The Little Blue Planet is Just like a Volkswagon!

This morning I Googled, "how many people on the planet." The answer as of this morning - 7.065 billion.  Seems we've been on a major upswing since the Great Famine and the Black Death!

Kudos to you human beings.  That's a lot of reproduction.  You'd think with all that rutting and producing we'd finally come up with the perfect human.  One to top all other examples, and then maybe we could stop trying.  But no, we haven't gotten there yet.  Let's keep pumping out folks, folks!

We all have jobs to do here people!  Come on!  Let's see how many human beings we can crowd onto this little blue planet!  It's kind of like seeing how many college students we can get into a Volkswagon! 

This got me thinking about Warhol's "15 minutes of fame" comment.  I think many of us are shit out of luck on this one.  It does seem like people are famous for lots of silly and stupid reasons. Some are famous for being famous.  And some (Kim Kardashian?) are chewing up way more than their allotted 15 minutes.  I'm afraid there aren't enough 15 minutes for all 7.065 billions of us.

So okay, that means that many of us must toil away in obscurity for the duration of our days.  Come on.  It's all right. Don't be disappointed. Some of us just have to buck up and toil away in the darkness of our own shadows.  I say fuck it! Toil away!!!

Mr. Mo Ukulele Raconteur!

What can I say? You should watch this video. You should be so lucky to know Mr. Mo Ukulele Raconteur. You should be so lucky to be as exuberantly happy as is this snappily-attired gentleman. You should be so lucky to smoke what he's smoking, or drink what he's drinking, or pop what he's popping.

Although, really, I just think he was born to be this way. For some reason this video makes me think of some out-take from a not yet released David Lynch film (I mean that as a compliment!). An American original! 

 

Irish Hair!

Human #1: I have really weird hair.  My hair has a mind of it's own. It's been like that my whole life.  My hair does what it wants to do, when it wants to do it.  I have no control over it.  I mean, no one has hair like me.

Human #2: No, that's not true.

Human #1: It's not?!

Human #2: No. You have IRISH hair! Lots of people have IRISH hair!

Buzz-Kill the Spectacle

When the spectacle works, the observer is rendered speechless and thoughtless.  All one can do is experience/endure/consume the event.  If there are words, they are words like: "Wow," "Awesome," "Amazing," "Wonderful," "Holy Shit!"  Each new spectacle has to "out-do" the last iteration of the form.  The "wow" factor has a short shelf-life.  What is "wow" this moment, might not be so "wow" in the next moment.

If the observer has the ability to step back, to think, to ask questions, the game is almost up.  If the observer is watching him or herself watching the spectacle, if there is already a distance, there is something wrong with the connection.  If the observer thinks to ask any of the following questions, there is a major BUZZ-KILL that any grand spectacle may not be able to overcome: "What is this shit?"  "What is this telling me?"  "What is it saying?"  "What are the underlying assumptions?" "What does it all mean?" "What am I feeling and thinking while I'm watching this?" "Who cares?"

If the observer is often in this buzz-kill mode, chances are we talking about a "subversive mother!"

Spectacle of the Spectacle

Yes, I watched that Super Spectacle. And then the half-time spectacle within the spectacle.  Then there were all the mini-spectacles interspersed throughout the night.  I watched the whole thing with the sound turned up.  So it all washed over my eyeballs and filled my ears.

I "read" it as one grand narrative.  The Apotheosis of Pop Culture.  Guy Debord only had an inkling of this phenomenon. "The decline of being into having and having into merely appearing."

Did Guy know how seductive it would all be?  And weird? There were so many angles, and wormholes.  Sex, violence, humor, absurdity, cynicism.  The religion of selling stuff, and buying stuff. None of it was "offensive," all of it was palatable. And most of it was amazing.  Sort of boring too.

Everything you know is right! Yawn! Amazed and bored. You are the perfect American. The perfect denizen of POP.  

There was a game.  It was the excuse for it all. There was brutality on the field, a mechanized, choreographed mayhem.  They kept score too. And the half-time show was a martial display of Amazon woman in S&M gear, taking high-end pole-dancing to a fine art.  It was magnificent. And ridiculous. Simultaneously.  Numbing too.

Super-pumped and primped Gods and Goddesses strutting across the screen for our pleasure.  And then the power went out.  So perfect.  A reminder that this POP culture monster we have created still lives in a world where gravity holds.  Pop Culture rules the planet, we have comodified everything we can touch, and even those things we can't, but there are things on this little blue planet that are not inexhaustible.  

"In the darkness you shall know the truth."  There are things in this life that you can't see, that you can't own...

The Spectacle as mirror.  It was all there. Mind-boggling. And mind-numbing.  Super!

No One's Role Model

"Yes, well, I don't recommend you do what I do.  I don't even recommend that I do what I do. I mean no one should eat the way I eat. And no one should sleep the way I sleep. And I don't recommend spending your time in your waking hours the way I spend my time in my waking  hours.  I am no one's role model.  Not even mine. I mean, I do what I do, and I'm not apologizing for what I do, but it's not a recommended way to live.  You wouldn't plan it, or dream it this way, I know I didn't. I don't know who to hold accountable.  Besides me. So yes, I hold myself accountable.  I'm the only one here. And I have wonder what the hell I was thinking.  Was I thinking? This all seems like some weird assignment given to me by a real Joker.  A Joker with a strange sense of humor. I suspect the Joker is me. I might find it all funny, I mean, sometimes I do find it all funny, in an existentially unfunny kind of way.  I think of Samuel Beckett.  Did he write this script? Did I dream myself into a Beckett play? Do I see myself as the Beckett of my own existence? The jokes on me. I laugh. Laughing is necessary, but not necessarily recommended. Yes, laughter makes up for all kinds of life's maladies. Still not recommended! Go make up your own existence!"

Songs, Life and Death Stuff

We tried on some new songs with our band at yesterday's rehearsal.  It's an interesting process.  Some songs immediately sound right out of the box, they come out almost fully formed and we all make choices in the moment that build upon the initial idea.  And the song sort of materializes right in front of all of us.  It can be really thrilling when it happens.

Other songs kind of clunk along, they are not yet ready, and they are sort of fighting to come into being.  You have to be careful not to judge too harshly in these early stages.  We've found that some songs take time to reveal themselves.  We have to try them on and kind of mess around with them a bit.

The messing around part can be sort of frustrating, but it's actually just part of the work.

Then there are some songs that just don't cut it.  If we have to work too hard to make them sound decent, well we might just be barking up the wrong tree.  Wrong song, wrong band.  And you need to just cut them, trash them, and bury them on the spot.

So the process is about listening. You come up with the initial burst of inspiration, and then you bring a cold eye and ear to it.  Either you honor and nurture the thing, or you just kill it.  It's actually life and death stuff. And it's play too.

Wonderment

Excavating my dreams.  The world inside there is topsy-turvy.  Kind of a mirror of my daily existence. With maybe a few less rules. Gravity doesn't hold. Dead people are alive. Past, present and future all kind of collide.

I'm a lot less tangible. Sometimes I have a body, sometimes I'm just a consciousness. Like just a presence on the periphery.  Sometimes I'm smack dab in the middle of the action. The plots are usually like a really poor art film.  I mean, lots of special effects all adding up to unanswerable questions.

Not exactly 4 star stuff.  And then the next morning, there is a feeling of unease.  What was that all about? Seems I should learn something. And maybe I do.  I sharpen my sense of bafflement. Wonderment. I guess that can be useful.

Want

"Yes, you want it.  Maybe you want it too much.  Or then again, maybe you don't want it enough. I mean, maybe you need to hold onto your want tighter, or maybe you need to just let it go. Or maybe your wanting is just a side-show. Maybe you don't really know what you want. I mean, you think you do, but you are buffaloing yourself. Or maybe you don't really want what you want. You know?"

The Innocent, Naive Way

"No, I don't think we should willfully go out of our way to be stupid. We don't want to be stupid.  We live in a sea of stupid.  And it's really, really stupefying.  No, but I do think being willfully innocent, or naive, may actually be a good strategy.  Especially when we are trying to do something new.  There are all those wise ones who will tell you not to bother.  It's too hard, you will fail, you will be ridiculed.

So yes, if you ask one of those experienced ones for advice, it will not be edifying.  They will load you down with all the baggage of their experiences.  You don't need to take that on. All you really need is open eyes, an open mind and lots of energy.  It's sometimes better to think no one knows anything. Just give it a try. Act like it's never been done before. Maybe you will make new discoveries, maybe you will create something new, maybe your experience will be something that no one could foresee. 

It helps to believe in a better day, a better way, maybe we should just try even if, and when, others tell us not to bother. That's the  innocent way, the naive way, the artist's way... and maybe it's necessary.

A Sort of Forrest Gump Frame of Mind This Morning!

Yes, well, sleep is good. Good for the brain. Good for remembering things.  That downtime is useful. And eating is good. Nourishes the brain and the body. And walking and talking is good. Keeps you healthy and sane. And doing good things is good for you. Makes you think life is good too.

And we need that.  We need to believe in good things and in doing good things. And we should do good things. Yes. For sure. It's helps if we all can believe in a better day, a better future. And in goodness. And faith is a useful thing. Having faith in faith is good too.

Useful...

A Cool Sound

We delved deep into the creative process yesterday.  We walked over to our little rehearsal space and tried out some new songs.  A couple covers (for instance "Sweet Thing" from Van Morrison) and a couple new originals.

We totally revamped a song called "Shadow of the Marigolds." It used to go one way, now it goes in a totally different way.  I love when songs "materialize." Afterwards, you sometimes wonder how it all happened, and will it ever happen again.

I had been playing a couple of riffs, sort of stringing them together, thinking that they might add up to a song.  Then Carla and I took her lyrics and started trying them on for size.  Very quickly the words and music kind of fell together.

3 hours flew by.  Almost felt like a blink of the eye.  And we had a new song on our hands.  We recorded it on the little digital recorder.  It's still just a sketch and I expect it will continue to evolve.  But a great start. And a cool sound.

Fragment from "The Monkey-Lover"

"She loved animals. More than humans. Animals knew their place in the Universal Scheme.  Animals (insects too) had their jobs, their reasons for being, and they did their jobs without complaint. Animals were consistent, and trustworthy.  A dog did his dog things. Cats, birds, hamsters, and all the wild things, did their particular things too.

Not only did she love animals more than humans, she thought they were smarter too.  Sometimes she had to bury this belief deep in her soul, especially when in polite conversation.  But she never changed her mind on the superiority of animals over humans. 

She was basically a "misanthrope" - one who hates or mistrusts mankind.  Maybe "hate" was too strong a word "disliked" might be closer to the truth, but the "mistrusts" part was right on. Of course this meant she mistrusted herself too.  This was part of the complexity of the human thing.  Humans were variable and complex; also untrustworthy, disloyal, unreliable, fungible. And they lied. To others, and most especially, to themselves. And often they could even believe in their own lies.

And they did not know their place in the Universal Scheme.  They did not have clear-cut jobs. They struggled for a purpose. They were lost. They were capable of amazing things, and terrible things too.  For every Dali Lama you could find a Stalin.  It was sometimes very disappointing, and disheartening, when she thought about humans, and remembered that she was one of them too." 

First Show of 2013

Our first whitewolfsonicprincess show for 2013 was at the Gallery Cabaret last night.  A pretty amazing little club, funky and sort of "bohemian," which is just about the perfect setting for our band. We were on bill with Christina Trulio and The Gunnelpumpers.  

Lots of cool sounds. It just seemed like a perfect bill of music. We were smack dab in the middle,  book-ended by Christina's gorgeous "cowboys & brazilian" songs and the Gunnelpumpers improvisational madness. 

We played a pretty tight set, my new acoustic guitar sounded big and full, and our bass player's new fret-less bass added a smooth shimmer to our songs. We all seemed to be inspired by the sound on stage. And when Douglas Johnson joined us on Clevinger bass, it pumped up the adrenaline level a notch or two.

Carla vocals came across soulful and resonant.  Rich's drums backed it all with an extra, big-time wallop on that little wooden platform. The crowd was attentive and generous.  Lots of good vibes all around. Not a bad way to start the new year!

Just What it Is

Change... it just happens.  Sometimes it's almost imperceptible. And then it turns out everything is different. This happens all the time. It's what our lives really are, we are in the river, the ocean, the sea of change. I guess we could also call it the sea of possibilities. We are in it. And of it too. Nothing stays the same. Everything is locked into this process.  Change. Not good or bad. Just what it is...

Re-united with the Clunky Old Beast!

I have been reunited with my old Hohner acoustic guitar. The Master Guitar Builder fixed it!  So happy. I didn't realize how important that old guitar was to me.  Another one of those lessons - you will dearly miss the things you take for granted. The guitar was so familiar to me, for so many years, I did clearly take it for granted.  It's a big, clunky old beast of an instrument.

Some of my musician friends and trusted guitar techs told me it was time to give it up. It was broken and not really worth fixing. Maybe just put it up on a wall.  I just couldn't listen to that advice. I found a guy who put two ebony splines (little pieces of wood, sort of like pint-sized chopsticks) where the break occurred.  He installed the splines and incorporated them into the neck and then glued it all back together, sanded it down.

It's not exactly "good as new," you can see the lines of the break, but it sort of gives the guitar even more character.  It now has more of a history. It's beat and scarred. Sort of like me.  Hohner has always known for harmonicas, and this particular guitar was made in Japan, back when "made in Japan" meant "crappy."

It's actually not "crappy" at all.  It's a rare instrument, but not a collectible.  No one wants an old Hohner.  They were never known for their guitars.  It's a copy of a Guild guitar, which are collectible and "wanted." So, anyway, it's a cheap copy of a coveted, expensive guitar.  But cheap works fine. The sound is big and bold.  And it's mine.  Glad to have it back!

By the way, Hohner also made a few electric guitars.  Not many.  But there is one very famous performer who plays one, probably made in Japan in the 80's.  Now that one probably is a coveted instrument.  It certainly sounds good in this guys hands... wait for the guy with the red hat at about 3:40 into this video.  Prince tears it up with a Hohner Telecaster copy... freaking breath-taking!

 

HOT Trumps All!

Every once in awhile a "lip-synching controversy" erupts.  It killed Milli Vanilli's career.  I don't know if that was fair or not... can't remember, and I'm not gonna GOOGLE it, but those guys maybe didn't even do their own singing? Whatever.

Seems now there is a question about Beyonce's rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. Was it live or recorded, and did she just mime and use her lips?  Is it a burning pop culture question? Should it reflect badly on her? Will it torpedo her career?

Nah... my feeling... Beyonce gets a pass.  Now you ask, why does she get a pass? There's one over-riding reason, a reason that trumps all concerns... Beyonce is HOT!  End of story. Let's move on...

Obama's on Fire!

Alicia Keys sang, "Obama's on fire!" Which is funny, silly, ridiculous.  But I'll take it.  So happy Obama is back in the saddle. I do think he is the perfect man for the moment.  The last sensible man in the land.

And his political opponents are such knaves, scoundrels, idiots and craven creeps.  So it's easy for me to identify the good guys and bad guys.  All I can say is, "Go, Obama, Go!"

Godspeed Obama! Damn the torpedoes!

New Diet!

"Yes, but can you really live on chicken soup and chocolate?"

The Peach is Gone

The Peach is gone.  I met her a couple years ago.  A boxer. A big over-bite.  Sort of slobbery. A mug only a mother could love. She had stomach issues. She was on some kind of medicine, not sure what, I had to open her mouth and shove pills down her throat.  It was a sort of messy, slightly gross process.

Still, she a was in fine form when I first met her.  Once in awhile, one of her back legs would give out, and she'd sort of drag it. But that was rare, we didn't really think much of it.

Slowly, progressively, it got worse. Some kind of nerve disease. She was losing control of her back legs. About a year into the relationship, she was dragging herself along, sort of like Gollum from Lord of the Rings. When we went for a walk, she was determined, but now, both back legs were not working correctly.

It got so painful to watch her drag herself along, we finally got her a doggie wheelchair.  I'd put her in the thing and once she got acclimated, she could navigate around. No problem.  She was like a little doggie bumper car.

But the disease slowly and surely progressed. She got very thin.  She'd eat, but couldn't keep weight on.  Her little ribs were starting to poke through.  And her whole body would sometimes shake.  Still we had great times out on the beach. I'd throw a stick or ball and she'd romp around in that wheelchair.  She'd bark at the ball and wait for me to toss it again.

People would see her and smile.  It seemed like such a heart-warming story.  The little boxer who could. One time a guy came up to me and said, "There's a special place in Heaven for people like you." I don't know, just doing my job, right? I was the caretaker.

The more helpless she became, the less she could do for herself, the more I did for her, the closer we got.

Anyway, yesterday we took our last walk together.  It was a cold, bright day. We looked at the lake together. For the last time. Looked at everything with new eyes. The beach, the little grains of sand. Everything in it's place. Peach. Those big brown eyes. The furrowed brow. She looked at everything wide-eyed. Expectant. She took in the day.

And it was her last.  Goodbye dear friend.  It was great to know you. I promise I will not forget. Impossible to forget.