Points of No Contention

The new David Bazan album rules hard. It was to be expected.

John Vanderslice has still got it. Though it would have been nice to see him with a full band (not complaining, Chelsea), I can only imagine how expensive it is to tour with gas prices being what they are right now.

Twin Peaks has taken over my life for almost a week. Lynch must have had one amazing pitch to even get this thing on the air in the first place. Also, Sherilyn Fenn is a fox. And what I wouldn't give to have coffee and donuts with Agent Cooper.

There is no need for Kellogg's Frosted Mini-Wheats to contain gelatin. This would be a liferuiner, if not for the fact that I've already begun to eat like an old man. Oatmeal, toast, banana. Everyday. Oh, and coffee - black as some kvlt as hell Norwegian metal.

Punk rock and hardcore is still great music. Those who say otherwise should just go ahead and apply for their AARP membership.

Just trying to keep this thing alive.

Some dudes need to chill.

Recently a friend of mine interviewed The Get Up Kids. You probably know by now that I think their new album, There Are Rules, sips large quantities of wack juice. That being said, the interview was good and can be found in its entirety here. But when reading it I was struck by a certain response from the band.

Jim Suptic: To us, every album we have ever made sounds different. When people say our “signature” sound, they are usually talking about “Something To Write Home About”. Probably because it was our most successful album. We wrote some of those songs when we were teenagers. I’m 33 now. I love that record but seriously, it was over a decade ago. We wouldn’t even know how to write an album like that again. Especially not lyrically. Things that were important to me then seem quite trivial now.

My immediate reaction was to shake my head and recall the classic jam below.

If you're scratching your head, thinking that there couldn't be two more unrelated entities than that of The Get Up Kids and Gang Starr, hold tight. Take a gander at Guru's hook on the above track.

It's mostly tha voice, that gets you up
It's mostly tha voice, that makes you buck
A lot of rappers got flavor, and some got skills
But if your voice ain't dope then you need to [chill...chill...]

In reply to Suptic's comments about the lyrical immaturity of Something to Write Home About, I say "irrelevant". Allow me to invoke Guru's concept of "tha voice", but furthering its scope to encompass all "sound" (or narrow it a bit to specify "instrumentation"). The Get Up Kids could write a song about Yogi Bear taking a rocket ship on an interstellar voyage for picnic baskets and I would listen to it...if it had "tha voice". I don't hear "tha voice" on There Are Rules. I hear some guys who really like New Order and Joy Division but lack the sense needed to incorporate synths and electronics into songs without a shoehorned awkwardness (oddly enough, Reggie and the Full Effect did a better job of this). So basically all that's left are some supposedly more-sophisticated lyrics that no one read in the first place. So basically it should have been a book of poetry that no one read in the first place. What's that saying about whether or not a tree makes a sound when it falls without anyone around? Well, it doesn't - not without "tha voice". Guess they should have chilled.

Something only I would find interesting.

EXHIBIT A: 1986

EXHIBIT B: 1990

SUPPLEMENTARY EVIDENCE: "I adore them: the honesty and great songwriting, and everybody in the band is just a badass." (Philip Anselmo on The Smiths)

CONCLUSION: *head explodes a la Scanners*

Yo sucka...

This one goes to The Murph. Because he is unapologetically loquacious and loud as hell. But we wouldn't have him any other way. Just tonight my mom caught me calling him "sweetums". She couldn't understand that it was a misplaced reference to Parks and Recreation. So I then tried to cover up by referring to him as a "hairy turd". He is, after all, both. Such is the feline quandary known as The Murph.

Read John Barth's Lost in the Funhouse. Or read all but the last two stories, getting burnt out on his abstract exercises in form. There are definitely some good ones here; "Night Sea Journey", "Petition", and "Lost in the Funhouse" are equal parts golf clap and hearty laughter. Things bog down when the stories are based off classic Greek epics. While I probably should be more familiar with the Illiad and the Odyssey, the fact is that I've only read one of them (I cannot recall which) and that was about eight years ago. So when dude starts name dropping "Telemachus" and "Pesistratus" like we're already BFFs, I just want to crack an MGD and tell him to eat a fat one. Nevertheless, I'd recommend this to anyone looking for something beyond the standard fare narrative. It's a good chance to mix it up and act smarter than you actually are.

After talking to Josh (one of my supposed three loyal readers), I've been giving some thought as to what I want to do with this blog. I am considering copying him and making the transition to Tumblr. I think its format is much better suited for shorter posts - a form I'd much rather deal in at this point. These wide margins are so daunting sometimes. I'd still keep this blog for the occasional longer rant. But we shall see. I'm pretty lazy with what I've got going here. I might be too lazy to start an entirely new enterprise.

Parents just don't understand.

School has been pretty gnarly as of late. A few large projects to finish up (one which I miscalculated the due date of by a week). A couple of tests. One inept instructor. I've been putting in work. So a class cancellation because of snow offers a nice reprieve, even if it cuts into break.

While I was working on one of the aforementioned projects, I happened to be jamming The Smith's Meat Is Murder via iTunes (Morrissey - the unassuming badass - helps me plow through the tedium of documentation). I step away from the computer for a lunch break and let my mom check her email. From the kitchen, I hear the volume of "Barbarism Begins at Home" gradually increase. Christ, is she vibing to this shit? I then flashback about five years to a scenario involving Iron Maiden's "Run to the Hills" and my mom galloping to the tune of "this has a great beat!" I should be mature enough to deal with this overlap in taste. Maybe even pleased that there has been a bridging of the gap. But since this is a woman whose musical sensibilities include Fine Young Cannibals and the Flashdance soundtrack, my insecurities over defining "awesome" are stirred. Mom, I love you. But I can't be guilty by association.

Allow me to hand out a little self-love. Within the period of one night, I dropped knowledge on Facebook concerning the classic nature of both French cinema and Ice Cube. I'll be the first to admit that I'm much better suited to teach a course on the latter. But taken together...who does that? Who else can wax on entities from realms so disparate? Besides Spike Lee, nobody. I'm just too next level. Can't stop. Won't stop.

Been on something of a Converge binge lately. No big surprise (you may recall my gushing proclamation that Jane Doe was the best album of the last decade). I don't know what else to say about them or if I really need to say anything about them, but whenever I hear a C0nverge track I feel the impulse to tap you on the shoulder say, "Do you hear that? That is the sound of annihilation. Beautiful, isn't it?" I had that reaction ten years ago when I first got into them and I still get it today. No less intense. That is timeless power. The closest thing to a spiritual experience I have. It sounds silly, but it's true. "Annihilation" is extinction. And here it's the extinction of my senses. Senses that are prone to registering desire and suffering. "Annihilation" leading to the transcendence of economic materialism that is this modern life. Dudes, I'm talking about a basic Buddhist principle here: nirvana. No, I didn't just lose my mind. It was all just a ploy to post another Converge song.

They got it right the first time.

A live-action Akira? I'll avoid the unnecessary "why's?" and just shake my head in disdain. Even if James Franco is on board, it seems pointless. What could the adaptation do that the anime already didn't? Precisely what made the anime so compelling was that it was a "cartoon" doing things that cartoons don't do. Shoot, things that most movies don't do. I should probably contextualize those last two statements by clarifying that I first saw Akira at about 13 years of age. Around that time, I was watching the likes of The Nutty Professor and Space Jam. So then I see this animated Japanese movie that's completely alien in every way possible: it's subtitled, the story is difficult to follow and...christ, was that a cartoon boob? Basically, it was some next-level sci-fi shit and completely blew my mind as a kid because it was so different. But now that anime is all the rage in America (for the last decade or so), undiscerning nerds will gobble up anything big eyes and dumb hair, regardless of how banal or ludicrous the story and/or art is. Akira was, and still is, great because you can see the meticulous care that went into every detail of each frame. No way that same level of care will go into the adaptation.

I finally watched Inception, making me the last person on the planet to do so. Totally got it. Don't even need to ask me about it. (He's still in his dream, right?)

Some words on The Human Stain. Protagonist, Colman Silk, is a light-skinned black man. A professor of classics. Light enough complexion to pass for white in most cases. During youth, decides to disown his black family to create white identity; wife and children never know. Later in his 70's, has an affair with an apparently illiterate white janitor in her 30's from the university he had previously been employed at (got fired for inadvertent racism in using the word "spooks" to refer to habitually absent students he didn't know were black). Desire in the opposite. Power in secrecy. Binaries broken internally and externally. Oh the tragedy of human contradiction.

Just finished The Hunger Games. Not bad. It's clear that the author, Suzanne Collins (who used to work on that old Nickelodeon show, Clarissa Explains It All), is familiar with the likes of The Running Man and Battle Royal. There were even a couple of scenes in the book that reminded me of parts from both Predator and Rambo: First Blood Part II, with the violence toned down a bit. After reading so many novels steeped in textual ambiguity, it's nice to pick up a story that essentially tells itself. That being said, it's no Feed.

I really want to go to Rain Fest. Not only is it in Seattle this year (Neumo's), but the lineup is insane: Black Breath, Owen Hart, Shook Ones, Most Precious Blood, 7 Seconds, Madball, and Trial...to name a few. Oh wait, it's already sold out. Fantastic.

Resurrection

Please excuse the hiatus I took from blogging last month. I needed to recharge my batteries. Actually, I was just lazy as hell and felt no obligation to entertain you.

Scratch the lazy part. Though a sedentary activity, I've read a lot lately. In fact, I've been following along with with an online lecture series for a Yale course on the American novel since 1945. It's given me the chance to get around to some classics I'd previously overlooked, as well as dust off a number of texts for much deserved rereads. The reading list is as follows (in order): Black Boy, Wise Blood, Lolita, On the Road, Franny and Zooey, Lost in the Funhouse, The Crying of Lot 49, The Bluest Eye, The Woman Warrior, Housekeeping, Blood Meridian, The Human Stain, The Known World, and Everything is Illuminated.

Props to Sno-Isle Libraries for supplying the needed books - with the exception of Lost in the Funhouse , which I've been trying to get by request/interlibrary loan for the past few months (Josh, hook it up if you've got it). I'm currently reading The Human Stain, which means that I only have two more novels to finish before I can officially say that I've completed a course at Yale (sans attending "section" classes or writing any of the papers). Yeah, I've read at my own leisure, starting back in the fall. So although those Yale kids are a bunch of snooty aristocrats, their academic rigor is impressive; reading two novels week in the midst of a full credit load would have broke this camel's back early in the term.

Of the books I reread, it's Housekeeping that I'm most glad I came back to a second time. I first came across it five years ago while at college in a post-modern literature course. My thoughts at the time were something like, "Women. Nature. Hold on while I get the soy milk and Luna Bars" *escapes out back window*. Now I have a much greater appreciation Marilynne Robinson's ability as a writer. I'm not claiming to completely understand what she was doing in Housekeeping (something along the lines of Emerson or Walden). But I know originality when I see it. Did I mention she was a hardcore Christian? All the more amazing that I was feeling it. What can I say? I've got two aces up my sleeve when it comes to theologians in fiction: Robinson, the Protestant transcendentalist and O'Connor, the Catholic absurdist. (C.S. Lewis, you get no love here.)

I can't ignore the Super Bowl. Some key points.

1) I'm sure everyone's favorite commercial was the VW/Darth Vader/force-using one. It was aight. But personally I liked the Doritos one with the the crumb-stain fiend who sucks a dude's thumb and rips off another's pants; that's homoeroticism appreciated. I also enjoyed the British game show-themed Mini Cooper commercial centered around the catch phrase "cram it in the boot", as the contestant proceeded to shove a 12-foot subway sandwich into the trunk of an extremely small car. No sexual innuendos here.

2) That preview for Cowboys & Aliens? I think I'll just watch Tremors again.

3) Black Eyed Peas halftime show. Didn't watch it. Okay, I watched it on mute to know when it was over. Saw that Slash made a cameo for an abominable rendition of "Sweet Child O' Mine" (the GnR royalties must be drying up). I guess it wasn't completely muted. Would have much rather watched the Springsteen performance from two years ago. And lady Ferguson, youse a butterface ho.

The game? It was good. Rather surprised that the Steelers weren't able to pull off the comeback, despite the large deficit at halftime, since the Packers suffered some big injuries in the secondary. To Pittsburgh, I have this to say: I love Troy Palamalu's hair and Brett Keisel's beard, but rapists can't be Super Bowl champions. Ben Roethlisberger, I'm looking at you. "Alleged sexual assault", my ass. I understand that you're one ugly bastard and therefore it's hard to get piece. Doesn't mean you get to strong-arm women. You know who's even uglier than you and still gets laid on the reg without resorting to dirtbag tactics? This guy.

Lemmy Kilmister, my hero.