I feel like I do:
Beck -- "Derelict"
I s'pose I'll start at the back end of inspiration and work my way up.
I love artists who blend a lot of genres together into a hodge podge collage, creating an entirely new sound all their own. They aren't creating a movement, but they are creative enough to show that they are true geniuses. I take a great liking to raw rock, big drums and production. I also love riff rock, heavy recognizable riffs that are both easy to play and easy to remember. Riffs that get stuck in your head.
I'm a fan of music that changes its production from song to song. What happens when you take an electronic music duo production team that makes great heavy sample beats from all sorts of different sources and put them together with a singer/songwriter with a nack for folk/rock/blues/funk/dance/country/experimental music? Genre bender with production bender = Beck.
I consider Beck's best albums to be the ones where he teamed up with The Dust Brothers, best known for the Fight Club soundtrack they scored. These albums include "Odelay", "Midnight Vultures", and "Guero". There are so many different sounds from song to song, it's like a new palette was created for each. They're so interesting to hear and distinguishing and taking in each new timbre of each new song's aural palette is extremely engaging and fun. These albums are what gave me my love for really staying in tune to production and found noises. It keeps albums interesting. You're reinventing yourself with each new song. Beck does this better than any other artist I know.
I try to make all of my songs sound different. I want each record to sound different. I want all sorts of different styles within my music, blending together to create a new whole.
Here's a good example of a quintessential influential Beck song: Derelict from "Odelay". It has samples galore mixed with found, somewhat sloppy noises. It's dark, with a distorted vocal line. Plus, the eastern instruments provide for a sort of drug induced ambience that's not uncommon for Beck. His ridiculousness can sometimes provide for some far out noises and feelings.
So, we've got found noises, a great collage of different genres, great production, and an empathetical feeling due to all. I have no idea what the song is about, but I feel like I do:
Beck -- "Derelict"
Sunday, December 20, 2009
M*****
One of the key elements to Patch is the notion of the Underground. In all of my experience with live and local music, you might be the greatest band in the world, but nobody knows who you are, your shows are going to have little to no crowd. There's no scene for you. This is the hardest element to local music. How to get people to see you time after time after time within the space of a couple months.
My goal is to infiltrate the underground scene. Half of the shows we will do will not be at a traditional venue. There will be a few times when I will ask the boys to pitch in for a noise permit at public places. Free places (I've done enough research on noise ordinances and noise permits recently to outsmart the peeps picking up at 311). Party houses. Secret clubs.
One of these not-so-secret clubs is Medusa. I feel strange telling of its whereabouts, almost like saying "Scottish Play" instead of "Macbeth" while you're in a theatre space. This place is prime Patch space. It's somewhat forbidden, it's dark, it's gross, it's crawling with hipsters ripe for the picking to bang heads with visceral indie rock.
The first show Patch will perform live at will be at Schuyler's new studio space a couple blocks down from my house. It will be small, a few people will be invited. Intimate and stifling. After that, with each Live storyline, there will be a non-traditional venue serving as our performance space. I imagine some places to be parking lots, alleyways, high traffic areas showcasing the nightly jaunts of youngsters and fauxsters.
This will help garner interest in coming to traditional live venues. I'm not spilling the beans on some of the antics we'll be pulling. They will be changing from show to show. That will be half the fun of coming to each show of Patch, shows where I hope to handpick our favorite local bands for bill lineups that would compliment us and compliment them given the theme of the night. That's the ideal, anyway.
So far, what I've been throwing around is the Schematics theme, where different projects are hinted at. Schematics features demos that I hope to rerecord (or use again) that belong on future projects and storylines. "Typosgraphy" and "Switch" belong to one project, "Trachomanic" and "In Hopes to Mend" another, "LCD" on yet another. The live shows will feature these tracks and more, either from strictly live storylines, things I'm working on in the studio currently, or from larger album projects I have planned way down the line. Glimpses. Plans. Schematics to a larger plan . . .
After these, we will start to move in more experimental territory in Live 2.0, doing strictly Karmath material at one show, Omiss at another, Necrotica at another, etc. After that . . . I'm not sure exactly. Bigger stories, I'm guessing. I'm still working on Live 1.0 so I haven't thought too, too far ahead.
Scoping out Medusa last night was another positive step forward. I've got my foot in many doors, and this helps me get through the stress I've been feeling on a daily basis these last two months.
Liars -- "Grown Men Don't Fall In the River, Just Like That"
My goal is to infiltrate the underground scene. Half of the shows we will do will not be at a traditional venue. There will be a few times when I will ask the boys to pitch in for a noise permit at public places. Free places (I've done enough research on noise ordinances and noise permits recently to outsmart the peeps picking up at 311). Party houses. Secret clubs.
One of these not-so-secret clubs is Medusa. I feel strange telling of its whereabouts, almost like saying "Scottish Play" instead of "Macbeth" while you're in a theatre space. This place is prime Patch space. It's somewhat forbidden, it's dark, it's gross, it's crawling with hipsters ripe for the picking to bang heads with visceral indie rock.
The first show Patch will perform live at will be at Schuyler's new studio space a couple blocks down from my house. It will be small, a few people will be invited. Intimate and stifling. After that, with each Live storyline, there will be a non-traditional venue serving as our performance space. I imagine some places to be parking lots, alleyways, high traffic areas showcasing the nightly jaunts of youngsters and fauxsters.
This will help garner interest in coming to traditional live venues. I'm not spilling the beans on some of the antics we'll be pulling. They will be changing from show to show. That will be half the fun of coming to each show of Patch, shows where I hope to handpick our favorite local bands for bill lineups that would compliment us and compliment them given the theme of the night. That's the ideal, anyway.
So far, what I've been throwing around is the Schematics theme, where different projects are hinted at. Schematics features demos that I hope to rerecord (or use again) that belong on future projects and storylines. "Typosgraphy" and "Switch" belong to one project, "Trachomanic" and "In Hopes to Mend" another, "LCD" on yet another. The live shows will feature these tracks and more, either from strictly live storylines, things I'm working on in the studio currently, or from larger album projects I have planned way down the line. Glimpses. Plans. Schematics to a larger plan . . .
After these, we will start to move in more experimental territory in Live 2.0, doing strictly Karmath material at one show, Omiss at another, Necrotica at another, etc. After that . . . I'm not sure exactly. Bigger stories, I'm guessing. I'm still working on Live 1.0 so I haven't thought too, too far ahead.
Scoping out Medusa last night was another positive step forward. I've got my foot in many doors, and this helps me get through the stress I've been feeling on a daily basis these last two months.
Liars -- "Grown Men Don't Fall In the River, Just Like That"
Saturday, December 19, 2009
The Lonely Deaths of Dream Chasers
One of the most confounding statements we are bombarded with from birth is "Follow your dreams. If you persevere, you will reach your goals."
First: define your dream. If you want to be President, CEO of a company, a rock star, a sports player, a celebrity of some sort, an astronaut, a top dawg lawyer, whatever, there are a ton of hoops you need to jump through.
For becoming any sort of worker you have to pull your weight in school. Now, I do find college to be challenging, but it's easy. You follow the guidelines, it's all written out for you, you've got it. If you really want to make your name known at all, either on campus or post-college . . . that's where things get harder.
You want to be President? The controversies, the extreme amount of opposition from the public, etc. Sports player? Health concerns, your own body, what if you trip and completely screw up your ankle permanently? CEO of a business? Learn how to deal with people hating your guts, people throwing faux love at you to get work, learn how to be a ruthless son of a bitch when it comes to hard decisions. You're going to have to ruin people's lives at times in order to make the business succeed.
For me it's obviously rock star. If it's to be a common, everyday rock cover artist, that's easy. But if it's a vision, a true vision for a new movement in music, I can't tell you the stress I've had from Patch.
The latest battle over the Patch rehearsal space in the back of the Monroe House is one more drop in the bucket o' problems I've faced in the last year. 2009 started out with computer problems with "Schematics" recording. It then went on to having to wait four months for mixing to be started on. Then waiting another two and a half months for mixing to be worked on, now I have to wait a month for mastering to be completed. The real stress comes from the live band. Getting people into the band, clearing out the back space, trying to coordinate all of the band so that they can meet once a week. Now we're being outed by a neighbor. It's one thing after another.
I will not give up on this band. It's seriously my dream. But I'm not going to lie, I have had thoughts of "Should I just give up now? This is getting to be too hard." Of course I won't give up. But if nothing works, and problems keep facing us, when's the time to quit? When does a dream, no matter how hard you've pursued it, become a burden to an individual? When people start saying "You should quit"? When do you start to consider that possibility?
Patch can be huge. It can be known. How many challenges am I going to face to reach the goal of recognition? How many challenges will I face if we are known? A lot of it is on me since it's my vision. My parents ask me, "So, what's the gameplan for you and music? When are you going to quit and go back to school?" I haven't thought about this, to be honest. I'm 25. I'm still in the prime age of becoming a successful rock artist. If I feel like everything I'm doing is failing, then I guess I'll just know when to throw in the towel. But I don't imagine Patch to be a failure. So far, I've just had a lot of speed bumps dealing with outside forces. True tests of skill and merit.
In the research I did before writing a lot of the songs that would appear on "Schematics", I came across the notion of the West's fascination with fantasy and superheroes. Especially action heroes. These characters tend to exhibit true focus and perseverence without much effort. People latch on to that. They love seeing a figure exceed in their beliefs. Problem is, in the real world it's hard to exceed in your beliefs.
I admit, rock star is a 13 year old sort of dream. I'm a young adult still trying to do it. I'm frustrated a lot of the time, and beaten. The pain I feel in life, that is exhibited in Patch's music and performance, mainly comes from Patch itself.
Only something inside me keeps saying "Keep going . . ." I get shot by a rifle. "Keep going . . ." I get run over by a car. "Keep going . . ."
I hope that voice never says "Stop, it's okay," until I've made Patch a national entity that hasn't crashed and burned by flying too high in the celebrity world. I want to end it on my terms. When the time's right.
I guess until then I'll have to get used to the taste of metal from all of the bullets perforating my body from all the opposing forces the world throws at me.
The Flaming Lips -- "See the Leaves"
First: define your dream. If you want to be President, CEO of a company, a rock star, a sports player, a celebrity of some sort, an astronaut, a top dawg lawyer, whatever, there are a ton of hoops you need to jump through.
For becoming any sort of worker you have to pull your weight in school. Now, I do find college to be challenging, but it's easy. You follow the guidelines, it's all written out for you, you've got it. If you really want to make your name known at all, either on campus or post-college . . . that's where things get harder.
You want to be President? The controversies, the extreme amount of opposition from the public, etc. Sports player? Health concerns, your own body, what if you trip and completely screw up your ankle permanently? CEO of a business? Learn how to deal with people hating your guts, people throwing faux love at you to get work, learn how to be a ruthless son of a bitch when it comes to hard decisions. You're going to have to ruin people's lives at times in order to make the business succeed.
For me it's obviously rock star. If it's to be a common, everyday rock cover artist, that's easy. But if it's a vision, a true vision for a new movement in music, I can't tell you the stress I've had from Patch.
The latest battle over the Patch rehearsal space in the back of the Monroe House is one more drop in the bucket o' problems I've faced in the last year. 2009 started out with computer problems with "Schematics" recording. It then went on to having to wait four months for mixing to be started on. Then waiting another two and a half months for mixing to be worked on, now I have to wait a month for mastering to be completed. The real stress comes from the live band. Getting people into the band, clearing out the back space, trying to coordinate all of the band so that they can meet once a week. Now we're being outed by a neighbor. It's one thing after another.
I will not give up on this band. It's seriously my dream. But I'm not going to lie, I have had thoughts of "Should I just give up now? This is getting to be too hard." Of course I won't give up. But if nothing works, and problems keep facing us, when's the time to quit? When does a dream, no matter how hard you've pursued it, become a burden to an individual? When people start saying "You should quit"? When do you start to consider that possibility?
Patch can be huge. It can be known. How many challenges am I going to face to reach the goal of recognition? How many challenges will I face if we are known? A lot of it is on me since it's my vision. My parents ask me, "So, what's the gameplan for you and music? When are you going to quit and go back to school?" I haven't thought about this, to be honest. I'm 25. I'm still in the prime age of becoming a successful rock artist. If I feel like everything I'm doing is failing, then I guess I'll just know when to throw in the towel. But I don't imagine Patch to be a failure. So far, I've just had a lot of speed bumps dealing with outside forces. True tests of skill and merit.
In the research I did before writing a lot of the songs that would appear on "Schematics", I came across the notion of the West's fascination with fantasy and superheroes. Especially action heroes. These characters tend to exhibit true focus and perseverence without much effort. People latch on to that. They love seeing a figure exceed in their beliefs. Problem is, in the real world it's hard to exceed in your beliefs.
I admit, rock star is a 13 year old sort of dream. I'm a young adult still trying to do it. I'm frustrated a lot of the time, and beaten. The pain I feel in life, that is exhibited in Patch's music and performance, mainly comes from Patch itself.
Only something inside me keeps saying "Keep going . . ." I get shot by a rifle. "Keep going . . ." I get run over by a car. "Keep going . . ."
I hope that voice never says "Stop, it's okay," until I've made Patch a national entity that hasn't crashed and burned by flying too high in the celebrity world. I want to end it on my terms. When the time's right.
I guess until then I'll have to get used to the taste of metal from all of the bullets perforating my body from all the opposing forces the world throws at me.
The Flaming Lips -- "See the Leaves"
Friday, December 18, 2009
Setting Fire to the Bridge
More in the neighbor war:
I wrote a letter. Detailing what the law ordinance was, and what I was planning on doing in the coming months to help out with the situation.
Basically, she took offense to every single bulletpoint. Even coming over to her house she found offense to. Because I said that she should come over to my house to receive schedules of our practices. She said, "You aren't welcome at my house because I have dogs."
How do strangers know this? "The mailman has enough sense, why don't you?" she said to me in a voicemail on my phone. "If you don't want to get attacked, don't come over on my yard."
Oh, damn. She di'nt.
She found it insulting that I would think to buy earplugs and Ibuprofen every month for her. "I can afford my own medicine, and why would I want to put in earplugs in my own home?!"
I retorted when I called her back, "I'm sorry if I offended you. I was merely trying to offer services to the headaches we might induce on your head by playing legally next door. You said you get migraines, and if we were the cause, I wanted to help out."
She won't have any of it. She's done. No more bargaining. My letter was sympathetic (plenty of "I'm trying my best to be neighborly, I want us to remain awesome, so I'm really trying. My house is your house.") and constructive. She referred to it as "your little note" time and time again in both my voicemail and our conversation.
I basically think that any bridge gaping the trough between Nicole and I has been burned, collapsed, and washed down river. No matter what I do, nothing will fix it. We might have shared glances, awkward at best, when I'm outside doing things around the yard, but I've tried. I've done everything.
Except . . .
1) Move out, find a new space. Which costs money and puts my band in jeopardy. I'm not sure they're willing to put down money for a space at this stage in the game. It was a battle for Scotty to be in the band, now on top of that fee there's a new monthly rent fee. Great.
2) Call the cops and really find out if I'm in the legal limit of 10db's within Nicole's house. If we check out fine, then we could keep playing, according to the law. We could stop at 9:00 still, but at this point we could go on till 10:00pm as far as I care.
3) If I wanted to get even (but I don't think it'll come to this) I could call the cops on her for the domestic disputes occurring in the house, the dog biting me on a yard with no proclamation of "Beware of Dog", the other dog she has chasing my roommate down the back alley today, and the barking dogs followed by "BEAR! STOP!!!" But this is a trifle passive aggressive and mean, and I don't play that game.
I'm not sure what to do. I'm in a real pickle here.
The only good thing is I've got some time to deal with this. Patch practices have ceased due to Scotty's month long departure to Maine for Winter Break.
Rage Against the Machine -- "I'm Housin'"
I wrote a letter. Detailing what the law ordinance was, and what I was planning on doing in the coming months to help out with the situation.
Basically, she took offense to every single bulletpoint. Even coming over to her house she found offense to. Because I said that she should come over to my house to receive schedules of our practices. She said, "You aren't welcome at my house because I have dogs."
How do strangers know this? "The mailman has enough sense, why don't you?" she said to me in a voicemail on my phone. "If you don't want to get attacked, don't come over on my yard."
Oh, damn. She di'nt.
She found it insulting that I would think to buy earplugs and Ibuprofen every month for her. "I can afford my own medicine, and why would I want to put in earplugs in my own home?!"
I retorted when I called her back, "I'm sorry if I offended you. I was merely trying to offer services to the headaches we might induce on your head by playing legally next door. You said you get migraines, and if we were the cause, I wanted to help out."
She won't have any of it. She's done. No more bargaining. My letter was sympathetic (plenty of "I'm trying my best to be neighborly, I want us to remain awesome, so I'm really trying. My house is your house.") and constructive. She referred to it as "your little note" time and time again in both my voicemail and our conversation.
I basically think that any bridge gaping the trough between Nicole and I has been burned, collapsed, and washed down river. No matter what I do, nothing will fix it. We might have shared glances, awkward at best, when I'm outside doing things around the yard, but I've tried. I've done everything.
Except . . .
1) Move out, find a new space. Which costs money and puts my band in jeopardy. I'm not sure they're willing to put down money for a space at this stage in the game. It was a battle for Scotty to be in the band, now on top of that fee there's a new monthly rent fee. Great.
2) Call the cops and really find out if I'm in the legal limit of 10db's within Nicole's house. If we check out fine, then we could keep playing, according to the law. We could stop at 9:00 still, but at this point we could go on till 10:00pm as far as I care.
3) If I wanted to get even (but I don't think it'll come to this) I could call the cops on her for the domestic disputes occurring in the house, the dog biting me on a yard with no proclamation of "Beware of Dog", the other dog she has chasing my roommate down the back alley today, and the barking dogs followed by "BEAR! STOP!!!" But this is a trifle passive aggressive and mean, and I don't play that game.
I'm not sure what to do. I'm in a real pickle here.
The only good thing is I've got some time to deal with this. Patch practices have ceased due to Scotty's month long departure to Maine for Winter Break.
Rage Against the Machine -- "I'm Housin'"
Thursday, December 17, 2009
War of the Neighbors
More in the saga: Neighbor VS Patch
Scotty was practicing tonight in the back for Patch and numerous other projects that he's involved with. He started at 6:30. Was going to practice 'till 8:30.
My irate neighbor with the crazy dog came pounding on the door again at 8:10. I answered it and she let me have it.
"I--I can't do it anymore. My head. My kid and his homework. You're gonna have to stop."
I listened. I said, "I can look for a space, but we're going to have one more practice tomorrow."
She said, "Not if you want the cops involved."
I shut up. I gave her the benefit of me complying to her, not saying I wasn't going to have a practice, but saying "I'll see what I can do."
I called 311 and asked for specifics on the noise issue. They said that noise cannot be louder than a conversation in the complaining neighbor's house. Here's the thing: the noise, when it permeates through our own house, is not louder than a conversation. I talked on the phone with Marta as Scotty wailed away as hard as he could.
I then walked over to the other neighbors' house, the ones with two toddlers residing within. I asked the mom, "Are we bothering you at all? Nicole is pretty irate."
She said, "No! You guys are great! You stop early, you're not too loud. You're fine."
I said, "Okay, would you say our noise is louder than a conversation at all inside the house?"
She shook her head, "No. Nobody's bothered by it. Believe me, we'd let you know. The bass is sometimes heard, but it's not too bad, no."
I said, "So, if a cop comes over and starts questioning me, you'd be okay with me saying that you were totally cool with us, the neighbors with kids, even."
She smiled and said, "Yeah, of course."
I left and walked back home, coming up with a gameplan.
When Nicole comes back over, I'll state the following:
1. Conversation noise level vs. Patch noise. The toddler family said they're fine with it.
2. When the budget allows, I will sound proof the room as much as possible.
3. 9:00 we are always done, at her request. It could be 10:00.
4. When we have enough money, we will get a practice space not in the Monroe House.
5. I will leave schedules of when we will have noise going on in the back. I will have a little envelope marked "Nicole" with my schedule on it each week posted underneath my mailbox. I will not go over to her house risking my ass again with that dog running around.
6. If we truly are talking noise issues, then when cops come over I can bring up the fact that her dog wakes my roommates up at all hours of the night. It barks all hours of the day. Domestic fights and screaming are heard within our walls, the abusive boyfriend's motorcycle is a pain. It goes tit for tat. I'm complying, are you?
If this doesn't work, and cops still pull the plug on us, then we'll move. Until then, I'm resolute that Nicole is irritated and a little crazy as of late. I'm being as neighborly as I can.
I raised renting a space up to Scotty and he said, "That makes me rethink everything." Meaning, he can't afford a space. We're paying his way in the band, he can't pay $50 plus for a space. He'd leave. Fuck, the whole band would!
WHY IS THIS SO HARD?!?!?! I JUST WANT PATCH TO WORRRRRRRK!!!!!! FUCK!!!! I've helped out everyone else, why can't my own fucking band work?! So frustrating and disheartening.
Beck -- "Truckdrivin' Neighbors Downstairs (Yellow Sweat)"
Scotty was practicing tonight in the back for Patch and numerous other projects that he's involved with. He started at 6:30. Was going to practice 'till 8:30.
My irate neighbor with the crazy dog came pounding on the door again at 8:10. I answered it and she let me have it.
"I--I can't do it anymore. My head. My kid and his homework. You're gonna have to stop."
I listened. I said, "I can look for a space, but we're going to have one more practice tomorrow."
She said, "Not if you want the cops involved."
I shut up. I gave her the benefit of me complying to her, not saying I wasn't going to have a practice, but saying "I'll see what I can do."
I called 311 and asked for specifics on the noise issue. They said that noise cannot be louder than a conversation in the complaining neighbor's house. Here's the thing: the noise, when it permeates through our own house, is not louder than a conversation. I talked on the phone with Marta as Scotty wailed away as hard as he could.
I then walked over to the other neighbors' house, the ones with two toddlers residing within. I asked the mom, "Are we bothering you at all? Nicole is pretty irate."
She said, "No! You guys are great! You stop early, you're not too loud. You're fine."
I said, "Okay, would you say our noise is louder than a conversation at all inside the house?"
She shook her head, "No. Nobody's bothered by it. Believe me, we'd let you know. The bass is sometimes heard, but it's not too bad, no."
I said, "So, if a cop comes over and starts questioning me, you'd be okay with me saying that you were totally cool with us, the neighbors with kids, even."
She smiled and said, "Yeah, of course."
I left and walked back home, coming up with a gameplan.
When Nicole comes back over, I'll state the following:
1. Conversation noise level vs. Patch noise. The toddler family said they're fine with it.
2. When the budget allows, I will sound proof the room as much as possible.
3. 9:00 we are always done, at her request. It could be 10:00.
4. When we have enough money, we will get a practice space not in the Monroe House.
5. I will leave schedules of when we will have noise going on in the back. I will have a little envelope marked "Nicole" with my schedule on it each week posted underneath my mailbox. I will not go over to her house risking my ass again with that dog running around.
6. If we truly are talking noise issues, then when cops come over I can bring up the fact that her dog wakes my roommates up at all hours of the night. It barks all hours of the day. Domestic fights and screaming are heard within our walls, the abusive boyfriend's motorcycle is a pain. It goes tit for tat. I'm complying, are you?
If this doesn't work, and cops still pull the plug on us, then we'll move. Until then, I'm resolute that Nicole is irritated and a little crazy as of late. I'm being as neighborly as I can.
I raised renting a space up to Scotty and he said, "That makes me rethink everything." Meaning, he can't afford a space. We're paying his way in the band, he can't pay $50 plus for a space. He'd leave. Fuck, the whole band would!
WHY IS THIS SO HARD?!?!?! I JUST WANT PATCH TO WORRRRRRRK!!!!!! FUCK!!!! I've helped out everyone else, why can't my own fucking band work?! So frustrating and disheartening.
Beck -- "Truckdrivin' Neighbors Downstairs (Yellow Sweat)"
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Shitter Was Full
In honor of the Secret Santa event at Miniapple tonight, a scene from one of my favorite Christmas movies:
Duke Ellington & His Orchestra -- "The Mooche"
Duke Ellington & His Orchestra -- "The Mooche"
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Fair Freedom
Do you remember the age old battle you used to have (if you had it at all) with your K-12 school teachers (if you went to K-12) regarding whether or not they could drink soda pop in front of you in the classroom? My school district had a not-so-major debate on the fairness of teachers drinking soda in front of students when students were not allowed to drink in the classroom. If students couldn't do it, why could the teachers?
Anytime an adult has food at Miniapple kids will ask "Why do you get that?" Even if it's fucking lunch time! You have a candybar or some little treat and they complain to the board of directors. I had a pizza in my hand . . . in the adult prep room . . . and a kid complained "Why do you get that pizza?!" A coworker remarked "Because it's adult pizza. You'd get sick."
You basically have to lie and say some bullshit adult/child differential sickness prevention to get them to shut up about the fact that you're hungry, you haven't had anything to eat, you've been watching kids all day and seeing if they don't choke on their food during lunch so you can't focus on your own food, and they have the audacity to complain about you eating in your own space.
I'm exaggerating my rant here, but I did want to bring up the notion of fairness in children. Right off the bat, little two year olds are questioning "Why?" when it comes to everyone getting an equal share. Early on, fairness equates to getting things, getting the same amount of food or playtime or toys. Kids will freak out if you don't give them an equal amount. Joey got more, I'll raise hell.
This fairness aspect is very Western. The Nurture aspect of Nature vs. Nurture hits hard early with Western children. I imagine Eastern children to be content, or learning to be content, with getting what they get and not putting up a fit if they get less than someone else. We teach that, but we do stress fairness as well. We still say "You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit!" All the kids at the school know that about as much as they know the ABC song. Every child recites it from time to time.
As you get older, of course, you start into ethics and morals. The fairness within the judicial system, etc. If a man robs a drug store because he can't afford medicine for his ailing wife, who will surely die, should he go to jail if he's caught? Most children will say "Yes". Most adults will say "No."
How about this? A man who is wrought with pedophilia, but is trying his damndest to keep it in check, goes to therapy to help deter him from his sexual urges toward children. Despite all of what he is seeking, he slips and ends up fondling a six year old's privates. The child's dad is told of what this man did and he gets sentenced to prison.
Is this okay so far? How about when you think of the notion that this man will be labeled as a "Child Fucker" in prison? Pedophiles get ripped apart in prison. A lot get beaten to death or caused extreme psychological pain. Horrible things.
If they survive prison, they are released to a society that hates them to no end. They are announced to the neighborhood of their presence. Their employers and coworkers all know what he did.
If this guy was trying to get help, slipped up . . . is all of this okay?
I think about stuff like this a lot. I have a little bit of empathy for some of these people and child abusers. People who slip up, mind you. The chronic abusers who thrive off of this should be punished and incarcerated and have their names tarnished by the society they sought to undermine. But for those who hate themselves . . . don't you feel they deserve help rather than hate?
Drugs. Liberals want to put drug users into rehab rather than jail. I do. There's no crime, except against yourself. Jail won't help.
What about abusers, murderers, robbers, etc.? It gets confusing. The scale of the crime and whatnot.
But still, anything dealing with children, the West is quick to kick them out of their society, their tribe. It's scary working with children every day, not because of the children, but because of the parents.
Here's something that I hope to God no one takes in the wrong way:
Most men, when having their penis touched in any way, be it by a book or someone sitting on their lap, will naturally become erect because of stimulation. It's like morning wood, it just happens. A lot of guys, after sitting down in class while in school, upon getting up to go to the next class will have an erection. We called it Book Hiding. It's not sexual, this shit happens.
A child sits on a guy's lap. Again, it's not sexual, it just happens. What if a parent picked their child up while their kid was on his lap and they happen to see a bulge sticking out of their pants? What if they go apeshit? What if this guy loses his job and has his name tarnished because of some faulty wiring induced by the human genome?
Society, and I'm mainly talking to liberals, here: you're not as open-armed as you might think. There's a lot of hypocrisy when it comes to equality and fairness. A smart mind thinks about the man robbing the drug store for his wife without any question of whether he should go to jail or not. Kids don't.
In the case of sexual crimes: adults tend to think a lot like kids in this matter. "Send them to jail!"
Something to think about, from a normal, level headed guy who works with children. Calm down a little.
Now granted, I'd rather a Level 1 Sex Offender not move next door to me and my family in the future. But if they do, I'll talk to them about their case and try to understand what happened. I'd then say what I'm comfortable having them do around my children and what I'm not comfortable with. I'd still offer a helping hand, be a friend.
We tend to say "These people are okay but these people aren't!" Yes, even the Equal Rights advocates. Every human being is hard wired to have prejudice against someone they are not comfortable with. Nurture helps keep this in check as you get older. It shows that our society doesn't "Nurture" true equality and rights like it constantly boasts in its rhetoric.
This is the true aspect of politics that pisses me off. Not wedge issues. They mean squat compared to the real nasty stuff. This gets into the psychology of the people, and I feel most people are pretty angry all of the time. It makes me a little upset. Fuels my art, I guess.
But still . . .
Pearl Jam -- "Do the Evolution"
Anytime an adult has food at Miniapple kids will ask "Why do you get that?" Even if it's fucking lunch time! You have a candybar or some little treat and they complain to the board of directors. I had a pizza in my hand . . . in the adult prep room . . . and a kid complained "Why do you get that pizza?!" A coworker remarked "Because it's adult pizza. You'd get sick."
You basically have to lie and say some bullshit adult/child differential sickness prevention to get them to shut up about the fact that you're hungry, you haven't had anything to eat, you've been watching kids all day and seeing if they don't choke on their food during lunch so you can't focus on your own food, and they have the audacity to complain about you eating in your own space.
I'm exaggerating my rant here, but I did want to bring up the notion of fairness in children. Right off the bat, little two year olds are questioning "Why?" when it comes to everyone getting an equal share. Early on, fairness equates to getting things, getting the same amount of food or playtime or toys. Kids will freak out if you don't give them an equal amount. Joey got more, I'll raise hell.
This fairness aspect is very Western. The Nurture aspect of Nature vs. Nurture hits hard early with Western children. I imagine Eastern children to be content, or learning to be content, with getting what they get and not putting up a fit if they get less than someone else. We teach that, but we do stress fairness as well. We still say "You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit!" All the kids at the school know that about as much as they know the ABC song. Every child recites it from time to time.
As you get older, of course, you start into ethics and morals. The fairness within the judicial system, etc. If a man robs a drug store because he can't afford medicine for his ailing wife, who will surely die, should he go to jail if he's caught? Most children will say "Yes". Most adults will say "No."
How about this? A man who is wrought with pedophilia, but is trying his damndest to keep it in check, goes to therapy to help deter him from his sexual urges toward children. Despite all of what he is seeking, he slips and ends up fondling a six year old's privates. The child's dad is told of what this man did and he gets sentenced to prison.
Is this okay so far? How about when you think of the notion that this man will be labeled as a "Child Fucker" in prison? Pedophiles get ripped apart in prison. A lot get beaten to death or caused extreme psychological pain. Horrible things.
If they survive prison, they are released to a society that hates them to no end. They are announced to the neighborhood of their presence. Their employers and coworkers all know what he did.
If this guy was trying to get help, slipped up . . . is all of this okay?
I think about stuff like this a lot. I have a little bit of empathy for some of these people and child abusers. People who slip up, mind you. The chronic abusers who thrive off of this should be punished and incarcerated and have their names tarnished by the society they sought to undermine. But for those who hate themselves . . . don't you feel they deserve help rather than hate?
Drugs. Liberals want to put drug users into rehab rather than jail. I do. There's no crime, except against yourself. Jail won't help.
What about abusers, murderers, robbers, etc.? It gets confusing. The scale of the crime and whatnot.
But still, anything dealing with children, the West is quick to kick them out of their society, their tribe. It's scary working with children every day, not because of the children, but because of the parents.
Here's something that I hope to God no one takes in the wrong way:
Most men, when having their penis touched in any way, be it by a book or someone sitting on their lap, will naturally become erect because of stimulation. It's like morning wood, it just happens. A lot of guys, after sitting down in class while in school, upon getting up to go to the next class will have an erection. We called it Book Hiding. It's not sexual, this shit happens.
A child sits on a guy's lap. Again, it's not sexual, it just happens. What if a parent picked their child up while their kid was on his lap and they happen to see a bulge sticking out of their pants? What if they go apeshit? What if this guy loses his job and has his name tarnished because of some faulty wiring induced by the human genome?
Society, and I'm mainly talking to liberals, here: you're not as open-armed as you might think. There's a lot of hypocrisy when it comes to equality and fairness. A smart mind thinks about the man robbing the drug store for his wife without any question of whether he should go to jail or not. Kids don't.
In the case of sexual crimes: adults tend to think a lot like kids in this matter. "Send them to jail!"
Something to think about, from a normal, level headed guy who works with children. Calm down a little.
Now granted, I'd rather a Level 1 Sex Offender not move next door to me and my family in the future. But if they do, I'll talk to them about their case and try to understand what happened. I'd then say what I'm comfortable having them do around my children and what I'm not comfortable with. I'd still offer a helping hand, be a friend.
We tend to say "These people are okay but these people aren't!" Yes, even the Equal Rights advocates. Every human being is hard wired to have prejudice against someone they are not comfortable with. Nurture helps keep this in check as you get older. It shows that our society doesn't "Nurture" true equality and rights like it constantly boasts in its rhetoric.
This is the true aspect of politics that pisses me off. Not wedge issues. They mean squat compared to the real nasty stuff. This gets into the psychology of the people, and I feel most people are pretty angry all of the time. It makes me a little upset. Fuels my art, I guess.
But still . . .
Pearl Jam -- "Do the Evolution"
Monday, December 14, 2009
Saline Measures
I've dabbled in Neti Pot here and there. This year I've had a chronic stuffy sinus system. I first did Neti in May. Today I started it up again, another means of trying to shake off an illness of some kind that has stayed since mid-October.
For those who don't know what Neti Pot is, it's not Marijuana related. It's not medicinal. It's basically a torture device version of Saline Solution.
It's a little pot you stick up your nose. You fill it with warm water and salt, tip your head as you stick the tip in your nose, and you have salt water basically go up one nostril and out the other. Sounds easy enough.
The first time I did it I thought I was going to die. This is why people hold their noses when they jump into a pool. Water rushes into your sinus cavities, and if you're not currently breathing out of your mouth you will definitely cough and swallow the water. Snot and mucus come gooping out of every facial orifice. Your face will look akin to the Snorkel Face, where the mouth is pushed out in a fish-like manner by the snorkel mask. The prettiest face on the planet will be void of beauty by the Snorkel Face, and the Neti Pot, for that matter.
I started to get the hang of it on my second try. The fourth time Taylor came in on me doing it and stopped. "What the hell are you doing?" With a nose full of water and snot, I managed "Neta Pot. Et clens da nohsd." "Fucking weeeeirrrd. It looks like torture."
At first it is. Currently, I'm basking in a cleaner feeling nose. It hasn't been vacated of overabundant snot, but it's refreshing.
Oh, and you have to make sure that you bend your head down between your knees after you're done, or else you'll retain water in your upper sinuses. Days later you could be in public and bend down to pick up something from the ground and water will spontaneously spill out of your nose. It's kind of embarrassing but funny. I had it happen to me on the playground at Miniapple in the sandbox. I bent to pick up a shovel and water spilled out of my nose. The kids stared in horror as I just laughed and waited for the dripping to stop.
I recommend the Neti Pot. It might do ye some gud.
Tool -- "The Pot"
For those who don't know what Neti Pot is, it's not Marijuana related. It's not medicinal. It's basically a torture device version of Saline Solution.
It's a little pot you stick up your nose. You fill it with warm water and salt, tip your head as you stick the tip in your nose, and you have salt water basically go up one nostril and out the other. Sounds easy enough.The first time I did it I thought I was going to die. This is why people hold their noses when they jump into a pool. Water rushes into your sinus cavities, and if you're not currently breathing out of your mouth you will definitely cough and swallow the water. Snot and mucus come gooping out of every facial orifice. Your face will look akin to the Snorkel Face, where the mouth is pushed out in a fish-like manner by the snorkel mask. The prettiest face on the planet will be void of beauty by the Snorkel Face, and the Neti Pot, for that matter.
I started to get the hang of it on my second try. The fourth time Taylor came in on me doing it and stopped. "What the hell are you doing?" With a nose full of water and snot, I managed "Neta Pot. Et clens da nohsd." "Fucking weeeeirrrd. It looks like torture."
At first it is. Currently, I'm basking in a cleaner feeling nose. It hasn't been vacated of overabundant snot, but it's refreshing.
Oh, and you have to make sure that you bend your head down between your knees after you're done, or else you'll retain water in your upper sinuses. Days later you could be in public and bend down to pick up something from the ground and water will spontaneously spill out of your nose. It's kind of embarrassing but funny. I had it happen to me on the playground at Miniapple in the sandbox. I bent to pick up a shovel and water spilled out of my nose. The kids stared in horror as I just laughed and waited for the dripping to stop.
I recommend the Neti Pot. It might do ye some gud.
Tool -- "The Pot"
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Kinda Like Suicide
Patch's second live rehearsal took place today.
It was four instead of five. This worked to our advantage today, as we got down to meticulous details and nitpicking. It'll be easier to get the fifth up to speed one on one for what we're currently delving into.
One of the more interesting notes: all my life, and maybe this is my insecurity talking, my initial ideas for music and performance have always been met with opposition or a scoffing look. After I show people what I want to do by a recording or through working out a project, then people tend to dig the work. Not all the time, but usually.
Today, at the tail end of the rehearsal, we did our first collaborative work: a Typosgraphy intro for the live show. I was wrestling with whether or not it would be strictly drums and vocals or if guitar and bass should join in on the fun. The band, now immersed within my head and the world of Patch and its vision, is becoming very vocal on what they like and don't like. We have constructive discussions on the work.
Adri left to hunt and gather by the time we really got down to brass tacts with the intro. Scotty, Greg and I put our heads together to come up with a buildup that wouldn't spill the beans on the hugeness of the actual Typosgraphy song. But it needed to be a buildup full of intensity. Initially, they scoffed at the idea. I scatted the song (that never goes over well, in every situation, doing the entire song by mouth makes the idea even shittier. But what else am I going to do other than record an entire fucking demo?) and they paused afterward, collecting thoughts. "I . . . uh . . . I don't know, man." Me: "Just try it out. See how it goes."
By this time Adri was "Alright, I'm out!" Never introduce ideas at the end of a long rehearsal. The rest of us pushed on despite my mistake. I said to Scotty, "Come up with developments. A new layer, each one more busy than the last." He came up with five, he suggested a pause at the end of the song. We played through a couple times.
I thought that the developments with snare were too short. I wanted more. So I said, "Four developments. Nix one of the tom developments. Two toms, two snare. I'll point when you go to the next one." We ran through it, we liked it.
I asked, "Do you guys think we need any sort of electronic ambience?"
Both said, "Yeah, I'd like that."
I said, "A low tone that could fluctuate between straight sine and modulated -- GASP! 'In Hopes'--"
Greg interrupted: "I was just going to suggest that!"
The beginning of "In Hopes to Mend" has a low rounded sine tone from Greg's MicroKorg that's hypnotic and inviting, interspersed with granular interference from Greg's Kaoss Pad. Unfortunately, the Kaoss Pad is fucking up currently. Voices don't put out any sound, others put out too much sound. The volume on a power mixer for a PA system could be .1db up from absolute zero and drum loops could blast the speaker's high frequencies out to high heaven (which is exactly what happened last month. That PA speaker is in the shop as I type.). So we need to make a voice on the MicroKorg that can have fluctuating modulation accessed by a modulation wheel.
We started making the voice from scratch, but I needed to get to a Mastering session with Schuyler in a half hour. We passed on that and ran the idea one more time. We loved it. We were all smiling in unison, glints in our eyes. It'll be a good opener, I think . . .
The direction we're going in seems to be pretty fruitful.
Soundgarden -- "Like Suicide"
It was four instead of five. This worked to our advantage today, as we got down to meticulous details and nitpicking. It'll be easier to get the fifth up to speed one on one for what we're currently delving into.
One of the more interesting notes: all my life, and maybe this is my insecurity talking, my initial ideas for music and performance have always been met with opposition or a scoffing look. After I show people what I want to do by a recording or through working out a project, then people tend to dig the work. Not all the time, but usually.
Today, at the tail end of the rehearsal, we did our first collaborative work: a Typosgraphy intro for the live show. I was wrestling with whether or not it would be strictly drums and vocals or if guitar and bass should join in on the fun. The band, now immersed within my head and the world of Patch and its vision, is becoming very vocal on what they like and don't like. We have constructive discussions on the work.
Adri left to hunt and gather by the time we really got down to brass tacts with the intro. Scotty, Greg and I put our heads together to come up with a buildup that wouldn't spill the beans on the hugeness of the actual Typosgraphy song. But it needed to be a buildup full of intensity. Initially, they scoffed at the idea. I scatted the song (that never goes over well, in every situation, doing the entire song by mouth makes the idea even shittier. But what else am I going to do other than record an entire fucking demo?) and they paused afterward, collecting thoughts. "I . . . uh . . . I don't know, man." Me: "Just try it out. See how it goes."
By this time Adri was "Alright, I'm out!" Never introduce ideas at the end of a long rehearsal. The rest of us pushed on despite my mistake. I said to Scotty, "Come up with developments. A new layer, each one more busy than the last." He came up with five, he suggested a pause at the end of the song. We played through a couple times.
I thought that the developments with snare were too short. I wanted more. So I said, "Four developments. Nix one of the tom developments. Two toms, two snare. I'll point when you go to the next one." We ran through it, we liked it.
I asked, "Do you guys think we need any sort of electronic ambience?"
Both said, "Yeah, I'd like that."
I said, "A low tone that could fluctuate between straight sine and modulated -- GASP! 'In Hopes'--"
Greg interrupted: "I was just going to suggest that!"
The beginning of "In Hopes to Mend" has a low rounded sine tone from Greg's MicroKorg that's hypnotic and inviting, interspersed with granular interference from Greg's Kaoss Pad. Unfortunately, the Kaoss Pad is fucking up currently. Voices don't put out any sound, others put out too much sound. The volume on a power mixer for a PA system could be .1db up from absolute zero and drum loops could blast the speaker's high frequencies out to high heaven (which is exactly what happened last month. That PA speaker is in the shop as I type.). So we need to make a voice on the MicroKorg that can have fluctuating modulation accessed by a modulation wheel.
We started making the voice from scratch, but I needed to get to a Mastering session with Schuyler in a half hour. We passed on that and ran the idea one more time. We loved it. We were all smiling in unison, glints in our eyes. It'll be a good opener, I think . . .
The direction we're going in seems to be pretty fruitful.
Soundgarden -- "Like Suicide"
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Smokey and the McMuffin
I looked at the time. 10:09am. The sweet sense joining of taste and smell with the promise of faux wakefulness was calling. I thought. In need, I thought.
Coffee. Food would be good, too.
Coffee and a Sausage McMuffin. A number 3 breakfast meal. It sounded right. It sounded pure.
I tied my shoes whilst donning my pajamas. I ventured out into the cold ("Dammit, my name's not Robert!"). Yes, blog and song writing, fueled by the fires of McCafe. Dammit . . . it was perfect.
I looked at the time. 10:16. Fourteen minutes left on the breakfast menu. Thoughts of "Big Daddy" permeated my skull.
It was a race against time. I didn't want to be in the same disappointed shoes I've come to loathe time and time again as I walked up to the counter as they rotated the menu. "Do you by any chance have any leftover McMuffins of any sort?" "No sir, we've moved on to lunch, now."
Which begs the question: why can't McDonald's have an anytime breakfast menu? They know the specialness of their breakfast, the secret lust of biscuits and sausage, hashbrown sticks and coffee/orange juice. 10:30 is too early to stop breakfast. All I'm asking is for a little bit of a grace period, much like landlords and rent. Yeah, the first of the month is when the rent's due, but it's not technically a problem until the 5th. Why can't breakfast "stop" at 10:30, but be available for any latecomers until 11:30 or 12:00? Or, stop breakfast at actual lunch time, which is 11:30. 10:30 for lunch, are you kidding me?! Yeah, for old people, but your young adults are getting up on the weekend at that time, man. Brunch is the new breakfast. And if I happen to be on a lunch break at that time, fuck, I wouldn't mind having breakfast for lunch. Breakfast food is more awesome than lunch food, anyway. Why McDonald's, why?
This stream of consciousness clouded my skull as I traversed the slick, icy streets of Northeast. I looked at my gas. Way below E. DAMN! Look at the phone for the time. DAMN! 10:23. I stopped for gas.
It was like Smokey and the Bandit, cat and mouse, a race against time that became ever more seminal with each passing second. I ran to put the nozzle into my fuel tank. The pump stopped shortly after I put it into the automatic shut off mode. No. NO! Time: 10:25. Damn the automatic, go manual, you fool! Press!!!! $20 worth. GO! Yeah, good thinking, no receipt. Drive off. 10:26. DRIVE!!!
Round the corner into the Quarry area. Golden Arches on the horizon. The sweet aroma of plastic-like buns and french fries entered my nose. Don't taunt me with your lunch, you Siren! I crave biscuit.
I cut someone off in the other lane, plowed into the drive-through and ordered a number 3, hoping I wouldn't be met with a lunch number 3. A Sausage McMuffin. Lord, I could taste it already. McCafe as well.
I ordered at 10:29. I prayed.
I got to the pick up window. They handed me my food. I looked into the bag.
SWEET HEAVENLY BLISS I GOT A SAUSAGE MCMUFFIN!!!
I drove home in a fit of happiness. I sang a song of wanting to eat pure grease.
I parked, entered my home. I unwrapped my McMuffin, sipped my coffee. Turned on YouTube to watch One Day as a Lion, and bit into my sandwich.
Something wasn't right. Something was missing. I looked.
THEY FORGOT TO PUT THE SAUSAGE ON THE SANDWICH!!!!!
The goddamn pursuee got away . . .
Creedence Clearwater Revival -- "Commotion"
Coffee. Food would be good, too.
Coffee and a Sausage McMuffin. A number 3 breakfast meal. It sounded right. It sounded pure.
I tied my shoes whilst donning my pajamas. I ventured out into the cold ("Dammit, my name's not Robert!"). Yes, blog and song writing, fueled by the fires of McCafe. Dammit . . . it was perfect.
I looked at the time. 10:16. Fourteen minutes left on the breakfast menu. Thoughts of "Big Daddy" permeated my skull.
It was a race against time. I didn't want to be in the same disappointed shoes I've come to loathe time and time again as I walked up to the counter as they rotated the menu. "Do you by any chance have any leftover McMuffins of any sort?" "No sir, we've moved on to lunch, now."
Which begs the question: why can't McDonald's have an anytime breakfast menu? They know the specialness of their breakfast, the secret lust of biscuits and sausage, hashbrown sticks and coffee/orange juice. 10:30 is too early to stop breakfast. All I'm asking is for a little bit of a grace period, much like landlords and rent. Yeah, the first of the month is when the rent's due, but it's not technically a problem until the 5th. Why can't breakfast "stop" at 10:30, but be available for any latecomers until 11:30 or 12:00? Or, stop breakfast at actual lunch time, which is 11:30. 10:30 for lunch, are you kidding me?! Yeah, for old people, but your young adults are getting up on the weekend at that time, man. Brunch is the new breakfast. And if I happen to be on a lunch break at that time, fuck, I wouldn't mind having breakfast for lunch. Breakfast food is more awesome than lunch food, anyway. Why McDonald's, why?
This stream of consciousness clouded my skull as I traversed the slick, icy streets of Northeast. I looked at my gas. Way below E. DAMN! Look at the phone for the time. DAMN! 10:23. I stopped for gas.
It was like Smokey and the Bandit, cat and mouse, a race against time that became ever more seminal with each passing second. I ran to put the nozzle into my fuel tank. The pump stopped shortly after I put it into the automatic shut off mode. No. NO! Time: 10:25. Damn the automatic, go manual, you fool! Press!!!! $20 worth. GO! Yeah, good thinking, no receipt. Drive off. 10:26. DRIVE!!!
Round the corner into the Quarry area. Golden Arches on the horizon. The sweet aroma of plastic-like buns and french fries entered my nose. Don't taunt me with your lunch, you Siren! I crave biscuit.
I cut someone off in the other lane, plowed into the drive-through and ordered a number 3, hoping I wouldn't be met with a lunch number 3. A Sausage McMuffin. Lord, I could taste it already. McCafe as well.
I ordered at 10:29. I prayed.
I got to the pick up window. They handed me my food. I looked into the bag.
SWEET HEAVENLY BLISS I GOT A SAUSAGE MCMUFFIN!!!
I drove home in a fit of happiness. I sang a song of wanting to eat pure grease.
I parked, entered my home. I unwrapped my McMuffin, sipped my coffee. Turned on YouTube to watch One Day as a Lion, and bit into my sandwich.
Something wasn't right. Something was missing. I looked.
THEY FORGOT TO PUT THE SAUSAGE ON THE SANDWICH!!!!!
The goddamn pursuee got away . . .
Creedence Clearwater Revival -- "Commotion"
Friday, December 11, 2009
Open Relationships
The Celibate Man
He is not celibate. Only available.
The possibilities are endless. But they remain possibilities.
Lovers of the past stand tall, waiting to engage in their own futures, their own time. Standby for the standbys, yet this countdown to ignition hasn't been started.
I'm sorry to you, I am, I am. But I am celibate today. You don't have to be.
The music, the dream is my lover. And I have possibilities with flesh, but my voice, my planning, my dreams . . . I caress them.
The Celibate Man is not a man of true celibacy. His chastity belt is possibility.
He doesn't act. He merely sets up chance.
He has a contract yet he doesn't sign. "Sit on it awhile," he says.
Nobody stays celibate for long. Ether turns tangible faster than you realize.
Portishead -- "Requiem for Anna (Un Jour Comme Un Autre)"
He is not celibate. Only available.
The possibilities are endless. But they remain possibilities.
Lovers of the past stand tall, waiting to engage in their own futures, their own time. Standby for the standbys, yet this countdown to ignition hasn't been started.
I'm sorry to you, I am, I am. But I am celibate today. You don't have to be.
The music, the dream is my lover. And I have possibilities with flesh, but my voice, my planning, my dreams . . . I caress them.
The Celibate Man is not a man of true celibacy. His chastity belt is possibility.
He doesn't act. He merely sets up chance.
He has a contract yet he doesn't sign. "Sit on it awhile," he says.
Nobody stays celibate for long. Ether turns tangible faster than you realize.
Portishead -- "Requiem for Anna (Un Jour Comme Un Autre)"
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Little Lambs
What I'm about to say is split with pride and embarrassment.
I played live music to the largest crowd I have ever had tonight. That's the good news.
The bad news is: it was for the Miniapple Christmas Program at St. Lawrence Church. The church was packed. We played Beatles songs: "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" and "Hey, Jude". The crowd loved it.
My biggest crowd has been a goddamn preschool program. Sigh . . .
Still, the little tykes were cute. And I had fun fraternizing with parents, staff, and a post-program wine convo hit the spot. It was a good night.
Belles of Skin City -- "Like Lambs to the Riot"
I played live music to the largest crowd I have ever had tonight. That's the good news.
The bad news is: it was for the Miniapple Christmas Program at St. Lawrence Church. The church was packed. We played Beatles songs: "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" and "Hey, Jude". The crowd loved it.
My biggest crowd has been a goddamn preschool program. Sigh . . .
Still, the little tykes were cute. And I had fun fraternizing with parents, staff, and a post-program wine convo hit the spot. It was a good night.
Belles of Skin City -- "Like Lambs to the Riot"
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Hi, My Name is Robert
When a new season comes upon me, it's like it was always there. It's like, "Oh, hey, old friend, didn't I just see you yesterday?" Winter tends to be the most hand-in-hand with this sort of thinking. The USA weather patterns dumped a shit load of snow on us yesterday and today, and it's like I never said goodbye to snow to begin with.
This probably has to do with the fact that I'm constantly thinking of winter and snow . . . and how much I hate it. When it gets here, it's like a recurring wart on the bottom of my foot. Like constipation. Oh, I'm familiar with these ailments, and when they reappear it's like they were never gone.
Cold is like stubbing your toe.
Cold is like the mornings your contact lenses don't sit properly in your eyeball.
Cold is like the sliver you, by accident, pushed farther into your finger with tweezers and can only come out when the body itself pushes it out.
Cold is like a bad hair day.
Cold is the caffeine withdrawal headache you get when you can't procure a cup of joe before work.
We all act shocked and surprised when cold comes around. It's not novel shock and surprise. We all know the pain of winter in Minnesota. But we all know the pain of stubbing your toe on the coffee table as you get up to go the bathroom . . . and it shocks us when we do it.
Fuck you, Winter. Welcome back, take your seat. You're like a heckler on the bus that recognizes me and thinks my name is Robert and I helped you fix a boat in Lake Tahoe and you ask me for money and I don't have it and I feel guilty that I'm not being more charitable but shit man you've been doing this since I've known you on this bus and seriously if you ask me again I'm going to tell the driver to let you off because you're in my bubble but I probably won't since I'm kind of a chicken shit when it comes to confrontation so I don't move away to someplace warmer since I'm content to live in complete and utter discomfort come November through April.
. . . I guess I could always buy a new coat, though . . . "Bah, here's a couple quarters. Get something to eat with them, man."
The Kills -- "M.E.X.I.C.O."
This probably has to do with the fact that I'm constantly thinking of winter and snow . . . and how much I hate it. When it gets here, it's like a recurring wart on the bottom of my foot. Like constipation. Oh, I'm familiar with these ailments, and when they reappear it's like they were never gone.
Cold is like stubbing your toe.
Cold is like the mornings your contact lenses don't sit properly in your eyeball.
Cold is like the sliver you, by accident, pushed farther into your finger with tweezers and can only come out when the body itself pushes it out.
Cold is like a bad hair day.
Cold is the caffeine withdrawal headache you get when you can't procure a cup of joe before work.
We all act shocked and surprised when cold comes around. It's not novel shock and surprise. We all know the pain of winter in Minnesota. But we all know the pain of stubbing your toe on the coffee table as you get up to go the bathroom . . . and it shocks us when we do it.
Fuck you, Winter. Welcome back, take your seat. You're like a heckler on the bus that recognizes me and thinks my name is Robert and I helped you fix a boat in Lake Tahoe and you ask me for money and I don't have it and I feel guilty that I'm not being more charitable but shit man you've been doing this since I've known you on this bus and seriously if you ask me again I'm going to tell the driver to let you off because you're in my bubble but I probably won't since I'm kind of a chicken shit when it comes to confrontation so I don't move away to someplace warmer since I'm content to live in complete and utter discomfort come November through April.
. . . I guess I could always buy a new coat, though . . . "Bah, here's a couple quarters. Get something to eat with them, man."
The Kills -- "M.E.X.I.C.O."
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
St. David
My PC has been through a lot. It's akin to a soldier, a decorated one, who has been called into the line of fire time and time again. He did his service in WWII, Korea, Vietnam. He then gets called in to do Top Secret Navy Seals work, spy work, hush hush huge diplomatic ordeals. He's scarred, beaten, hard.
That's my computer. Betty, I call it. I name all of the broken machines in my life Betty . . . one could argue that I could call America Betty from now on . . . but I wouldn't hit a woman . . . what?
Anyway, it seems as if Betty needs a brain transplant. The hard drive is dying, apparently. On its last legs. This weekend I saved and transferred all of the necessary files onto my portable hard drive. Now I wait for the lord and savior David Nehring to raise my vessel from the dead . . . again.
St. David, I wait with baited breath . . . what?
Stabbing Westward -- "Ungod"
That's my computer. Betty, I call it. I name all of the broken machines in my life Betty . . . one could argue that I could call America Betty from now on . . . but I wouldn't hit a woman . . . what?
Anyway, it seems as if Betty needs a brain transplant. The hard drive is dying, apparently. On its last legs. This weekend I saved and transferred all of the necessary files onto my portable hard drive. Now I wait for the lord and savior David Nehring to raise my vessel from the dead . . . again.
St. David, I wait with baited breath . . . what?
Stabbing Westward -- "Ungod"
Monday, December 7, 2009
Fake Plastic Trees
Christmas, or rather, this time of year, is a subjective era. It is what you make it out to be.
I find that if you bad mouth Christmas, people will get offended. Not because they're Christian, you're going against their beliefs, none of that. It's something else.
People take Christmas very personally. I for one like Christmas. It makes me want to be close to people. But again, at the same time, it's like going to the prom. This is it. Your only chance. You've thought about this night your whole high school career thus far and nothing should go wrong.
Guess what, it does. And both my proms turned out to be horrible because of that way of thinking. The first one because of extenuating circumstances, the second one was my fault.
I hype Christmas up to be a failure . . . and it turns out okay, better than I had thought. I pay homage to the old anti-consumerist ideals of my teenage years, but I don't beat a dead horse, or reindeer, in this case. I try to be as low key and "with the flow" as I can be because I (shhh) secretly want December 25th to be magical.
That's the truth. That's what everyone wants.
That's why it's such a weird time. There's heightened stress, heightened want of love, pheromones reign high, disappointment, happiness, etc. The collective unconscious of the West is creating a gingerbread deck of cards that can fall at the flick of a wrist for some people . . . people like me.
I want the big family get-together. I want the girlfriend who I'm sure will be my wife to stand next to me in the photo. I want my brother to accept me for who I am and to stand on the other side of me. I want my parents to be together, to have not divorced, and to have the tree in the background, with both the ornaments I gathered at my dad's house and my mom's house over the years adorned on the most glorious tree you could imagine. I want my extended family to be in the picture as well, and I want all of the family politics (each side hates the other) to not exist. I want my dad to also accept me and to have that fatherly hand on my shoulder, so that when I looked at that Christmas family dinner photo I'd know that was the year my dad came to understand the boy he raised into a man. I want all of that.
All of those don't exist, though. My house is broken.
And because of that . . . I don't want anything.
That way I'll be happy with this fucking holiday.
Nine Inch Nails -- "The Four of Us Are Dying"
I find that if you bad mouth Christmas, people will get offended. Not because they're Christian, you're going against their beliefs, none of that. It's something else.
People take Christmas very personally. I for one like Christmas. It makes me want to be close to people. But again, at the same time, it's like going to the prom. This is it. Your only chance. You've thought about this night your whole high school career thus far and nothing should go wrong.
Guess what, it does. And both my proms turned out to be horrible because of that way of thinking. The first one because of extenuating circumstances, the second one was my fault.
I hype Christmas up to be a failure . . . and it turns out okay, better than I had thought. I pay homage to the old anti-consumerist ideals of my teenage years, but I don't beat a dead horse, or reindeer, in this case. I try to be as low key and "with the flow" as I can be because I (shhh) secretly want December 25th to be magical.
That's the truth. That's what everyone wants.
That's why it's such a weird time. There's heightened stress, heightened want of love, pheromones reign high, disappointment, happiness, etc. The collective unconscious of the West is creating a gingerbread deck of cards that can fall at the flick of a wrist for some people . . . people like me.
I want the big family get-together. I want the girlfriend who I'm sure will be my wife to stand next to me in the photo. I want my brother to accept me for who I am and to stand on the other side of me. I want my parents to be together, to have not divorced, and to have the tree in the background, with both the ornaments I gathered at my dad's house and my mom's house over the years adorned on the most glorious tree you could imagine. I want my extended family to be in the picture as well, and I want all of the family politics (each side hates the other) to not exist. I want my dad to also accept me and to have that fatherly hand on my shoulder, so that when I looked at that Christmas family dinner photo I'd know that was the year my dad came to understand the boy he raised into a man. I want all of that.
All of those don't exist, though. My house is broken.
And because of that . . . I don't want anything.
That way I'll be happy with this fucking holiday.
Nine Inch Nails -- "The Four of Us Are Dying"
Sunday, December 6, 2009
P A T C H LIVE
PATCH had its first OFFICIAL live rehearsal today. Official because of all the members being in the same place at the same time for the first time. Plus, this should be the final, determined lineup, as far as I know.
PETER
MATT
GREG
ADRI
SCOTTY
Go HERE for the rest of the photos from the first rehearsal. The link is from the official Patch Facebook profile.
Radiohead -- "15 Step"
PETER
MATT
GREG
ADRI
SCOTTY
Go HERE for the rest of the photos from the first rehearsal. The link is from the official Patch Facebook profile.
Radiohead -- "15 Step"
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