I've slowly been listening to Pink Floyd. Album by album, from their start, hearing how much of the band's inherent Floyd-ness was there from the beginning and also hearing how the band evolved. Years ago I'd bought a used CD of their original album from 1967, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn — a reference to The Wind in the Willows, which I didn't know until last year when I read that — and I've had a smattering of other Floyd albums in my collection*. At the encouragement of Scott Dally, a deep and longtime Pink Floyd fan, I started this listen. To really listen.
Today I've been listening for the first time to 1970's Atom Heart Mother. Before that, I'd found 1968's A Saucerful of Secrets on YouTube, because my library didn't have a copy; I feel weird about listening to it this way (assuaging my guilt by letting the ads play all the way through, at least) so eventually I'll buy it. One end goal is to get more Floyd. As well as to "get" more Floyd, understand the band better.
I honestly liked 1969's double album Ummagumma, even though my first reaction was This seems less like an album and more like a dare. Spacey even by Floyd standards, with an instrumental track titled "Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving with a Pict" (really), and with the longest songs released by Floyd up to that time — Scott told me specifically that one track was 24 minutes long — Ummagumma isn't background music. Some Floyd is, but not that. You pay attention...and wait, letting the weirdness wash over you. As it does, it gets tuneful frequently, and sometimes lovely, as Pink Floyd music always eventually does.
Atom Heart Mother's another "long track" album — five tracks, the title track taking up an entire LP side — but in a way I can probably absorb better as an experience now that I've heard Ummagumma. I was struck by Dave Gilmour's vocal performance of "Fat Old Sun": he seemed to be slightly, at least slightly, channeling a gentle John Lennon with that song. Not what I was expecting. Maybe I'm hearing things. Hearing more things than are actually on the album, I mean. I'm also amused that the final song includes sounds of making and eating breakfast.
Eventually I'll give another go to 1972's Dark Side of the Moon, justly and hugely famous but almost hindered by its success: I'm so familiar with so many of its songs as singles, divorced from the experience of the album, that the time 10 or so years ago that I finally first listened to it as an album, it didn't click for me nearly as well as I'd hoped. But I'm an album person at heart, appreciating the program that an album can provide.
(To cite a non-Pink Floyd example of this, I really didn't "get" The Beatles' White Album when I heard several songs out of order on the radio. Portland's KINK.fm played it on an "album shuffle" weekend that way, probably in 2002 or '03, and the songs seemed disjointed and a little annoying. In 2004 I bought my own copy of the album, and then I got it. Albums can have power.)
When this listening project ends, I'll have more Pink Floyd. Always feeling like I'm catching up on what's good.
* Piper, Wish You Were Here, The Wall (my most recent Floyd purchase, right before I started this listening project), and The Final Cut.
Today I've been listening for the first time to 1970's Atom Heart Mother. Before that, I'd found 1968's A Saucerful of Secrets on YouTube, because my library didn't have a copy; I feel weird about listening to it this way (assuaging my guilt by letting the ads play all the way through, at least) so eventually I'll buy it. One end goal is to get more Floyd. As well as to "get" more Floyd, understand the band better.
I honestly liked 1969's double album Ummagumma, even though my first reaction was This seems less like an album and more like a dare. Spacey even by Floyd standards, with an instrumental track titled "Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving with a Pict" (really), and with the longest songs released by Floyd up to that time — Scott told me specifically that one track was 24 minutes long — Ummagumma isn't background music. Some Floyd is, but not that. You pay attention...and wait, letting the weirdness wash over you. As it does, it gets tuneful frequently, and sometimes lovely, as Pink Floyd music always eventually does.
Atom Heart Mother's another "long track" album — five tracks, the title track taking up an entire LP side — but in a way I can probably absorb better as an experience now that I've heard Ummagumma. I was struck by Dave Gilmour's vocal performance of "Fat Old Sun": he seemed to be slightly, at least slightly, channeling a gentle John Lennon with that song. Not what I was expecting. Maybe I'm hearing things. Hearing more things than are actually on the album, I mean. I'm also amused that the final song includes sounds of making and eating breakfast.
Eventually I'll give another go to 1972's Dark Side of the Moon, justly and hugely famous but almost hindered by its success: I'm so familiar with so many of its songs as singles, divorced from the experience of the album, that the time 10 or so years ago that I finally first listened to it as an album, it didn't click for me nearly as well as I'd hoped. But I'm an album person at heart, appreciating the program that an album can provide.
(To cite a non-Pink Floyd example of this, I really didn't "get" The Beatles' White Album when I heard several songs out of order on the radio. Portland's KINK.fm played it on an "album shuffle" weekend that way, probably in 2002 or '03, and the songs seemed disjointed and a little annoying. In 2004 I bought my own copy of the album, and then I got it. Albums can have power.)
When this listening project ends, I'll have more Pink Floyd. Always feeling like I'm catching up on what's good.
* Piper, Wish You Were Here, The Wall (my most recent Floyd purchase, right before I started this listening project), and The Final Cut.
On a cleaning tear today, I dug out some piles of stuff that's years old. And I found a blues song! I and some of my cousins wrote it with my cousin Max's then-girlfriend, Lauren, when they came to Dundee for Walsh Family Thanksgiving in 1998. Lauren was (I'm guessing still is) a musician and had brought her guitar. We used it. This was fun.
Turkey Coma Blues
By The Turkeynecks (a.k.a. Lauren and some Walsh cousins)
I woke up this mornin'
Too much turkey in my gut
Enough gravy to swim in
Was now lodged in my butt
I'm already bleary-eyed
And I know how bad it'll hurt
When we clear out the dishes
To make way for dessert
I got the too-much-feedin', digestion-needin' Turkey Coma Blues
I got the heavy-loadin', just explodin' Turkey Coma Blues
Turkey Coma Blues
By The Turkeynecks (a.k.a. Lauren and some Walsh cousins)
I woke up this mornin'
Too much turkey in my gut
Enough gravy to swim in
Was now lodged in my butt
I'm already bleary-eyed
And I know how bad it'll hurt
When we clear out the dishes
To make way for dessert
I got the too-much-feedin', digestion-needin' Turkey Coma Blues
I got the heavy-loadin', just explodin' Turkey Coma Blues
John Lennon, "Jealous Guy"
System of a Down, "Sugar"
Bruce Springsteen, "Brilliant Disguise"
The Beatles, "Yer Blues"
Oingo Boingo, "Capitalism"
Leonard Cohen, "The Future"
Kenny Rogers and the First Edition, "Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)"
"Hurt," by either Nine Inch Nails or Johnny Cash
Tori Amos, "The Waitress"
Anything — anything — by Meat Loaf
Metallica, "Battery"
AC/DC, "Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)"
Randy Newman, "I Want You to Hurt Like I Do"
David Bowie, "Five Years"
...on the other hand, I would be weirdly impressed if a wedding's music included The Bloodhound Gang's "The Bad Touch."
System of a Down, "Sugar"
Bruce Springsteen, "Brilliant Disguise"
The Beatles, "Yer Blues"
Oingo Boingo, "Capitalism"
Leonard Cohen, "The Future"
Kenny Rogers and the First Edition, "Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)"
"Hurt," by either Nine Inch Nails or Johnny Cash
Tori Amos, "The Waitress"
Anything — anything — by Meat Loaf
Metallica, "Battery"
AC/DC, "Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)"
Randy Newman, "I Want You to Hurt Like I Do"
David Bowie, "Five Years"
...on the other hand, I would be weirdly impressed if a wedding's music included The Bloodhound Gang's "The Bad Touch."
George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley wrote "Careless Whisper" when they were teenagers, years before their band Wham! was a worldwide-known thing. It would be a huge hit later. (A meme going around following George Michael's death, claiming that Michael wrote the whole song but co-credited Ridgeley anyway, is wrong; George Michael was generous other ways.) Seventeen-year-olds wrote that. Later, Michael himself would question the song's popularity, but even at 17, he was hoping he'd write hugely popular songs and...he did. Over and over. For years. Some artists do it for decades.
To me, that's alchemy. How do you do this? How to take musical ideas and combine them in a way that will make thousands or, perhaps, millions of people listen to it and buy it and sing along to it? How crazy-confident to the point (perhaps) (probably) of arrogance do you have to be to think you could pull that off? AND KIDS CAN DO THIS.
...yeah, I wasn't that kid. I've realized plenty of times that I can appreciate music but feel dubious about any ability to create it. Sometimes less dubious, though, like when I learned language theorists considered that we may have developed true spoken language after music. Whether it happened that way or the other way around, with our ancestors taking spoken language and refining it into music — remember, melody is like the rise-and-fall of talking, but more organized — music and language are tied together. Music is a language, and that is beautiful.
I know: it's a craft, you can learn it, you can be trained. I had a neat time as a reporter covering a middle school's music composition class, teaching the basics of melody to junior high students, including how melody is far more malleable than the limits of notes would imply: the students started with a few basic motifs and all the students' melodies went in different directions. As it was explained to me another time, anyone had the ability to write the first four notes of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, but only Beethoven would ever have written that exact constellation of notes (so many notes) to follow those four notes.
(Well, okay, four chords, to be more exact.)
Beethoven, of course, was brilliant. George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley were talented...or maybe they were (and are, in Ridgeley's case) brilliant, I'd be the wrong judge of that. Hans Zimmer, as much as I run hot and cold on his work, especially from the 90s, is talented. I'm not catty enough to list composers I think aren't talented...though now I think of a writer-editor I wrote for who told me he thought one prominent modern composer could be "a very talented fraud." (I won't name either person referred to in that sentence.) But workmanlike composers get the job done, too. Maybe, if I wanted to, I could get to "workmanlike."
As entertaining as it is, Empire is not going to teach me the ways of making a hit song, but obviously many people behind the show know the nuts-and-bolts of making a song and getting it right. "Right" is subjective, like (YES!) any kind of art, but that sense — of what is the right form of a piece of art — comes to me more often as I get more confident as a writer of poems. That word belongs there; that other word doesn't, a writer can think, about a composition that simply didn't exist before. And it can be an exciting sense.
I love that kids can experience that, and that some, later, get to share it.
To me, that's alchemy. How do you do this? How to take musical ideas and combine them in a way that will make thousands or, perhaps, millions of people listen to it and buy it and sing along to it? How crazy-confident to the point (perhaps) (probably) of arrogance do you have to be to think you could pull that off? AND KIDS CAN DO THIS.
...yeah, I wasn't that kid. I've realized plenty of times that I can appreciate music but feel dubious about any ability to create it. Sometimes less dubious, though, like when I learned language theorists considered that we may have developed true spoken language after music. Whether it happened that way or the other way around, with our ancestors taking spoken language and refining it into music — remember, melody is like the rise-and-fall of talking, but more organized — music and language are tied together. Music is a language, and that is beautiful.
I know: it's a craft, you can learn it, you can be trained. I had a neat time as a reporter covering a middle school's music composition class, teaching the basics of melody to junior high students, including how melody is far more malleable than the limits of notes would imply: the students started with a few basic motifs and all the students' melodies went in different directions. As it was explained to me another time, anyone had the ability to write the first four notes of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, but only Beethoven would ever have written that exact constellation of notes (so many notes) to follow those four notes.
(Well, okay, four chords, to be more exact.)
Beethoven, of course, was brilliant. George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley were talented...or maybe they were (and are, in Ridgeley's case) brilliant, I'd be the wrong judge of that. Hans Zimmer, as much as I run hot and cold on his work, especially from the 90s, is talented. I'm not catty enough to list composers I think aren't talented...though now I think of a writer-editor I wrote for who told me he thought one prominent modern composer could be "a very talented fraud." (I won't name either person referred to in that sentence.) But workmanlike composers get the job done, too. Maybe, if I wanted to, I could get to "workmanlike."
As entertaining as it is, Empire is not going to teach me the ways of making a hit song, but obviously many people behind the show know the nuts-and-bolts of making a song and getting it right. "Right" is subjective, like (YES!) any kind of art, but that sense — of what is the right form of a piece of art — comes to me more often as I get more confident as a writer of poems. That word belongs there; that other word doesn't, a writer can think, about a composition that simply didn't exist before. And it can be an exciting sense.
I love that kids can experience that, and that some, later, get to share it.
Bernard Herrmann. One of my favorite film composers, a big personality, an often deeply cantankerous person: he was fascinating and maddening. I just re-read the biography A Heart at Fire's Center: the life and music of Bernard Herrmann, so he's even more at the forefront of my mind than usual, and I once said that my mental soundtrack sounds like "Bernard Herrmann and Danny Elfman yelling at each other." (I'm sure those two would yell at each other.) I've been digging out my CDs of his music; YouTube clips, too.
He was a pioneer in writing original music for radio, then had one of the great film scoring careers, starting with 1941's Citizen Kane and The Devil and Daniel Webster and ending with 1976's Obsession and Taxi Driver. (And he died in his sleep only hours after recording Taxi Driver's last note.) Had he lived a year longer, Herrmann would have scored Carrie for Brian De Palma, the Seven Per-Cent Solution for Herbert Ross and Nicholas Meyer, and Larry Cohen's exploitation film God Told Me To; after he'd had a few fallow years — partly because a lot of studio people found his style old-hat and partly because he'd pissed off so many in Hollywood — young Turks were discovering him and his work.
Music is a language I can appreciate, but I only barely, if at all, understand it. I've never had much training, self-taught or otherwise. I play no instruments (I joke that I play air-guitar — no, I used to, but I retired that joke a while ago). Reading about how Bernard Herrmann thought about music, and instrumental color, and how you can emphasize any emotion with the right notes, makes me wish I did a better job of thinking in music.
I've written lyrics. That's about it. And even I know that poetry-writing (which I've done more of) is similar to lyric-writing but not quite the same. Poetry doesn't necessarily need music; lyrics do. And I hear music in my head, but mostly derivative music; I don't feel any snippets of tunes I think of would be original. (Standard disclaimer that there are only so many melodies and tunes we can write, based on musical scales, but actual-trained composers know how to work within those parameters.)
Now I more admire people who do think in music. I know some of them: Kielen King, a.k.a. Pwn Toney, the PDX Broadsides, the Doubleclicks, S.J. "Sooj" Tucker, Alexander James Adams. I'm also a Portlander, so I'm likely only a couple of degrees of separation away from especially famous composers. I certainly don't pretend I can do their work. My most likely creative work that'd be worth doing is my writing. I know words. I like using them.
"A man's gotta know his limitations," said Dirty Harry, played by Clint Eastwood, who's also a composer...
He was a pioneer in writing original music for radio, then had one of the great film scoring careers, starting with 1941's Citizen Kane and The Devil and Daniel Webster and ending with 1976's Obsession and Taxi Driver. (And he died in his sleep only hours after recording Taxi Driver's last note.) Had he lived a year longer, Herrmann would have scored Carrie for Brian De Palma, the Seven Per-Cent Solution for Herbert Ross and Nicholas Meyer, and Larry Cohen's exploitation film God Told Me To; after he'd had a few fallow years — partly because a lot of studio people found his style old-hat and partly because he'd pissed off so many in Hollywood — young Turks were discovering him and his work.
Music is a language I can appreciate, but I only barely, if at all, understand it. I've never had much training, self-taught or otherwise. I play no instruments (I joke that I play air-guitar — no, I used to, but I retired that joke a while ago). Reading about how Bernard Herrmann thought about music, and instrumental color, and how you can emphasize any emotion with the right notes, makes me wish I did a better job of thinking in music.
I've written lyrics. That's about it. And even I know that poetry-writing (which I've done more of) is similar to lyric-writing but not quite the same. Poetry doesn't necessarily need music; lyrics do. And I hear music in my head, but mostly derivative music; I don't feel any snippets of tunes I think of would be original. (Standard disclaimer that there are only so many melodies and tunes we can write, based on musical scales, but actual-trained composers know how to work within those parameters.)
Now I more admire people who do think in music. I know some of them: Kielen King, a.k.a. Pwn Toney, the PDX Broadsides, the Doubleclicks, S.J. "Sooj" Tucker, Alexander James Adams. I'm also a Portlander, so I'm likely only a couple of degrees of separation away from especially famous composers. I certainly don't pretend I can do their work. My most likely creative work that'd be worth doing is my writing. I know words. I like using them.
"A man's gotta know his limitations," said Dirty Harry, played by Clint Eastwood, who's also a composer...
There's a subtle art to choosing the right songs for a film or TV soundtrack. Not that it seems subtle the umpteenth time a film plays "Sympathy for the Devil."* The goal often is to find songs that maybe not everyone knows or remembers, but which work in unexpected and subtle ways. That's hard to do, as a song's narrative could conflict with the film or show's narrative. A drama like Brokeback Mountain wouldn't and shouldn't have songs like, say, The Bloodhound Gang's "The Bad Touch." Watchmen's use of "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen is a famously bad example, trying to add dramatic weight to a sex scene that the scene can't quite support. Yes, the filmmakers could have chosen better.
Subtle is possible. Even when it doesn't seem subtle, like the "Awesome Mix" of songs from the first Guardians of the Galaxy**, it still can be: those songs tell you a lot about Peter Quill's relationship with his mother, and how they both probably liked certain songs without quite listening to all the lyrics.
I'm writing this because I keep wondering how a film could use this.
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' "The Mercy Seat." A song about a man getting executed in the electric chair. Explicitly about it. And the song sounds huge. The song's drama would most likely overwhelm any scene's drama. How to avoid that?
Go in a comedy direction. Have a montage of characters listening on headphones to songs to get them to relax. Someone's listening to "Here Comes the Sun"; someone else is listening to Pachelbel's "Canon"; someone else is listening to "The Mercy Seat."
I like that image.
* One time it wasn't: the film version of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas doesn't use that song, even though Hunter S. Thompson mentioned "Sympathy for the Devil" when the book opens. The filmmakers decided it was too slow for the specific kind of energy they wanted in the scene. "Combination of the Two" by Big Brother and the Holding Company, with vocals by Janis Joplin, did have the right energy. In fact, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas has a really well-chosen soundtrack, in case you've never heard it.
** I'm fond of that blog entry. *nods*
Subtle is possible. Even when it doesn't seem subtle, like the "Awesome Mix" of songs from the first Guardians of the Galaxy**, it still can be: those songs tell you a lot about Peter Quill's relationship with his mother, and how they both probably liked certain songs without quite listening to all the lyrics.
I'm writing this because I keep wondering how a film could use this.
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' "The Mercy Seat." A song about a man getting executed in the electric chair. Explicitly about it. And the song sounds huge. The song's drama would most likely overwhelm any scene's drama. How to avoid that?
Go in a comedy direction. Have a montage of characters listening on headphones to songs to get them to relax. Someone's listening to "Here Comes the Sun"; someone else is listening to Pachelbel's "Canon"; someone else is listening to "The Mercy Seat."
I like that image.
* One time it wasn't: the film version of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas doesn't use that song, even though Hunter S. Thompson mentioned "Sympathy for the Devil" when the book opens. The filmmakers decided it was too slow for the specific kind of energy they wanted in the scene. "Combination of the Two" by Big Brother and the Holding Company, with vocals by Janis Joplin, did have the right energy. In fact, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas has a really well-chosen soundtrack, in case you've never heard it.
** I'm fond of that blog entry. *nods*
I wasn't ready for winter. Yes, winter hasn't officially begun yet, but the snowy icy weather in Portland (latest round starting last Wednesday) is getting a good start. Good for it, bad for my feet being warm, but it'd be bad for me not to go anywhere just because it's icy. Though I haven't today (or on Friday), I've been getting out:
Thursday night, I played at the latest Funemployment Radio Bingo Night, in the (thank goodness heated) covered area at Landmark Saloon. It helped that Landmark is an easy bus ride from where I live. We got a decent turnout for the game, despite the weather, and I played all three rounds. Never won, but only some can win. I left Landmark for the bus, but when I checked bus arrival times and learned the next wouldn't be for 20 minutes, I went back and hung out inside Landmark, where a band was playing. I'm glad I got more exposure to country music I can enjoy.
Saturday, more was melted and I was out more. Enough roads were icy that a lot of buses were still chained, which limits them to 25 mph; I made the wrong choice between an earlier bus or a later Max train to get to NE Portland and took a lot longer to get there than hoped. The Max would've been quicker, but I made it to the house where my friend Gerald lives. Yesterday was his birthday, and we hung out for part of it. Watched UFC, which I watch occasionally, and snacked; Gerald cooked for the house that night.
From there I walked to Parkrose Transit Center, northwest of that house and within manageable walking distance (and mostly no longer icy!), and Maxed downtown. After my first-ever meal at Old Town Pizza (a meatball sub and root beer; I think Roger Ebert would've approved), I crossed downtown to the fancy Starbucks behind the downtown Powell's Books, a Starbucks that serves beer and wine and, last night, was serving LIVE MUSIC. Music by the PDX Broadsides, comprised by three people I know who are also in the PDX Yar pirate cosplay group. They write and sing geek-friendly songs about memes, Legos, fanfic, Shakespeare, and how Santa has to be a Time Lord like in Doctor Who. Also songs with an edge like "Smile," about street harassment, or "We Want Rey," about increasing representation in media like toys and t-shirts, because (for instance) there are surprisingly few clothes available for anyone who wants to wear an image of Rey from Star Wars: The Force Awakens or Black Widow of the Avengers. As the Broadsides pointed out, Halloween 2016 was the first Halloween where girls' costumes outsold boys' costumes, so this may, and should, be changing. Anyway, the PDX Broadsides are fun, thoughtful musicians, I'm glad I know them, and I'm glad I got out to see them. I even dressed up more than usual, because the band had asked people to be fancy. We fancy people (I was on the less-fancy end) got photo proof!
![taken by [get name], 12-17-2016](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/chris_walsh/4617135/266492/266492_600.jpg "PDX Broadsides and fans, dressed fancy")
I didn't go out today; I didn't want or need to. Next time out is [SOME OF WHAT I WILL PROBABLY BLOG ABOUT THIS WEEK].
Thursday night, I played at the latest Funemployment Radio Bingo Night, in the (thank goodness heated) covered area at Landmark Saloon. It helped that Landmark is an easy bus ride from where I live. We got a decent turnout for the game, despite the weather, and I played all three rounds. Never won, but only some can win. I left Landmark for the bus, but when I checked bus arrival times and learned the next wouldn't be for 20 minutes, I went back and hung out inside Landmark, where a band was playing. I'm glad I got more exposure to country music I can enjoy.
Saturday, more was melted and I was out more. Enough roads were icy that a lot of buses were still chained, which limits them to 25 mph; I made the wrong choice between an earlier bus or a later Max train to get to NE Portland and took a lot longer to get there than hoped. The Max would've been quicker, but I made it to the house where my friend Gerald lives. Yesterday was his birthday, and we hung out for part of it. Watched UFC, which I watch occasionally, and snacked; Gerald cooked for the house that night.
From there I walked to Parkrose Transit Center, northwest of that house and within manageable walking distance (and mostly no longer icy!), and Maxed downtown. After my first-ever meal at Old Town Pizza (a meatball sub and root beer; I think Roger Ebert would've approved), I crossed downtown to the fancy Starbucks behind the downtown Powell's Books, a Starbucks that serves beer and wine and, last night, was serving LIVE MUSIC. Music by the PDX Broadsides, comprised by three people I know who are also in the PDX Yar pirate cosplay group. They write and sing geek-friendly songs about memes, Legos, fanfic, Shakespeare, and how Santa has to be a Time Lord like in Doctor Who. Also songs with an edge like "Smile," about street harassment, or "We Want Rey," about increasing representation in media like toys and t-shirts, because (for instance) there are surprisingly few clothes available for anyone who wants to wear an image of Rey from Star Wars: The Force Awakens or Black Widow of the Avengers. As the Broadsides pointed out, Halloween 2016 was the first Halloween where girls' costumes outsold boys' costumes, so this may, and should, be changing. Anyway, the PDX Broadsides are fun, thoughtful musicians, I'm glad I know them, and I'm glad I got out to see them. I even dressed up more than usual, because the band had asked people to be fancy. We fancy people (I was on the less-fancy end) got photo proof!
I didn't go out today; I didn't want or need to. Next time out is [SOME OF WHAT I WILL PROBABLY BLOG ABOUT THIS WEEK].
Radio has been important to me. I decided to track it.
RANCHO BERNARDO, CA, 1976-1981: Things are different now — at least Radio Disney exists — but in the late 1970s, radio definitely didn't cater to kids, and while I was aware of music, I wasn't finding it on the radio. Though the 45s era was waning, I did listen to them — plus LPs, like The Muppets' The Frog Prince; the sound effect when the witch transforms into a bird scared the hell out of me. Mainly I remember listen-along albums, played on a little plastic turntable. The 45 for the Star Wars "story of the film" (Mom remembers me reading that aloud without the record playing, and adding my own "beep" when I'd turn the page), the read-along Rankin-Bass version of The Hobbit, stuff like that. Because my dad's dad worked in the corporate office of Cummins Diesel, we had a floppy 45 of the novelty song "Hummin' Cummins."
CAMARILLO, CA, 1981-1982: My "pop country" era: I mainly remember songs like "Elvira," "Islands in the Stream," "The Gambler" (well before I saw The Muppet Show's version), and "Driving My Life Away." Good time to pay more attention to radio, as this was when the first Star Wars radio adaptation aired — my first exposure to radio drama. Also my first exposure to NPR, but that exposure didn't "take" when I was 7. What did make an impression: the Mighty 690, the AM station with the illegally-strong-for-the-U.S. signal coming from Tijuana.
Back then, as a first- and second-grader, I sometimes somehow got confused when I heard instrumentals on the radio. "Shouldn't songs have words?" when I'd hear, for instance, Chuck Mangione.
LORD DUNMORE DRIVE, VIRGINIA BEACH, VA, 1982-1983: I mainly listened to what the folks listened to, '80s pop and '60s pop. The Sixties station tended to play two eras of the Beatles: early hits (up through Beatles For Sale) and Abbey Road, with almost nothing from the middle. No "Tomorrow Never Knows," certainly. The most outlandish song it'd play was the Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations." The pop from then that stuck in my head the most: Elton John's 1983 singles "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues" and "I'm Still Standing." Also my brother and I heard the Star Wars and Empire Strikes Back radio plays.
LITTLE LAKE DRIVE, VIRGINIA BEACH, VA, 1983-1984: My brother had a sound system. My brother shared the use of the sound system. My brother was also listening to Top 40. HELLO, CASEY KASEM. Also hello, Madonna: I can remember almost to the moment first hearing "Holiday." Also also, hello Prince, because soon before we once again moved, Purple Rain came out and I fell for "When Doves Cry" and "Let's Go Crazy."
(Though I still wasn't listening to lyrics closely. I thought in "Doves" he sang "Maybe I'm just like my mother/ She's never sad inside.")
And MTV. Make whatever jokes you wish; MTV was huge for me back then, when I finally started watching it. (I'd watched HBO's Video Jukebox before, but that was half an occasional hour versus the 24 hours MTV did.) Art was happening in videos, if you watched long enough. Events happened, like the video for Michael Jackson's "Thriller." And I heard a lot of fun music through videos.
( Putting a cut here so I can link to this particular section from another entry where this part is relevant.Collapse )NORTHERN VIRGINIA, 1984-1992: I moved to Fairfax County, near Washington, D.C., a month into fifth grade, and found the local Top 40 station, 105.1 WAVA. (It now plays religious programming.) Importantly for me, I also found Don Geronimo. In fall '84 he was WAVA's afternoon DJ; in December 1985, he and production guy Mike O'Meara debuted The Morning Zoo with Don & Mike, after the station's disastrous Charlie & Herrigan. WAVA went with a Zoo show to fight DC101's The Greaseman Show (this was a few years after Howard Stern had left the market), and while I recall Mom and Dad didn't like that I listened to Don & Mike, they really didn't want me listening to The Greaseman.
An example of the difference between Don & Mike and Charlie & Herrigan: both shows parodied the huge hit Miami Vice. Charlie & Herrigan had the recurring bit "Miami Mice." It was exactly as clever as you'd think (with sped-up voices like in Alvin and the Chipmunks). Don & Mike did "Miami Nice." Each segment would end with the two of them, both with genuine acting chops, saying, "Hey! That's not nice!" Honestly clever. It made me smile.
I was hooked. I've listened to them on and off, and when I can, ever since.
I also started compiling songs on tapes. Not mix tapes; that implies planning and programming. They were just "bunches of songs that I like," catch-as-catch-can from the radio. Just for me, as well; I didn't think to make tapes for friends. During a stretch of 1989, I compiled Don & Mike on tape: I'd leave for school recording the first hour or so of the show on my boombox, and listen and edit later onto compilation tapes. I did 10 of those. I still have them.
Don & Mike also indirectly helped me expand what I listen to: after they moved to WJFK in 1992, Don got a weekend DJ slot playing '60s pop, a more varied selection of it than the Virginia Beach oldies station I'd listened to.
(Maybe surprisingly, I also listened to fellow WJFK host G. Gordon Liddy, between Howard Stern's morning show and Don & Mike's afternoon show. In the '90s, I could sometimes listen to political talk radio without wanting to caulk my ear canals. I disagree with Liddy on an almost molecular level, but I could stand listening to him!)
I wasn't yet listing to anything approaching alternative, though plenty of my fellow high schoolers were: this was back when WHFS was D.C.'s alt-music station. Maybe I wasn't ready for alternative: when a friend told me about a Dead Milkmen song which had profanity in the title, I thought A swear word in a title? Why would you do that? Don't you want it played on the radio? I was sheltered, or maybe just not observant enough.
EUGENE, OR (1992-1996): Somehow, in four years at University of Oregon, I didn't get into Eugene radio. At all. Even with my friend Paul in U of O's broadcasting program. (Paul, by the way, earned his degree...then decided NOT to work in radio.) So I ignored college radio, plus I was not noticing most Top 40, either.
Around then, I got heavily into film music. I finally collected it in a focused way, after dabbling for years (like Star Wars and Raiders by John Williams, Danny Elfman's Batman, The Adventures of Baron Munchausen by Michael Kamen, and Howard Shore's The Silence of the Lambs). I learned enough to write about it, getting published in Film Score Monthly starting in 1995. CD producer Mark Banning, then co-runner of the specialty record label GNP Crescendo, once explained it this way: since film music is designed to be paired with images, when it's detached from those images, it can be especially open-ended, inspiring your own mental scenarios. (Like this: Radiohead wrote "Exit Music (For a Film)" for Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet, but when I heard the song on its own, I forgot its origin and imagined it in what looked like a spaghetti Western: as the song grows more urgent, I see a Charles Bronson or a Lee Van Cleef stumbling gun-wounded down Main Street, to Do What Must Be Done before dying.)
I still got music videos through cable's "The Box: Music Television You Control"; people called a 1-900 number and for a fee chose what videos played, such as Sir Mix-A-Lot's "Baby Got Back," Meat Loaf's '90s work, and the uncensored version of the Denis Leary song "Asshole." Friends also turned me on to bands: Paul gave me Oingo Boingo on tape so I could hear Danny Elfman's other major output at the time; my late friend Mike Pearl very enthusiastically pushed Tori Amos. (Pearl was enough of a fan to get a copy of Amos's cheesy pop album Y Kant Tori Read. He honestly if sheepishly liked some of those songs.) And when I started dating Alicia, I started picking up on current pop again. Not that 1996 was all that great a year for pop, but at least I got back into radio. (Alicia and I also bonded over Oingo Boingo.)
HERMISTON, OR, 1997-2000: NPR saved my brain. Northwest Public Radio out of Pullman, WA, to be exact. That was my main station when I was a newspaper writer-reporter, 180 miles east of Portland. I once again, otherwise, wasn't very interested in the radio, but followed NPR with music alongside news, during a time I paid attention to both for my job.
Also, I compiled entertainment listings for the Hermiston Herald's "Scene & Heard" section (and reviewed lots of films), so I was aware of local music shows and, finally, was attending them. It was one of the few times in my life I've concertedly gone to concerts. (That included a special Portland trip to see Tori Amos in 1998, a trip where I turned around at Hermiston city limits because I realized I'd FORGOTTEN MY TICKET. Remembering later would've been worse...)
No, I did not get into A Prairie Home Companion. I've tried it. It's never been my thing. But yay for Car Talk!
PORTLAND, 2000-NOW: I'd been exposed to Portland radio in the mid-90s, and the first station I gravitated to was 101.9 KINK. What helped hook me was its show "Lights Out," interestingly ambient and gentle music played from 10 p.m. to midnight Sundays through Thursdays. Had no ads and seemed closer to an NPR-type music show than a commercial radio show; that was a nice surprise. (The show no longer airs, but in 2012 I bought directly from the station the 9th, 10th, and 11th "Lights Out" CDs. I kept the 9th and gave the 10th and 11th to
bonnie_rocks, who'd come to like "Lights Out" when KINK streamed it online.)
KINK made film news, too: by 2000 its former News Director Mike Rich had become a screenwriter. By the time I was listening, Rich was no longer on the morning news, but he'd come on air a few times a week to talk about his nascent career: Finding Forrester was released back then, and he was working on both the true-life baseball film The Rookie and a (never-produced) script for a war film starring a tank crew. (His provisional title for the script was "Dragonfire," but I like that Rich's personal title was "The Tank Movie.")
KINK.fm is some of my musical comfort food — except when Leif's ads are on — as is alt-rock 94/7 KNRK, which I've listened to almost as long. 94/7's had drama: that drama is why I wrote my 2007 blog entry "The Epic of NRK." I care about this stuff: the drama affected people I like.
I've gotten to know radio and former radio people, as acquaintances and sometimes as friends. The Chris in the '80s saving Don & Mike comedy bits would be glad I know people who are, and were, in the business.
At times I wonder if I would've survived, or worked well, in radio. But I probably never would have tried for a job in the industry; and now, job opportunities in it are sparse. The industry has issues, as I've learned from radio vets; I think I would've chafed against those issues, or been fired quickly. As radio firings tend to be: finish a show, get told "You no longer work for us," disappear from the website and ads. I've seen that mess with people.
But radio is still here, and still in my life. Along with KINK.fm and 94/7 fm, I also listen sometimes to 89.1 KMHD, a jazz station. New and new-to-me music still reaches me. For a time I was also finding new music through iTunes Radio — alternative, country, the Star Wars music channel — but since the iTunes channels I'd want to listen to are now subscription-only, and a new subscription is not in my budget, I can listen to radio! Instead. Still.
Radio has been important to me. Writing this has helped me see how important.
RANCHO BERNARDO, CA, 1976-1981: Things are different now — at least Radio Disney exists — but in the late 1970s, radio definitely didn't cater to kids, and while I was aware of music, I wasn't finding it on the radio. Though the 45s era was waning, I did listen to them — plus LPs, like The Muppets' The Frog Prince; the sound effect when the witch transforms into a bird scared the hell out of me. Mainly I remember listen-along albums, played on a little plastic turntable. The 45 for the Star Wars "story of the film" (Mom remembers me reading that aloud without the record playing, and adding my own "beep" when I'd turn the page), the read-along Rankin-Bass version of The Hobbit, stuff like that. Because my dad's dad worked in the corporate office of Cummins Diesel, we had a floppy 45 of the novelty song "Hummin' Cummins."
CAMARILLO, CA, 1981-1982: My "pop country" era: I mainly remember songs like "Elvira," "Islands in the Stream," "The Gambler" (well before I saw The Muppet Show's version), and "Driving My Life Away." Good time to pay more attention to radio, as this was when the first Star Wars radio adaptation aired — my first exposure to radio drama. Also my first exposure to NPR, but that exposure didn't "take" when I was 7. What did make an impression: the Mighty 690, the AM station with the illegally-strong-for-the-U.S. signal coming from Tijuana.
Back then, as a first- and second-grader, I sometimes somehow got confused when I heard instrumentals on the radio. "Shouldn't songs have words?" when I'd hear, for instance, Chuck Mangione.
LORD DUNMORE DRIVE, VIRGINIA BEACH, VA, 1982-1983: I mainly listened to what the folks listened to, '80s pop and '60s pop. The Sixties station tended to play two eras of the Beatles: early hits (up through Beatles For Sale) and Abbey Road, with almost nothing from the middle. No "Tomorrow Never Knows," certainly. The most outlandish song it'd play was the Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations." The pop from then that stuck in my head the most: Elton John's 1983 singles "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues" and "I'm Still Standing." Also my brother and I heard the Star Wars and Empire Strikes Back radio plays.
LITTLE LAKE DRIVE, VIRGINIA BEACH, VA, 1983-1984: My brother had a sound system. My brother shared the use of the sound system. My brother was also listening to Top 40. HELLO, CASEY KASEM. Also hello, Madonna: I can remember almost to the moment first hearing "Holiday." Also also, hello Prince, because soon before we once again moved, Purple Rain came out and I fell for "When Doves Cry" and "Let's Go Crazy."
(Though I still wasn't listening to lyrics closely. I thought in "Doves" he sang "Maybe I'm just like my mother/ She's never sad inside.")
And MTV. Make whatever jokes you wish; MTV was huge for me back then, when I finally started watching it. (I'd watched HBO's Video Jukebox before, but that was half an occasional hour versus the 24 hours MTV did.) Art was happening in videos, if you watched long enough. Events happened, like the video for Michael Jackson's "Thriller." And I heard a lot of fun music through videos.
( Putting a cut here so I can link to this particular section from another entry where this part is relevant.Collapse )NORTHERN VIRGINIA, 1984-1992: I moved to Fairfax County, near Washington, D.C., a month into fifth grade, and found the local Top 40 station, 105.1 WAVA. (It now plays religious programming.) Importantly for me, I also found Don Geronimo. In fall '84 he was WAVA's afternoon DJ; in December 1985, he and production guy Mike O'Meara debuted The Morning Zoo with Don & Mike, after the station's disastrous Charlie & Herrigan. WAVA went with a Zoo show to fight DC101's The Greaseman Show (this was a few years after Howard Stern had left the market), and while I recall Mom and Dad didn't like that I listened to Don & Mike, they really didn't want me listening to The Greaseman.
An example of the difference between Don & Mike and Charlie & Herrigan: both shows parodied the huge hit Miami Vice. Charlie & Herrigan had the recurring bit "Miami Mice." It was exactly as clever as you'd think (with sped-up voices like in Alvin and the Chipmunks). Don & Mike did "Miami Nice." Each segment would end with the two of them, both with genuine acting chops, saying, "Hey! That's not nice!" Honestly clever. It made me smile.
I was hooked. I've listened to them on and off, and when I can, ever since.
I also started compiling songs on tapes. Not mix tapes; that implies planning and programming. They were just "bunches of songs that I like," catch-as-catch-can from the radio. Just for me, as well; I didn't think to make tapes for friends. During a stretch of 1989, I compiled Don & Mike on tape: I'd leave for school recording the first hour or so of the show on my boombox, and listen and edit later onto compilation tapes. I did 10 of those. I still have them.
Don & Mike also indirectly helped me expand what I listen to: after they moved to WJFK in 1992, Don got a weekend DJ slot playing '60s pop, a more varied selection of it than the Virginia Beach oldies station I'd listened to.
(Maybe surprisingly, I also listened to fellow WJFK host G. Gordon Liddy, between Howard Stern's morning show and Don & Mike's afternoon show. In the '90s, I could sometimes listen to political talk radio without wanting to caulk my ear canals. I disagree with Liddy on an almost molecular level, but I could stand listening to him!)
I wasn't yet listing to anything approaching alternative, though plenty of my fellow high schoolers were: this was back when WHFS was D.C.'s alt-music station. Maybe I wasn't ready for alternative: when a friend told me about a Dead Milkmen song which had profanity in the title, I thought A swear word in a title? Why would you do that? Don't you want it played on the radio? I was sheltered, or maybe just not observant enough.
EUGENE, OR (1992-1996): Somehow, in four years at University of Oregon, I didn't get into Eugene radio. At all. Even with my friend Paul in U of O's broadcasting program. (Paul, by the way, earned his degree...then decided NOT to work in radio.) So I ignored college radio, plus I was not noticing most Top 40, either.
Around then, I got heavily into film music. I finally collected it in a focused way, after dabbling for years (like Star Wars and Raiders by John Williams, Danny Elfman's Batman, The Adventures of Baron Munchausen by Michael Kamen, and Howard Shore's The Silence of the Lambs). I learned enough to write about it, getting published in Film Score Monthly starting in 1995. CD producer Mark Banning, then co-runner of the specialty record label GNP Crescendo, once explained it this way: since film music is designed to be paired with images, when it's detached from those images, it can be especially open-ended, inspiring your own mental scenarios. (Like this: Radiohead wrote "Exit Music (For a Film)" for Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet, but when I heard the song on its own, I forgot its origin and imagined it in what looked like a spaghetti Western: as the song grows more urgent, I see a Charles Bronson or a Lee Van Cleef stumbling gun-wounded down Main Street, to Do What Must Be Done before dying.)
I still got music videos through cable's "The Box: Music Television You Control"; people called a 1-900 number and for a fee chose what videos played, such as Sir Mix-A-Lot's "Baby Got Back," Meat Loaf's '90s work, and the uncensored version of the Denis Leary song "Asshole." Friends also turned me on to bands: Paul gave me Oingo Boingo on tape so I could hear Danny Elfman's other major output at the time; my late friend Mike Pearl very enthusiastically pushed Tori Amos. (Pearl was enough of a fan to get a copy of Amos's cheesy pop album Y Kant Tori Read. He honestly if sheepishly liked some of those songs.) And when I started dating Alicia, I started picking up on current pop again. Not that 1996 was all that great a year for pop, but at least I got back into radio. (Alicia and I also bonded over Oingo Boingo.)
HERMISTON, OR, 1997-2000: NPR saved my brain. Northwest Public Radio out of Pullman, WA, to be exact. That was my main station when I was a newspaper writer-reporter, 180 miles east of Portland. I once again, otherwise, wasn't very interested in the radio, but followed NPR with music alongside news, during a time I paid attention to both for my job.
Also, I compiled entertainment listings for the Hermiston Herald's "Scene & Heard" section (and reviewed lots of films), so I was aware of local music shows and, finally, was attending them. It was one of the few times in my life I've concertedly gone to concerts. (That included a special Portland trip to see Tori Amos in 1998, a trip where I turned around at Hermiston city limits because I realized I'd FORGOTTEN MY TICKET. Remembering later would've been worse...)
No, I did not get into A Prairie Home Companion. I've tried it. It's never been my thing. But yay for Car Talk!
PORTLAND, 2000-NOW: I'd been exposed to Portland radio in the mid-90s, and the first station I gravitated to was 101.9 KINK. What helped hook me was its show "Lights Out," interestingly ambient and gentle music played from 10 p.m. to midnight Sundays through Thursdays. Had no ads and seemed closer to an NPR-type music show than a commercial radio show; that was a nice surprise. (The show no longer airs, but in 2012 I bought directly from the station the 9th, 10th, and 11th "Lights Out" CDs. I kept the 9th and gave the 10th and 11th to
bonnie_rocks, who'd come to like "Lights Out" when KINK streamed it online.)KINK made film news, too: by 2000 its former News Director Mike Rich had become a screenwriter. By the time I was listening, Rich was no longer on the morning news, but he'd come on air a few times a week to talk about his nascent career: Finding Forrester was released back then, and he was working on both the true-life baseball film The Rookie and a (never-produced) script for a war film starring a tank crew. (His provisional title for the script was "Dragonfire," but I like that Rich's personal title was "The Tank Movie.")
KINK.fm is some of my musical comfort food — except when Leif's ads are on — as is alt-rock 94/7 KNRK, which I've listened to almost as long. 94/7's had drama: that drama is why I wrote my 2007 blog entry "The Epic of NRK." I care about this stuff: the drama affected people I like.
I've gotten to know radio and former radio people, as acquaintances and sometimes as friends. The Chris in the '80s saving Don & Mike comedy bits would be glad I know people who are, and were, in the business.
At times I wonder if I would've survived, or worked well, in radio. But I probably never would have tried for a job in the industry; and now, job opportunities in it are sparse. The industry has issues, as I've learned from radio vets; I think I would've chafed against those issues, or been fired quickly. As radio firings tend to be: finish a show, get told "You no longer work for us," disappear from the website and ads. I've seen that mess with people.
But radio is still here, and still in my life. Along with KINK.fm and 94/7 fm, I also listen sometimes to 89.1 KMHD, a jazz station. New and new-to-me music still reaches me. For a time I was also finding new music through iTunes Radio — alternative, country, the Star Wars music channel — but since the iTunes channels I'd want to listen to are now subscription-only, and a new subscription is not in my budget, I can listen to radio! Instead. Still.
Radio has been important to me. Writing this has helped me see how important.
- Current Mood:
nostalgic
Poem-writing and song-writing are overlapping, but not quite the same, skills. Not all songs can be poems and not all poems can be songs. I have more experience with poems than songs, but this (inspired by an exchange on Facebook with my friend aoniedesade) felt like it should be a song. Country, I think. So: a few verses and a chorus for what would be my first country tune:
"Out-of-town Tacos," by Christopher Walsh (started 4/27/2016)
"Open," it says — the neon is a sign
It grabs my eye so I slow down
Pull off, pull in, and get out on
The side of a road I rarely take
Just enough light, here out of the sun
Booths worn just right,with a worthwhile special special scrawled on a board*
And there's you, relaxed, unexpected and welcome
Raising your glass — it glints like your eyes
(Chorus)
It's your spot, but I'll stop
For out-of-town tacos and cold pop
And your spot is worth a stop
Whether the trip is long or a short hop
Quiet or bustlin', it's all good here
You're welcomed, I'm welcomed, it's welcoming
We connect over plates and bowls of good eats
It looks like comfort, like a place could hug
(Chorus)
I liked that writing exercise.
And no, I don't have a tune for it. Or a bridge. I can learn more about this craft, and this restaurant could be described more...
* I wrote the struck-through section first, then came up with the other version of the line. I slightly prefer the later version, but wanted to show both.
aoniedesade) felt like it should be a song. Country, I think. So: a few verses and a chorus for what would be my first country tune:"Out-of-town Tacos," by Christopher Walsh (started 4/27/2016)
"Open," it says — the neon is a sign
It grabs my eye so I slow down
Pull off, pull in, and get out on
The side of a road I rarely take
Just enough light, here out of the sun
Booths worn just right,
And there's you, relaxed, unexpected and welcome
Raising your glass — it glints like your eyes
(Chorus)
It's your spot, but I'll stop
For out-of-town tacos and cold pop
And your spot is worth a stop
Whether the trip is long or a short hop
Quiet or bustlin', it's all good here
You're welcomed, I'm welcomed, it's welcoming
We connect over plates and bowls of good eats
It looks like comfort, like a place could hug
(Chorus)
I liked that writing exercise.
And no, I don't have a tune for it. Or a bridge. I can learn more about this craft, and this restaurant could be described more...
* I wrote the struck-through section first, then came up with the other version of the line. I slightly prefer the later version, but wanted to show both.
Star Wars songs:
• "Smells Like Palpatine Spirit"
• "Anakin in the U.K."
• "Who Wants to Live for Poodoo"
• "Baby Got Dak"
• "Wicket Game"
• "Theme from Ray-Shielded Shaft"
• "You Can Leave Your Padawan"
• Jimmy Buffett's "Finns"
• "Bane in Vain" (The Clone Wars represent!)
• "Invisible Force Touch"
• "Bantha on the Run"
• "Cold, Cold Darth"
• "Dengar Zone"
• "Wookiee Pa Nub" (sung by Buckwheat)
May the Fourth be with you!
• "Smells Like Palpatine Spirit"
• "Anakin in the U.K."
• "Who Wants to Live for Poodoo"
• "Baby Got Dak"
• "Wicket Game"
• "Theme from Ray-Shielded Shaft"
• "You Can Leave Your Padawan"
• Jimmy Buffett's "Finns"
• "Bane in Vain" (The Clone Wars represent!)
• "Invisible Force Touch"
• "Bantha on the Run"
• "Cold, Cold Darth"
• "Dengar Zone"
• "Wookiee Pa Nub" (sung by Buckwheat)
May the Fourth be with you!
In one very particular way, I do not envy James Cameron.
He's successful at a near-surreal level, taking enormous risks and earning all the "F you" money he's gotten in his career. Supposedly he's calmed down as a person, too, which is probably good for both his health and his colleagues' sanity. I've always liked his work, and sometimes I've loved it. And I'm thinking again about 2009's Avatar, soon to be dethroned as highest-grossing American film by Star Wars: The Force Awakens. I love that it will take a Star Wars to beat it.
(Quick aside: I like Avatar; I literally wobbled as I left the theater, and briefly forgot to remove my 3-D glasses. Avatar is an odd piece of pop culture, though, where lots of people don't revisit it and in fact seem to have trouble remembering it, problems Cameron's Titanic -- which I loved -- has never had. This entry has nothing to do with that, but I felt I should acknowledge it, in case someone's all "Huh? Why are you bringing up that?")
Cameron and co-writers are working on sequels (yes, plural) to Avatar, which I hope are amazing; but one facet of the original Avatar can't really be replicated, and that's the score by the late James Horner. First off, Cameron lost not just a colleague when Horner died in a plane crash last summer, he lost a friend. That friendship was hard-won, and nearly torpedoed by how tough an experience 1986's Aliens was; Horner vowed he'd never work with Cameron again after that. Even with that bad experience and years apart, Horner let himself be moved by just Cameron's Titanic script (he reportedly cried while reading it and said it was the film he was "born" to score) -- and Cameron had let himself be moved by Horner's music for 1995's Braveheart. At some level, Cameron was thinking This is why I like him. They tiptoed back into each others' lives, and found the rhythm of working together again. (To the point that Horner felt OK about explicitly going against Cameron's injunction not to write a song for the film, and wrote and demo'ed "My Heart Will Go On" in secret, feeling -- correctly -- that the strength of the song would change Cameron's mind.)
In other words, how do you replace a friend?
There are more nuts-and-bolts reasons the music question is a delicate one: as hugely popular as Horner was...who else in the current film score world even kind of sounds like him? Is similarly long-form (Horner often wrote 10-minute-plus music cues, a lonnnnnnng time in films)? Would be willing to make a time commitment like what Horner made to the first Avatar, which he spent a year-and-a-half scoring? Would know how to navigate around the James Horner-sized hole in James Cameron's life? Maybe composer and noted nice guy Alan Silvestri, who worked with Cameron before on The Abyss (1989), could commit to this and adapt his sound to connect to -- not copy -- what Horner did, but I have no idea how his working relationship with Cameron went. Howard Shore has shown willingness to spend years on giant overarching projects, both The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, but I don't know if he'd want to make another, similar commitment to someone who's not Peter Jackson or David Cronenberg.
It's not going to be Danny Elfman (probably wouldn't get along with Cameron). It's not going to be Hans Zimmer (music style likely too divergent). It's not going to be Brad Fiedel, even though he's worked with Cameron three times (his music's too stark and monochromatic). Mmmmmaybe it could be Bear McCreary, except he's busy with all sorts of TV shows. Michael Giacchino is much more from the John Williams school than I think Cameron would want. But I also didn't think Thomas Newman was the best choice for James Bond, and he's done good, lush work in that series. Twice. I'm unfamiliar with too many of the current crop of younger film composers to know if any of them come near to being a potentially good fit, and there's still a risk to someone young if they go off the market too long.
Like in any relationship, James Cameron needs to find someone who fits, and he needs to give that person room to fit. And to fit even when there's the chance for an elephant in the room, in the form of the missing relationship.
If even I am thinking about this, imagine how Cameron's thinking about it.
He's successful at a near-surreal level, taking enormous risks and earning all the "F you" money he's gotten in his career. Supposedly he's calmed down as a person, too, which is probably good for both his health and his colleagues' sanity. I've always liked his work, and sometimes I've loved it. And I'm thinking again about 2009's Avatar, soon to be dethroned as highest-grossing American film by Star Wars: The Force Awakens. I love that it will take a Star Wars to beat it.
(Quick aside: I like Avatar; I literally wobbled as I left the theater, and briefly forgot to remove my 3-D glasses. Avatar is an odd piece of pop culture, though, where lots of people don't revisit it and in fact seem to have trouble remembering it, problems Cameron's Titanic -- which I loved -- has never had. This entry has nothing to do with that, but I felt I should acknowledge it, in case someone's all "Huh? Why are you bringing up that?")
Cameron and co-writers are working on sequels (yes, plural) to Avatar, which I hope are amazing; but one facet of the original Avatar can't really be replicated, and that's the score by the late James Horner. First off, Cameron lost not just a colleague when Horner died in a plane crash last summer, he lost a friend. That friendship was hard-won, and nearly torpedoed by how tough an experience 1986's Aliens was; Horner vowed he'd never work with Cameron again after that. Even with that bad experience and years apart, Horner let himself be moved by just Cameron's Titanic script (he reportedly cried while reading it and said it was the film he was "born" to score) -- and Cameron had let himself be moved by Horner's music for 1995's Braveheart. At some level, Cameron was thinking This is why I like him. They tiptoed back into each others' lives, and found the rhythm of working together again. (To the point that Horner felt OK about explicitly going against Cameron's injunction not to write a song for the film, and wrote and demo'ed "My Heart Will Go On" in secret, feeling -- correctly -- that the strength of the song would change Cameron's mind.)
In other words, how do you replace a friend?
There are more nuts-and-bolts reasons the music question is a delicate one: as hugely popular as Horner was...who else in the current film score world even kind of sounds like him? Is similarly long-form (Horner often wrote 10-minute-plus music cues, a lonnnnnnng time in films)? Would be willing to make a time commitment like what Horner made to the first Avatar, which he spent a year-and-a-half scoring? Would know how to navigate around the James Horner-sized hole in James Cameron's life? Maybe composer and noted nice guy Alan Silvestri, who worked with Cameron before on The Abyss (1989), could commit to this and adapt his sound to connect to -- not copy -- what Horner did, but I have no idea how his working relationship with Cameron went. Howard Shore has shown willingness to spend years on giant overarching projects, both The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, but I don't know if he'd want to make another, similar commitment to someone who's not Peter Jackson or David Cronenberg.
It's not going to be Danny Elfman (probably wouldn't get along with Cameron). It's not going to be Hans Zimmer (music style likely too divergent). It's not going to be Brad Fiedel, even though he's worked with Cameron three times (his music's too stark and monochromatic). Mmmmmaybe it could be Bear McCreary, except he's busy with all sorts of TV shows. Michael Giacchino is much more from the John Williams school than I think Cameron would want. But I also didn't think Thomas Newman was the best choice for James Bond, and he's done good, lush work in that series. Twice. I'm unfamiliar with too many of the current crop of younger film composers to know if any of them come near to being a potentially good fit, and there's still a risk to someone young if they go off the market too long.
Like in any relationship, James Cameron needs to find someone who fits, and he needs to give that person room to fit. And to fit even when there's the chance for an elephant in the room, in the form of the missing relationship.
If even I am thinking about this, imagine how Cameron's thinking about it.
Buttered
Semaphore
Phlegmatic
Whoosh!
Rogered (verb)
Floccinaucinihilipilification
Moist
Nebuchadnezzar
Pasties
gif
Semaphore
Phlegmatic
Whoosh!
Rogered (verb)
Floccinaucinihilipilification
Moist
Nebuchadnezzar
Pasties
gif
Film composer James Horner has died in a plane crash. He was 61.
It's almost tough for a filmgoer who's been going to movies these past few decades not to have heard music by Horner. He wrote for films that became phenomena: think of the impact Avatar had on audiences in 2009-early 2010, and his music was a large part of that. Think of the impact Titanic has still, not just its impact in 1997-1998; his music was a huge part of that. I remember the years circa late '80s where it seemed every third film trailer used the penultimate cue from 1986's Aliens, "Bishop's Countdown," because of its urgency and drive and oh-shit-we-must-get-out-of-here vibe.
He was prolific and, when needed (as it often is), quick. Plenty of times he'd deliver an entire score, like for Aliens or Troy (2004), in a week-and-a-half. Or less. He'd regularly score eight to 10 films a year, especially in the Eighties. Having the one-two punch of his score CDs for Braveheart (1995) and Titanic, the first among the most popular score CDs of the Nineties and the second among the most popular score CDs ever, meant that he could have gone away from film scores and lived off of his earnings; he certainly calmed down and chose fewer projects, but still applied his skills to films. And more eclectic films, too, things like 2005's The Chumscrubber and not just blockbusters. He certainly didn't shy from the work; he'd throw himself into it.
Horner was mercurial: often defensive in interviews, with shifting explanations of why he often repeated his music, and other composers' music, nearly note-for-note. (He claimed he had a bad memory for music he'd written or heard before; he'd cite that there are only so many ways to combine notes into melodies; he'd note directors who wanted music to only sound a certain way; he'd bring up time constraints. All true, but often boiling down to a subtext of It's not my fault!) I also think it bothered him that it took a long time for his work to earn major rewards and acknowledgment; he never won an Oscar until winning two for Titanic, nearly 20 years into his career.
It's an odd job in an odd business, to compose music that fits, and plays off of, the images and sounds of films. James Horner did this for a long time...and often in long cues; most film score cues are a few minutes at most, but he was known for nine-minute, 11-minute, even 15-minute single cues. He compared his work to "weaving carpet"; it's insanely anal-retentive and detail-focused. And what he did, much more often than not, worked. My carping and complicated feelings about him and much of his music won't change that. He has never been my favorite film composer, but he created so many moments that I treasure nonetheless. Apollo 13's "The Launch," which I once air-conducted so vigorously that I hit my own face; the joyous and energetic score to The Rocketeer, some of my favorite driving music; the alien yet still emotional sweep of Star Trek III: The Search for Spock.
Sad and frustrating, to think of how much work Horner had already given us but still feel a loss at what he won't be able to give us now. To think of the love he gave his family and other loved ones; I can't imagine their hurt, with that love of his suddenly gone.
Rest in peace, James Horner. Inadequate words, but death is bigger than words.
It's almost tough for a filmgoer who's been going to movies these past few decades not to have heard music by Horner. He wrote for films that became phenomena: think of the impact Avatar had on audiences in 2009-early 2010, and his music was a large part of that. Think of the impact Titanic has still, not just its impact in 1997-1998; his music was a huge part of that. I remember the years circa late '80s where it seemed every third film trailer used the penultimate cue from 1986's Aliens, "Bishop's Countdown," because of its urgency and drive and oh-shit-we-must-get-out-of-here vibe.
He was prolific and, when needed (as it often is), quick. Plenty of times he'd deliver an entire score, like for Aliens or Troy (2004), in a week-and-a-half. Or less. He'd regularly score eight to 10 films a year, especially in the Eighties. Having the one-two punch of his score CDs for Braveheart (1995) and Titanic, the first among the most popular score CDs of the Nineties and the second among the most popular score CDs ever, meant that he could have gone away from film scores and lived off of his earnings; he certainly calmed down and chose fewer projects, but still applied his skills to films. And more eclectic films, too, things like 2005's The Chumscrubber and not just blockbusters. He certainly didn't shy from the work; he'd throw himself into it.
Horner was mercurial: often defensive in interviews, with shifting explanations of why he often repeated his music, and other composers' music, nearly note-for-note. (He claimed he had a bad memory for music he'd written or heard before; he'd cite that there are only so many ways to combine notes into melodies; he'd note directors who wanted music to only sound a certain way; he'd bring up time constraints. All true, but often boiling down to a subtext of It's not my fault!) I also think it bothered him that it took a long time for his work to earn major rewards and acknowledgment; he never won an Oscar until winning two for Titanic, nearly 20 years into his career.
It's an odd job in an odd business, to compose music that fits, and plays off of, the images and sounds of films. James Horner did this for a long time...and often in long cues; most film score cues are a few minutes at most, but he was known for nine-minute, 11-minute, even 15-minute single cues. He compared his work to "weaving carpet"; it's insanely anal-retentive and detail-focused. And what he did, much more often than not, worked. My carping and complicated feelings about him and much of his music won't change that. He has never been my favorite film composer, but he created so many moments that I treasure nonetheless. Apollo 13's "The Launch," which I once air-conducted so vigorously that I hit my own face; the joyous and energetic score to The Rocketeer, some of my favorite driving music; the alien yet still emotional sweep of Star Trek III: The Search for Spock.
Sad and frustrating, to think of how much work Horner had already given us but still feel a loss at what he won't be able to give us now. To think of the love he gave his family and other loved ones; I can't imagine their hurt, with that love of his suddenly gone.
Rest in peace, James Horner. Inadequate words, but death is bigger than words.
Sing-people make song about up-going to space more simple with small words, also do little-show like little-show done lots of years back.
Translation: musicians Marian Call, Molly Lewis, and Seth Boyer "sweded" (cheaply recreated) David Bowie's classic 1969 song and proto-video "Space Oddity," with changed lyrics using only words from the 1,000 most common words in English.
Here is "Space Weird Thing":
(Direct link if the embedded link doesn't work: https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=you
Translation: musicians Marian Call, Molly Lewis, and Seth Boyer "sweded" (cheaply recreated) David Bowie's classic 1969 song and proto-video "Space Oddity," with changed lyrics using only words from the 1,000 most common words in English.
Here is "Space Weird Thing":
(Direct link if the embedded link doesn't work: https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=you
Thanks to my Funemployment Radio subscription, I've been listening to the network's music shows. They go out live and can't be saved online, or else FER would incur major fees, but they can rerun on FER's 24-hour stream. Kielen King has a hip-hop show, "B-Sides and Besides"; there are reruns of Lisa Wood's "Play Anything," where she'd use her radio DJ training to assemble playlists without having to answer to corporate-poisoned bosses saying "no, play THAT Metallica song! We're not going to play Godspeed You Black Emperor!"; Scott Dally's "The Dally Sessions" often focuses on a particular artist, album by album (say, Pink Floyd or Tom Waits); and Aaron Duran, because he's fond of film scores like I am, produces "Drive-Time at the Drive-In." One week Duran might focus on monster movies like Godzilla and Cloverfield, next he may play Blake Neely's score to the show Arrow or Eric Serra's music for The Fifth Element, the next he may play cartoon theme songs. One show focused on the soundtrack to Guardians of the Galaxy, with some of Tyler Bates' score cues interspersed among the songs from "Awesome Mix Vol. 1." Got me thinking (YES I STILL NEED TO THINK)...
Peter Quill, the hero protagonist of the comic and the film, was taken from Earth as an kid in the Eighties, the same day that his mother passed away. He grew up and adjusted to life in the weird, cosmic parts of the Marvel Universe; two of his few links to home are his Walkman and the mix tape his mom had made for him. At film's end he finally lets himself open one last gift from her, and to his wistful joy it's "Awesome Mix Vol. 2." More hits from the '70s and '80s live on, even on the other side of the galaxy!
"Awesome Mix Vol. 1" was something of a freak hit last year; good for it. (I wonder if it also made many people want to do mix tapes, or at least mix CDs or curated playlists, as gifts again; admission, I was in the right generation for it but never got into the habit of making mix tapes for others, just for myself.) It's a well-done mix: the songs take on a certain meaning by being ordered in a certain way, in a context never intended by any of the musicians (well, mmmmmmmmaybe David Bowie, he's always had a science fictional mind). The songs are never used jokingly, or an on-the-nose way. (Want an example of too "on the nose"? Watch Titan A.E. -- no, don't. Just know that when the main character pilots a spacecraft for the first time, the song that plays has the line "It's my time to fly.") The film even finds a serviceable, amusing use of the annoyingly catchy "Escape (The Piña Colada Song)," and more power to it for THAT.
How big a deal should Guardians of the Galaxy 2 make of "Awesome Mix Vol. 2"? Maybe not too big a deal; my hunch is that they shouldn't try too hard to recapture that lightning in that bottle. Co-writer/director James Gunn's supposedly already thought about what should be on it, but I hope he and the other people who have input into the song choices choose good, appropriate songs, not just "songs we think would make a hit like last time." Gunn is also enough of a smart-ass -- I know from having seen his Troma film, the genuinely good, disturbing and funny Tromeo and Juliet -- to do something smart-assed and slightly subversive with "Vol. 2," like have it turn out that Peter hates most of the songs and can't bring himself to love them the way his mom loved them (never mind that Baby Groot thinks at least one song is keen). Thank goodness that most signs are that Gunn is a smart-ass sweetheart, so that's unlikely.
Plus there's a worse way to use "Awesome Mix Vol. 2": make it a plot point. I imagined a GOTG2 subplot where it turns out "Vol. 2" is really a coded message: Peter's mom trying to tell him who his real father is. Which will be dealt with sooner or later, but to have a nearly 30-year-old cassette be the big clue would be hella contrived. Plus what the heck songs would work for that? Let "Vol. 2" be what "Vol. 1" was: a character point telling us a lot about Peter Quill. A catchy, catchy character point.
And no matter what, "Awesome Mix Vol. 2" won't include that freakin' piña colada song.
Peter Quill, the hero protagonist of the comic and the film, was taken from Earth as an kid in the Eighties, the same day that his mother passed away. He grew up and adjusted to life in the weird, cosmic parts of the Marvel Universe; two of his few links to home are his Walkman and the mix tape his mom had made for him. At film's end he finally lets himself open one last gift from her, and to his wistful joy it's "Awesome Mix Vol. 2." More hits from the '70s and '80s live on, even on the other side of the galaxy!
"Awesome Mix Vol. 1" was something of a freak hit last year; good for it. (I wonder if it also made many people want to do mix tapes, or at least mix CDs or curated playlists, as gifts again; admission, I was in the right generation for it but never got into the habit of making mix tapes for others, just for myself.) It's a well-done mix: the songs take on a certain meaning by being ordered in a certain way, in a context never intended by any of the musicians (well, mmmmmmmmaybe David Bowie, he's always had a science fictional mind). The songs are never used jokingly, or an on-the-nose way. (Want an example of too "on the nose"? Watch Titan A.E. -- no, don't. Just know that when the main character pilots a spacecraft for the first time, the song that plays has the line "It's my time to fly.") The film even finds a serviceable, amusing use of the annoyingly catchy "Escape (The Piña Colada Song)," and more power to it for THAT.
How big a deal should Guardians of the Galaxy 2 make of "Awesome Mix Vol. 2"? Maybe not too big a deal; my hunch is that they shouldn't try too hard to recapture that lightning in that bottle. Co-writer/director James Gunn's supposedly already thought about what should be on it, but I hope he and the other people who have input into the song choices choose good, appropriate songs, not just "songs we think would make a hit like last time." Gunn is also enough of a smart-ass -- I know from having seen his Troma film, the genuinely good, disturbing and funny Tromeo and Juliet -- to do something smart-assed and slightly subversive with "Vol. 2," like have it turn out that Peter hates most of the songs and can't bring himself to love them the way his mom loved them (never mind that Baby Groot thinks at least one song is keen). Thank goodness that most signs are that Gunn is a smart-ass sweetheart, so that's unlikely.
Plus there's a worse way to use "Awesome Mix Vol. 2": make it a plot point. I imagined a GOTG2 subplot where it turns out "Vol. 2" is really a coded message: Peter's mom trying to tell him who his real father is. Which will be dealt with sooner or later, but to have a nearly 30-year-old cassette be the big clue would be hella contrived. Plus what the heck songs would work for that? Let "Vol. 2" be what "Vol. 1" was: a character point telling us a lot about Peter Quill. A catchy, catchy character point.
And no matter what, "Awesome Mix Vol. 2" won't include that freakin' piña colada song.
Yes. Sleater-Kinney had more to say.
I was lucky enough to be at the 2006 show where Sleater-Kinney, a blistering Northwest punk band, performed one last time before going on indefinite hiatus (during which they stayed busy: member Carrie Brownstein, for example, co-created Portlandia). A hiatus which is now ending: the band members are playing together again, and preparing both a tour (more dates to come) and a new album.
Including "Bury Our Friends," a song with a lyric video (and their friend, avant-garde artist and filmmaker Miranda July, in a suit and mask).
Here's to this being the right time for Sleater-Kinney to be back!
I was lucky enough to be at the 2006 show where Sleater-Kinney, a blistering Northwest punk band, performed one last time before going on indefinite hiatus (during which they stayed busy: member Carrie Brownstein, for example, co-created Portlandia). A hiatus which is now ending: the band members are playing together again, and preparing both a tour (more dates to come) and a new album.
Including "Bury Our Friends," a song with a lyric video (and their friend, avant-garde artist and filmmaker Miranda July, in a suit and mask).
Here's to this being the right time for Sleater-Kinney to be back!
This entry involves swearing and Disney. If you don't want those combined, skip this.
So. Frozen. The most iconic and successful Disney animated film since The Lion King, and loaded with deeply catchy music. Like "Let It Go," a song so powerful it literally stopped Elsa from being the film's villain. (Seriously, read that link. Neat story.) "Let It Go" is getting belted out. By somebody. Somewhere. RIGHT NOW. I am probably only slightly exaggerating.
And of course something that ubiquitous gets parodied. ("Weird Al" Yankovic briefly considered writing a Star Trek: The Next Generation-themed version called "Make It So," but found that multiple people had already done that.) And, to the delight of profanity fans like me, one of those parodies has these priceless thirty seconds. Yes, "Fuck It All," sung by someone doing a pretty credible Idina Menzel impression. Okay. But how do you end that? Can you replace the final line "The cold never bothered me anyway"? One version I saw just kept that line; another version about college finals has it as "My grades never bothered me anyway," but that's very specific.
I've spent more time than I should thinking how I'd end it, so the song's still capable of being a non-specific liftable ballad while still being parodied in the same spirit. And I think I have it:
"The haters are all gonna hate anyway."
BAM. You're welcome.
So. Frozen. The most iconic and successful Disney animated film since The Lion King, and loaded with deeply catchy music. Like "Let It Go," a song so powerful it literally stopped Elsa from being the film's villain. (Seriously, read that link. Neat story.) "Let It Go" is getting belted out. By somebody. Somewhere. RIGHT NOW. I am probably only slightly exaggerating.
And of course something that ubiquitous gets parodied. ("Weird Al" Yankovic briefly considered writing a Star Trek: The Next Generation-themed version called "Make It So," but found that multiple people had already done that.) And, to the delight of profanity fans like me, one of those parodies has these priceless thirty seconds. Yes, "Fuck It All," sung by someone doing a pretty credible Idina Menzel impression. Okay. But how do you end that? Can you replace the final line "The cold never bothered me anyway"? One version I saw just kept that line; another version about college finals has it as "My grades never bothered me anyway," but that's very specific.
I've spent more time than I should thinking how I'd end it, so the song's still capable of being a non-specific liftable ballad while still being parodied in the same spirit. And I think I have it:
"The haters are all gonna hate anyway."
BAM. You're welcome.
I idly mentioned Saturday night on Twitter that I'd listened to James Horner's score to Aliens, then listened to the Blade Runner score by Vangelis. Someone mentioned that both are heavy pieces of music. I replied that I could handle it, and that "You'd know I can handle it if you heard my mental soundtrack. It's like Bernard Herrmann and Danny Elfman yelling at each other."
This day is one of those times I feel Twitter's immediacy and power: lots of us over there are remembering Lou Reed, who we just learned has died at age 71. Lots of stories and tears, and sometimes even well-meaning jokes. (My online friend Terry Chapman said "Great, now we'll never know whether Metal Machine Music was serious or not." I laughed out loud.)
Then came the dick move. Of course someone posted a "Lou Reed's death is a hoax" article. The problem: that someone's on a satire site. Or a wannabe satire site, which states "The website [REDACTED, 'cause I don't want to link to them] is the medium of our satire to expose with humour, exaggeration and ridicule the contemporary mass production and mass consumption that we observe." Which makes me want to quote Annette Funicello when she said "And your point is?"
Satire (and bad satire, at that) within minutes of people mourning. Sometimes I hate the Internet. (Apparently the same site pulled a similar stunt when James Gandolfini, someone else truly well-liked, died.) Also reminds me of how brilliant The Onion frequently is, where it finds the way to do satire that makes a genuine serious point while still making us laugh. Remember, The Onion's first post-9/11 issue had a story with photos of Brittany Spears and the sharks that had attacked a lot of people that summer with the headline "A Shattered Nation Yearns to Care About Stupid Bullshit Again." That still makes me laugh. Staves off the weeping when I remember that plenty of people think Onion articles are real.
I've long admired the ability to be funny and make a serious, maybe even tragic point at the same time. Daniel Handler's novels, both under his real name and as Lemony Snicket with A Series of Unfortunate Events, find the humor in darkness and sadness while well-acknowledging that darkness and sadness. (His adult novels have included murder, incest, and the leveling of modern-day San Francisco, all things we hope and wish don't or didn't happen.) It's also very easy to do that half-assed and, instead of make people laugh, confuse them or piss them off. What the (still-unlinked) website did was half-assed and, I think, pointless. The Daily Currant (which focuses on politics) and ChristWire (a fake "we condem Godless current pop culture!" site), which I've run into online on occasion, also are generally half-assed. They miss something. It doesn't work. Maybe it's written too short-story-like, which I know as a former journalist you generally don't do; "inverted pyramid" is an incredibly needed and useful news-writing rule. Maybe details don't ring true. Maybe it's just not funny...and anyone who complains then gets labeled the humorless one. Bullshit. Just because I almost fell out of my chair laughing at Raising Arizona while the late Roger Ebert was all "Why do people think this film is funny?," someone's going to think that Roger Ebert had less of a sense of humor than me?
And with that I've vented. So someone's humor failed. Someone was wrong on the Internet. It happens. Meanwhile, I can read people's thoughts on why they liked Lou Reed and his work, offer condolences to his family and friends, and listen to the few Lou Reed songs I have immediately available in my apartment. Turned out to be a live performance of "Sweet Jane" on the CD Live on Letterman, and his vocals for the Gorillaz track "Some Kind of Nature." I work with what I have.
Update: The site has since replaced the article with a short, to-the-point, true, and not confusing note that Lou Reed had passed away. No, I didn't complain directly to the site, but I appreciate that the site took down the piece.
Then came the dick move. Of course someone posted a "Lou Reed's death is a hoax" article. The problem: that someone's on a satire site. Or a wannabe satire site, which states "The website [REDACTED, 'cause I don't want to link to them] is the medium of our satire to expose with humour, exaggeration and ridicule the contemporary mass production and mass consumption that we observe." Which makes me want to quote Annette Funicello when she said "And your point is?"
Satire (and bad satire, at that) within minutes of people mourning. Sometimes I hate the Internet. (Apparently the same site pulled a similar stunt when James Gandolfini, someone else truly well-liked, died.) Also reminds me of how brilliant The Onion frequently is, where it finds the way to do satire that makes a genuine serious point while still making us laugh. Remember, The Onion's first post-9/11 issue had a story with photos of Brittany Spears and the sharks that had attacked a lot of people that summer with the headline "A Shattered Nation Yearns to Care About Stupid Bullshit Again." That still makes me laugh. Staves off the weeping when I remember that plenty of people think Onion articles are real.
I've long admired the ability to be funny and make a serious, maybe even tragic point at the same time. Daniel Handler's novels, both under his real name and as Lemony Snicket with A Series of Unfortunate Events, find the humor in darkness and sadness while well-acknowledging that darkness and sadness. (His adult novels have included murder, incest, and the leveling of modern-day San Francisco, all things we hope and wish don't or didn't happen.) It's also very easy to do that half-assed and, instead of make people laugh, confuse them or piss them off. What the (still-unlinked) website did was half-assed and, I think, pointless. The Daily Currant (which focuses on politics) and ChristWire (a fake "we condem Godless current pop culture!" site), which I've run into online on occasion, also are generally half-assed. They miss something. It doesn't work. Maybe it's written too short-story-like, which I know as a former journalist you generally don't do; "inverted pyramid" is an incredibly needed and useful news-writing rule. Maybe details don't ring true. Maybe it's just not funny...and anyone who complains then gets labeled the humorless one. Bullshit. Just because I almost fell out of my chair laughing at Raising Arizona while the late Roger Ebert was all "Why do people think this film is funny?," someone's going to think that Roger Ebert had less of a sense of humor than me?
And with that I've vented. So someone's humor failed. Someone was wrong on the Internet. It happens. Meanwhile, I can read people's thoughts on why they liked Lou Reed and his work, offer condolences to his family and friends, and listen to the few Lou Reed songs I have immediately available in my apartment. Turned out to be a live performance of "Sweet Jane" on the CD Live on Letterman, and his vocals for the Gorillaz track "Some Kind of Nature." I work with what I have.
Update: The site has since replaced the article with a short, to-the-point, true, and not confusing note that Lou Reed had passed away. No, I didn't complain directly to the site, but I appreciate that the site took down the piece.
Over on Facebook, popfiend and others (and me!) have been discussing song lyrics that make no sense. Made me think of Phil Collins's "Su-su-sudio," a line that was never MEANT to make sense, because it was a nonsense sound place-holder for lyrics that never came. (What five syllables would you have written in this?: "Theres a girl that's been on my mind, all the time, _____________________" Can't think of anything, right? So don't get on Collins's case for not finding the right words, either.)
Just as we don't know the true exact meaning of what it is to Wang Chung tonight, we never figured out a meaning for "Sussudio." But today it hit me.
Star Trek.
There could've been an alien race called the Sussudio on Next Generation. It came out only a few years later, and it could've explained so much! Phil Collins could've been predicting the future! At least the future as seen on Star Trek.
There. I've explained something. It's a skill.
popfiend and others (and me!) have been discussing song lyrics that make no sense. Made me think of Phil Collins's "Su-su-sudio," a line that was never MEANT to make sense, because it was a nonsense sound place-holder for lyrics that never came. (What five syllables would you have written in this?: "Theres a girl that's been on my mind, all the time, _____________________" Can't think of anything, right? So don't get on Collins's case for not finding the right words, either.)Just as we don't know the true exact meaning of what it is to Wang Chung tonight, we never figured out a meaning for "Sussudio." But today it hit me.
Star Trek.
There could've been an alien race called the Sussudio on Next Generation. It came out only a few years later, and it could've explained so much! Phil Collins could've been predicting the future! At least the future as seen on Star Trek.
There. I've explained something. It's a skill.
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