No Drummer, No Foul

A couple of weeks ago, I traveled to the Blue Note in Columbia to see Sleigh Bells, a new favorite of mine, perform live. Like any good American, I "shared" my ticket purchase on Facebook for the entire world to see, thinking I would get a few "hell yeah"'s or "who the hell are they"'s.  Instead, I was met with derisive comments about the band from, not unknowing yahoos, but electronic musicians and professional sound engineers.  One issue put forth was the fact that they don't hire a drummer when they tour.  Another comment was that they simply hand over an iPod to the soundperson for the show and just say, "Play this," as if to imply they don't really want to do the work of playing "real" live music.

Once upon a time last century, yours truly started to slowly gain some traction for himself writing as a music critic, so writing about this sort of thing is probably one of my mostest favoritest things.  My question is this:  Why are we still arguing about what music is in 2012?  I know the argument is not exactly that.  It's more about what makes a band, or what makes a live performance.  But in the end, it returns to how you define performed music, whether on record or in a live setting.

Have we forgotten about John Cage, somehow?  Have we forgotten when U2 pissed everyone off in '93 by having the Edge do this?:

The entire rhythm section for Sleigh Bells is made on a laptop.  For their current tour--something they didn't do in support of "Treats"--they have hired a second guitarist, expanding the onstage band to three, rather than two.  When asked in a recent interview last month if they would consider permanently expanding the lineup of the band to include a more full live rhythm section, Derek Miller responded:

"It’s not something I foresee. I can almost guarantee that we will never expand past this lineup. I tried practicing with a drummer, but there’s way too much compromise, sonically. I’m a producer, so I’m into detail, and I can’t replace a [Roland TR-]808 with some guy’s right foot on a kick drum. I can’t do it. And I don’t want to stack it because it will never sound perfect, it’ll be kind of flammy."

In other words, asking him to add other musicians is a non-question.  It would be like asking an actor performing a one-person show who plays several characters to add some actors to the show.  Or asking a painter to stop using oils and add some watercolors now and again for variety.  Or asking the Beastie Boys to get rid of their DJ and add a live drummer because that makes the show more interesting.  It's just not a legitimate request.

Upon mentioning this argument to a fellow music critic, she replied, "Or maybe it's because it's an attractive female performing."  Good point.  Would more people in the band legitimize a woman singing hard rock-based music, because she herself, as the magnetizing force of the live act, doesn't cut the mustard?  Are we still not past the idea that rock is a man's world?

Seems like the same sort of criticism that hip hop was getting when it came into its own in the 1980's.  A turntable wasn't seen as a true instrument, and rappers weren't "singing," per se.  Since it didn't fit the preconceived notion of performed music, it was dismissed out of hand.

I can think of a gazillion other examples of having to rethink artistic norms.  What are some others?

The Mixtape Method

I'm working on a new chapbook, tentatively entitled Building with the Smoke from the Chimney (you'll see why).  Shameless plug: If you'd like a CHEAP copy of either of my previous titles, mouse on over there to the right and pick you out one or two.

At some point in my life, someone told me that when you have enough poems for a book, but you weren't necessarily writing them as a sequence to go together, the best method for determining the order of the book is as follows:

1.  Pour yourself a glass of wine.
2.  Print up copies of all poems.
3.  Lay them out on the floor.
4.  Sit on the floor.
5.  Figure it out.

This is not incredibly unlike putting together a mixtape, I've decided, because what I then tend to consider are things like:

• I want it to start strong, but not too strong.  Want to save the best one for maybe 3/4 of the way through.  Just like how track 7 is almost always a solid track.
• Don't put too many "rocker" poems next to each other.  Similarly, don't put too many "ballady" poems next to each other.  Variety is the success of the order.  However...
• Don't be afraid to create a mood for a few poems on end.  If they seem thematically or formally connected, they should rub against each other in the book.

I've never made a album of music, but I have made more mixtapes than I can remember.  Seems to me like a similar process.

So I'm wondering:  Would I be having the same considerations if I were putting together an album, a short story collection, a set list for a rock show, etc.?  How is a book of poems different in terms of what its sequence "says" about the poems--and their interconnectivity--than these other artistic media?

This particular collection poses problems.  I have really silly language-y poems next to really quiet lyrics next to twitpoems.  Stylistically all over the place.

So, artists of all stripes, what ordering mechanisms would you put in place while putting this thing together?

10 Rules For Attending Poetry Readings

1.  Read about the poet you've never heard of before you go.  Then, hear it all over again in the five-minute introduction from their friend.

2.  Order your drinks beforehand.  Even the clinking of a glass can be quite distracting for poets who are used to working alone.  They might get jumpy.  Think of them as if they were tennis players.....with PTSD.

3.  Choose your seating and company carefully.  They'll set the tone for how you'll react, and your ability to sneak out in an emergency.  You wouldn't want to be tempted to clap or use the restroom.

4.  DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, CLAP.  EVER.  Though a poem may be over, the poet need not be lauded.  Awkward silence is preferable to feeling like you're naturally expressing your emotion and thankfulness at the poet's entertaining you.

5.  Walk by the book table and politely pretend that you're thinking of buying their overpriced chapbooks.

6.  Do not get up for any reason during a poet's reading.  Getting up between poets is a touch less scandalous, but nonetheless undesirable.  (See rules 2 and 3.)

7.  Plan your post-reading chitchat carefully.  Everyone's going to want to rush the poets, especially their friends who've already read all the poetry anyway.  Choose someone you know in close proximity to the poet so that you can slide into the circle of discussion as seamlessly as possible.  Begin with ambiguous praises like, "Well done," "Nice job," and "Thanks so much."

8.  Pretend like you've heard of the prizes the poet has won.  Nod approvingly with a slight grin during the introduction upon the announcement of these prizes.  This will display the idea that you know what you're talking about later.  (See rule 7.)

9.  Tip the bartenders well.  They hate you and your entire event.

10.  When you get home, remind yourself of how much better your poetry is than theirs.  Then check out a few more cute kitten videos on YouTube before going to bed early.

Images Justes

When I created this blog initially, I decided I wanted an eye-catching image to land on. A Google search of images brought me to the painting you see above, John Singer Sargent's Nonchaloir (Read the National Gallery of Art's story behind the painting here.) Lots of bizarro images came up besides, and I almost don't even want to ferret out the connection between images and the search words. I tried the same search again today and lots of intriguing images came up. Just wanted to share my favorites here.

Which ones do you like?

Adrienne Rich

Check out the podcast link below. Skip to 4:00 to hear what I believe to be one of the best "political" poems ever written.

Adrienne Rich: Essential American Poets / Essential American Poets : The Poetry Foundation

Charlie Sheen Got That Symbolic Ish

At around minute 6 of this neo-conservative, conspiracy theory rant-fest, Charlie Sheen bares what is perhaps the most revealing personal insight into his highly public breakdown.

Sheen is discussing with his blustery, overweight radio friend how they were watching Apocalypse Now in Mr. Sheen's house in his personal theater. At a climactic moment of dialogue between the main protagonist (played by Martin Sheen (we shall return to this crucial bit of information in a moment)) and Marlon Brando's iconic Colonel Kurtz, Kurtz utters the lines, "You can kill me, but you can't judge me."

All tabloidizing aside, Charlie Sheen is slowly dying in front of the television cameras. And we all--including myself--have found it a bit too funny. Joke bets are being made among my friends as to how many more months he will live. It ain't funny. What an interesting empathetic move he makes towards Col. Kurtz, and NOT the Capt. Benjamin Willard.

First, let's look at Kurtz. In the Joseph Conrad novella upon which the book is based, Kurtz is the epitome, the perfect symbol, of the depravity of man. A man--so the analysis goes--who's traveled deep into the Congo, and instead of "converting" the natives with the civilization he carries within his white bones, he is pulled to the muddy ground of "barbarism" and, therefore, utterly inhuman behavior. There are other, incredibly latent, racist overtones interlaced with the culture from which Conrad was writing, but those are irrelevant to this discussion...though certainly should NEVER be minimized. It is fascinating to the nth degree that Charlie Sheen identifies with the essence of animal behavior. Obviously, he is making a point here, whether consciously or not, that he has arrived at a level of behavior absent of logic, and that he is more than ok with that.

Second, let's look at Martin Sheen. It could not possibly be more weird and ironic that Charlie would get uber-fucked up and watch his old man's movies and postulate about their symbolism while identifying with the villain who was locked in conflict with the character played by his FATHER! Is Charlie attempting to create a public brouhaha by doing ridiculously doped-up interviews knowingly, all in an attempt to finally draw lots of press to himself. Let's face it, Major League and Two and a Half Men don't exactly stand up in comparison to Apocalypse Now and The West Wing. Father-son rivalry played out on the daily tabloids? Scrumptious, Americans! Eat it up! Now!

In closing, at around 10:30, Charlie compares himself to the famous choppers on the beach scene dropping napalm (also with Robert Duvall's famous line, "I love the smell of napalm in the morning."). Ride of the Valkyries will never be the same, but I digress. Let's analyze: Charlie Sheen, in order to find a metaphor for how awesome his energy is when it's unleashed upon the world, uses one of the most infamous images of apathetic wartime genocide ever filmed. Huh.

I think this blog just jumped the shark.

The Truth Is In There: Character=Plot

There are moments during the first two seasons of The X-Files when you can practically imagine Chris Carter writing the scene, figuring out the dynamic between Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. They are quite ingenious foils, actually--the by-the-book, sexy librarian who always colors in the lines being sent in to debunk the fringe investigations of the misunderstood boy genius who claims his sister was abducted by aliens.

Choosing two male characters for the lead roles would have actually made more stereotypical role sense, and honestly been easier to write. The sexual tension between the characters are subtle in the first couple of seasons: a smirking look, a gentle hair-straightening after a harrowing experience. Yet, it is not physical attraction that keeps these characters close after so long.

I have finally realized that the shows and movies I've always loved, however laden with explosions, intrigue, aliens, etc., hold the characters at their heart. It is no coincidence that the best scenes in seasons 1 and 2 deal directly with Mulder or Scully close to death, one of them dealing with the death of another, or consoling each other after these events. They are also the most risky. Season 3 began with Mulder being healed by a Native American ritual that leads to a ridiculously laughable sequence with Mulder being visited by the recently deceased. On the other hand, season 2's comatosed Scully led to some of the most moving depictions of a near-death experience ever captured for the small screen, Scully vaguely adrift in a still-moored small boat, staring blankly at her caregivers on the shore.

Even the large shifts in the later run of the show (Mulder's abduction, Scully's pregnancy) creating new openings into which the characters could move, creating depth and layers. In other words, what moved the plot was not the writing of arbitrary events, but the decisions, actions, and reactions of the characters.

I would also like to go on record here--officially solidifying my X-Files geekdom while going counter to common fan wisdom--by saying that the overarching conspiracy episodes are superior to the "monster of the week" (MOTW) episodes so common in the beginning of the run of the show. The writing of MOTW episodes are formulaic to the point of being laughable. Presumably, this is why a large amount of x-philes appreciate them...as TV candy. But to envision the course of a story over the span of hundreds of episodes is simply mind-boggling to me. And since the story moves so slowly in the alien conspiracy episodes, and the writing so solid, and the MOTW episodes building a shared past between the two major characters, we as viewers can simply kick back and watch two wonderfully written characters interact with each other.

This is the dorkiest thing I've ever written in my life. I therefore leave you with a video representation of the first time Scully meets Mulder.......done with Legos. You're welcome.