This is an example of reading one thing, and coming across another thing, and then going down the rabbit hole of a completely other thing. And then finding something pretty cool...
This is a Playboy interview with Bob Dylan around the time of his film Renaldo and Clara... never saw the movie, never read this interview. So happy to have found it this morning!
Dylan is the master of illusion and disillusion. He is an oracle who can't be pinned down. He never really clarifies, he always deepens the mystery. Nicely done Bob!
DYLAN: Henry Miller said it: The role of an artist is to inoculate the world with disillusionment.
OK. I get it. Take a deep breath. Relax. Rest. You fill your days and nights with activity... and then you need time to re-charge. Like a battery. I mean, you expect and think that your energy is like a battery, and if it's a battery, it's the re-chargeable kind...
You know it's not "infinitely re-chargeable" but you lose count of how many times you have re-charged, and you anticipate, you count on, the idea that the process will work once again... you can't even contemplate the "dead-battery" state of your existence...
Played a show last night. We were "the headliners," which in the circuit where we play basically means that we go on last. So it's a late night. And we spend lots of time in the club watching other bands play. This can be a good thing when you see a band you really enjoy, and it can be really bad when you have to sit through a set from a band you really, really don't enjoy. We experienced both last night.
Not naming names...
Anyway, we got on last; the audience had thinned out a little, but we filled the room with our sound. We have really jelled as a unit, and we were in "stripped down" mode, just vocals, one guitar, one bass, one drum-kit. We really enjoy making music together. And I think it comes across to the audience.
We did a bunch of originals and a bunch of covers. We worked up a sweat and ended with a cover of Lee Hazelwood's "These Boots are Made for Walking." It was a long wait to get on stage and then our set seemed to be over in a flash.
After-show inventory: Didn't break any strings. Didn't get raving drunk. Didn't insult anyone. Made it home in one piece.
Yeah, I guess it was a pretty good show...
Yes, the "re-purposing" of sanitation equipment (see previous post) kind of blows me away. Someone sees a dumpster and imagines a pinhole camera.
That kind of creative imaginative act is almost "magical." Conjuring something out of something else.
I love my rock and roll, and I love my little tube amp. And that tube technology came from the military! So all that great rock and roll (over-saturated tubes pushed to the limits by a cranked electric guitar) is really just "re-purposed" military equipment. Twist and Shout!
And maybe in the future those Drones that are used to hunt down and kill people in the streets of Karachi will be "repurposed" to create music, or maybe they will be re-programed to dance?
Maybe in some future Dystopia people will watch squadrons of "re-purposed" drones dancing in the sky; the population will be entertained by elaborate drone symphonies and drone ballets. Imagine!
Those industrious Germans are at it again. The Trash Men are drilling holes in their large dumpsters and turning them into enormous pinhole cameras. And taking pictures of Hamburg...
Stunning, amazing, creatively industrious, and so freaking cool. Art emerges from the trash can. Absolutely love it. Those clever humans! Makes it seem like anything is possible! And of course, every moment can be an art moment!
As the Dali Lama reminds us: Human Beings first. We are all human, all the same species. So there's no division there. We are all human.
And the glowing thing (see previous post), well it just happens. It cuts across all persuasions. It's a spirit thing. And maybe it's a good thing that everyone is not a "glower." The world would be too bright. And you can probably glow or not glow. Depending.
So it's not like a "caste" that you can't escape. It's just an inclination which you can indulge or not. It just makes sense that if you live in a world of light, you'd want to hang with other "light-bearers."
And you'd want to avoid the black holes of the spirit. You can empathize with them, you don't need to shun them, but maybe you step carefully, and minimize your exposure to them. That black hole has power and it can suck out the light, stamp it out.
And maybe it's not intentional. Maybe it's just natural. An intricate dance of light and shadow. You just need to watch your step.
Bioluminescence: think glowworm, think firefly, think fungi!
I think some people have this ability to glow too. And the glowing ones tend to notice each other. It's great when you get a bunch of "glowers" together. All kinds of light and sparks ensue.
Of course, as nature constantly reminds us, there is always the reverse too. What is the opposite of bioluminescence? Sorry, "no words found." But yesterday I walked into the coffeehouse and there at the table was a collection of the opposites. Dark holes. Black Cloud folks. I "know" them, know their names.
I walked past their table with just a nod. I could feel the darkness emanating from them, and it started creeping across the floor towards me. I spun on my heels, grabbed my coffee and decamped ipso facto pronto! Scary!
Kevin Kelly writing about a video game called "Mass Effects" elucidates the concept of Cosmicism here.
The author of the games says: "Cosmicism is not merely the idea that there is no meaning in the universe. It’s far worse. Instead, the argument is that there is meaning, but it is so far above and beyond human understanding that we can never attain meaningful existence."
In the game Sovereign (a god-like eternal entity) declares: "Organic life is nothing but a genetic mutation, an accident. Your lives are measured in years and decades. You wither and die. We are eternal. We are the pinnacle of evolution and existence."
The philosophy of cosmicism orginated with H. P. Lovecraft. "Humans are particularly insignificant in the larger scheme of intergalactic existence..."
This all "makes sense" to me. We humans are particularly insignificant in the larger scheme, no doubt. And if there is a race of eternal, God-like entities, we probably look to them no better, or no more important than pond scum.
But if you are pond scum, the doings of pond scum probably seems pretty damn important to you! So yes, we are left to our own devices. If we want "meaning," and "hope" and "purpose" in our lives we can't look to the gods or the galaxies for a clue. We must "generate" or invent these things for ourselves.
And maybe it's a good thing to be reminded that, although how we live, and what we do, is important to us, it isn't all that important to the "Gods" (if they are out there), or to the universal forces beyond our realm. This all seems like a sensible and livable philosophy; not nihilistic, or depressing in the least. I mean, at least that's how it seems to this insignificant little pond-dweller.
Seeds. You plant the seeds. And you wait. That's something you learn from gardening. I'm not a gardener, but I live with one. And I have learned from my gardener.
You don't just wait. You tend to the soil. You water and clear the weeds. You prepare the ground so that the seeds can find their place, take hold, and emerge.
As a gardener you see the future. You have a vision. You see an empty plot of land, you see the dirt, but you are looking beyond the immediate condition, you imagine the greenery to come, the flowers; you imagine smelling the flowers and cultivating the plants, and harvesting the crop.
So you learn patience and vision. And you learn to care for life beyond the human. You learn the ways of an ecosystem beyond yourself. And you learn your place in that ecosystem too. Lots of lessons in a little garden. There lots of big things to learn in the little things. And that's a lesson too.
There is a long-haired, trippy-looking sort of gentleman, lurking around town, claiming to be John Lennon's "lost" cousin, Lon.
I've bumped into him at a few of our musical events. He kind of flits in, bearing a little ukulele like a weapon of love and laughter; he does his thing, and then sort of vanishes into the mists of the evening. He is certainly light on his feet.
This gentleman knows his Beatles and 60's lore. He has that "been there, done that" demeanor, and he does sound like he just got off a boat from Liverpool. Is he legit? Beats me. But listening to him wax poetic on the Fab Four for a few minutes, you begin to think all the Beatles histories are wrong or at least inadequate. What about Lon Lennon?!
Here he is talking about the Beatles great "rival" band, the Stones...
I talked about our "anti-marketing campaign" for the whitewolfsonicprincess CD here. I guess it's not really "anti,"anything, it's a marketing campaign all right. It's just under-funded, short-handed, and subterranean. Which is cool by me. We just went live with a new band website, which you can find here.
We are pretty happy with how the site came out. Nice photos, a list of upcoming shows, band info and a couple of tracks for your listening pleasure. Oh yeah, and some links to places where you can buy a copy of our CD!
Update: And be sure to check our our new r&r diary!
I wrote about Tav Falco's Panther Burns here. I mentioned that I loved the liner notes in the little booklet that comes with the CD. And well, you ask me, "sunnyjimmy, just why do you love them so much?"
Well, you get three takes (Tav Falco, Ross Johnson & Ron Miller) on the band. And the writing from all three is funny and insightful. It is the "Lore & Testament" of a band that lived on the margins of the margins of the Memphis scene in the early 80's. They help build the legend, even as they illuminate the crash and burn nature of the endeavor.
The band had a great punk mentality which is certainly reflected in the "Behind the Magnolia Curtain" music. So anyway, I actually re-read the liner notes and I wanted to point out some gems...
Ross Johnson (drummer): "I see punk rock as something primarily authored by rock critics, particularly Lester Bangs, Richard Melzer, Greg Shaw, Nick Tosches, and Dave Marsh. It began as a literary movement, I believe; the music came later."
And this on what "punk rock meant to him:" "It saved my life for better or worse. It gave me hope which is, of course, the most dangerous drug of all."
Amen on that Brother!
The Boxer can't really walk. Or she can walk, with all four legs doing their walking thing, only briefly. Then one back leg goes rubbery and she wobbles, her whole body does a turn, she falls to the side, sort of walks in a palsied circle. Then she rights herself again and starts over.
Sometimes she can walk 10 yards or so, and you think she's got it licked. But that thought is short-lived. The rubbery, palsied thing kicks in, and she falls to the ground. She sort of looks up at you with those brown eyes, big marbles rolling around in her head. You think she seems a little sheepish, or embarrassed at the way this little walk is going.
She wants to walk. She wants to sniff the day. She wants to be outside and soak it all in. She has the spirit. Her body just doesn't really cooperate. You've watched as this condition has progressed. At first it was a rare, once in a great while thing: the wobbling, the palsy. But now it's pretty full-blown and happens every few steps.
So the walks have gotten slower and shorter. You get her to the park and she sits in the grass as you sit on a bench. She sprawls in the grass, her uncooperative leg sort of like an extra appendage that has no real place. Sitting in the grass, she looks like a healthy Boxer, all muscle and mouth, a big jutting jaw, a massive over-bite, the teeth sticking out even when her mouth is shut.
It's just when we get up to walk back that it all starts again. Sometimes it gets so tedious both for you and her, you pick her up and carry in your arms. Cars slow down to watch you carrying a full-sized Boxer down the street. She goes limp in your arms, her body heavy against your chest. This is how you finish the walk now a days.
One day you do this Boxer walk with a companion. Afterwards your companion breaks down and cries. Her tears fall to the sidewalk, she says, "You hope someone will be there to carry you when the time comes." You nod your head in agreement. You think, "Nice thought," but inside you are really hoping to meet a much more timely, speedy and cleaner finish.
You can experience that feeling of being on the planet and falling off the planet at the same time. It's kind of like a "being here" and "not being here" thing.
It's sort of like that looking down at yourself and observing yourself as someone or something else. It's a way of "getting out of yourself." I don't think this is something you can just will. Or do on a dare.
But there are times this happens. It's weird and strangely ZEN. Usually we cling to life. We hold on tight. But there are times when your grip loosens. You slip out. You slip out of the bonds.
So you transcend, or ascend, or descend, or maybe you just reside in another space-time continuum. It's a feeling of dislocation. Maybe it's an illusion, but it's sort of agreeable.
You realize you don't have to hold on so tightly. Letting go is okay.
Yes, I think it's best to sometimes act like what you are doing has never been done before. I mean not only hasn't it been done by you, but it's never been done by anyone before in the history of the world, ever!
I mean, I guess this is a kind of a trick, a way of pulling the wool over your own eyes, but maybe that "not knowingness" that innocence, that "assumed naivete" can work to your advantage.
I mean, I know there's something to be gained by experience and knowledge, but maybe there's also something to be lost. And maybe starting from scratch, with only your own wits to rely upon, isn't such a bad way to take on the world.
You may fall into the ditch. You may stub your toes. Hell, your lunch "may be eaten," but maybe you end up doing and trying things that you'd never imagine doing or trying, if you "knew better."
And maybe the trying and doing is the better way to live. And maybe some of those knowledgeable "no ways" can be transformed into naive "yes, you bets!"
A conversation between a friend, and a friend of a friend...
"That's the difference between us. You like music. And I like to rock!"
This is just such a great clarifier. And I know what the friend of the friend means. I think I kind of straddle the divide. Yes, I like music, but I really like to rock and sometimes they go together and sometimes they don't.
I can rock out, and listen to rock that has little to do with music. And sometimes it's that non-musical element that elevates rock and roll to another level. So yes, when you crank the amps and the tubes start to feedback, non-musical frequencies can bleed into the sound, and these non-musical elements can make the music dissonant, complex and very, very cool.
Prime example: I have been listening to Tav Falco's Panther Burns "Behind the Magnolia Curtain." This album was originally released by Rough Trade in the early 80's. I guess it's kind of legendary, and it's been out of print for a long time. I had no clue it even existed.
The new release is just superb. It's packaged wonderfully with great pictures and excellent liner notes. The writing by Ross Johnson, Ron Miller and Tav Falco is some of the best writing about rock and roll you can find in a little booklet. Funny, insightful, inspiring.
The actual recording is raw, raucous, over-loaded, messy, sloppy, and totally, freaking exhilarating. There's a raw punk sensibility in a head-on collision with an early rockabilly-type sound, mixed with a Sonic Youth-ish dissonance. And the great Alex Chilton plays guitar and drums! It was recorded in an afternoon in Memphis on a totally overwhelmed and totally swamped 4-track tape machine. The sound is cheap, crappy and somehow classic.
It's all cover songs. Obscure songs from R.L Burnside, Muddy Waters, Roy Orbison, Jerry Reed, Junior Wells, Leadbelly. And Tav Falco has the voice and the sensibility to pull it all off. It's a great rock and roll testament. Much of it is not so musical; it's off-key, out of tune, off-time, but the result is rock and roll of the highest caliber.
Probably would help to have a bucket of fried chicken and a bottle of Jack Daniels to go along with the listening experience! Burn Tav Falco! Burn!
We are going to do another one of those Rock Icon shows (we've done Dylan, Lennon and Neil Young so far). We pick an artist and everyone comes and plays their songs. The next one is gonna be Paul McCartney in May.
Sir Paul has written so many great songs. He's an amazingly creative bass player and a phenomenal singer. His body of work is just overwhelming. I don't love everything he's done. There are lots of sappy, saccharine songs, lots of misses, mixed in with the hits.
But you can't argue with the catalog. I tend to lean towards the rockers... "I'm Down," "I Saw Her Standing There," "Get Back," "Back in the USSR." Plus there are some songs that just can't be bested: "Yesterday," "Hey Jude," "Let it Be," "Eleanor Rigby."
It's always fun to get out my Beatles Chord Book (it is essential!) and just test-drive songs. I do think his writing partner, Mr. Lennon, brought out the best in McCartney. Lennon's rastiness balanced out Paul sappiness. There is a world of classic McCartney, just from the Beatles years. And then of course, there's Wings and his solo career. Monumental!
The man still rocks on. And really who can blame him? These shows are always a kick and a challenge. You are playing songs everyone knows, and songs lots of people love. You can try to do them like the master or try interpret them for yourself. I like the "interpreting" route and "damn the torpedoes!"
You touch the world and the world touches you. It's the most significant relationship in your life. You get everything, all the time. It comes down to how you process it all. What you take in and absorb, and what you take in and expel. Sometimes you get to choose, sometimes not. And whether the things of the world are significant or not, everything counts. Everything. I mean everything. Counts!
And then again it is all a grand narrative. But it is so grand you can't really get a handle on it. It's beyond human comprehension. The time-frame, the list of characters, the twists and turns of plot, they are so overwhelming, so all encompassing. And confusing and contradictory.
As you meander through the story, you realize that you are not the main character. I mean, maybe you can fool yourself into thinking you are the main character to you. But that is a meager and deluded thought-train. People are pretty fungible. Human beings? They are pretty unreliable. They come and go. Like a puffs of smoke.
So yes, you are a bit player at best. Maybe a bit of a bit of a bit player. You really are made of smoke. And even the really important people aren't really all that important. They are smoke too. Even the presidents and kings and pop stars; they're basically little blips on a screen, tiny bubbles that can pop at a moment's notice. And bubbles are popping left and right.
I suppose you can be bummed out about all this, or pissed off. But really what's the point? Maybe you can swallow all of this meagerness, all this littleness in the face of such incomprehensible immensity and use it to your advantage.
Maybe you can make it like your code or ethic of being: "better living with littleness," or "It's OK to be meager," or "a puff of smoke? You got a problem with that?"
We tell ourselves stories. We tell others stories. We love to watch and to read stories of others. We like to think of our lives as narratives. We think it helps us make sense of all the sensory impulses we receive.
We sum up the events of our lives in some kind of grand narrative. We do this for others too. We look at human beings and we see this story of beings; from humble beginnings, sitting in caves, huddled around fires, to the now, where we think of ourselves as some kind of sophisticated and advanced species.
Still you can't help wonder if the story has a happy ending. Or any kind of ending at all. And you wonder if human beings really know what they are doing. Sometimes the story has these weird detours and dead-ends. And it seems the only way to construct a narrative is to leave lots of stuff out of the story.
And there's this nagging intuition that maybe we leave the most important stuff out of the narrative, either because we don't really know what's important, or it's not convenient, or it doesn't add the the narrative through-line.
And you wonder if maybe this narrative type facility is an elaborate mental construction that misses the point. Or obscures the point of life. If there's a point. And you wonder what is a human being: this collection of feelings, impulses, thoughts, desires, emotions. And you wonder what is the world: this amazing sensory overload of things and things and things.
And you wonder. How do you wrap all that up in a story without painting just a grand, misguided and elaborate lie.
