music: Grateful Dead- 6/10/73, Washington, D.C.
Life is an uphill struggle against the degradation of the universe. This plane of existence, the ancients tell us, began in chaos, and ever since the Great Clock was wound, this universe has been busy falling to pieces. On a more human scale this unfortunate phenomenon shakes out in various familiar and unpleasant ways: various batteries need charging, the dishes need to be washed, email sorted and replied to, boxes in the basement need to be pushed into newer and better piles, bike brakes need to be tightened, food needs to be purchased and consumed. The list goes on and on. We are constantly creating out order out of a rapidly unraveling existence. Do not be fooled: we are Sisyphus hauling his rock uphill for an eternity. We will never reach the point of equilibrium with the forces of entropy. The best we can do is hope that our efforts hold entropy at bay for a while, possibly delay the inevitable unravelling for just a little longer.
I consider it a mark of good mental health for myself when I have things organized and put away. I’ve been working on paring down my material possessions (save books and music) in order to make my personal labor debt with the universe as small as I can. Still, I find myself cleaning, sorting, and organizing on a weekly basis. I don’t have time or energy enough to tackle the tasks during the week these days, so usually things get backed up to the weekend. The weekend is the time, then, to straighten out my life. I couldn’t even list what I did today, but I felt like I spent the entire day checking errands and small tasks off my list. It shouldn’t be surprising that the list is still impossibly long at the end of the day.
This weekend, though, was easier on the soul than others. I think that the extra hour helped in some way. But more than that, I think that the secret to my success this weekend had a lot to do with my new Gibson. I played a healthy amount of music this weekend, and with others. And it made all the difference.
Saturday was a day of friends and parties. I split early from a really nice party in JP (full of teachers and Outward Bound types) to rendezvous with Duncan and work some stuff out on the guitar. We’d been talking abstractly about playing music and finally got the chance to sit down and make it happen. Out to Arlington, then, late night on Saturday, to let some of the crap holding us back during the week work itself out in the form of sound. It was our first go-round, but it was good. We hit a nice tone of conversation, at points we even hit flow. Save some gear upgrades, this little collaboration can go places. I’m psyched to start playing more with Duncan, possibly bringing two or three more into the mix and making a legitimate band out of it. Then earlier tonight, a quick acoustic jam with roommate Matt. We’re coming at the guitar from slightly different directions, but we can still dig in and get something out of the experience. In both cases the music did more than hold entropy off, the act of plucking and picking that slab of wood and metal created order where there was none, made something out of nothing. I suppose that is the task of an instrument-to allow a human to exceed the limits of his own innate capabilities.
It’s Sunday night now, the end of another long week and another climb up over the weekend. I’ve cleaned, cooked, ordered, sorted, and (most importantly) created enough to feel settled. Monday will bring its accelerated rate of decline to my world, and entropy will once again gain the upper hand by the end of the week. We are Sisyphus, yes, but the creative art of making music will somehow lighten our load.
music: Professor Longhair- Anthology d.2
It is widely believed among the baseball nation that when the Boston Red Sox traded Babe Ruth to the Yankees in 1920, the Sox fell under a curse. Despite having some of the best teams in the game the Red Sox could not win a world series. Tonight, after 86 years, the curse was lifted. The Red Sox won game 4 of the World Series against the Cardinals and became world champions.
We were tuned in at Duncan and Amy’s house up in Arlington, but we still heard the roar. You could feel the entire metropolitan area of Boston rumble as the last out was made-a couple million fans screaming their heads off really does make things shake a little. Peet and I got on our bikes and shot down Mass Ave into Kenmore Square, Ground Zero for Red Sox celebrations. The only other thing I have seen like this celebration was New Year’s Eve 2000 at Big Cypress. There were fireworks. There were whistles and drums. There was lots and lots of horn honking. There were sirens, cops on bikes, cops in riot gear, choppers with huge spotlights. There were lots and lots of people. It’s now 2:00 AM. The city is still raging.
Three things struck me about this occasion. The first is that in the baseball world, this is truly historic. Never mind that the Sox staged one of the most impressive comebacks in sports history (winning the last four games against the Yankees after being down 3-0 and solidly sweeping the Cardinals), this victory goes much deeper than this single season. The Red Sox are the quintissential second best, and (until now) the most recognized underdogs in the game alongside the Chicago Cubs. That the Sox finally pulled out a World Series victory is a victory for the underdog. And don’t this city know it; the collection of fans here live and die by this baseball team, mostly die, and have suffered through four generations of disappointment. Although I grew up rooting for the Sox (behind the hometown Brewers, a real lost cause) I haven’t been invested in the team the way the locals and other fans have. Even this season-I was gone travelling for the bulk of the season. But given the history, given my experience (I remember watching Buckner’s imitation of a croquet wicket in 1986 and being near tears), and given this city’s relationship to their baseball team, this is a historic evening. I feel an entire city’s anger and frustration and disappointment evaporate, I honestly feel that a weight has been lifted from Boston, and albatross cut from our collective necks. The city is a little more buoyant. Not a lot, but noticably so.
The second is that sports are a powerful force in our society. Tonight I witnessed a very earnest and beautiful celebration, and it was one shared by people of all sorts. Sports is the great equilizer; it crosses age, class, and race lines. It is something two people from very different realities can share with one another, it is a common ground upon which to stand. Tonight people from all walks of life gathered in Boston’s streets to celebrate. Tonight I got high-5’s all the way from Arlington, through Somerville and Harvard, down to Kenmore. I’ve never seen as many Bostonites recognize and interact with each other as tonight. I am reminded that no matter how hard things may be, no matter where you are coming from and what you are doing with yourself, it is important to take time to share with your community and to be happy. That sports can provide this is very powerful.
The third is a sense of wonder, as in “what now?” Boston is a rough edged place, filled with people who are crass and brusque, people who seem to have a chip on their shoulder about something at any given time. It has been the norm here to bitch about things, and the Red Sox Curse has been the city symbol for how things just don’t seem to go our way. Now that the Sox have finally won a World Series, what will come of all the negativity? Will this city actually start being positive? Will people stop to acknowledge others’ existences on the street? Maybe I’m asking for too much. Probably. But I can’t imagine this will be bad for morale around here. There is a certain stoic nobility in the mentality of the underdog. Now that we are not the underdog any longer, I think things will change. I hope they will But now a new dilemma: are we that much different from our arch-rivals, the Yankees?
I suppose that none of that matters tonight. The Red Sox are World Series Champions, this city is celebrating in grand fashion, and the curse is lifted. This is great. This is enough. The real problem now is managing to get to work on time tomorrow.
Last night was also a lunar eclipse. Hey, whatever it takes.
music: London Symphony Orchestra- Star Wars Trilogy Soundtrack
I’m a big dork sometimes. I’m willing to admit that. Proud to admit it, depending on the company. I like reading books. I like NPR. I like learning about stuff. Fine, fine. That’s all pretty benign as far as the dork scale goes; I suppose a lot of people can claim to be dorks if that is the sort of stuff that makes people qualify. Allow me, then, to propose why I am no mere dork, but rather why I am a Dorque, sometimes dabbling on the fringes of the terminally awkward and socially inept.
I used to be really into RPGs. Heroes Unlimited,, Call of Cthulhu, and Cyberpunk were my mainstays.
I also played magic cards for a while. I went to GenCon two years running.
I have a blog. ‘nuff said.
Then there’s that whole Phish thing.
And like many middle-class American males my age, I’m a recovering Star Wars addict. I can quote the movies backwards and forwards. I stayed up all night for Episode I tickets. I own the NPR radio dramas. I still have an original Y-Wing kicking around somewhere. I have read over 15 of the Star Wars novels (considered by George Lucas to be canonical, mind you) and own A Guide to the Star Wars Universe. I own Star Wars Trivial Pursuit (and have only lost once). I could tell you the names and species of any and all of the aliens in Mos Eisely’s Cantina or Jabba’s Palace. I can say “going somewhere, Solo?” in Huttese. And as of today, I’ve truly reserved my place among the elite Star Wars Dorques. I spent the majority of this weekend sewing myself a Jedi tunic and robe for Halloween.
Having not touched a sewing machine for over 10 years, I think I did a pretty nice job getting everything together. Mom would be proud. I bought a pattern for the tunic and found a basic blueprint for the robe on the internet. Got the fabric from Chinatown. Borrowed a sewing machine from OGD. Got to business. As a Jedi must construct his own lightsaber (I found mine at a yard sale), he too must construct his own robe. It’s a little rough, especially the tunic’s front, but she’s got it where it counts. I think the costume’s biggest downfall is that it is too clean, almost cartoonishly clean. The Star Wars universe was believable because things were dirty, places were lived-in. I’ve yet to break in the uniform. But the Jedi must learn patience.
I made the costume for Halloween this year, true, but I also made it knowing that I’d need to pull it out every now and then for other occasions. And I think it’s cool to own Jedi garb. (If only I had this back when I was a camp counselor for Star Wars Day…) I’m planning on being a Dorque at least twice this week: at school on Friday and at a costume party on Saturday night. Maybe I’ll just walk around the city next Sunday in my Jedi robe for kicks. Maybe I’ll just lounge around the house in it. Maybe I’ll run around a swamp and practice handstands for a while with a little green gnome strapped to my back.
I was going to take pictures and post them, but then I realized that I’d be that guy who takes pictures of himself in a Jedi robe and posts them on his website. I’ve done enough damage to my street cred already. At least Peet’s around here to validate my Dorquedom.
But maybe I’m ahead of the curve with this. Jedi is almost a recognized religion in Australia. The Geeks shall inherit the Earth. May the Force be with us all.
music: Coltrane- Prestige Recordings d.3
We had a small get-together here at the 1-2 this past weekend. It was a random occasion, which I guess was the goal, but I got the chance to see some friends of mine from disparate places and times in my life all in the same place. Because of sending out party invites I’ve gotten back in touch with some people I really like but haven’t talked with for a bit. It also got me to thinking this week about people I haven’t talked with in a long while but would like to (Killian, a friend from camp who is now in a Marine and can’t tell us where he is half the time; Anna, a friend from college who I think is now out do-gooding on the campaign trail for Kerry; CJ, my boy from high shool down in Philly studying to be a dentist). Funny, then, that I should get an email from Louis out of the blue.
Louis and I spent some good time commiserating and smoking cigarettes in college during our respective unstable periods. He’s a guy I have seen less and less of since college, someone I basically lived with for two years of college and as such wouldn’t really make plans with ever, but was always around and up late at night. And usually looking for a distraction from work. He still makes my A-list, even after all this time of not really talking. When you live with someone, I’ve realized, you don’t really do stuff, as in make plans, you just share the everyday experience of living such that when you do make plans things seem wierd. Regardless, Louis had re-entered my consciousness as of late, part of a slew of friends from my past who I’d like to talk with at some point. Imagine my surprise when I get an email from Louis today, sent from Rwanda of all places. I guess he’s picked up and headed out to Rwanda with BJ, another friend of ours from college. I’m shocked, but I’m not surprised. It’s like that with Louis. He’s a wanderer.
Louis says he’ll be keeping an online account of his time in Africa here. I’m trying to recruit the guy as the latest addition to anize, as he’ll have one hell of a story to tell and he’s very handy with the pen. I’m looking forward to reading up on his travels. Let’s hope he has some decent internet access every now and then, and the initiative and follow-through to actually write. He’s an extraordinary guy, and only when he moves to the other side of the world am I reminded that I’d like to keep him within reach. I’d like to keep a lot of people within reach. I have a past chock full of good people with whom I’d love to keep up, but as with Louis, living presently tends to get in the way of that. My tendency has been to frame the comings and goings of people as natural ebb and flow of human relationship. As much as I’d like to fight that current every now and then, it seems that location and time dictate my stream more than intention. But to the matter at hand: Louis in Africa. At least I can now say that I read it on his blog…
music: Allman Brothers Band- At the Fillmore East d.2
I’d been plucking away at my old Epiphone Les Paul Special for almost four years now and over the past year or so I finally outgrew it. While the low-low-lowest end LP was a perfect starter electric, I realized about a year ago that I was past the starter stage and it was time to upgrade. I kept a casual eye open to new guitars around town, periodically popping into music shops to check out the latest. An axe caught my eye a couple days ago at Mr. Music in Allston. They say that you’ll know when you pick the right one up, and as I took it off the wall and started to pick at it something felt very, very right about it. the weight, balance, neck width, action, the way it sat, distance from volume knob to selector switch…this was it. ES-335 model (an ES-333 actually), which is the model i’d been eyeing for years. This one had a natural finish, not flashy but elegant, and because it was an ES-333 it was about $800-$900 cheaper than its bigger brother. I was in and out of the store for a couple days this week, plugging the thing in, debating whether or not to drop so much money on a piece of wood and metal, allowing myself to believe I was ready for such a nice axe.
So it’s been a long time in the coming; the old tools could only get me so far. I dropped a hefty chunk of change today on my new guitar.” It was a sizable investment to be sure, but one that will pay dividends in excellent sound and playability for years and years. This is an axe that will be with me for a long time.
The difference between the old and new guitar is astronomical. Everything feels more solid now; I actually feel like I can pull off some pretty brash licks that I couldn’t have before. Part of it is the new axe just plays better — it’s better constructed and has higher-quality components — but part of it is that this new guitar means that this music thing is getting serious. The biggest hang-up I had in buying the new axe was the question of just how serious I was going to be about playing. Was I content to play in my bedroom, record some stuff and squirrell it away, or am I ready to start collaborating, hitting up jam sessions, playing out? The latter just wasn’t feasible with the old guitar, at the level I was looking for anyway. And even if I spend another couple months or years in the bedroom recording mode, the new axe will lend a higher quality to my work. What comes out of the thing is more balanced, measured, even. Simply put, I can worry less about putting my fingers in the right place (the old guitar demanded a much more exact hand technique, a good thing for a starter axe) and start worrying more about bringing feeling to the music. I’m much looser now. I’m able to think more laterally than vertically on the fretboard. And the sustain…
The past couple months have seen a steady investment in music gear. I’m now in possession of some high-quality mics, a mixer, some digital production software, a pretty nice 20-watt tube amp, some pedals, some cables, a bass, my trusty old acoustic, and now one beautiful natural cherry semi-hollowbody Gibson electric. Looking at the thing now, I realize that it’s almost the same model as a guitar I listened to a lot growing up, one owned by a friend of mine in high school, a guy whose playing (and discipline and modesty about it all) did a great deal in inspiring me to pick up the instrument for myself. My buddy Mike is now making it as a musician, performing on Garrison Keillor’s Prarie Home Companion, and I can only hope to channel some of his drive, emotion, passion, and talent in this new step.
The guitar is a musical intstrument, and like any instrument it is a tool that humans use to facilitate some other project. It is a means to an end. This particular instrument will allow me some more freedom of expression, increase the range and quality of my pallete, but ultimately the music will come from the same place it always has. Now, though, more has been made possible and the bar has been raised. I look forward to the challenge.
music: Garcia & Grisman- Shady Grove
We dissected chicken wings in class about a week ago. We were examining bone structures with the goal of drawing parallels between human limbs and chicken limbs. Being the aspiring model of conservation, I told the kids to save the meat separately from the other waste. They complained that the lab wasn’t being done with KFC the whole time (although I’m not quite sure if it’s chicken to begin with), and what a waste the wings were raw they were hungry, and on and on like that. When they asked why they were pulling the meat I said that we had to dispose of it in a different way. They asked how. I said ‘stir fry.’ they half thought I was joking which was just as well because I 10% thought I was joking as well. But I guess I wasn’t.
Tonight I unfroze all the saved chicken pieces and fried them up with some onions, garlic, ginger, and carrots. A little coriander and anise (anize??) to top off the operation. It looked like things would work out well, but about 1/3 of the way into the operation things went belly-up. I’d left too much fat on the meat and the stir fry began to leak greasy liquid. There was way too much gristle. I got frustrated and called the plan (as fully conceived) off-back went the broccoli and bamboo shoots, saved for a more legitimite stir-fry. Better to cut one’s losses in a situation like this, only waste a half an onion, a couple of garlic cloves, and a carrot or two on the biproduct of a high school dissection.
I kept simmering the creation, applied soy sauce liberally, even some lemongrass and pepper. The end result was something you might find in the dirty chinatown kiosks only known to the locals: greasy pan-friend chicken with garlic and soy sauce with a lot of gristle. Not all that bad, all things considered, but not all that good either. Never mind that the rice was far too sticky. I had a bowl of it, more to prove to myself that the little conservation project was not for nothing than to actually make something out of this pile of meat for myself. Part of the unappetizing part of it might be the image that kept popping into my head of dozens of teenaged hands tearing through chicken wings on dissection pans.
I’m tempted to bring in the stir fry for the kids just on the basis of another important topic: the food chain. So much of the food these kids (and we in cities) eat comes under cellophane. Hell, this chicken came under cellophane, but at least it was on the bone. I think it’s important for people to understand where their food comes from, that everything they eat was at one point a living thing, in the case of meat a thing that was born, raised, and killed for the express purpose of human consumption. Even though the chicken came from Stop and Shop there still is something more to these lumps of flesh; they were used as exemplars of bird anatomy and now they are being eaten. There is a powerful message in here for the kids: we are not separate from the system of life on this planet.
We do, however, have the advantage (or disadvantage) of keeping a tupperware full of fatty chinatown chicken stir fry in our refrigerators so our roommates can eat it. Dig in, guys. Sorry about the gristle. And the rice.
music: Geoff Scott’s Public House, 9/21/04
Music has been riding the bench along with the rest of my life since the summer ended. David, as of late, has been more or less ignored while Mr. Taus is busy getting it together. Tonight, though, I indulged and recorded some ideas that have been kicking around since the road trip. One of these ideas is yet another sappy campfire folk tune extolling the virtues of the open road and the wilderness. This one is called ‘Miles from Nowhere.’ The vocal tracks are painful to listen to. I was much better with my singing at the end of the summer, when we busied ourselves with singing and playing every day. I’m still maintaining some limited proficiency on the stings, but my singing voice is suffering from gross neglect. No matter. Add it to the repertoire of originals, and call it the first one that was written solo. It’s passable as far as acoustic folk music goes, but I’m not really that interested in making that sort of music these days. I’d rather plug in and rock hard or funk deep. Still, nice to have another original under my belt.
It appears that I’m not the only one distributing original music on the internet. (No, technically, thousands of people do this every day…) This one hits close to home. If the secret wasn’t out yet, it is definitely out now: Tuesday Night at Matt Murphy’s is now on archive.org. The little weeknight residency that I frequented for so many months is now hitting the information superhighway, freely downloadable by anyone with an internet connection. It’s the way things should be, I suppose, but I feel some remnant of selfishness over Tuesday Night even though I haven’t gone in more than 6 weeks, and only 10 or so times this whole year. The last time I went in there was a plainclothes stranger carding at the door, and the crowd was completely fresh to me. Besides the musicians themselves and Jason behind the bar, the Tuesday Night scene is no longer mine. Not that I could pop out at midnight on a Tuesday anymore…Mr. Taus wouldn’t allow it.
The music, though, is what matters. The stuff that comes out of that little corner of the bar is some of the best stuff I’ve heard. Period. That is why I’m thankful that Geo allowed his stuff to be put up on archive.org; people who like music really should hear this unadvertised residency. I’ve been writing about Tuesday night for some time now and have been listening to live recordings of the Murphy’s sessions for even longer. I did a review of Tuesday Night for Live Live a year or so back, and it sums up the experience (at least, the experience than) nicely. Thanks to taper acquaintences and friends, I have amassed a decent collection of recordings from Tuesday Night and have passed copies around where appropriate.
Be it Tuesday Night at Matt Murphy’s or David’s cheesey campfire folk music, the internet is a powerful way to indiscriminately throw music around without regard to distance or hard format. Thanks to my computer gurus DFC and tmo I’m able to join the information race. Maybe one day I too will be up on archive.org…
music: Charles Mingus- Oh Yeah
Anyone who has navigated a bike through Boston has experienced a type of anger unknown to the rest of the human population. This city is easily the worst city in the country for driving, but luckily most of the people here are horrible drivers. things even out for motorists, but plug bikes into the equation and aggrivation ensues. I’ve been biking here for the better part of three years now, and while it remains the most efficient and fastest way to get around, I am still sometimes ready to swear off the whole business. This past week was one of those bad weeks for pedal pushers.
I don’t know what it was: the beginning of fall? the crush of college kids filling the streets again? Something was in the water this week that made people drive crazy. I’ve never been cut off or ignored on my bike as much as I had been this past week. Road construction seemed to be at an all-time high. I don’t think it was me either-i’ve been riding as I always have, aspiring to the likes of S.T.: defensive, but aggressive. And making like there’s a million dollar bounty on my head.
The usual obstacles were there, and bad. drivers turning right that pretend you are not there and cut you off, cars at a stoplight lined up too close to the curb, and of course the evil behemoth of the road, the witless, clumsy leviathan, a biker’s worst enemy-the MBTA bus. All this I had to deal with, yes, but my battle royale this week took things to biblical proportions. Literally. This week involved a near-miss with a moving van with the word “Goliath” printed on the side. The symbolism is almost too uncanny. But it is appropriate, that moving van pulled a horrible move, even by Boston standards, and nearly pushed me off the road and into a crowd of sidewalk pedestrians. I was livid.
Enough is enough. I see it’s a battle.
I’ve had the idea before, but now I’m really thinking about doing it: mounting a slingshot onto my bike and carrying around a bag of marshmallows. So when a car is doing something especially stupid or rediculous I could just peg them with a marshmallow. A shot across the bow, as it were. I don’t have a horn to lean on as every car in the city seems to do, so I figure this would at least start to even the odds. At the very least i’m thinking about getting a slingshot even if it doesn’t mount easily onto my bike and just pegging cars if they honk. I’m peeved with the traffic here. I’m more than peeved. It cuts to what I think is the root of all the problems that humans face these days: a false sense of self-entitlement. People drive like they are the most important person for miles around, and they by divine right are deserving of the quickest passage to their destination. They deserve nothing, thank you. They deserve a humbling dose of marshmallow-on-the-windshield.
I can’t wait for Critical Mass.
music: Townhall- The New Song
At long last, anize.org has a photo gallery. It can be found at http://gallery.anize.org. I just finished posting two galleries. The first is the long-awaited photos from AJM and my summer road trip, and the second contains pictures from Phish’s Coventry festival. There will be much, much more to come, I’m sure. For the time being, though, I’m just glad our summer pics are now available for public viewing. It was great to go through all these and revisit the tales from the Asphalt River this summer. Enjoy…
