BMXMusic, old blog.
Monday, September 19, 2005
welcome to the true adventures of jep
Quickly, because this sort of thing is boring to write: this blog spins off from Bad MonkeyX online music zine, which has been around for over 5 years now. Blogs are apparently easier to update, and that really is my problem with that site. Go there for more on it. It goes on, it's not done. This is a more personal aside, related to a couple of projects I'm into.
I thought it might be interesting to chronicle the development of the music I've been working on for a few years now. This year, since I haven't been teaching, I've had more time to be artful, and so I've launched an indie mini-comic, started a band, and begun to record music in a more professional way.
So: the progress of how an idea becomes a fleshed out piece of music is very interesting to me; and the process of explaining / proposing / illuminating a musical idea to anyone else has been daunting on a good day. I bought an eMac this summer, which comes with a great intro digital recording program called Garageband, and have begun to get results from recording that actually resemble what I imagine the way my songs sound. Showing my partner Marjan what the progression from repetitive lick to actual song has been kind of fun, and manipulating what I've recorded into sounding like I want it to has been brilliant fun, if difficult.
So I thought I'd make a blog about it. What's with the interrogation?
Next Day: I don't know if it is proper form to just add to a previous post, but I'm going to try. Otherwise we'll wind up with a series of single-thought posts. This way, perhaps I can focus my online drivel into proper trains of thought. Choo choo. What to do about that date at the top? Hmm.
So: the various things I wish to discuss: (1) the development of me own music, which I will then share via link here so you can hear what I am talking about. Hopefully that will be interesting.
KRO NEWS: Oh -- by the way -- I told Kro I had started a blog, and he got all harsh on it - implied (said) that I was being vain and that blogs were self aggrandizing. So I just want to say here on the first page of my blog that Kro is a dink and a fag (in the old sense, before we knew that fags were lovely people and it was just a childish disparagement of a male). Once upon a time Kro put a silkscreen of his own face on the back of his jacket. He made shirts too. Fuck him. Who wins now mister? Huh?
Number (2): to chronicle the development of - and give attention to - my comix book called The True Adventures of Jep Comix.
(3) To keep doing the shit I was doing on Bad MonkeyX - talking about music and issues related to it, giving respect to recordings (and books and comics) that I think others should know about. Maybe that is vain and self-aggrandizing..? Who cares?
(4) To let Kro know who wins out of who is the ruler: Me. I win. Kro is the loser.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Robot Poem #1.
[each couplet is the subject line from a series of spams I've been getting (in order of receipt). ]
in 1901 in 1867 no more I’m terribly sorry,
Tour de France Family
in 1940 in 1982 in 1834
in 1923 That’s lovely,
you mustn’t Census TV Larry Jokes
Portalmix rammstein
Friends Alltheweb in 1986 No, not now.
Las Vegas in 1849
Books in 1845 Sun in 1983
Bussiness in 1875
in 1986 Well, we’ve got in 1846 Isn’t it lovely?
I’m in the know of… Never!
And when it Samsung with him World War II
Recipes in 1886
Where shall Where shall msn.com the home page!
in 1857 in 1880
in 1929 In other words Which one? In 1857
?????? you can’t miss it
in 1907 when he The American student Same for me
Community service in 1811
but … in 1993 in 1981 Make yourself
In 1967 in 1822
posted by jep at 1:29 PM
1 Comments:
blood_bath said...
lol hey Jep, it's Eden, very interesting poem. hehe
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Writers in Bands: Weakerthans & Decemberists
Have to share two bands and writers with you, whoever you are.
I've been fascinated by and revelling in the Weakerthans since Jason gave me a couple of tunes on a mixed CD - Plea From a Cat Named Virtue was the one that hooked me: a cat singing to its owner to pull himself out of a depressed slump. Such a great idea!
That's the thing with this band, and its writer, John Samson: the Weakerthans have roots in political punk (I've never heard the original Samson project Propagandhi) and it's evident in this music, melodic rock that can explode into smashing cymbals and a wall of sound at the drop of a hat. Over all this, though, is a thin but compelling voice, singing the best lyrics in town.
The big breakthrough for the band was 03's Reconstruction Site, but I've recently gotten the Left and Leaving record and my mind's been blown AGAIN, so I recommend getting them both. Fallow, their first release, I haven't digested yet, but it seems to be a little weaker. Fair enough for a band on a trajectory of growth, right?
The music is fantastic, but I think I have, after writing a hundred or so reviews, realized that one cannot really get what something sounds like across in any meaningful way. You have to check that out on your own. But the lyrics and subject matter are worth the price of admission here, and I might tickle your fancy by giving you a glimpse. Weakerthans songs are that fantastic and wonderful mix of literary ideas that are perfectly fit to the expressive format of pop music - it takes a genius of both types to pull it off this well. Samson is a literary fella, no doubt, at no loss for descriptions of his subjects: the closing of the benificent clubs like the Lions or the Shriners; the mixture of feelings inspired by an intense city like Winnipeg; the plight, both political and personal of a young man handing out political pamphlets; an explorer's puzzled response to coffee with Foucault; lots of farewells, elegies, and last rites. He's also a master of the long, wordy thought spread over a verse:
All our accidents were purposeful and felt
Stripped of providence or any way to tell
But our intentions were intangible and sweet
Sick with simple math and shy discoveries
Piled up against our impending defeat.
Check this lyric out, from a song called This Is A Fire Door Never Leave Open.
Headlights race towards the corner of the dining room.
Half illuminate a face before they disappear.
You breathe in forty years of failing to describe a feeling.
I breathe out smoke against a window, trace the letters in your name.
Our letters sound the same, full of all our changing
that isn't change at all.
All straight lines circle sometime.
You said Somewhere there's a box full of replacement parts
to all the tenderness we've broken or let rust away.
Somewhere sympathy is more than just a way of leaving.
Somewhere someone says 'I'm sorry.'
Someone's making plans to stay.
So tell me it's okay, Tell me anything, or
show me there's a pull, unassailable
that will lead you there
from the dark alone
benevolence that you've never known
or you knew when you were four and can't remember.
Where a small knife tears
out those sloppy seams,
and the silence knows
what your silence means,
and your metaphors
(as mixed as you can make them)
are linked, like days, together.
I still hear trains at night, when the wind is right.
I remember everything, lick and thread this string
that will never mend you or tailor more
than a memory of a kitchen floor
or the fire-door that we kept propping open.
And I love this place; the enormous sky,
and the faces, hands that I'm haunted by,
so why can't I forgive these buildings,
these frameworks labeled Home?
They're all that good. John Samson is a poet in a rock band, which is pretty much my favourite thing. If you haven't checked out The Weakerthans, do.
Since I'm on this topic, lemme recommend another band (also shared with me by Jason... what would I do without friends with taste?) named The Decemberists. They're an American band, who sound British (not in a Green Day way! - they somehow manage to sound like friends of Belle and Sebastian with lyrics by Dickens, in Oregon. Go figure.
The Decemberists are more poppy, but in a smart way, and their career arc is clearly climbing. Their most recent album, that is to say, is their best, and earlier records all make it clear that this latest stuff was always the goal. Picaresque features lush and powerful ballads (as in stories, not slow Whitesnake songs) that capably meld music and poetry. One song details the tragic tale of an aristocrat who falls for a destitute woman; they throw themselves, holding hands, off the cliffs of Dover (yes, they're from Oregon). Another chronicles a gay affair between an Englishman and a KGB spy. In The Sporting Life, a young man lying down, injured, on a soccer pitch, realizes that everyone else cares more about sports than he does. The most ambitious tells the revenge story of two mortal enemies who finally meet for their showdown, the only two survivors of two ships eaten by a whale, in its belly: "its ribs are ceiling beams/it's guts our carpeting."
The writer/singer/leader of this band is also a literary guy, a creative writing major named Colin Meloy, and he again is extremely capable at mixing the two modes of expression. Here's the lyric to On The Bus Mall, a love song about a family of runaway teens.
In matching blue raincoats,
our shoes were our show boats
we kicked around.
From stairway to station
we made a sensation
with the gadabout crowd.
And oh, what a bargain,
we’re two easy targets
for the old men at the off-tracks,
who’ve paid in palaver
and crumpled old dollars,
which we squirreled away
in our rat trap hotel by the freeway.
And we slept-in Sundays.
Your parents were anxious,
your cool was contagious
at the old school.
You left without leaving
a note for your grieving
sweet mother, while
your brother was so cruel.
And here in the alleys
your spirits were rallied
as you learned quick to make a fast buck.
In bathrooms and barrooms,
on dumpsters and heirlooms,
we bit our tongues.
Sucked our lips into our lungs
'til we were falling.
Such was our calling.
And here in our hollow we fused like a family
but I will not mourn for you.
So take up your makeup
and pocket your pills away.
We’re kings among runaways
on the bus mall.
We’re down
on the bus mall.
Among all the urchins and old Chinese merchants
of the old town,
we reigned at the pool hall
with one iron cue ball
and we never let the bastards get us down.
And we laughed off the quick tricks--
the old men with limp dicks--
on the colonnades of the waterfront park.
As 4 in the morning came on, cold and boring,
we huddled close
in the bus stop enclosure enfolding.
Our hands tightly holding.
But here in our hollow we fuse like a family,
but I will not mourn for you.
So take up your makeup
and pocket your pills away.
We’re kings among runaways
on the bus mall.
We’re down
on the bus mall.
And that's all I have to say about that. Two wonderful writers in two wonderful bands. Hooray for words and music.
posted by jep at 10:37 AM
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Thinking about Compromise.
The CBC lockout is over, and we in Canada get to return a bit to normal, whew. People are glad to have their radio shows back, or their news programs, and the people making those things seem happy to be back.
The points of both sides have been made: the CBC's a valued thing - shown in the interesting migration of certain shows from CBC to CIUT during the lockout. Made it pretty clear that nobody wants to do without them; And the managers have shown how tough they are: they actually shut the whole CBC as a bargaining ploy. That's pretty tough. (The ongoing suspicious-theory out there is that the management hoped to recoup the losses from last year's NHL lockout, and then bring it all back just in time for this year's hockey season. I haven't heard any evidence to prove the contrary.)
I hate it that things are that tough. The hardball that is commonly played now - I mean on both large and small scales - is harsher than 20 yeras ago. People play hard when they're in conflict, they get way meaner, way faster if they're tough. In government, driving, the mall, in any competition.
Everytime a contentious series of bargaining meetings starts, in contract negotiations, movement seems to be considered only at the eleventh hour - and frequently the twelfth. The parties who bargain this way seem to be denying to themselves that compromise always does happen, eventually: they imagine that if they steamroll their rivals, they can get 100% their way. It's a product of that gross, cynical, shitheaded business/political model that Mike Harris held up as common sense in the 90's, and I hate it.
You see the love for conflict over civics in Canadian party politics all the time. The parties behave as though they are polar opposites, when they are really collectively running the one country. While they have different approaches to how to run the country, um, it's ONE country. The way they challenge each other is part of how the country works. But to watch how they behave, they hate each other! They take every opportunity to slag each other: congratulations on getting that food to that place - but you did it ALL WRONG!
All of the parties in the country, I would imagine, want the dropout rates in high schools to decrease, hospitals to function as best they can, and to be ready to respond to crises. But they react to each others efforts with immediate naysaying, slagging any idea that didn't come from themselves, or claiming that the ideas were wrongly appropriated.
I know - let me be clear here - that conflict is important. I think it's as important as anything else - tools, language, bodies, big stuff like that. But I don't think it should be frivolous. Boy, cried the Wolf: how would we know if one of our parties actually had a real reason to decry their opponents? If one party was plotting to embrace facism, who'd listen? The result is that we do not believe much of anything they say. And - on the small scale again - fighting physically over a driving slight? So when do you pull a knife? When do you kill a man? (Sooner than later, that's the answer.)
Conversation is the thing that allows us to avoid fighting when fighting is not needed but conflict has to happen. And these fights turn out like all other fights, if you take a look from far enough out, where you see that nobody wins forever. All conflicts end in compromise. So why not move to compromise when it's possible? It's safer, too. It takes longer, so less unnecessary damage is done. More time's left for finding out that the whole things was just a misunderstanding.
I just read Mercy Among The Children, by David Adams Richards. In it, a man promises God that he will never harm another person. As a result, he is hurt in almost every conceivable way by his community, including generational wrongs to his lineage. It is a sad read, but it really makes the point - the point that old Jeebus was trying to make, I think - that harm begets harm, violence, violence, and that the person who stands up and says, no, I think there's a better way, does so in danger and loneliness. But that's still a holy stance, better than conforming to that cycle of screwed up cruelty and revenge. And it has its own impact, if you can bear to regard the long-term view.
Maybe it would be nice if conflict wasn't the favoured mode. Maybe it would be nice if we could re-embrace the holy idea of compromise. And maybe it would be better for everybody if that example could be set by our large bodies - like unions, national (public!) organizations, and political parties.
Glad the lockouts are over. Can't wait for the next one. Onwards and upwards, or not.
posted by jep at 11:46 AM
0 Comments:
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
On Boring Myself.
I’m 35 years old, and time has once again shifted in meaning. Days have been getting longer and years shorter for at least ten years now, but the shift this time is a new type.
The first type – the one where time moves faster as you get older – my brother Jim has a solid theory about. He says it’s a matter of ratios: when you’re ten, one summer equals a large percentage of your conscious life. When you’re thirty, it’s a much smaller – less significant – percentage of your life. I’d give examples with “numbers”, but I would get it wrong. It makes sense though.
The new shift in time-perception has more to do with decades. When I was 20, me and Kro were listening to records – Glass Houses to be specific – and drinking beer (which we did a lot when we lived together), and we realized that we’d been listening to that album for TEN YEARS. It was a shock. So now, when it’s twenty five years ago, how come it doesn’t blow my mind? I’ve been with Marjan for over 10 years now. I’ve been in Toronto for 16 years, almost but not quite as long as I was in Sarnia. And none of that feels that long. The numbers sound big, but it feels … quick.
Why are you talking about dis, Jep? Cause: the awful part of this is realizing that, because time is just zipping along, I have become someone who can (and has) use the same joke for DECADES. I am now someone who’s stock conversation bits are sometimes twenty years old. I realized this when Marjan and I were driving on the highway last weekend, and I started to remark that I would love to understand how traffic works – how it is that a minor slowing down somewhere miles ahead can mean a complete stop further back. I realized that I have said that same thing on nearly every bloody road trip since I first heard of “traffic theory” from Bob back in 91 or 92.
I refrained from saying it, and shared the realization with Marjan, who was thankful that I didn’t say it again. And we started talking about how it has become possible to bore ourselves with conversations we’ve had a million times. We’d, only hours previous, had the SUV conversation, and both secretly wanted to not participate – just because we’ve had that conversation about 1000 times.
Maybe you see this stuff more easily when you have a constant foil. There are certainly a lot of stories we don’t tell anymore, not because they’re bad stories, but because we can’t muster the energy to make them interesting anymore. Much of the time this has been a tacit agreement, on the way home from a party or something: I don’t think I want to tell anyone the Elizabeth story anymore. Me neither. And it’s gone.
With jokes, there’s the whole “schtick” thing, which allows a stale joke to become a sort of joke on its own. I’ve been asking people Why they don’t marry things they love for 20 years easy, ever since Pee Wee. It sucks, I know, but there’s a place for it. But conversations, stories, etc, don’t have even that small redemption. They just get boring, and if others notice, then YOU get boring.
So: I am resolving to shut the hell up about certain things. Stricken from my list of boring conversation contributions:
1. The traffic thing. Gone.
2. SUV’s. Gone.
3. Dangerous drivers. Hopefully gone.
4. Um… hey Marjan? What else should I put on this list?
5. Oh, I’ve got one, a preemptive strike to give depth to this commitment: This decision. I hereby promise to try and never talk about this decision.
6. If you have suggestions for things I should shut up about, please let me know. Jep [at] bmxmusic.com
I don’t really intend to stop with the Why Don’t You Marry It thing. I should but I won’t. When I’m a crazy old man, it’ll be the only thing I’ll remember. So don’t ask me to stop that one.
posted by jep at 4:57 PM
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
introducing maria
Yo. Here's what I've been up to on Garageband since I bought it. Or rather, the first stuff I've gotten to a presentable level.
maria demos 01
Two songs, called Goddammit and Sick Town. Download them. If you like them, share them, but please read the following disclaimer first:
I am aware that the mix isn't great. That's been interestingly difficult. And don't write to tell me that the vocals are muddy, because I know that. The mic I was using was shitty but I had already mixed these pretty much to that sound (a process of dozens of hours, since I'm new to it) and didn't want to start all over again with these. And I know I can't actually do a falsetto. There was noone around to do it for me. Sorry. That's why they're demos. They're all potential.
Besides that though, hope you like them. Oh, I have a question too: is the Flash Gordon intro on Goddammit too much? Someone is telling me that it diminishes the song, makes it silly. And I'm aware that I may just be overexcited about finally being able to use those old records I buy. What do you think? I'm attached to it, but not attached to the attachment.
If that's clear. Bye.
posted by jep at 8:11 PM
Friday, November 11, 2005
Kate Bush Listening Party A Bust
An evening dedicated to musical appreciation went from near disaster to resignation in Toronto earlier this week, say cops. Eyewitness to the sorry soiree "jep" was interviewed shortly afterwards.
"Marjan and I planned to hang out that evening. I get home earlier, so I got things ready - cleaned up and prepared dinner."
The occasion? The first record by wacky English singer - and Farahlayton favourite - Kate Bush in 13 years or so. "I was excited," jep recalls.
"I went and bought it at lunch, and then emailed Marjan and suggested a listening party that evening. She wrote back that that sounded like fun."
But the listening party nearly turned into an icy nightmare when jep and Marjan were finally together in person. "We were just in really different places; I get home like 2 and a half hours before her now, so I've shed all that TTC tension by the time she's just getting home."
The couple started into arguing about nothing almost immediately. Tempers flared - and for a little while it looked like the evening would be a disaster! However, the pair reasoned out that their anger was the result of outside tension and mis-aligned moods. The misstep avoided, they grabbed drinks and sat down with two of their cats to check out the new record by old fave Kate.
The first song, King of the Mountain, played through before the listening couple began to discuss. Marjan spoke first: "It's okay, but there's not much to it."
"I like the arrangement..." jep said," But, yeah."
The second song didn't make it as far. Jep had imagined, when looking through the CD's booklet, that the song Pi held promise: if anyone could sing the numbers of Pi and make it interesting, he thought, it's Kate Bush.
In reality, though, the song sounded "like someone ad-libbing about Pi."
"I thought she'd do something with it," jep complained, "But she really just goes 'Three point one five whatever whatever' over this pretty minimal keyboard pattern. "It was hard to hear anything interesting in it, and I was trying to be open."
After a couple of choruses, the couple burst into laughter. "You just have to hear it," jep says. "It's pretty funny." Jep fast-forwarded to the third song, Bertie, beginning to worry about the prospects of a great new album.
"It sounds like someone at a record company was trying to do "a Kate Bush type thing" jep said.
"It's middle-aged music," Marjan replied.
"Like a Joni Mitchell record," jep added.
"Or Sting," Marjan continued, to jep's laughter.
The fourth track, Mrs. Bartoluzzi, had the anxiously listening couple in stitches when the subject turned out to be "doing laundry and cleaning up." We started laughing, imagining Mrs. Bartoluzzi's response: "I was bored doing it - now you want me to listen to it?!"
"When she got into that plaintiff, 'washing machine..! washing machine..!' I just gave up." Jep and Marjan skimmed the rest of the first CD, and then realized hopefully that the second could be better. "I'd heard it was a song-cycle, and darker," jep reported, "So maybe, just maybe, it would be more of what we were hoping for."
In the end, it turned out that the second CD is better, in the couple's opinion, more interesting. "It's just about a nice day outside. She does a lot of fun vocal stuff - pigeons and this long laughing thing..." jep explains. "It's not bad. Better than that first CD. I'll listen to it all again, just to give it another chance, but overall I'm disappointed. I shouldn't have gotten so excited."
"I hate to say it," says Marjan, "But I didn't have a lot of expectations. The Red Shoes was a terrible record."
"Well, you're sensible. I had hoped that was a glitch," jep replies.
"I start off with no hopes," Marjan laughs, "and then if it's great I am pleasantly surprised."
posted by jep at 11:23 PM
2 Comments:
Anonymous said...
"Cool album art, though," Marjan added, days later.
miss tracey nolan said...
Jep - it's a good thing this was so entertainingly written. Takes the sting of disappointment away a bit. I was hoping for big things for this album. In my limited pop repertoire, Kate Bush is waaay up there. Ah well.
Thank Marjan for having a birthday - Danforth Bowl is my new favourite place!
more maria
Well, the first posting went well. People heard it, nobody hated the Flash Gordon intro (though I bet by the 10th time it'll be annoying) and it felt good. Goddammit, I think now, needs an improved mix, and I'm working on one. I like the mushed up wall of sound sound, but it's hard to guage how much is too much; I know the different parts, so maybe that's why I hear them. I'm trying to tweak the tune by separating its elements out a little bit more. It's underway.
Anyhow, here are two more.
Mexico MP3 MP3
Whatever MP3
Mexico's been kicking around for at least 3 years, and we hashed it out like crazy in the Pompadorsals last year. This version's been underway (in terms of recording) since August of 05, when I got Garageband. I've worked the shit out of it. I think it's as good as it's going to get til I have other people on it and some different technology. It's alright. The boys in the band will be shocked to hear a guitar solo. On the next tune, too:
Whatever has been around too, though not as long. I am actually currently out of love with it, as happens when you have a tune too long. That's an odd thing about this particular situation: I have this backlog of tunes that may be worth recording, but I am sort of too sick of them to do it. I may put up the older 4track demos at some point, just to say they exist in the world.
I hope to put up a great tune recorded a couple of years ago with a bunch of my students, called I Missed The Store by 50 Miles, but I was pondering some flashness behind it... we'll see.
Peace out.
posted by jep at 4:07 PM
Friday, December 16, 2005
I Have Seen Rock and Roll Past, and Holy Shit
I’ve never liked anniversary editions of albums, especially remasters, and I’ve never bought a box set of anything before. But when I heard that the 30th anniversary edition of Born to Run included two DVDs, one of “the making of” Born to Run (an interesting story) and one of a 1975 concert with the E Street Band, I got kind of excited.
The fact that Springsteen’s avoided the whole remastering thing this far helped too, since generally I think that’s an artistically fucked and financially driven move, Yoko. Yesterday I spent too much money on the very pretty Born To Run 30th Anniversary box, and I spent all of last night absorbing it. Holy shit, it’s so good.
The Remastered Born To Run:
There are no extra tracks on this edition of the album, thank you Bruce and God. A casual listener wouldn’t notice any difference, I think, between the album we've loved all these years and the remastered version. Things are just a tiny bit clearer, and while I don’t have the world’s best ear, I think the bass playing benefits from the remaster. The remastered release doesn’t diminish the album, which I think is all you can really ask: Born To Run remains what it always has been, a masterpiece shot in the arm of cinematic and vicerally satisfying rock and roll. It carries the heaviness and hunger of a man out to prove himself to the world after years of promise (it was his third record, but neither of the first two do a great job of capturing what Springsteen could do). I’ve been listening to Born To Run for 20+ years (I was only 5 when it came out) and I have never become bored with it; in fact, I’ve never stopped being blown away by it. How do you improve on that? (You don't.)
The gold in this box is in the filmed 1975 Hammersmith Odeon Concert
If you’re my age, you know what Springsteen was like in the 80’s: cool, muscle bound, handsome and confident. Concert footage from that massive Born in the USA tour shows a man in complete, comfortable control, leading thousands of people in a rock and roll celebration. But there was always a disconnection between that Springsteen and the one I was in love with, the one on the cover of Born to Run: the skinny bearded hood who’d inspired that famous Jon Landau quote about Springsteen being rock and roll’s future*.
Aside from the Born to Run record, I’d never heard or seen anything that made that claim come clear for me. Audio recordings of early shows sound great but they didn’t ever transform me. I figured I’d never witness the real glory of the Boss at his artistic peak. The film footage I have seen, mostly from the 1980 No Nukes show, is high energy, crazily committed ultra-performing, and I thought that maybe that was the big deal: yep, really good. Still, I’ve never been blown away by that footage. Impressed, but the Future of Rock and Roll? Maybe that was hyperbolic. Or maybe it was just a moment that was lost to time, like the experience of seeing the Beatles in Hamburg.
That’s all changed now. The 2 hour Hammersmith Odeon show is incredible: I haven’t enjoyed Springsteen this much since I first got Born To Run itself. I really do get it now: if you have the same questions I do about how good his early shows were, this film will do it for you. I actually clapped, on my own, in my living room. This show is an incredible thing.
The show is prefaced by a story about how the hype of Springsteen, famously counter-productive, had earned him a first time English audience just waiting to see him fall flat. From moment one of the show, Springsteen is winning the audience over; a few songs in, the crowd have become a congregation. The energy is enormous, the band is tight and rocking, but the real difference between, say, the No Nukes show and this one is that Springsteen’s still hungry at this point: he doesn’t come across like a popular local preacher, he comes across like he’s starving and so, so ready to rule the world. He’s scrawny and bearded, with an enormous toque and baggy pants, and he looks like he’s possessed by the music. His performance has all the elements I’d seen and heard of before: the stories, the physicality, the band’s power; the added feature here, and I imagine the thing that Landau was seeing when he wrote the famous rave, is the sight of a Springsteen who’s still hungry.
The Springsteen in this show has the assured but almost desperate power of a performer who knows he WILL win, but who has not yet done it. It’s an unbelievable show, and I’m grateful for its release. It could have been released to theatres.
Interestingly, just so you know, the material that comes across best is not anything from Born To Run: the tour for that album had started on the very final day of the album’s being recorded, and the band are clearly less comfortable with that material. Most of the Born To Run songs are a little rushed, a little less-solid than the earlier material which had never been well-recorded but which had been played live often enough to be deeply groovy and rock solid. Spirit in the Night, Rosalita, Lost in the Flood, all rock unbelievably hard. The piano-and-voice Thunder Road, which starts the show off, is wonderful as well. The band are in great form, looking sharp as shit in fedoras and gangstery suits and clearly enjoying themselves.
I sat down to check it out, pretty tired, and two hours later I was still there. I didn’t get up for a drink or pause it once: I was captured. I’m actually feeling a little altered by the experience – I feel really happy today, like I might if I found out for sure that there was a heaven or something. (How’s that for hyperbole?)
I love it. I get it now. What a thing.
*Incidentally, I still don’t get that quote grammatically: Jon Landau wrote “I have seen rock and roll future, and its name is Bruce Springsteen.” Shouldn’t it be “the future of rock and roll” or “rock and roll’s future”? No wonder it’s so frequently misquoted. But is it a mistake? Strange. If you know, lemme know. Marjan? Derek?
posted by jep at 11:23 AM
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
this is me hating christmas
I try to not go on and on about hating Christmas, because for some reason people get bothered by that. So mostly I keep quiet these days about the fact that christmas often makes me want to kill myself, that at its best Christmas is just really annoying for me. That is, until now. Now I feel like explaining.
People don’t get why some of us hate Christmas in the same way that some people don’t get why other people don’t eat meat: it’s okay, it’s alright, but … it’s just… wrong. If we don’t have to talk about it, it’s okay, but if it comes up, it’s all: What’s wrong with you? Oh, relax. Christmas is the best day! Come on, try it: eat some meat. Just a little. Pork isn’t meat, really. Eat this pork.
So why do I want to rant and rail openly today? Because last night I accidentally saw 10 minutes of the Barenaked Ladies’ xmas special on City TV and wanted to puke: what a phonyfest! What a load of fake-smile bullshit! Jingle Bells may be fun to sing with little kids or on a sled but a good song it is not, even if you “rock” it a little. Those Barenaked Bastards are officially, fully on my shit list now: having a Christmas album and TV special is for Anne Murray. That’s not rock and roll. That’s shopping music.
Want to know why some people hate Christmas? Well, for one, because Christmas is the USA of holidays: you can join it, or you can be left out of it, but you cannot ignore it. Christmas rules the two months before the date and most of the month after it in a way that makes even Christmas lovers tired. It’s loud and obnoxious and gaudy and shameless. Hey, if Charlie Brown’s Christmas ruled three months of the year, it’d be alright with me: seeing the beauty in small things and enjoying friends is good by me, and I like those rare things about Christmas now. It’s the wrapping paper and the baldfaced greed and the commercial frenzy and the brainlessness that get me.
Second reason: Christmas is a big voluntary mass-hypnosis people join into, like Beatlemania or something, and I don’t like group-think (because it’s generally the very stupidest thinking). And fine, fine, fine: be hypnotized by presents and candy canes or a rock band, fine. But Christmas’s mass hypnosis has captured the whole pie – Christmas is like if Beatlemania had been embraced by the establishment and institutionalized; automatically it sucks a little more for being embraced by everybody, because that leads to reason one, Christmas’s ubiquity. If it kept to itself – if one had to opt IN rather than OUT – it probably wouldn’t drive non-believers insane so much.
Third Reason: even if Christmas was something I’d consider a nice holiday – a time to reflect, to spend time with family and friends, to celebrate in the middle of winter, to be spiritual if you dig that – I would still be sad at Christmas. Because reason number three, for me and many others, is that crappy, lonely, terrible and/or sad things have happened at Christmas, and so it became an anniversary of that stuff too. If the same shit had happened on some non-descript day, it might not come up every year, but things are what they are. It’s like having gone through a mirror: I can’t NOT see the bad parts of xmas. I’m not a harper, I don’t want to mull over my personal pains, and I DO want to let them go. But every Christmas during which my melancholy is pointed to as a deficit, everytime someone else’s happy day is “ruined” by me, I hate it a little more.
And fine, so be it: for some people, Christmas is awful and needs to be ignored to be disarmed. I can take that alright, and I don’t mind staying home on Christmas, I like it fine. But the Fucking Barenaked Ladies, with their big fake smiles, pretending that Jingle Bells is a good song, pretending that the very gaudiest decorations on the planet are nice-looking, pretending that the world needs more Christmas songs and more Christmas specials, in front of a crowd who are all pretending the same thing and having a GREAT TIME … that just makes me fucking crazy, makes me want to share everything that sucks about that goddammed holiday, just to balance the universe out.
Here’s the good news, though: in the final tune, whatever it was, Steven Page, one of the band’s singers, tried to hit a tough operatic note and totally fucking blew it. He tried to make it look like a joke, but it sucked. And now it’s going to rerun EVERY YEAR!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA! Good on him.
If everybody else would chill out about Christmas, maybe I could too.
posted by jep at 2:05 PM
Monday, January 16, 2006
Three things you should check out
1. Yellow Jacket Avenger: Angular Canadian Weirdo Rock by Geoffrey Pye. Three retrospectives of the elusive musician are now available on his website, and they're bitchin. Really really good. MP3 samples are downloadable there: check out El Paso Refinery Flames to have your mind blown.
2. Natalie Dee: cartoon lady with website draws hotdogs and dinosaurs. You will love it guaranteed.
3. Marlys Magazine: Lynda Barry Rules.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Three Days to Change Your Mind.
It’s the Friday before the federal election (Monday) and the whole country is trembling slightly. Stephen Harper’s finally put his foot in his mouth, after playing it evil-robot-smooth for a couple of months: he assured the country last week that we, the populace, had nothing to fear from him. Isn’t that fucked? And suddenly the reasonableness of fear seemed clear.
Paul Martin, the Kim Campbell of the Liberal party (burned at the stake for the sins of his party), has finally come out with the right message, although I don’t think he’s yelling it loudly enough: Harper will cancel the child care program. Harper will modify (and thus nullify) the apology package finally given to Native people who were fucked over in residential schools. Harper will revisit equality for all citizens because he’s afraid of gay people. Etc.
It’s been an interesting campaign, which is sort of a reminder that we ought to be careful what we wish for: I had bemoaned the boringness of things when all of this started, assuming that the election results would be a repetition of the state of things last time (minority Liberal, strong NDP). And given my druthers, as me dad used to say, I’d have chosen that. It was fine.
Who’d have thought that Harper would unleash his absolutely brilliant approach on us? Who’d have thought that that mean bastard could actually smile for two months? Who’d have thought that he could keep all of his mean bastard friends from saying anything mean for two months? Harper was so convincing throughout this election that I began to like him! Not that I would have voted for him, but I read the articles about him and found things I could relate to (singlemindedness, lonely idealism, wish for and lack of role models). I thought for about a week that it would be interesting to see what would happen if he won (please god, with a strong NDP opposition).
And now I’m scared. I am remembering vividly what it was like on the election day in the mid 90’s when Fucking-Satan-Mike-Harris (and yes I mean that with hatred) was elected to Ontario Premiership. He also promised people a couple hundred bucks each for their vote, but he was crystal clear in his meanness: he pretty much promised to shit on the poor. I was so angry and sad when he was elected that I vowed to just close my eyes and not think about politics until he was over; I hoped and wished that the greedy, mean spirited pricks who voted for him would get hurt by him somehow. And then, the incredible shock when he unvelied his heavy-handed secret agenda – to mega-size Toronto (which we have still not recovered from) and to fuck up the school system (which we’re even further from fixing).
Harper’s secret agenda could be so much bigger and worse… False-War-on-Iraq-type viciousness. Bush friendship? Missile Defense! Intolerance and Bigotry, “Christianity” in its shittiest, most cruel inverted form. I hope that the hopeful possibilities come true (maybe he’ll moderate himself) but – while I try to not let it – my stomach hurts a bit. God help us – not the mean, hateful, conformist, controlling, shitheaded and spiteful old testament god, but the one who spoke through jeebus, gandhi, MLK and lennon, who believed that being nice was better than being mean – if Harper wins.
posted by jep at 10:38 AM
Monday, February 06, 2006
14000 Things (an ongoing list now at 44!)
This list started about 15 years ago, but naturally I never finished it. Perhaps if it's online, the convenience will allow it to flourish. Feel free to suggest additions in the comments section, and we'll get it done. This is important, I can feel it.
11 Remarkable Numbers:
One
Two
Three
Forty-Two
Twenty-Nine
Thirty-Six
Million
Billion
Fifty Thousand
Thirteen
Forty
20 Jobs I Have Had:
Little Caesar's Pizza (two locations)
McDonalds (two months)
BiWay
Paperboy
Altar Boy
Flyer Deliverer
Mac's Milk (overnight)
Cheapies Records (two locations)
Lichtmans' Bookstore (FOUR locations)
Camp Counselor (many times)
Therapeutic Group Leader (ditto)
Ropes Course Guy
Pedi-Cab Driver (uggh)
exam proctor
Telemarketer! (two tries, both short and brutal)
Tutor
Middle School Teacher
Writer
House Painter
Fish Hook Counter
5 Jobs I Have Loved:
House Painter
Middle School Teacher
Cheapies Records
Camp Counselor
7 Terrible Ways to Start A Conversation:
We need to talk.
Can I see you in my office?
Is there something you want to tell me?
You know what your problem is?
I have some bad news:
There's good news and there's bad news.
Have you seen a cobra around?
One Excellent Way to Start A Conversation:
Did you get paid to be an altar boy? (thank you T)
To be continued!
posted by jep at 10:16 AM
3 Comments:
miss tracey nolan said...
Did you get paid to be an alter boy?
Come to think of it...that would be a *great* way to start a conversation...
Anonymous said...
What about me, dink?? I'm Important.
jep said...
Don't go calling people dinks. IMPORTANT UPDATE:
I can't find the fucking lists. I have them somewhere but when I started posting this I thought I'd be able to find it: it would have been a much longer list. Perhaps I'll find it. Not that I think people are waiting for it - I just don't wanna look like someone who would start something and not finish it.
If you've seen it, please call my brother and ask him to pass on a message. He's free, he's just commenting on people's blogs.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Jimmy Carter Rules
Just finished watching the speeches for Coretta Scott King: THAT was amazingly interesting. I missed the beginning, and so Bush Jr's speech - it looked unsurprisingly in the news extracts like a simple, phony speech with little content. But maybe I missed the good stuff. Ha ha.
Jimmy Carter gave a profound, powerful speech praising her life, achievements, and the ideals she lived for. He quietly, clearly, unflinchingly blasted the current administration (without naming them) for their warring ways: "it's easy to forget that we worship the Prince of Peace" got big applause. Then he struck out at their racism, getting HUGE reactions and dropped jaws for saying that African Americans had still not achieved equality, as evidenced with the New Orleans tragedy/debacle - with that monkey Bush Jr's face right over his shoulder. Quite a moment. Big applause.
Following Carter? George Bush Sr, who began with a lighter speech - including jokes about being out of place as an Episcopalian. He was well-poised to distract the crowd from Carter's heavy message, until he realised he'd lost a page! He got a great reaction for the way he handled it - laughing at himself and saying the crowd ought to be grateful. Big laughs, but the speech was essentially over; he spent the rest trying to pull it out, but his papers never stopped rustling - loudly mic'd for some reason - and looked shaken. He set himself aside from the others by speaking about the Kings' mission as being successfully completed. He sort of rushed the ending - it was nicely juggled, but a bomb nonetheless.
Then out come the Clintons - he, of the fondly-longed-for pre-911 world, she, of the iminent future. Their reception was ecstatic, pointedly larger than that of Bush Sr. Bill pretended to wave the crazy applause down but kept hamming it up for more applause... Hillary looked unimpressed, but she sort of always looks like that around him. Can't blame her. Clinton did a great Baptist preacher show, rehumanizing Coretta Scott King ("not a symbol") and dissing Bush (calling him jokingly a member of the "frozen chosen"). He scored big points when he talked about the day after MLK's murder, and the choice Mrs King had to make. "What will we do with the rest of our lives?"
Hillary finished it off, giving a fairly straightforward inspirational and religious speech that came off good but a little pinched, and couldn't really follow her scoundrelly "husband".
Overall, a very interesting opportunity for positivity and social conscience to get on the agenda of a country fairly dismally embroiled in lies and greed and ignorance. Glad I saw it. Go Jimmy.
posted by jep at 3:01 PM
robot poem #2: the robot novel
Swear to god these are cut and pasted directly from two emails I got last week. Both were selling viagra and other larger penises, so go figure on why these were the main body of the email. But I do love them. Wait'll robots start making other robots: those will be some fucked up fellas: Enjoy.
-jep
Guess you didn't like the book so great, huh? well That won't do. "Come on.
He looked around quickly, chin down on his breastbone, eyes crafty and frightened. She was dressed in bees. "I pay my bills. That means in the bucket, doesn't it? Paul groped on the knickknack table, knocking figurine over. E-H's mommy andAnd now he was struck by an idea of such intense loveliness?? in terms of the plot at least?? that he looked up, mouth open, eyes wide. In a novel a car might be able to float right out of the story?? I guess I could make people believe it if I had to?? but in real life, no way. Swimming Pools
"ANNIE OH PLEASE PLEASE DON'T HURT ME! I advise you Greeting Cards What did you mean when you said?? "I can see you mean to be stubborn,?she said.
Old enough and bright enough, maybe, to spill some kerosene around a cheap liquor bottle, then light a candle, and put the candle in the middle of the kerosene. "Watch. My Pepsi is your Pepsi. ""Yes, Annie. "I say it was seven,?she said softly. He would never be able to maneuver this balky, oversized thing back to the bedroom in time. He could not tell her because it would hurt her badly, and in spite of all the pain she had afforded him, he found he could not hurt her in that way. Leonardo Di Caprio
posted by jep at 3:59 PM
Monday, March 06, 2006
Oscar Night With the Neighbours
Marjan and I have these great neighbours, who we've become friends with over the last few years. [Those of you who know me might find this funny, because I have never, that I recall, enjoyed a neighbour and have had some pretty bad luck prior to this address. When M and I moved into our house, I made a vow (you can ask her) that I would never speak to my neighbours outside of "hi, how are you?"s and other small pleasantries.]
So anyway, our neighbours are D and S and their two children, who we will call Snake Girl and Fire Guy for reasons of privacy, and we enjoy them quite a bit. Last year sometime we were sitting the kids so mom and dad could go out for dinner, and Snake Girl had this piece of homework she was showing me about her family - traditions, roots, etc. So I asked her about one of the questions, in good teacher mode: "What holidays does your family celebrate?" And she says, "Oh, the usual. Halloween. Winter Solstice. Oscar Night." Which we thought was awesome.
Well, this year we've been lucky enough to share all three of those dates with them, which is kind of funny because aside from birthdays I shy away from holidays pretty intensely. But these are (1)someone else's (2)unique and free of baggage and (3)next door, so they've all been quite nice. Last night we were invited to Oscar Night: formal dress. I had made a little Flash movie for work (I'll link to it when it's online) and Snake Girl had done the voices for it (brilliantly); I'd suggested we have a special evening screening of it for her and her family, and they'd suggested we add it to their annual Oscar Night celebration. Fire Guy was terrified to watch it 'cause he'd heard that it had an alien in it; he didn't know it was a cute alien. But he did enjoy it. Snake Girl was justifiably proud. D had also put together a little movie from clips we shot last summer on our porch of the kids, and he showed us that too. Very filmy.
D (an adventurous chef like Marjan) made a crazy meal of shrimp cocktails with avocado, squid-ink spaghetti in pesto, and caviar - apparently all the real food served at the Oscars dinner. Everyone was dressed in their best, and although I had socks with holes in them I was better dressed than I have been in years. Marjan made us ice cream with strawberries and balsamic vinegar (the best dessert I have ever had) and then we raced downstairs to watch the Oscars hosted by Jon Stewart. I haven't watched the Oscars since I was a little kid, as I don't like awards shows much, but it was fun: everyone had guesses as to what would win and lots of screaming and clapping was done. Snake Girl put down some red pillows to walk on and gave an acceptance speech in a little Mr Microphone, holding the leadership award she got at school. Fire Guy ran around in circles and crawled over and behind Marjan (whom he loves) 50 times. And D and S filled us in on how the Oscars worked, how previous ones had gone, everything we wanted to know. It was a great night and my date was fancy and beautiful and said I was handsome and we were home by 10 since the kids had to go to bed.
I thought you might wonder what I did last night, so there you have it.
Peace out.
jep
Monday, March 13, 2006
robot poem #3: the plot widens
again, from spam. who knew Roman Catholicism's real roots were in Buddhism? Da Vinci Code missed THAT cover up. For great fun at no cost, try rapping this shit. It's awesome.
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posted by jep at 9:23 AM
Sunday, March 26, 2006
robot poem 5: I got an email from Prince!
I got this email this morning, and boy was I surprised to see who it was from: PRINCE. Now, I have enjoyed Prince's music for many moons and once even learned how to play all of Sign of the Times on guitar, but I NEVER thought he'd write me. NEVER. It's a total shock. I guess its because of my famous music magazine Bad MonkeyX (which I am embarrassed to say had NO articles on Prince when the purple shrimp or his agents visited) or maybe because I kept my lovesexy record even though he's nude on it. In any case, I am proud to be on his mind. (To all u sceptics out there, u who say How do U no it iz prince?, yo check out line number one here. Who spells that way besides him? Nobody.)
I share the missive with you cuz i am hoping u kin help me decipher its hidden coded message. (I assume Ysac is like an ebonic or possibly just american way of saying "jep"). Hoping u's can help me out.
thanks a lot!
jep.
Here's the email:
-----
Morning Ysac,
You still wanna to make happy ur partner.
You still hearing nagging about it in the bed then come see
www.forscesowelkaer.com/v2/. Think about it, no more worries anymore about
ur unit, I'm not. On Sept. 17, Russian troops invaded Poland. Poland’s
resistance was crushed and the cou.
of it. It may be said that the entity that you call fate was nothing but a
sequence of events . as coffee and sugar, major crops are soybeans, cocoa,
cotton, tobacco, and corn. Rice, sorghum, and beans .
Hope is was of some help
Porfirio
posted by jep at 11:00 AM
Friday, March 31, 2006
Robot Poem #4. "Never Mund."
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The shadows remained on the melting snowpack of Annie's driveway for about five minutes. Annie came in at eleven. after he died, and almost twenty-seven miles away. Hungry. He was close to that, and who had a better right? He slept the whole night through for the first time since coming out of the gray cloud, and his sleep was for the first time utterly without dreams. She'll want to see if Sheldon really turned into Luciano Pavarotti, or if it just sounds that way. fraction alvarez hyacinth concise hospital polk discus handicap principal bricklay cordon diatonic
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Are you cramping? Santa Claus The Holocaust First her father, then her roommate?
You were also Scheherazade to yourself, he thought, and looked at the barbecue pot. The shoulder-bag was within easy reach of her right hand. First the Smokey, then him. "And now, before Geoffrey could even begin to answer, it was tough old Mrs. A nice big one like all the others?? maybe even bigger! As time passed, he became aware that there were periods of non-pain, and that these had a cyclic quality. Now there was all this white space below CHAPTER I, looking like a snowbank into which he could fall and die, smothered in frost. But I don't
The third was a woman of forty-six named Paulette Simeaux. in 1965 Niki Taylor "Get off me!
"I did that with my book?? only I didn't really use threads, you know; I used hairs from my own head. Mom's picture chattered briefly on the wall. Her starched uniform rustled briskly. ""That's what I wanted to hear, yes. WHY? Now she was holding the cross like a spear, the dirt darkened point of its vertical post pointed squarely at the trooper's back. Had he known, before this had he really known how badly she had cowed him, or how much of his essential self?? the liver and lights of his spirit?? she had scraped away? Will you
A moment later she had realized how mad the idea was. New York Mets Videos The envelope split open.
It snarled dully in what remained of his shins and in the bunched salt-dome that had replaced his left knee. He cleared his throat and got another after-taste of that fumey dust-rag. It?? "That's silly,?he said. ""You quit using mine that way and maybe I will. He had a pack on his back. Followed by a child of three who had fallen down a well, sustained grievous head injuries, and been brought to Riverview in a coma. "For a moment unease slipped cloudily across her face, and then she was looking at him carefully, studiously. vs. town, Network
Paul willed himself to relax. Blink 182 in 1863 He sat quietly in the chair, chin on hand, looking out at the barn.
If whoever that is hears something?? or even if I hear something and think he might have heard something?? I will kill him, or them, then you, then myself. and I can't give you any more pills for two hours. The specifics don't matter, do they? That would probably work better. They took you all the way to Denver, and we know you did it! The trooper would never go home to his wife and kids, if he had had them, but on the other hand, he had escaped Annie Wilkes. Some, like Motrim and Lopressor, the hypertension drug his father had taken during the last three years of his life, he knew. Never mund.
posted by jep at 11:51 AM
New Direction for Crappy Blog!
Hey. I started this blog to try and do a particular thing - doesn't matter what - and then didn't keep it up. Added some awesome robot poems, a couple ideas, and poof, goodbye.
But I just found a webpage by a dude who collects and displays and comments on all the old superhero Hostess ads. And I thought to myself, "This internet thing is just great." Inspired thusly, I have decided to spend the rest of my life mapping and chronicling the entire internet. It's a big task, I know, but how many people did it take to map the human genome?
So here I go, armed with a wing and a prayer, to explore this second-last frontier. I will see what there is to see, and find out how much it costs. Won't you join me?
I start my journey here:
Cool eh? Zooom! It's just a wallpaper that comes with your computer, but it makes you feel like Keanu Reeves in any number of movies. I double clicked some things, including an email from my brother, and eventually came across "seanbaby". You should go see it.
www.seanbaby.com/hostess.htm
Next: The Rest of The Internet!!!!