No intro — let’s go right into the ramble!
Newsletters are tough. Especially when the writer (me) has set high expectations. There should be something ambitious here, something profound. And if nothing materializes, then what happens? Perhaps, as I've done in the past, a 'station break' or an 'intermission.' Or maybe I'll take the weekend off and not send anything. Treat it as a chance to clear the brain-space.
There's a collection of topics I'd like to write about, but everything's a jumble. That's where I found myself last weekend — thinking about too much to the point of not thinking about anything. I felt like a couple of days without work or writing, and merely reading and creating other things, would do me good.
It's seven days later, and it doesn't feel like I'm any more focused. I imagine it's a combination of factors. For one, the seriousness and downright dispiriting nature of the news cycle keeps lighter topics at bay. An inner voice tells the writer, "now is not the time," even though many appreciate off-topic ramblings as a momentary break-from-it-all. As far as timely subjects go, I've watched as other writers made attempts and stumbled. Some have stumbled hard. It feels prudent to step back and let the more fluent take the stage.
The Strange Times have taken their toll, too. Ideas for writing often come from experiences — meetings with friends, random encounters when out-and-about, that funny thing that happened to me yesterday. I can count on my fingers the times since March that I've left my home. You can probably relate. The Groundhog Day-ness of it filters fresh ideas from the mind, at least it does for me. There's only so much inspiration bubbling up from "here's something I saw on the internet."
On the other hand, I took the free time last weekend to work on music, and I came up with something weird and dramatic. That’s not this episode’s theme song — I’m saving this newer one. Paired with an earlier song I'm sitting on, I may have the beginnings of a future release. EP or album, I don't know yet — but this new tune might be a turning point in the direction I take with my music going forward. That's encouraging.
I repeatedly advise others to trudge onward — just do your creative work and sort it out later. But sometimes you need a break, to clear your head and make music instead of writing words. This weekend isn't necessarily better, but here I am, trudging. Let's see what I can dig up. I already know there's going to be a lot of edging and not too much mowing.
------------------
This episode's theme song is called "They Can See Us Through The Wires." It's an attempt at an EBow symphony, laying a mass of EBow guitar lines on top of each other. The EBow is a "handheld electromagnetic string driver," causing a guitar string to vibrate — and sing — as the guitarist holds the magnet over it. My musicianship status on the few instruments I play is "I get by," but I'm pretty good at EBow. It's thought that Robert Fripp played an EBow on David Bowie's "Heroes" (it does sound like one) but, like the theremin on "Good Vibrations," that's a misconception.
------------------
Cat Zhang wrote a terrific article for Pitchfork about memes and TikTok and an authentically '80s sounding post-punk band from Belarus called Molchat Doma. While examining how some TikTok kids appear to fetishize and fantasize about Soviet-era aesthetics, the article veers into the philosophical concept of 'hauntology.' An enormously simplified definition of the idea might be "nostalgia for things that never really existed." We invariably drape our culture in nostalgia and the illusion of 'the good old days.' But this fascinating wave not only looks at the recent past — 2015 nostalgia, anyone? — but filters it through a reimagined blend of things like Soviet club fashion, creating a dreamy 'lost in time' uneasiness. I'm going to leave you hanging there. I don't think my brain can handle thinking much more about this today, but the sound of Molchat Doma's "Судно (Sudno)" did inspire my "Goth Lobster" quip. [LINK]
------------------
Here's a truly wonderful (and engrossing) profile of subversive filmmaker Kenneth Anger in Esquire. He really was the Forrest Gump (excuse the reference) of mid-century counterculture. The guy was everywhere with hands in everything. This article triggered a memory: In the early '90s, I had a collection of weird experimental films on a four-hour VHS tape, mostly trippy lights-and-shapes type stuff. A friend of mine wanted to project some images over the dance floor for a club night and asked to borrow the tape. I obliged. I'm sitting at the bar tickled as a busy dance floor boogies to vintage Dada films when suddenly Anger's Fireworks comes on the screen. I forgot it was on the tape. It's not exactly the kind of thing you want to project larger-than-life over a dance floor — especially a straight dance floor — on a Friday night, but there you go. The club owner frantically ran over and ejected the tape, and I got yelled at for a few minutes. So, that's the story of unintentionally screening Kenneth Anger to an unsuspecting audience of party people. [LINK]
Now here's a cool GIF from Anger’s Lucifer Rising for your collection:
------------------
I'm clearing out an old notes journal (moving everything to Roam Research). I love doing this as I'm rediscovering a bunch of old articles and quotes that I forgot about. Here are some highlights so far:
• Kamasi Washington talks about creating our own personal utopias: “If my thoughts and dreams can affect the world, that means essentially I am making my own world for myself … If we all took that mentality of, ‘I’m going to make the world the way it’s supposed to be, to the best extent that I can do it’, true change could happen.” [LINK]
• Music critic Amanda Petrusich on how she listens to music: "Some music is easier to type to, and some music rewards repeat listens in different ways. My knee-jerk tendency is to want to listen to music on vinyl, through headphones, all alone, with the lights turned off (in other words, the way I listened to music when I was fifteen), but I fight that whenever possible, because it’s really not fair. Music doesn’t function that way; it needs to breathe." [LINK]
• Austin Kleon writes about Thoreau and then quotes Brian Eno from a short video I hadn't seen before: "Things evolve out of nothing. You know, the tiniest seed in the right situation turns into the most beautiful forest. And then the most promising seed in the wrong situation turns into nothing. I think this would be important for people to understand, because it gives people confidence in their own lives to know that’s how things work." [LINK]
• The history of the Speak & Spell, 'the toy that talked back.' [LINK]
------------------
A couple of things I'm listening to repeatedly this week:
• Groupe RTD's The Dancing Devils of Djibouti is, as the press release states, "the first-ever international album from Djibouti." The music is a jubilant melting pot of African funk, Bollywood melody, reggae bounce, synth riffage, and a delight of other influences. As outlined in okayafrica, recording the album held a unique challenge:
While the music of Somalia is widely celebrated, its neighbor, the Republic of Djibouti, formerly known as French Somaliland, is home to an equally deep reservoir of its own unique Somali music. The small but culturally grand country on the mouth of Red Sea remains one of the few places in the world where music is still entirely the domain of the state. Since independence in 1977, one-party rule brought most music under its wing, with almost every band a national enterprise. [...] A web of bureaucracy and strict rules had to be navigated. Djibouti's authorities gave us only three days to record the entire set, with no extension. Up for the task and eager to deliver, the musicians promptly tore down the "no smoking or chewing khat" sign in RTD's recording studio and began a heated, three-day, khat-fueled devilish feast of music amid a smokey haze, unleashing the very reason the band was founded: to strut Djibouti's majestic music on the world stage when the opportunity arrived.
The album is fantastic and it’s easy to feel the joy that went into these recording sessions. Pep-in-your-step music. [LINK]
• Julius Eastman was an avant-garde composer working and playing in the '70s NYC underground. His provocative works and contributions were largely forgotten as he died in obscurity at the age of 49 in 1990. But there's been a welcome resurgence in interest in Eastman, thanks to a series of glowing profiles, reissues of his music, and some exciting discoveries. In the latter category is "Femenine," an unearthed recording of the 72-minute piece performed in 1974. It's what you might call a minimalist composition, performed by piano, vibraphone, an ensemble of wind and string players, and a mechanical device that evenly shakes sleigh bells for the duration. Beyond the art of it, there's something here that's beautiful and calming, even reassuring in tone, surprisingly placing it within our #Worktones milieu. [LINK]
------------------
This was a strange newsletter episode. So random, right? I'm thrown off by last week's break, and I don't think my reset has completely done its thing just yet. As I mentioned on the micro-blog, I'm thinking about what I expect from this email newsletter and what I hope to get from it. And how to make it more useful to you, the reader. A large part of this involves a commitment to a writing schedule and better incorporation of the blog in the process — understanding how all this fits into my goals, my day-to-day, and my professional adventures.
Consider this an in-between episode of Ringo as I make some changes. I'm trying things out and (again) playing around with the format. Perhaps by next weekend, I'll reach some conclusions.
In closing, here's a Lake Holden sunrise photo from a few days ago. Gorgeous and otherworldly, yes, but probably also inspired by the ginormous clouds of Saharan dust floating over the southeastern US. Unexpected beauty from an unwelcome consequence. That's a metaphor for something to hope for.