Danse Floor

Bon nuit.


Feeling tapped, as of late. It's that time of year wherein Minnesota flips a switch and we abruptly change from the heat and humidity of summer to the cool, crisp air of autumn. It seems to have happened just over night, in a jarring transition the affects the mind and body. Everyone I know is just a bit more tired, struggling just a bit more to pull themselves from the comfort of bed in what are now dark mornings. I can still (barely) force myself to get up and run before work, which is a shot of adrenaline that gives a slow-burn of energy for the day. The side effect, though, is it leaves me feeling a bit detached. As I walk to my bus stop in uptown I have to force myself to gear up for facing the masses of people, my quiet life shaken from it's peaceful start. So I turn to alienated and alienating music.

A song that's always helped me cope with this sense of detachment from crowds is 'Glass Danse' by new wave band The Faint. A neighbor of mine in college who really had me pegged but never socialized enough (or maybe I didn't reach out enough) included it on a fantastic homemade compilation album. It was called "When the Committee Meets at Your House" and it had some amazing homemade artwork I've never gotten around to scanning. Mark was a real hep cat, a guy who made me appreciate some of the more subtle aspects of city living. I wish I hadn't fallen out of touch with him. I was a different person back then, almost a full decade ago. I had much less social nuance and tact, and I was most likely an obnoxious college student. He was very patient and polite, and had great taste in music. His compilation turned me on to the Mountain Goats and Jacques Dutronc and Bonnie Prince Billie. Still, of all the songs, Glass Danse, from the album Danse Macabre, was my favorite.

I think maybe he saw it as touching on my inner isolation, or his. Who knows. I just knew it was a funky dance number at the time, a buzzing little number with teeth that sounded phenomenal when you cranked it up. Now, as I listen to the lyrics through headphones on the bus, surrounded by people I don't speak with or even make eye contact, I think maybe he sensed I would grow up into a more reserved version of myself. The icy cold detachment in the lyrics is the epitome of Minnesota (n)ice, our polite surface being a form of keeping the world at arm's length. I'm glad I still have the homemade compilation with his handmade artwork - I just wish I was still in contact with him. He was cool.

Against the Dark

Evening.


I won't talk too much about today and what goes through one's head when faced with the inconceivable. I arrived back at my apartment around 2pm. I went for a run (sitting in a car, even a roomy one, after coffee is unbearable) and went about making dinner and more apple crisp with my better half. Apple crisp happens every fall and is delicious, a soothing comfort food for what would unfold. Both the better half and I adore getting context on events through documentaries - today, unfortunately, weighs heavier on the self than other days. Among other footage we watched was a doc showing, in real time, civilian footage of the events ten years ago. Hearing the people's reactions and rationalizations was bad enough. The stunning silence that permeated the footage after both buildings collapsed was even more jarring. It was, in an impossibly distilled word, brutal. So a glass of wine and some fresh apple crisp are serving as a simple comfort, as well as tucking in with my better half at the end of the day.


So where do we go from here? How do we shake the unshakable? 


One simple, stupid step at a time. Personally, I find peaceful, pleasant distraction where I can. I ran today, putting so much energy and exertion into the process that I will fall asleep tonight, but I don't know when. Until that happens, I have something simple and serene to distract me - I'll make my stupid monkey brain focus on the trivial to ensure I can arrive at sleep contented and calm. I'll use the same thing I resorted to last night in the hotel when my anxieties got the best of me. It's a simple, but beautiful game for IOS devices - Contre Jour.

A game that was developed by Mokus Studios for Chillingo under the acquiring force of Electronic Arts, Contre Jour is, in essence an interactive lullaby. The game was heavily hyped following its E3 debut and I downloaded it after seeing the trailer here. Drawing inspiration from such IOS heavy hitters as Angry Birds and Cut the Rope, Contre Jour is a sweet but intricately designed puzzler that draws you in, with the help of an astoundingly gorgeous soundtrack. All you have to do is maneuver the little creature, Petite, to the glowing light. To do so, you can alter the surrounding terrain as well as utilize a variety of tools like elastic connectors and blowing fans to move Petite into place. It's the perfect mix - easy to learn, impossible to master. It's incredibly fun yet engaging and difficult enough that you persevere long into the night, edging closer to sleep all the while.

The art design for Contre Jour is just as important as that game play. The stark, contrasting environments are eye-catching and wonderfully rendered, all without being distracting. Modern indie games like Limbo have clearly been a source of dynamic influence. Big, beautiful creatures come to live with every poke and prod. It makes me feel strangely happy whenever I hear Petite giggle at being tossed around in search of the goal. The music is just as integral. A series of sublime piano pieces by David Ari Leon sweep you through the world of Contre Jour in a way that suggests you may already be dreaming. To paraphrase the company's own blurb, the line between art and game is blurred here, to create a phenomenal bit of interactive entertainment.

If you don't have an IOS device, be patient - Contre Jour hopefully is on the way. If you do, do yourself the favor of picking up this game. After a contemplative and weighty day such as this, it's a beautiful and relaxing way to round out the day. Indulge and relax. It's what keeps us human.

Metal Head

What's the word?

I've written almost exclusively about music, as of late. It's not a bad thing, I just feel like I'm getting into a routine. Sometimes you have to switch it up - sometimes you need to change your usual habits so you don't sink into the same old pattern. Ironically I've never been more well read while listening to the least amount of music. Lately I've been throwing myself into novels and articles as fast as I can finish them, while only picking a single musical element to dissect and then posting on it. There was a time when this ratio was inverted - I've always been a voracious reader, it just hasn't always been this indulged.

It feels great, to be honest. 

When coupled with posting every day and poking along on a novel I'm slowly finishing, it feels like there is a long dormant muscle in my mind that's finally getting a workout. I may not be as adventurous musically, as I normally am, but I feel much more satisfied from reading more books than organizing and writing about more albums. One of the most enjoyable, bizarre experiences in this latest wave of books has been Machine Man by Max Barry. It was a fast and freaky read, but thoroughly enjoyable every step of the way. Originally the author, in a forward thinking attempt to satisfy his audience's demands, wrote the story as a single page, five days a week, on his blog. This truncated his story greatly but forced him to tell it in a creative, collaborative environment. Readers could comment on and thus inform the plot as it unfolded. Due to the nature of the medium, however, it couldn't be too detailed or engaging, so when he finished the original iteration of the story he went back and revised it to fill in the gaps and flesh it out.

It's a crazy, far out tale. In Machine Man, lab tech and engineer Charles Neumann loses his leg in an industrial accident. When faced with the sad state of prosthetics he had to choose from, he set about designing his own new leg. Unlimited by the constraints of biological necessity, he develops some novel, if intimidating legs as replacement. Unfortunately for Charles, they work better as a pair than as a single leg. Thus begins a harrowing descent into self-amputation, bleeding edge tech and the intellectual property rights and ethical motivations of corporations. By the time you get to the denoumount of the revised novel, you're shaken and disturbed by the journey and subsequent transformation.

This book was an insane ride. I honestly whipped through it in just over three days. I devoured it. Barry's writing style is accessible and human, despite the uncanny subject matter. The intensity and pace of the blog-post pulsing is intact, only with more nuance and subtlety. He took a divergent path from his online version when revising the plot, but it makes no difference in the end - it's a fantastic book, one I would emphatically recommend to anyone remotely interested in scientific progress or tech.

Climb And Fall

So ends a lovely weekend, seemingly the first of the fall.

It was a gorgeous weekend, especially today. There was that crisp, clear feeling in the air where you know the leaves are going to change and people start to dress a little warmer. Fewer flip flops and more sweatshirts. I've been waiting for fall just to bust out my good sweaters. I love a good scarf.

I woke up early today. Took the rare day off to run around the lakes here, enjoying the morning sun and peace and quiet afforded by a dearth of crowds. When I walked them with my better half later in the day, there understandably was a crush of people - it was a beautiful day, why not? This morning though - I had my shuffle but didn't have it on the whole time. I listened to the day, my feet hitting the pavement, the leaves rustling in the wind, the occasional one falling in anticipation of the dreaded W word. Eventually my exercise got to be taxing enough of a task that I had to break the silence. I put on one song and really listened to it for the next 18 minutes as I wound around Lake Calhoun. It was The Decline. It was NOFX.

Say what you want about punk music - you can't deny that when a group applies itself, it can do impressive feats and make you think. The Fat Wreck Chords stalwarts have long been known for their flippant attitudes, punny wordplay and punchy songs that often clock in at under two minutes. Imagine my surprise then when they flipped all expectations on their head when they released the sprawling, 18 minute epic The Decline. In the track, NOFX tackle what they perceive to be the symptoms and causes of the American decline. Hopping from one subject to another, the band checks almost every box on the typical list of what ails America. It's a weird thing to listen to while on Labor Day, watching the sun rise as you zip around a gorgeous lake, but man if I wasn't paying rapt attention and following each leap in thought process. 

Regardless of where you stand in politics, I can at least break one preconceived notion you may have about this magnum opus - it has nothing to do with Bush or Obama. It was released back in 1999, in a world that preceded the game changer that was the attacks. The fact that the song was practically written in a political vacuum so far removed from today's vipers nest of rhetoric (from all sides) gives it more significance in my mind. It's not merely a commentary on where we currently find ourselves - it just so happens to have persistently relevant subject matter. The mini opera has suites in it that touch on everything from the fear of change to mindless agreement and stagnation to the basic inconsistencies of the judicial and prison system. Amazingly it hits all of them with insightful, melodic wit. I find, though, that the most affecting suite in the song isn't about politics but about personal suffering. The lines about serotonin being gone, giving up and drifting away to be relate-able and heartrendingly cold and clinical. Amid all the political discourse it's the most human element I connect to.

Sure, we can give Green Day all the credit in the world for reinventing their band and making large scale, multiple-staged arrangements, but NOFX beat them to the punch by half a decade. I'm sure a fair number of you will dismiss the song without hearing it, but you would benefit to hear it just to start the process of thinking "Am I aware of what goes on in a larger sense?" This is particularly relevant in light of the anniversary of the attacks on the horizon - our climate is filled with empty rhetoric on all sides. Why not hear an artfully arranged, cohesive and logical take on what we can do to improve things? At the least, you'll hear an amazing work of music. Fall is on the way. Just not society's.

96 Retrospective

In the interest of full disclosure I'll share why I had an off kilter posting schedule this past weekend. 


I was out with the better half to visit my parents in Wisconsin, having not seen them since our wedding. It was a fantastic time, lots of good food, a spin in their boat down the river, we all hung out and watched a movie together. It was a really great, relaxing trip out there, although I would have like to stay longer. The place they have is where I spent the majority of my high school years and the off time during college. I have a lot of memories of watching movies late at night in the basement, rehearsing with my band in their garage and generally trying to make the most out of living in the country despite not being the outdoors type. In hindsight I took advantage of the solitude and tranquility of the location, the fact that living where they do affords privacy and peace. This lies in sharp contrast to living in the middle of the city in the heart of Uptown, surrounded by rabble rousers and nightlife. Neither one is better, I've found, just different. I could see myself enjoying the isolation, given the proper circumstances.

I know the grass is always greener, but you never really can go home again. There was a lot in there house that reminded me of who I was and where I've come from. I flipped through old yearbooks, found old dressers with some of my clothes, even walked some trails I used in high school to sneak the odd cigarette when I was young and stupid. While the memories would flood back in, they were accompanied by equal parts nostalgia and saudade. I could delude myself and say things were so much better when I had fewer responsibilities and the freedom to be a teenager but I know that I was unhappy with who I was then and feel like I had to experience what I did to become who I am. I can go back and visit my parents, even sleep in my old room and read the same books, but I can't call it home. I haven't lived there in a long time. It was a strange experience but I enjoyed it, despite the unstoppable progress of life, realizing a chapter has closed. Still, a new one has opened.

As we were winding down one night, I started playing an episode of the late great Jackass on my iPad to amuse my better half before bed. As we watched the first episode of the series it occurred to me that just a month short of ten years prior I had watched the exact same episode in that house with my dad and two brothers. Suddenly this whole part of my brain lit up as I recalled where I was at that time in my life and what I had been doing. I also recalled how hard my dad had laughed at what turned out to be a surprisingly long-standing series. My whole family has always had a strong sense of humor and this show was a real lightening rod for it. Only years later would I be able to hit the nail on the head on why I love it so much - to quote someone whose name I can't recall, "Its like a live action version of Looney Tunes, only more visceral for the post-Fight Club generation." That pretty much summed up my feelings on the show when I first saw it - it was something more than just dumb stunts - there was an underlying sense of danger tied in with a cartoon sensibility. This dichotomy was a breakthrough in the way that I saw the world. It also introduced a new chapter in my life where elements of the Jackass culture and crew would influence my life's path. For example, the music of CKY featured in the first episode.

The song playing behind Bam Margera and co.'s shopping cart antics is '96 Quite Bitter Beings' by CKY, a band fronted by Deron Miller with Bam's brother Jess on the drums. The track, with it's distinct riff and oddly howled vocals, was unlike anything I had heard at that point in my life. I was obsessed with the ominous tone, which I always thought was vaguely Halloweenish. Because of the time of broadcast I'll always associate it with fall and the cool air and leaves on the ground. A year or two later I picked up Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3 for PS2 which also featured the song. It was fall then, too. I played it way too much after soccer practice that year, winding down and blowing off stress by working my thumbs to the bone, that song playing too often in the background. A year later I went to college and my best friend, who lived across the hall in the dorm, exposed me to the whole CKY videography and discography. I was hooked on the bizarre, incredibly unique and super-heavy sound. Again, in the fall. When we got tickets to see the band in Minneapolis he introduced me to a friend of his with whom he thought I would hit it off. I was smitten, but I barely registered on her radar. Months later we would reconnect and start dating. Two months ago I married her.

I'm not saying the song '96 Quite Bitter Beings' is the best song in the world, nor is it the most poignant, romantic tune to spin your life around. For whatever reason, call it synchronicity or just coincidence, this song has always factored into my autumns and kept turning up, like a bad penny. Being in my parent's house and hearing this song, while sitting next to my wife, I was struck by how strangely full circle it all felt. Maybe I listen to too much weird music. Maybe we make connections where we want to see them, mind always seeking order from chaos. Regardless, fall is pretty much here and I heard the song again. It might be inescapable, but its still a great song with a memorable riff. Funny how music gets associated with memory. There are other, more romantic songs that symbolize my relationship with my better half, but this one is more of a personal one, a song that has snaked it's way from a decade ago right into the weekend. Strange, huh? 

Your Land, My Land

Sunday night is quickly escaping me.


Still stranded in the life of no wifi. The outage continues and I struggle to survive, my information addicted brain confused by a drop off in data input and a sudden jump in sleep. Still, I have to credit the clarity to being able to run again. I went jogging down the trail by my apartment yesterday - it was gorgeous. A clear sunny day, one that I could really savor while I ran. I admit I blocked out the natural ambiance by using headphones but an album came on that actually pushed me faster and gave me momentum boost. The day was even more amazing, the faster I ran. My knee hasn't felt this good in a long time. I again thought back to soccer practices starting up during high school and how I would listen to all this intense punk music to pump myself up.


The album that gave me the boost yesterday was one I picked up with strange expectations. Knowing he band had a specific, consistent sound, I picked up the album with no raised hopes. Over the years it's kind of stayed with me, but as good as it seems, it still feels kind of odd and distant. That my be due to the timing of the release. But we'll get to that.

Land of the Free? was released by Pennywise in June of 2001. I bought it right as my team was starting their two-a-day practices. I wanted something new to listen to as I drove in and got my gear out. It was distinctly Pennywise - socio-political lyrics over hurtling hardcore. What any fan of the band would expect. There was plenty of stuff on the album about America and some of it's less flattering qualities.


Then the big attack happened, and I always started to look at the album a little differently. 


Without getting too deeply into my personal beliefs I found it strange to listen to an album so critical of Western living while simultaneously experiencing one of the most outspoken time of patriotism I'd ever seen. Regardless of how you feel, to anyone around at the time, the album would have stood out among a sea of pro-Americanism. It was kind of jarring to hear the contrarian tone. Despite the uneasy discord the album created in my head at the time, I've really come to appreciate Land of the Free? for what it is.

I love the passion and momentum the band has, they play with conviction. The production, given the source material, is pretty solid. It never works for a band in this vein to have a weak, thin sound. The whole album is absolutely Pennywise. From the opening notes of 'Time Marches On', you know what you're in for. Even though it can feel oddly like there's never a distinct melody, the songs are darkly catchy.


These late summer days when I run always bring me back to that time of my life when I became so much more aware of the world outside mine. The world had a new element of flux that I had not been conscious of; permanence become relative. Music may be static on record, but constantly changing in how I absorb it. Listening to Land of the Free? has been a lot of different things. 

Now when I hear it as I speed past the lake, my legs exhausted, approaching ten years since, the nature in which I perceive the world has changed. The album feels somehow more relevant. Apparently despite the change in me, some problems can stay consistent. Give the album a listen for yourself and see if you get what I'm saying - think about how it would feel to hear it back then. Strange business, how it's changed over the decade.

Haunting Grounds

The week ends, finally. 


I spent some of last night indulging in a little late night videogame session with my 360. Having finally made it to the current generation of consoles (I always seem to wait, saving tons of time and money as a result) I have had quite a backlog of the Best-ofs to work through, to my joy and my wife's dismay. One of the games, though, was rather fresh and less acclaimed. Alan Wake, a freaky deeky affair drawing heavily on Silent Hill, Twin Peaks and Stephen King, was a no-brainer. Touching on all the hallmarks I love, it's been super fun and super creepy so far. I'm only into the third chapter as of this writing. What came leaping out of the blue, though, was the song that closed the second chapter, 'Haunted' by Poe. As soon as I heard it, I had one of those striking moments of clarity where you see just how much overlap there is in your life when you really hone in on what makes you tick. Hearing the song set the gears in my head to work and I sat listening to the track, marvelling at the coincidence and how great the song is.

It's a shame Poe hasn't had wider success. She's had some, but not to the level she deserves for her craft. Born Anne Danielewski, Poe has had stop-and-start jaunts in her career as a singer. Her first album, Hello, was a hit in the mid 90s with the single 'Angry Johnny'; it even went gold. Her second outing, Haunted, was a struggle to get done and under-performed, despite strong reviews. Her label dropped her, only to see her fight against the current and keep grinding, making more of a name for herself in the world of independent music and fighting legal battles over the rights of her music. So while she is making progress every day, her music languishes undeservingly in relative obscurity. At one time she was huge, these days not so much. One has to wonder, given the quality of the music Poe creates, if it's just a twist of fate and not a fickle public that has kept her from broader success. Such is life.

Despite the decrease in momentum, there are still people discovering her music. Such was my case, as I was doing research on House of Leaves a few years ago, having only gotten a chance to read it some 5+ years after its release. I've already written about my love and confusion over the dense and symbolic text. So when I had read that the author Mark Danielewski's sister had created a companion album that loosely tied in with the book, I was quite curious. What I found was fantastic. Poe made a great album. In particular, though, the song 'Haunted' stood out as definite high point. 

Starting off with drums and a chiming guitar fading in like wind blowing the tune in from a window, Poe sneaks into the track by airily singing onomatopoeia, just bopping along to the eerie pop song. When it becomes fully realized for the first verse her voice is suddenly full and rich, her notes having weight but not feeling overwrought. The manner in which the song transitions from minor key verses to a major chorus is slick and subtle, a catchy if curious trick of the trade. The hook is pure pop, Poe's voice becoming light and lilting in contrast to the stark and ominous verses. It's a great contrast that shows her talent as a writer and musician, the back and forth of styles growing each time it occurs. 


I love this song - that it keeps popping up in my life only makes me appreciate it's vibe and story all the more. I dug Poe back around her first album; this song was in the soundtrack of a movie I took a date to, which was an all around disaster; I fell heavy for it during my first read-through of House of Leaves; now it pops up in one of my favorite games. I love little coincidences like that, that this same song could keep popping up, this little thread running through my life whether or not I'm aware of it. It reminds me of how 'Make Your Own Kind of Music' kept popping up in Lost. It becomes a sort of leit motif. 


'Haunted' by Poe is no doubt going to keep popping up in my life, whether I want it to or not. I'm going to embrace it and count myself lucky that it's a great song by an artist who would appreciate the attention. Maybe she doesn't want to be a multi platinum act, selling out stadiums. That doesn't mean I shouldn't spread the good word about this talented, criminally under-appreciated artist. Go download her music now, before another label causes problems. 

Road Construction

Well hello, there!

I walked to the office again, this morning. I love starting the day off with a little exercise, even if it's just the long walk from my apartment to downtown. The quiet stroll through the neighborhood, the sprinklers in Loring park spraying mist into the air. The feeling of a city waking up as I walk down Nicollet Mall, seeing the vendors setting up for the farmers market. I was struck by the sensation of the morning sun and the warmth coming into the air after a cool night. It brought me back to the summers, particularly this time of year, when I would work with a local contractor, building houses and decks with him even though I was a mere 14 or 15 years old. His projects were often far out in the country side and it made more sense to sleep at my grandparent's house for weeks at a time. Being the young musically obsessed nerd that I was, I struggled with the limitation of being able to only bring a few of my CDs. No big boom-box, either - just my little Walkman. See how different life was before mp3 players? These were choices that had to be made, hard ones that would shape your day.

 So I had a couple of my favorites and a new one at the time with which I was particularly obsessed. In hindsight it was a bit of an unusual choice to bring with, but I found that as I stayed up late into the night reading, it was a great (if, at times, creepy) choice. The CD was the Lost Highway Soundtrack, composed and arranged for the David Lynch film. Featuring more than a few artists I was into, I had looked forward to it with great anticipation. Repeated listenings over those late-summer nights made it really grow on me, as well as pair the music with the feeling in the air. So I would listen to the soundtrack all night while I read, then get up and trudge off to work with the kind contractor with a sunny disposition completely at odds with my overly dramatic teenage angst. Despite the isolation I felt at the time, I still love this soundtrack, both for the memories it conjures as well as the specific tone and mood it sets, the artists coalescing surprisingly well.

 I should clarify - I love Lynch. His films are heady, strange outings into a world only he truly understands. In particular, Twin Peaks is a favorite of mine, with it's strange stories and soap-opera dramatics. So a soundtrack to a film I had yet to see actually was a great introduction to a world of music with which I would become deeply enamored. Spooky numbers by Trent Reznor. Absurdly over-the-top heavy metal by Rammstein. The Bowie-aping theatrics of a post-Antichrist Superstar Marilyn Manson, juxtaposed with electro tracks by David Bowie himself. All of this filled out with slinky, jazzy little creepers by longtime Lynch collaborator Angelo Badalamenti. In a word, a knockout. 

Each of these artists made great contributions - 'I'm Deranged' by David Bowie is an eerie bit of night music that made him feel relevant to my teenage petulance. Badalamenti's contributions made me aware of the great things that can happen when you play such fantastic mood music during your daily life - it works so well as a personal soundtrack, especially at night or for Halloween. He's got a great, consistent feel that permeates his work. Rammstein was absurdly heavy, but a little strange and engaging nonetheless. Catchy for being so chunky and German. The Manson tracks were interesting introduction to his work, having both a rocker (the old cover 'I Put A Spell On You') and a creeper ('Apple of Sodom') on the compilation. I've already written at great length of my love for the Nine Inch Nails contribution. 

What really got me to purchase the album at the time, however, was the inclusion of the Smashing Pumpkins track 'Eye'. After the mammoth release of Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness all eyes were on the group for what they would do next, especially in the wake of their touring keyboardist dying from a drug overdose and the band firing their drummer for his supplying the drugs. The track was the first new thing I had heard from them and was supposed to be an indication of what the next album would sound like. It was...not far off. The electronic samples and synths were definitely present on Adore, with 'Eye' almost being a precursor to 'Ava Adore'. Needless to say, I played it a whole lot during those summer nights. 




This soundtrack is phenomenal. It creates the whole tone of the film. It has tons of great artists doing strange things. It also brings me back to a strange, solitary place in my life, which only makes sense given the Lynchian nature. In our world of single downloads and self made playlists, this album benefits from being heard as a group. If you have to wait until Halloween, that's cool. I'll wait. You listen. You'll dig it.

Reassembly

I'm typing this during a rainstorm while wearing gigantic headphones.


Not because I mind the sound of the rain, I should clarify, but because I'm trying to pay rapt attention to the music. After yesterday's long winded autopsy on Nine Inch Nails and the stretched-to-the-max The Fragile, I wanted to go back in for one last peak at the body. What I found surprised me.


As I tried to convey yesterday, there's an undercurrent of decay and collapse running through The Fragile. From lyrical references to song titles to the cover art suggesting entombing, the album has a pervasive sense of death and decomposition. The coda to the album, the incredibly divisive and derided Things Falling Apart, addresses this theme in a rather meta-contextual manner.

Released in freshly on the heels of The Fragile in 2000, I picked up the remix/manipulation compilation almost on a whim, as I had really enjoyed the source material. There were a few tunes that stuck out as interesting but they were surrounded by a relentless army of remixes of 'Starf*ckers, Inc.', an already abrasive track whose problems were only exasperated in their re-working. These others, though...something was trying to get through. 


I should clarify that I am aware of the reputation Nine Inch Nails have for theatrics and heavy handed emoting. I get it. I do. I see the overwrought nature of the posing and hit-you-on-the-head subtlety of some of the themes and analogies Reznor has employed. Despite these obvious quirks and flaws, I am still a fan of the band, if not for the unconventional sounds, then for the groundbreaking distribution methods and innovations they conjure. So hopefully that stops any internal monologues about "well what does this guy know?" because, hey - it fits with the rest of my obsession with spooky nighttime music.


Moving on.


The point I was making earlier in the post was that if The Fragile represented Reznor accepting the death and decay of a relationship and the loss of life we all accept as people (subtle stuff, right?) then Things Falling Apart would be the process of replacing the failing parts with mechanical workings, swapping out decayed tissue for metal plates. Strings and guitars get swapped for thumps and clicks, whirs and hums. While critics bagged on this release for it's lack of new sounds, save for a Gary Numan cover appropriately titled 'Metal', I loved the re-working of the sounds from The Fragile.

Hearing Reznor take 'Into The Void' and transmogrify it into a slippery, robotic chant where the only vocals are Reznor insisting "I keep slipping away..." is a strange and evocative thing when you love the source material. 'The Wretched' becomes a swarm of angry robotics, clicking and buzzing instead of churning over a piano beat. 'The Frail' becomes an uncanny hybrid of machine sounds and violins, illustrating the dichotomy at hand in gorgeous fashion. 'Where Is Everybody?' sees Reznor's vocals completely hacked into new sounds and phrases, creating the feeling of machines imploring the question in the title. 'The Great Collapse' is a new track but in keeping with the concept, it is a wholly metallic and synthetic tune, reminiscent of material from the Pretty Hate Machine era.

I can go all apologist with this material, but I still unabashedly adore what Reznor can do with simple ideas. The Fragile is both great and flawed for it's simple concepts stretched to long form. Here we see the same ideas flipped and turned inside out, only now it does sound more fresh than at the end of The Fragile. While I love the corpse of The Fragile, the cyborg/reanimated monster of Things Falling Apart is just as fascinating.

Bleeding Edge

Exclamations! 

We're still in the midst of Book Worm Week, just passing the halfway point. So where does that leave us? Which genre can we jump to next? In a convenient twist, Next is the book du jour, a startling and strange look ahead by the late, great Michael Crichton. 

It was a sad day in the literary world when he passed away - Crichton was fantastic. His books vacillated between science fiction thrillers to cutting edge techno-parables that fueled their pace with frantic and dire warnings of progress run amok. Like anyone alive during the 90s (except paleontologists) I loved Jurassic Park - even re-reading it on a plane ride during the first decade of the millennium I thought it aged pretty well. It's a great story. Crichton had this relentless energy and nerds-pushing-glasses-up-their-noses aggression that added a level of seriousness without pomp. In short, I really dug his work. So when my (eventual) mother-in-law happened to leave a copy of his last finished published work on their coffee table, I eagerly borrowed it and got down to business. What I read was an interesting if uneven tale that Crichton made accessible despite the jargon within. Since my last read of any of his works was about five years prior, I was pleasantly reminded of why I love his work. 

Next, published in 2006, is technically a novel about a loosely connected group of people in the genetic-research industry and the implications of their actions. In the same sense, though, the book functions more as a collection of interconnected vignettes about out-of-control and unchecked advances in the legal and ethical realm of scientists at the front of their field. Beginning with the tale of a man who loses the rights of ownership of his own cells (due to not understanding the language of a research waiver while being treated for a leukemia), Crichton begins spinning yarn after yarn about potential developments due to court-enabled precedents. The man loses the rights to his cells, which a university uses for research and eventually profit while barring him from any information, let alone profits. This ties in with a story of a geneticist who inadvertently creates transgenic specimens, one of which is a chimp that is blurring the lines of humanity in unnerving ways. Further concepts such as genetic predispositions to risk-taking and chimera genes are brought into the story as both plot points and parables. The collection of stories hold together well, but from my understanding Crichton wasn't aiming to do so - Next is intended as a single, cohesive novel and yet it comes across as segmented and uneven, some passages feeling too heavy handed to be legitimate fiction, while some fiction comes across as to much of a lecture to be engaging. Despite this uneven nature, I still enjoyed the book, if not for the diverse range of characters than for all of the startling and accurate developments in science and the legal system.

 One gets the sense, coming late to the Crichton party, that his books are not always read for their rich stories and characters but for the concepts and execution. I enjoyed reading Prey when it came out (Xmas of 2004) but I can't recall the characters. Similar story for The Lost World, save for Ian Malcolm. In fact, were it not for his science and adoration of boundary-pushing, would I have any inclination to read his books? Probably not. But that's neither here nor there. What really tickles my brain is that, having read this book just a few years after publishing, so much of it has come to pass that it becomes unnerving. We may not have full ownership of our bodies, given certain circumstances. Following a multitude of science and tech blogs (Hi Giz!) plus being obsessed with science fiction (Hellooooo io9!) I'm startled to read about the bizarre and incomprehensible discoveries and developments that occur on a daily basis. Just the other day I read about a lab that was creating a whole slew of transgenic animals and just wasn't telling anyone, just because they wanted to do it to see if it could be done (and supposedly what we can learn in the process). Or how we can cultivate bacteria to eat the oil in the Gulf or break down plastics in the Great Pacific Garbage Heap. Or everyone's favorite - the mouse with the ear grown on its back: 

Next is a bit of a hybrid itself - an imperfect development that spans multiple worlds. Crichton was a visionary, predicting both good and bad from this rapidly changing field - the main lesson to draw from it seems to be that we need to be judicious and cautious in our approach. It's not the most engaging story he's told (*coughcoughdinosaursrunningwildcoughcough*) but man, if it isn't crazy science. maybe I'm just a nerd who's suckered in by geeky subject matter and a pulpy story. Maybe I'm being to hard on a great author, now that he's gone. Tell you what - you read Next and weigh in. Am I a jerk or what? While we're doing homework, read these five summarizing conclusions Crichton made after writing this book:

Stop patenting genes.

Establish clear guidelines for the use of human tissues.

Pass laws to ensure that data about gene testing is made public.

Avoid bans on research.

Rescind the Bayh-Dole Act

...and read this critique on his reasoning, then weigh in. Test tomorrow. Okay, no test. It's Friday.

Corridors

Hello! 

Welcome to day two of Book Worm Week! 

After looking at such a dense and heady text as Murakami's Windup Bird Chronicle yesterday, what would you say to switching gears completely, to something like a total inversion of that experience? Instead of an emotionally driven tale of a lonely man's search for identity in the world while dealing with dream-obsessed psychic prostitutes in a doorstop of a novel, how about a pop-culture influencing, quick read that almost makes a game out of the reading experience - would that pique your interest? Good, because today we're looking at House of Leaves, by Mark Z. Danielewski.

 Published back around the turn of the millennium, House of Leaves could be the very definition of a post-modern book, one that is just as much about the book itself as it is about what happens both in and on the page. On the surface (which is a statement, in and of itself) the plot is as follows: a young man working at an LA tattoo parlor named Johnny Truant is told about a vacant apartment for rent, whose previous tenant was a blind old man named Zampano. In the old man's belongings they find a book the man apparently dictated, the subject of which was a film called The Navidson Record. As Truant begins to edit and assemble a workable copy of the book from the scraps and fragments left by Zampano, the tale of The Navidson Record takes over. The Navidson record was a (possibly) fictional movie the documented a family whose home suddenly gains a large closet it hadn't previously held. The patriarch of the family, (fictional) famed photographer Will Navidson, begins an obsessive quest to document the exact measurements of the house, finding it to be exactly 1/4 inch larger on the inside than the outside. This discrepancy begins to consume him, and when there appears a doorway on the living room wall which opens into a corridor that exists seemingly in hammer space, he begins to explore it. 

So to recap - a book about a book about a movie about a strange and impossible labyrinth. 

As I stated at the beginning of the post, the book is a poster child for the modern non-book, a work with multiple levels of interpretation and meta-contextually that becomes a winding, inescapable journey into the author's mind. In a cheeky move, the book itself is 1/4 inch larger than the cover, the pages jutting out intentionally. The text inside changes fonts, sizes and formats, depending both on the narrating character and the context of the action. Passages of prose are broken up by poems, which are footnoted; these footnotes often contain there own footnotes, at times telling entirely capsular stories of their own. As the reader reaches the point of Navidson exploring the labyrinth in his home, the text shifts and twists around the page, reflecting the alien nature of the story and the sub-protagonist's perspective. It's fascinating but at times it makes it either impossibly off putting or entirely engrossing. When fleeing sounds in the darkness in the labyrinth, the text becomes small, claustrophobic blocks, forcing the reader to rapidly flip pages to keep up, as though running along side the action. When lost miles beneath the house, the text circles back around in isolated boxes that are upside down in other chapters, highlighting the impossible physics and skewing the reader's sense of perspective. Text changes color at times randomly, other times quite intentionally for specific phrases and words.

 To be candid, though, I found this to be simultaneously inspired logic yet it absolutely withdrew me from the reading experience. I found myself wistfully thinking, at times, how nice it would have been to simply have the straight text of The Navidson Film in a standard book format - the idea of inner-space being more extensive than outer-space was fascinating and (I felt) at times fumbled by Danielewski. What could have made for a disturbing and haunting tale becomes, instead, a case of 'look how clever I am' exercises in an author's debut work. It felt like at times the book would reach out and slap me if it had hands, just to defy the typical reading experience.

 I say all this, yet I still have read the book more than once. I can bag on the post-modern theatrics that Danielewski foists upon the reader and yet I still adore the central concept on display. This no doubt has ties to my love of the Silent Hill series, which has often featured long and winding passages that don't exist in reality yet force the player through them in effectively disorienting sequences. As much as I love the adventure of the characters getting lost somewhere in the walls of the house, it is, at it's heart, a book about a married couple clutching each other's hands as their relationship stumbles. I didn't realize it until my second read through (with some internet-assisted hand-holding) that the book has just as much of a focus on the characters as it does the house itself. Johnny Truant's crumbling mind and Will Navidson's obsessions fuel the plot developments in such a deft and sly manner that it adds another layer to an already massively choreographed work - you don't notice it as you read about a 'haunted house' but it's the character's you're becoming unknowingly invested in, not the labyrinth. 

It's divisive, it's notorious, it's over a decade old and still post-modern. House of Leaves is strange and wonderful journey that is fundamentally unlike anything else I've ever read. I would highly suggest you track down a copy and see what you find. Book Worm Week continues tomorrow with another abrupt change in style - stay tuned! 

Bird On A Wire

Happy Monday, dear readers.

Or rather, just Monday.

Mondays are a bite. I don't care for 'em. So I'll take the opportunity to flip it on its head. Like I promised when I resumed writing after the honeymoon, I'm doing more themed weeks here on the blog. Video Game Week went pretty well, and I have something lined up for October that I'm really excited for. In the mean time, starting today it's officially Book Worm Week! In a bold attempt at breaking my own conventions and exposing my own limited comprehension skills I'm going to spend the week highlighting books that are fantastic, underrated or fantastically underrated. So where do we start? Instead of easing in to the week, let's go full-bore: The Windup Bird Chronicle.

 This book is heavy, both in the figurative and literal sense. It functions as a doorstop as well as a dense, symbolic text about the author's search for identity in post-World War II Japan. The post-modern work of celebrated Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami, The Windup Bird Chronicle tells the tale of a young man named Toru Okada as he searches for things gone missing: first his cat, then his wife, then his sense of self, both real and perceived. But upon reading the book it becomes apparent its' actually about much more than that. The book is a heavily symbolic examination of identity and loss in a world with which I am only passingly familiar. As Okada begins a search for his cat, his wife introduces a sort of psychic woman named Malta Kano, who has an obsession over water and flow in the lives of her clients. Her sister, Creta Kano, also displays a sort of clairvoyance. The manner in which these characters are connected slowly is brought into focus throughout the first third of the book, until it becomes clear that for better or worse, they are drawn together to make sense of the world around them.

 Okada's brother-in-law, Nobroru Wataya, is the central figure in the book, serving as both motivation, plot mechanism and antagonist. His character is, by its very nature, murky and ominous, ill defined. His presence is one that fills the other characters with dread and loathing, though they struggle to comprehend just why that is. Murakami has done an incredible thing in creating this character, who eludes the reader's grasp yet exudes an air of malice and otherworldliness, even when speaking quite simply and bluntly about his motivations. It's fascinating to watch him come to life.
The book is, indeed, a chronicle - it works both in chapters and as a larger, arching tome. The manner in which the plot meanders and segues into other ideas is bit serpentine and unpredictable. At times it feels like entirely different books and plots are overlapping with the central themes Murakami presents. That's the thing about this book - it's incredibly hard to describe. While I've mentioned the basic plot and characters, there are vignettes of other tales and divergent paths all over the place. Okada meets a variety of characters, all having distinct and whole lives that figure in - an old soldier from Japan's failed invasion of China who recounts the horrible things he witnessed in Mongolia and Russian Labor camps. A designer and holistic healer named Nutmeg Akasaka whose guidance is central in later plot developments. Okada's neighbor, the morbidly obsessed May Kasahara, actually leaves the story, only to appear in a series of letters to the protagonist through the remainder of the book. Like I previously stated - The Windup Bird Chronicle is a dense complicated book.

 I should say, though, that despite the complex nature of the book, I've adored it through multiple readings. The first time I made my way through it, I was admittedly confused by the events and the (at times) disconnected nature of syntax; it felt like while I understood the literal language, there were sub textual things that were lost on me. Upon further readings of the book, however, it became much clearer that I was reading too deep into the text. Things that were originally murky became much more simple and straight forward on a second pass. What also became much clearer was the nuanced, interconnected nature of the plot. Where my first pass through the text took over a month with me scratching my head at seemingly unrelated events, my second time through took only days, with the plot becoming so much more cohesive. The manner in which Murakami ties in his characters with overlapping themes and repeated motifs is breathtaking in their beauty and scope. Once again at the end of the book, I found myself asking how it all tied together. In just a few short pages and a handful of developments, the plot's central essences is laid bare, elegant in its simplicity but masterfully played out by the author.

It's about a man searching for things he's lost, but it's also so much more than that. If you have any patience whatsoever for a fantastical, strange text, I would emphatically recommend The Windup Bird Chronicle. To fully describe it would rob it of the journey it presents - you simply must read it to experience what Murakmi has created. So begins Book Worm Week! I'll see you tomorrow for more literary adventures.