Unwind/Rewind

Hey there.


Had a bachelor party last night. Had a bit too much fun. Spent the day nursing just a bit of a hangover. As such, there was little time for productivity. I promise there will be a better post tomorrow, but for tonight it'll be short and sweet.


Not everyone is into Netflix, be it whatever reason. I don't know why, its fantastic. But if its not cost stopping you and you still wanna see some great documentaries for free, head on over to FreeDocumentaries.org. They're a legit, free and excellent quality. The great site is an awesome resource for watching interesting docs when you don't want to shell out for a subscription to the big red behemoth. Don't get me wrong - I love Netflix but not everyone can be contractually bound to their services. We're in a recession, people! They host tons of docs on a variety of subjects with some big names making appearances, like the works of Morgan Spurlock and Michael Moore. If you're in the mood for a movie and want to learn a bit without spending a bunch, do yourself a favor and head over to their site. If you really dig what they do, make a donation and help keep the cause going.

Like I said, just a short bit as I recuperate today. Tomorrow - back at it with a post that goes all the way back to the beginning of this blog! Stay tuned to find out!

Getting Clearer

Evening, all. 

I wrote a post about P.O.S. in the midst of my weeklong Doomtree Diatribe back in March. While I was advocating for people to give some of his earliest work a listen, now that he's built up a catalog and some national press, there is a secret, even earlier album that predates anything he did with Doomtree. I only found out about it because someone else tipped me off to it, but it's kind of a cool thing to hear. Not unlike my love letter to a one-shot band the other day, today's post is on the sole release from long-gone rap group Cenospecies, of which P.O.S. was a core member. 

The album, titled In Definition, was released in 2002. It was hailed by the Citypages as the best album from a band that broke up that year. While it's a bit uneven and raw, its still a fun hip hop record that showed hints of what lay in store for the future indie-rap dynamo. Composed of rappers P.O.S. and Syst, along with producer DJ Anomaly (real name Jason Heinrichs), the group created a sound that was loose and free-flowing, almost to a fault. The beats, at times, feel undefined or somehow vague, like the creative process was kind of slap-dash. Even so, the album has a unique sound that isn't in line with much P.O.S. has done since, which is understandable considering how early in his career it was. The whole thing feels more like a love letter to hip hop than a debut album from a rap crew. Establishing this sense of affection for the art form, the opening lines to the first track see P.O.S. rapping "All right, hip hop, its that music from downtown, that nitty-gritty sewer shit, making people move like epileptic fits to hip hop, rhythms that make the shows stop and mouths drop, make you throw a brick at a cop, I can't explain the way I feel about it, I can't explain the way the love and hate can't complicate the elements, can't deal without it." 

There are constant references on the album to not just rapping but graffiti and turntables and mics, as though the whole point of the album was a meta-concept, rapping about rapping. At least it wasn't misogynistic or about crime sprees, but with P.O.S. at the mic that was never even a consideration. He's clearly the stronger of the pair on record, here, as Syst comes across as feeling unnatural or not at ease with his delivery. P.O.S.'s style is in its early stages, still, but feels like he's a natural even at this point in his career. Sure, his rapping on some tracks like 'Complex Decline' can feel rushed and unfocused, but then on a tune like 'Local Anesthetic' it feels like he locks right into the pocket. Like any rap album, there are guest spots here and there, and like this album's reputation for being a harbinger, so are the guests. There's nigh-unrecognizable acappella track courtesy of fellow Doomtree Crew member Mike Mictlan, sounding (of course) younger and less polished, but its clear he already was a force to be reckoned with. Another sporadic Doomtree collaborator, Crescent Moon of Kill The Vultures and Roma Di Luna, makes an appearance with an incredibly funny and clever verse on 'Aristotle Waddle'.

   Like I wrote above, the only reason I even found out about this album was because someone else tipped me off to its existence. The people who turned me on to Doomtree, who in some cases were on friendly terms with them, never even mentioned this album. It's a footnote, really. Just a long-forgotten predecessor to what would become the best rap crew in modern hip hop, a forerunner that bore many of the stylistic markings and a few of the same voices. It really is only fun to hear if you're well familiar with the current state of Doomtree and where they've come from, otherwise this sole album by Cenospecies is a fairly unremarkable affair. It really only comes to life on about half the tracks, but when it does you can see the spark of talent just starting to glow. 

Ovarian Aviary

Hello, again, dear friends.

Andrew Bird is simply fantastic, isn't he?

I came late to the party in 2008, when I was visiting a friend on a cold spring night. We were just kind of bumming around and had been talking about music when I moaned "I'm so tired of everything I have, I feel like I haven't heard anything good in a while." A ridiculous blanket statement to make when one considers that at the time my itunes library was somewhere around the 11k mark, but still, who doesn't feel that way about their music collection at some point? Anyway, Rizzo is the kind of friend who immediately offered to throw some files my way, eagerly sifting through his own hard drive to see what he could recommend. Among other things were a couple of albums by Bird, Armchair Apocrypha and Andrew Bird & The Mysterious Production of Eggs. While I do enjoy Armchair, Eggs is far and away my favorite work of his. Being the second album into his solo career, it's generally acknowledged as the record where Bird found his voice and hit his stride. 

That this album still has such a great reputation makes me very happy. It's a lush work of art, full of rich tones and sweeping, natural sounds that feel both nervous and relaxed at times, a sign of Bird creating music from different sources of inspiration but coming from the same perspective. I absolutely adore the way the album begins, with a growing set of violin notes repeating and rising, like an animal waking for the day. The way the short intro track segues into the first proper track, 'Sovay', is so easy and soothing that they could easily be one track. 'Sovay' is a serene, soothing song that floats the listener along on gentle waves, with vibes chiming along like little waves lapping at the side of a row boat. Bird's voice is so warm and full, a wonderful compliment to his playing and writing style. Bird's quirkier side starts to make appearances slowly, first popping up in the low-key but just-slightly-edgy 'A Nervous Tic Motion of The Head To The Left'. The song is a meandering bit of breezy melody and plucked violins working in conjunction to make a snappy but relaxed take on the absurdities of life. The manner in which Bird is able to switch gears is effortless and almost unconscious, rarely missing a beat to change pace. 

Similar in mood to this is the off-kilter 'Skin Is, My', in which Bird makes an unusual rhythm and central theme wrap quite well around the lyrical ideas of numbness and its equation to the corporate world. Another example of parallel songs is that of 'Measuring Cups' which feels like a bleaker extension of 'Sovay'. It sails along on a similarly relaxed wave of melody and breezy, sing-songy relaxed approach, but the subject matter is quite different. Instead of dreamy and ethereal, 'Measuring Cups' is an eerie and sad, but above all, beautiful look at the way the school system can negatively impact the lives and happiness of children. The themes in this moving song are not unlike those in Pink Floyd's 'Another Brick In The Wall' only delivered in Bird's quirky and charming voice. 

One of the best tracks on the album, and certainly one of the best songs I have heard in a while, has to be 'Fake Palindromes', a song with a poppy, mainstream approach to compliment Bird's unique delivery. The central theme, played by the violins here, is simply gorgeous. An instantly memorable yet familiar theme that plays with our perception of novelty, the song sounds both new and old, as if we'd heard it before but only briefly. This effect gives an emotional weight to the track that simply tugs at your heart when it revs up. The verses are great examples of song-writing at its best, starting tight and quiet, growing with each line and circling back effortlessly to the central violin theme. It's made all sorts of best-of lists, and just one listen will make it abundantly clear why. As my better half summed it up - "It sounds like it should be the soundtrack to an indie-movie montage." Pretty much.

Even at its most neurotic or verbose, I still find Andre Bird & The Mysterious Production of Eggs to be a wonderfully relaxing and breathtakingly lush album. The way Bird layers his tunes with different but complementary stringed instruments and little bells and chimes creates such a an amazing atmosphere. I have found, in the ensuing years since being given it, that this album has an astounding tranquillizing capacity. Maybe it's his voice or his creative choices, but there is just something about it, that when I listen to it, I forget my troubles and just focus on listening. I need to find more music like this. 

Pro Devotion

Evening, kids.

Today's post is another one about music from a now-defunct band, only in this particular case we're not talking mid-90s but mid-aughts. I've struggled with how to convey this as simply and clearly as possible, so instead of agonize over the logistics I'll just throw it our there - I loved the band Amateur Love. As far as I can tell they only had a single release, an EP titled It's All Aquatic in 2004. They broke up soon after and members went on to different endeavors. That brief, shining release of a scant 8 songs is something I still find myself coming back to time and again, despite the intervening years and subsequent musical iterations.

Hailing from Eau Claire, Wisconsin, the band was composed of Brian Moen, Josh Scott and brothers Brad & Phil Cook. Together they created a fine mix of arty, folksy tunes with an electronic current running through them. Interestingly the band shared half of its members with the predecessor to Bon Iver, Deyarmond Edison, which existed roughly around the same time as Amateur Love. This convoluted history may be a bit difficult to parse, but the basic tenants of all the bands mentioned so far include some very indie/folk music that is heavy on acoustic instruments. To continue the confusion, members of all of these disparate acts have contributed to hipster darlings Gayngs, which further illustrates the size and scope of that ever-evolving, ever-expanding project.

But enough about musical genealogy.

There is something about this group that I just love, the feel of the ambience, the light touches everyone in the band wielded when making their music. It's a bit wistful and nostalgic, the kind of music you listen to on a quiet morning, or on a cool Fall evening. Really, it's whatever you want it to be, but to me there's something almost tangible in it, a quality that pervades the music that always makes me calm down and think about poignant things. Part of it must be the separate but joined elements  - the plucked acoustic guitars, the speeding but light and fleeting drum parts, the choices made with the keyboards. It all adds up to gorgeous, introspective music that seemed to be just a tad ahead of its time. Bon Iver would basically make hipster's brains explode just a few years later in a similar vein, and I always thought Amateur Love could have seen similar results in a parallel dimension. Maybe it's for the best, though. After all, the Cook brothers have gone on to form the excellent Megafaun and quickly made a name for themselves in the indie-folk field. 

The songs as individual tracks, and as a whole, are fantastic. The EP starts with a funny bit of broken noises that made me think the CD player I had at the time was defective, but it was a good joke on Amateur Love's part as the sounds segue seamlessly into the first track, 'Con A Sewer'. I love the way the drums hurtle the song forward but don't just pound away relentlessly, a sign of a deft touch. The keys here are fantastic, too, creating a persistently warm and pleasing hum that sets a great mood for the EP. 'Sell Me Your Army' is a wonderful bit of finger-plucked acoustic guitar over some hi-hat, which gets the odd little flourish here and there. Josh Scott's vocals are great, as well, presenting just a bit of grain to his unique tenor. The way the song breaks down at the end, becoming a sampled whistle over a bit of folksy drumming is a great example of how the band was capable of switching gears. 'Gradfadhadya' is one of the harder, more intense tracks Amateur Love put on the EP. Bopping along with solid drum beat and some palm-muted chords, it sounds the most straight-forward but also most poppy of their short canon.  

I got to see Amateur Love play a show! How lucky is that? There's this band that only existed for a fleeting moment between other bands, having broken up shortly after I found out about them, and I got to see them play in the short time they were making music together! My younger brother, who had turned me on to the group, mentioned they were playing at a small venue in my hometown when I was home over break during college. So the two of us went out to a show for the first time together, and they were just as great live as they were on the EP. 

It still makes me smile to know that there is this secret gem of an EP that so few people know about, and it was such a pivotal but unknown step in the development of some incredibly popular music. I like to play it for people, some times, and explain the hows and whys of my love for this EP, but at the same time I like to keep it my secret, awesome thing that no one else appreciated. Glad I heard them, glad the musicians are still doing what they love, regardless of the name. 

Hindsight Being 20/20

Hello again, fair readers. 

I remember very clearly where I was when I heard Michael Jackson died. It was almost three years ago, if that seems at all possible. I was locking the doors for the day at my office when my boss told me with no preamble or warning - just a very matter-of-fact "Michael Jackson died", a hint of gossipy glee barely masked in his voice. Of course, being at work I had no access to the proper channels and was most likely one of the last to know. I had been a fan of his work like anyone in the world, but I had fallen out of touch with his music. When I was young, absolutely no question about it, he was the alpha and omega of music, the King of Pop. Then things went down in the 90s and he became the living embodiment of tired jokes and I completely forgot about how great his music was. I was all into angsty, guitar driven alternative and electronica and Michael Jackson was some outdated, weirdo stuff. Sad how wrong I was.

 In college my better half and I had a series of long, long road trips to get her moved into her apartment at her university. With the advent of iPods we were able to play name that tune and play music that was, in my opinion, much better than whatever was on the radio. So while we were laughing about the snippets of soundtrack from The Simpsons that would occasionally pop up or grooving along to Brother Ali's still-amazing Shadows On The Sun, there was an unexpected moment when the shuffle feature brought us to an unexpectedly jarring sound. It was the opening crashes of Jackson's better-than-it-has-any-right-to-be smash 'The Way You Make Me Feel'. I instantly went from jokey exuberance to sitting back in my seat, staring into the distance and listening intently. 

"Oh my god" I mused. 

"What?" she asked, concerned. 

I shook my head. "This is good," I said. "Like, really, really good" 

She shrugged and kept driving, acknowledging "Yeah. It's Michael Jackson," as if saying "and you're just realizing this now?" 

I had completely forgotten how mind-blowingly good he was. I made her endure working through everything of his she had on her ipod after that. The whole time we were singing along, jamming in the car and snapping our fingers. I copied all her music of his, as I hadn't downloaded any of his up to that point and I didn't have any CDs either. From then on, I listened to him more often but it was still this sheepish, guilty pleasure. My friends would often give me guff for it, like it wasn't normal for a guy to listen to it, but I would just let it play and if I'd ask them later they would cop to loving it as well. Jokes about his legal history or not, dude was awesome, plain and simple. 

When Jackson passed away in 2009 the world lost its mind for just a bit. My better half happened to be passing through Times Square that night and she still talks about the surreal spectacle or people out in the streets paying tribute to him. I had listened to his established hits, the number one singles, plenty of times. So when I kept hearing about the later work he did and how some of it was actually quite good, my curiosity got the best of me and I bought a couple tracks, including the dark and disturbing song 'Morphine'. 

If enough people had heard this track when it was first released, one would almost think he would still be alive, today. 

Almost. 

The song is angry and grinding, some of the most visceral stuff he ever released. Composed of broken drum samples and pounding synths, the song serves as a backdrop for Jackson to work out some pent-up aggression over his increasingly demanding drug addiction. It's honestly a bit scary to hear Jackson scream the refrain, wailing "You're doing morphine!" over and over. When the song switches modes halfway through to that of a piano-driven ballad, he starts to sing about the very Demerol that killed him, even scarier in hindsight. It's quite haunting and disturbing, but worst of all its incredibly catchy and well written, a sign of a truly talented artist in the clutches of narcotics. Maybe I'm wrong about all of this, but you have to ask whether his dwindling audiences heard the cries of a man in need of serious help. Unfortunately Jackson was too isolated and cutoff from reality to get the help he needed. Hey, trying to quit these very drugs could have killed him as well, so what do I know? 

It's a terrible shame that we lost such a talented artist to such a preventable thing, but then again we tend to get the world we deserve and not the one we want. Still, I'm glad I took the chance on digging into some of his lesser known work, just to get some insight into the demons that plagued him.

Solid Tangentials

Hola, kids. 

In doing these daily articles on music and my appreciation for forgotten or neglected works, I have expressed my share of love for admittedly flawed material. You could chalk this up to my apologist nature or maybe just bad taste. Either way, I really dig (or dug) some sub par stuff. That does not mean, however, that the artist is not talented or that I should feel badly about it - quite the contrary, it is this basic appreciation for the unappreciated that motivated me to start this whole project in the first place. Rather than spending the course of a night out with friends explaining just why it is that you need to listen to Akira Yamaoka or why watching Lost in chronological order is a revelatory experience, I can collect my thoughts and publish them here. Doing so not only allows for a clearer, more concise train of thought but also retains them for posterity (or however much of that exists in this digital world). So why the preamble? Why the preemptive defense of my bad taste? Because today's post is related to the divisive, guilty-pleasure band that is Blink 182. I say related, though, because it's not really about them, but a side project that shed light on their career and mind set, so let's take a look at the Blink 182 related group Box Car Racer and their single, eponymous release. 

If you've been able to stitch together a loose chronology from the content of these posts, you'll notice a consistent streak of shamefully poppy music running through my life's musical growth. While I can swear up and down that I love trip hop, electronica and indie hip hop, there's still some bald-faced popular music in there. One such example is my Blink 182 phase. I can attest that it was, indeed, a phase due to the fact that the music no longer does it for me - it can temporarily take me back to that time and place but I longer get the same effect from it. Both the subject matter and audience are not aimed at me; it's all a callback to my time in junior high and high school, when girls and tests were the biggest problems I faced (supposedly). Looking back from my current position in life I can see what the appeal was, though. I am still a sucker for a simple, catchy guitar riff over the right bass notes, and that's basically what the band did well. The songs were simple, the vocals and lyrics un-challenging and the length was nonexistent, but songs like Dammit, Pathetic, Man Overboard and Anthem Pt. 2 were all songs that had great riffs to prop them up. At the time I was into them I caught tons of flak for it, establishing my apologist nature from an early age. 

As the band grew older, like anything else, they changed and struggled with identity and limitations. From what I've read Blink 182 had internal strife and conflict about what direction they were headed, as does any band that achieves any sort of mainstream success. What they did, though, was a brave move - they just went separate ways. Instead of permanently breaking up they just went off on other projects to express their unique ideas. For bassist/singer Mark Hoppus...I'm not sure what it was, but I didn't have the interest. Honestly I find something about him grating, like he would have been smug and obnoxious if I'd known him. It propbably sounds very knee-jerk, armchair-quarterback to say it, but from the glimpses of his day-to-day persona, he always seemed like he was kind of a jerk. Maybe it's just me, or someone I knew that reminded me of him. Vague associations. Whatever. It's beside the point, really. What I did have an interest in, though, was guitarist Tom Delonge's first solo effort, titled Box Car Racer, because while Hoppus seemed to sing and write all the soft, easy, round parts for the band, anything angular and interesting seemed to come from Delonge. That could be completely missing the mark, but it was always my impression that there were two distinct voices constantly trying to assert dominance over Travis Barker's impeccable drumming. Seriously, Barker is an unparalleled drummer, no caveats here, and his intense playing is the glue holding all this music together. Without his tight drumming this could all have sounded sloppy and tired, but he brings his A game every single time. 

Shortly after it's release, I heard the album in a music store somewhere I can't recall. I just remember it was at a time in my life flush with flux, uncertaintiy looming around the bend, which I think drove me back to musical comfort food. The sound on Box Car Racer's self titled album was like a modified, more intelligent Blink 182, only distilled down to Tom's voice and style. Hearing an album that was all Delonge's creation was where I really realized the earlier distinction in their writing styles that I was pointing out - it does sound like Blink 182, but without a significant portion of the poppier elements and about-a-girl pop-punk subject matter. Free to write whatever he wanted, Delonge took the opportunity to write about bigger, grander concepts like poverty, power and the reasons we feel helpless in society. There are multiple references to wanting to destroy the CIA headquarters in Langely and the cover-up of UFO's by the government, all stuff that would be largely out of place on a Blink album at the time. Songs deal with darker subject matter like suicides, addiction and loss & regret, showing that Tom was taking small steps into a more adult world. Granted, at times it certainly comes across as mawkish or heavy handed, but it was a step in the right direction. What was most telling was the absence of any juvenilia whatsoever - not a single fart joke to be found. Of particular note is one of my favorite songs about an unfathomable subject. Elevator deals explicitly with the imagery we were subjected to on September 11th, expressing the thoughts of a jaded viewer unnervingly well.

Overall the album seems to be just bit heavier and bleaker than anything Blink 182 had released up until that point, which is why I think I can still appreciate more so than his other work. There's almost an element of legitimacy or gravity he fosters in Box Car Racer, which makes it a shame he's never done anything else under the moniker. Instead we have him reteaming with Hoppus to resurrect the Blink banner once again. Still, I'm glad I gave this album a chance - it's been a unique source of pleasure over the years, even if it's of the guilty variety. 

Going Back To Work

So the weekend ends this way, with another grill out and a little sunshine. Much better than the weekend before, eh?


Just a short bit tonight, as I'm shot after another busy weekend. Looking back I don't seem to have many restful, rejuvenating weekends, just the kind that are filled with tasks and obligations. At least this time I got to see some friends and get a little sun, which is about all a man can ask for these days.


I've written before about my love of Colin Hay's solo efforts. While his album 'Going Somewhere' is a great piece of work, start to finish, he does have other songs that are equally worthy. But while I love some of the songs on his collection Man @ Work, it seems to be an uneven affair with a range in quality. 

A collection of disparate tracks, the 2003 release is less an album than a collection of work. Tracks vary from original compositions to re-recordings of his Men At Work hits to acoustic rearrangements of his hits. There's a little bit of everything here, but not all of it is of the highest caliber. Don't get me wrong - I still very much enjoy the album, it's just that as a whole, its a bit more uneven than Going Somewhere. Clear standout tracks from this collection include more of Hays' sublime acoustic work, his playing soft and dynamic with his distinctive vocal stylings. One of my favorite tracks of the 80s, 'Down Under', sounds excellent as a stripped down number. The song takes on a whole new feel as a result, becoming more contemplative and almost mournful, somehow. 'Who Can It Be Now?', another big hit by Men At Work, gains that same level of introspection and curiously subdued nature from a paring of the elements. The central hook sounds just as great on an acoustic as it did on a sax in the original. The version of the wonderful 'Waiting for My Real Life to Begin' is the same here as it is on Going Somewhere - still great and heartbreaking, just the same version.

The best track, though, has to be the acoustic rendition of the Men At Work song 'Overkill'. What was once an up-tempo number becomes a beautiful, haunting number about second guessing and obsessive recollection. It's an amazing song and Hays' voice sounds superb when he sings it. The song is simply a great bit of writing that sounds fantastic in his hands.


There are still a handful of tracks unaccounted for in this post, which I won't examine in depth. It's not that I don't like them, they're fine as they are, but they're just not for me. There's something about probably half the songs on this album that just don't work for me, but I think that's me and not Hay's production. Maybe other people, his fanatics, really love them. I just know there are some clear, strong tracks in comparison. Regardless, if you want some of the better tracks you can cherry-pick them on iTunes or another service. They're really solid. Just not the entire album. Still, Hay is a great performer with a distinct, appealing sound that shouldn't be missed.

Multiple Incarnations

Ladies and gentlemen, it's the weekend.


It's also cold and rainy, but given our spring this year that's no surprise.


What is a surprise is Toussaint Morrison. This local rapper/musician is stunningly talented and ready for big things. 


I had been attending shows by some friends of mine (relevant post pending) who were repeatedly splitting the bill with Morrison, who would perform under alternating incarnations - either with his backing band The Blend or as a member of Lazlo Supreme. Either way, it was impressive stuff, the kind of music where you sit up and take notice. It's saying something when you are going somewhere to see your friends and another act starts to really draw your attention, and Toussaint Morrison has done just that. 

Harnessing the energy of his splintered personalities, Morrison handles the mic with a deftness and dexterity few emcees possess. His wordplay is complex and free flowing, working with the music rather than against it. Unlike a lot of the rappers who only wish they could, Morrison can carry a tune as well, so his hooks and performances have a greater range than your average hip hop show. His energy and professional craftsmanship are of the caliber that when you find yourself greeting friends and reconnecting, one of his songs will start and everyone stops what they were doing to watch the stage. When the beats start to bang your head starts to nod, instinctively. I had seen Toussaint Morrison perform a handful of times when, during one of his sets, I turned to a friend and realized aloud "Damn, he's really good, isn't he?" I got a knowing nod and grin in response. Imagine my excitement, then, when Morrison started tweeting about the release of his excellently overwhelming mixtape Toussaint Morrison Is Not My Homeboy.


Spanning 12 tracks and running a breathless, relentless 45 minutes, the mixtape is a series of genius samples and intricately worded lyrics, courtesy of Morrison and partner in crime Dr. Wylie. In the first track alone I caught references to subjects close to my heart like Left 4 Dead, Suicide Booths, Streets of Rage, Hand Over Fist, Zelda and Hyrule, all followed by a chip-tuned outro to the song. I have to admit, I'd heard the track live and it bangs, no doubt. But to hear the words so clear as to realize all the references he'd been making, it made my head explode at his wit and pop-cultural name-checks. An entire track devoted to exploring the themes of Marvel's Civil War? Done. A come-and-get-it confrontational about Street Fighter? Yup. Nerd love aside, the guy writes lyrics that are heartfelt and honest, as well, like on the sentimental 'Lady & The Vamp' which makes great use of a Passion Pit sampling. Other tracks use great source material as well, like Modest Mouse and Franz Ferdinand. Seriously, trying to unpack this dense mixtape is like playing spot-the-reference, not just in lyric but music as well.

Check out Toussaint Morrison's free mixtape here, and peep the video for the excellent 'Walk Thru The Wall' here. The artist also keeps a blog of his thoughts and writings here. If you have a chance to see the man live, do yourself a favor and go! His live shows hooked me, they'll get you too.

Second Time Around

Well, well, well.

Can't keep a good site down, eh?

After some difficulties yesterday with servers and outages, my schedule is  back on. I had written yesterday's post well within the time limit and published it, only for Blogspot to short out on me. After many refreshes and head scratching, here we are back in business. Feels good. Additionally, since the post was written and published (but not updated to circumstances beyond my control) I'm going to count the streak as unbroken. Where does that leave me? Something like 133 days, straight, of fresh content? Right-o, let's keep the ball rolling, shall we?

I didn't get Akira the first time I saw it. 


This is not to say I couldn't follow the plot, although some spotty dubbing and a rinky-dink TV didn't help any. I mean, I got it and all. It just didn't click with me right away. What I hadn't realized, though, is that scene is just as important for the viewer as the director.

I had picked up the movie after seeing (and loving) Spirited Away. Wanting more anime to satisfy a burgeoning curiosity, I picked up the 1987 release on DVD shortly after seeing Spirited Away, assuming it's reputation as a landmark, touchstone film would guarantee a prized place among movies I owned and cherished. All I knew at that point was: it was anime, it was highly regarded, it was about a post-war Tokyo set in the future and there was a motorcycle. That pretty much summed up my a priori knowledge. I suppose it was only slightly racist, then. After an initial viewing I was left a bit befuddled and unsure of what I'd seen. I understood the nuts and bolts of the plot yet still was asking myself "What was all that about, then?" Like Homer awakening to the horrors of Poochy, I asked myself "At least I liked it, didn't' I?" 

I can say now, after subsequent viewings, that the answer is an emphatic yes. However, in contrast to my experience with Spirited Away (and countless other anime movies I have since consumed) I found that my personal scene for viewing the movie was a detriment to the process of taking in the movie. Whereas that experience was almost serendipitous in its ambience, this movie, I found, required intentional and deliberate scene setting in order to enjoy it.

As I said earlier, my initial viewing experience was not ideal, not just for this movie but for any. It was a sunny afternoon after my lectures were done for the day, I was in my college apartment and the TV I was using was probably no bigger than the monitor on which this is being read. Not exactly the best way to experience a movie known for it's distinct imagery and massive scope. Details were vague, characters started to become interchangeable and the impact of large set pieces and scenes was lost. Still, despite my unintentional scene, I enjoyed the movie and a few years later I decided to revisit it, really watch it again but under much more cinematic circumstances. 

My (impending) father-in-law is a man who approaches life with the attitude "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right." This includes his approach to media consumption. So one day while visiting his house with my better half, I was afforded a span of time with which I would be able to view a movie on his massive TV in a private screening room. Despite this being just in advance of the proliferation of Blu-Ray, it was about as ideal a viewing experience as I could have asked for - a massive (like, 70-plus inch) TV, artificially darkened room with a great sound system and no disturbances whatsoever. My phone was off and I was isolated, seated, most likely, much to close to the TV.

It was revelatory.

My entire understanding of the movie had changed as a result - characters whose features and design seemed indistinct were suddenly illuminated. I found myself realizing "Oh, it's that guy!" whenever a small but recurring role popped up. Epic city-wide shots seemed more transporting and somehow 'real' than they had previously. The vital, dangerous energy of the action sequences and chase scenes was almost dizzying due to the perspectives and size of the screen. A plot whose players seemed at time non-descript suddenly was crystal clear (although this was obviously aided by a repeat viewing) and an ending that had been almost under whelming the first time around was now intense and unrelentingly powerful.  Basically watching the movie in my own personal theater completely changed the film for me - it went from a 'pretty okay' in my book to 'Holy Hannah, that was good'. Seeing it under those circumstances made me wonder how it's reputation had propelled from the theaters into viewer's homes, and how insane it must have been to see it in the first theatrical run. 

To be perfectly frank there is a lesson I've taken from this whole experience (other than give unusual art second chances). That lesson is that unless the circumstances are right, I shouldn't consume media via small screens unless I really need to. I'll absolutely watch something on my phone, say, on the bus or on a plane, but the ipad is such a step up over that. If I don't have to use the ipad, I won't - these devices allow me to make it portable but I don't use them as the only means of consumption. Basically I want every viewing experience to be as close to ideal as possible, at least on the first pass for a movie or show. If I went to bed early - sure, I'll watch a bit of a movie just for something novel, but I'd rather do it on a widescreen. 


Of course, I say all this with the admission that I won't follow my own advice.

Concentric Concerns

Almost there, gang. Almost there.

I've written a lately about the manner in which we're exposed to music. Additionally I have examined the nature of what sticks and what doesn't - the question of why we choose the things we do and why advice can go unheeded. Along these lines, today's post springs from the central problem of yesterday's post, namely the disappearing problem of forgetting music or not having the facts when we want them. Sit a spell, won't you?

As I kvetched in yesterday's post, I grew up in the world on the cusp of the Jetsonsonian world we now inhabit. Unless you had a VCR running, brother, you weren't going to see that episode again until syndication. Can't recall the name of an actor when you're talking about a movie? In the days before the proliferation of the IMDB you could think yourself right into a stroke. Most frustrating of all would be hearing a great song on the radio and the DJ, whom you already despise because they're a DJ, won't say a lick about it. Drove me up the wall. (Sidebar here - that may be the most negative thing I've written here, to date) The flip side to this problem, however, is that with proper skills or the attachment of sufficient significance, you could circumvent this problem. 

My older brother had occasionally mentioned Sunny Day Real Estate as being a great band I would like. Being a young adolescent in that culture that pre-dated instant-informational-gratification, I never had a chance to find out what he was talking about. Despite their reputation as avant garde, meta-conscious artists who appeared in Gap ads in masks, Sunny Day Real Estate's videos were never played when I was watching MTV, or at least I didn't pay sufficient enough attention. I did know, though, that members went on to work with Dave Grohl in the legendary Foo Fighters, so I had that asterix next to their name in my mental data banks. The local radio stations in my home town were limited to Top 40, Oldies, Country, More Oldies, More Country, Even More Country, Classical and I Still Can't Believe It's More Country. No modern rock for young guys like us, nuffin' at all. 

It wasn't until I was living in Tacoma for the brief span between high school and college that I had the briefest of snippets of SDRE to experience. I had been working at my uncle's restaurant in West End, saving money and spending all my free time wandering the city or reading on his deck. It was an enjoyably solitary time, but that's beside the point. Point is I was driving home one afternoon, most likely worrying about the impending social crises awaiting me at St. Thomas. Thinking I should be up on not just th music I loved, but popular mass-appeal music as well, I switched from CD to the modern rock station in Seattle. While I was expecting something terrible, like the formerly prominent Papa Roach, I instead heard something cut through the speakers like a buzz saw right into my brain. I vividly recall sitting up in the seat and cocking my head to figure out what I was hearing. Distorted circles of guitar licks, a singer wailing about "Running down" while someone moaned "...in circles" behind them. I was hooked. Unfortunately I had no idea who it was, so I listened patiently, eased only by the fact that I knew the next song, so when the DJ came on to actually tell the audience what they played for a change, I had context. "Alright, that was another set of songs from blah blah blah, some Everclear, Jimmy Eat World - The Middle, In Circles by Sunny Day Real Estate and What It's Like by Everlast. Keep it right here on..." My mind locked in on the name and I smirked, realizing I should have known that song, had I just branched out before. I only got to hear about the last minute of the tune though, so I filed it away in the back of my mind to seek it out in the future.

Time passed, I moved to the dorms and started college, a little too busy with other things like life to start investigating immediately. An open Saturday afternoon early in the semester found me with some time on my hands after downloading the regionally popular file sharing program. After loading up on stuff I knew I had to have immediately, I started free associating, letting old or obscure songs come to mind, almost as a test to my own self and the network. Like a lightbulb over my head, Sunny Day Real Estate popped in and I eagerly searched. I had impressed myself with the tenacity of my own memory. Having only heard a snippet of the song months before, I had actually had the mental wherewithal to summon the track from the ether. It was there - not a hugely popular song, but not impossibly obscure, either. So I did the wrong thing and downloaded it. As soon as it was ready, I opened it in iTunes and clicked play. 

I realized right away I should have listened to what I was told when I was younger. This band was a group out of time, making a sound that basically established emo (of which I was unabashedly enamored at the time) and rode parallel to the alternative wave of the 90s. The band was long gone, but thanks to a random bit on the radio and the freedom of crowd-sourcing data, there was just one more person falling in love with their anguished sound. I loved the back and forth dynamics, the loud and soft. The way vocalist Dan Hoerner sang soft and sweet in the verses, only to howl when the chorus came in. Rather than feeling formulaic, it was vital and fresh for me - I had missed the song the first time it went around and had only been introduced to it most likely from a sorting algorithm or bit of nostalgia from a DJ. Here I am now, with 'In Circles' still making regular appearances in my playlists, in the world of the Jetsons.