Fuck 2011: Music Edition

This has been a very good year for music. Personally, I wrote the best songs of my life, my friends were making great stuff too, and a great album was never more than a month away. And this was THE year for the single LP. All the best albums were just clean-cut single LPs- no bonus tracks, no second discs, no spillage, no mess. It's kinda hard to rank em, even though there was one clear winner. So let's run down my favorites in typical romantic reductionist fashion with the old one sentence review!

Iwrestledabearonce- Ruining It For Everyone
A mature (if possible) sophomore effort while still being BATSHIT CRAZY.

The Strokes- Angles
Remember for a brief second when post-punk was cool again?

Kaputt- Destroyer
A beautiful and un-ironic tribute to slick '80s jazz.

Adele- 21
Well produced, well written, well this is gonna win a bucket of Grammys.

Tom Waits- Bad Like Me
It's like Frank's Wild Years and all his ANTI- albums had a baby.

Yuck
Yuck, this tastes great.

Frank Zappa- Feeding The Monkees at Ma Maison
Dear GZ, can I haz m0ar?

The album of the year, by and far, is The Decemberist's The King Is Dead. I think I wrote about it... The best re-issue (sorta) was The Beach Boys's The Smile Session, in ANY incarnation. Huh, I think I wrote about that too. Weird.

***

TOP FIVE SONGS OF 2011-

5) Foster The People- "Pumped Up Kicks" ...Go ahead, pretend you didn't like this.


4) We Cut Corners- "A Pirate's Life" ...Good gravy, this breaks my heart every time.


3) Okkervil River- "Mermaid" ...Another heart-breaker that deserved to stand alone from the LP.


2) The Strokes- "Under Cover of Darkness) ..."It's been five minutes since I heard it. I gotta hear it again."



and the best song of this year or ANY year....

1) BLACK JOE LEWIS AND THE HONEYBEARS- "BOOTY CITY"

Fuck 2011: Literature Edition

It's hard to keep up with contemporary literature unless you have a great local library (which are rapidly disappearing) or are an actual paid literary critizier for fancy publications (also rapidly disappearing) or a retiree (again, disappearing). In other words, it's IMPOSSIBLE to keep up with contemporary literature because it means you do not occupy space. Actual end-of-year-best-of book lists are just conjured up by editors who count money by the "wads." So the best any Joe Blow can do when writing up a best books of 2011 for his shitty blog read mostly by spambots in Russia is to just recount the best books he read, regardless of age.

Coincidentally, here's my said list:

5) My Life by Bill Clinton
The main reason this is on my list is because I'm very proud of myself that I got through the world's longest and overly detailed memoir. It was a staggering project that the former president took on. The amount of effort he put in shows because it is a very good read. Admittedly, when the annual budgets were stuck in the Houses, (much like when they were this summer) I completely skipped them and paid no mind. Clinton is very candid and makes the scandal just as entertaining and enlightening as his accomplishments. I feel Waco deserved more than a couple pages but that was mostly Janet Reno's stupidity and I'd much rather get an enema then read any book on her.

4) Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
I've been a fan of the HP since I was eleven when I read the first four books in about a month. I did the whole midnight release for the last two books, but never got around to reading the last one until this year. Seeing the first film installment was a good incentive, as was re-reading the whole series- a project I started in November of 2010. When I finally finished Deathly Hallows in February, it was like a part of my childhood was finished. I suddenly found myself living by myself in Boston and I was 20 instead of 11. Aside from the nostalgia, it was very well written, probably her best since the fifth book. I could write a whole thing on HP but there's more books to get to.

3) Tales of the Unexpected by Roald Dahl
For a guy that didn't read much of Dahl as a kid, I found this book very unexpected. Excuse me while I vomit over that horrible pun-sorta-thing. At any rate, this book was my best friend when I was down on the Falklands. It completely distracted me from being lonely or scared and kept me thinking about some bizarre shit. After reading it, I am now completely prepared if I ever try to be swindled by an antique dealing wine loving billionaire who has eyes for my daughter while my wife plots my death. Apparently that happens a lot.

2) Skeleton Crew by Stephen King
Another short story collection. This book has some of the best short stories I've ever read, specifically "Mrs. Todd's Shortcut" and "The Jaunt." Another great distraction at another horrible point in the year.

1) Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
When I finished the last few chapters on a T ride from Wonderland to Longwood Medical, I wept on the crowded car. I couldn't stop. I couldn't contain myself at all. It is simply the most beautiful book I've ever read. I forced my mom to read it too and she said it best: "He makes these unbelievable and bizarre moments so poignant."

WHERE WAS I IN MY LIFE WHEN I RE-READ CATCHER IN THE RYE THIS YEAR:
In sadly a similar situation as Holden. I ran away to the Cape without telling anyone and slept in my car for the weekend with no money to speak of. I don't really know why I did that.

Obsession

I have been listening to Thing Fish non-stop. Basically every time I'm in the car which is quite a lot. Joe Delaney sent me video of the UK stage adaptation and that REALLY got me thinking. I've slowly been developing my own adaptation in my mind of this material.

However, I keep coming to the same conclusion-

Thing Fish, in any form, would be the most mind-numbing piece of entertainment on Earth. With the wrong crowd, people would go home and kill themselves because of how boring they are.

It's rough. Real rough. There's no plot and the dialog, ESPECIALLY in Act II, is probably how normal conversation transpire on Mars or Neptune.

But I'm somehow sickly dedicated to seeing it through on stage.

And I like the Old Masters remixes and the '84 touring group. I'm fucking hopeless.

Ode To The Box

I didn't make a lot of hullabaloo on this blog when it happened...

but let me reiterate...

I'm so fucking happy I own the Box.

It's bigger than I thought, shinier than I thought, and a lot more re-mastered than I thought.

It's always gonna be right there on my shelf. It's always gonna be cool. It's always gonna show me how to do the Pachuco Stomp or do a Jelly Roll. It's always gonna show me how to play doo-wop progressions in C then go into "Charva." It's always gonna have a Freak Out! that sounds better than the first pressing I bought last week.

It's gonna continually convince me that I live in 1985.

Some guys get notes from their girlfriends saying how they love them and stuff. I'm gonna always have a note from Frank telling me I'm a crazy person but he's thankful for that.

I've gone off the deep end and there's no way I'm swimming to the shallow end.

Fuck relationships, I have the fucking Box.

On Our Way Art of Town

When I moved back to Marblehead in September, I looked through the pages and pages of typewritten stories, poems, and songs. I set them down neatly next to my shoebox of cassette tapes I've been recording since February. Resting on top of the shoebox was my journal where I wrote my New Year's resolutions for 2011. Number one was "Write every day." It was at that point where this ran across my head-

"The worst is always well documented."

It's true.

Every wretched detail of my life this year can be found somewhere in some form. With the little foresight I posses, I see it as an artistic accomplishment. At this moment, I find it painful.

I'm not going to listen to these tapes for a very long time.

Phase IV

Wait!
Uh
NOT yet
Don’t worry I’ll fade away
Is it so bad that I want one more one more?
I didn’t mean to offend anyone
I just wanted to get out of the rain
And keep my head dry
Well don’t stand there like someone died
Why are you all afraid to look me in the eye?

Phase Two- Africa

“AFRICA”
the silhouette says suddenly
Africa, Africa, Africa
The refrain in my mind
I feel it, I see it
The tones and palette of Africa
Africa- our souls
Africa- the rhythm
It builds, it builds
It settles in the Wood
And creates the light
In its own likeness
I am the light

***

Afterword by TKS

Last night I dreamed a place I loved turned into a palace. Everyone was happy and radiant, so why I was still stuck in the backroom? No light. Climbing over costumes to find someone friendly.

Phase One- Prarie

Prairie dune at dusk
A little darker than I would want
To admit.
Paternal silhouette against a bay window
Whistle low, sing softly
A Japanese dream drifts from the kitchen
Her gaze is familiar
Rising to the rafters
While I pray for the underground

***

Afterword by TKS

I wrote a fucking quartet for you. What have you done?

Experiment in Lucid Dreaming Part I

I am awake.

I am awake and it's nice outside.
I am awake and my steering wheel feels good.
I am awake and I'm giving the man three dollars.
I am awake and there's nothing good on the radio.

I am awake. I'm at Dunkin Donuts. My friend is behind me in line. I am gonna get coffee.

I am awake. There's my friend Kevin. I missed him.

I am awake. I'm in a theatre with my friends and my enemies. I wish I wasn't here.

I am awake and I'm not feeling well.

Don't Become Some Background Noise

Freddy Mercury was gayer than a 3-dollar bill, right? Right.

But this clouds most judgement in where he fits in human sexuality.

He WAS human sexuality.

To be clear, I'm talking about Freddy in the '80s. The "british bulldog" look I like to call it. Very butch, sure. Every other dude in Provincetown in July adopts that look. But the passion the man had when he performed was the most sexual thing in rock 'n' roll since pre-war Elvis. He could strut around the stage very effeminately at one moment, and the very next, his feet would be firmly planted on the stage as he strongly extending his fist to the audience like a call to action. And we all followed and follow still.

He'd be so tender on the piano and so unyielding with his half-mic stand. That energy can't be replicated. That passion. Jesus.

The Sinner's Midnight Sits Alone

Walzes were invented for drunks and romantics.

Thankfully they usually go hand in hand.

So Joe meet Eliza.

Message to my Future Wife

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN-

Here is my final message from 2011, granted you passed the Pet Sounds and "2000 Year Old Man" criteria-

I would rather be Harvey Korman than Mel Brooks.

If you understand this, will you please marry me?

Dood'll Doo

I love to tell everyone about how I first started listening to the Beach Boys.

The summer I turned twelve, I walked down to the beach with my mom. On the way back, I saw a pile of free stuff on the side of Bank Street. One of the items was a 8 track deck with four tapes on top- all by the Beach Boys. Endless Summer, American Summer, 15 Big Ones, and Good Vibrations: The Best of the Beach Boys. Naturally I took it home and was astounded it worked. All the tapes made good summer music except Good Vibrations. It was weird. "Heroes and Villains" freaked me out and "Friends" sounded stupid. Then "Sloop John B" came on. It was catchy and all until the second chorus came around and the backing track dropped out and the Boys' harmonies soared above me. Those four bars changed my life.

That instantly became my favorite tape. My Dad's copy of Pet Sounds mysteriously vanished from his car. I wanted as much Beach Boys as possible. Then in 2004 came Brian Wilson's re-imagined SMiLE album and I learned about its legendary beginnings. I saw myself as a missionary for Brian, telling all my friends about him and how the Beach Boys aren't just some surf band that plays the Melody Tent every year.

I loved that record. I saw the tour. I bought the doc. But it, and everything else, pales in comparison to the new SMiLE Session album that came out last week.

No. I am not exaggerating. This is the best pop album ever. Dennis Wilson was not kidding when he said "SMiLE makes Pet Sounds stink." This album IS a pop symphony. It is where Wilson went from imitation to originality. As great as Pet Sounds and "California Girls" are, they still have the apparent Phil Spector and Four Freshman influences. But SMiLE? I have no idea what SMiLE sounds like. Shit, I'm still convinced "Good Vibrations" was written by aliens.

It's tighter than the 2004 record. It is the sound of creativity and spontaneity. On "Vega-tables," you can almost hear Brian Wilson saying "OK today we're all gonna eat healthy food and stay in shape! Isn't that great?"

It really is no wonder Brian lost it. I can't imagine anyone sitting down and writing these notes. No wonder George Martin and Leonard Bernstein were knocking down Brian's door wanting to hear this. It's one of those times where music completely renders me speechless. The only thing I can say is please listen to this record. It'll do your soul good.

It's probably good it didn't come out in 1966. But I can't even say 2011 is a better time or even 2004 for that matter. SMiLE stands alone. It's in its own world. And I'm so glad I only have to turn on my stereo to go there.

A Brief List of Things

I haven't wrote in a while so here's a list of things I've been doing-

1. Drinking coffee
2. Listening to my radio
3. Moving to Salem, MA (well moved but I have to keep my tenses consistent)
4. Writing new songs for my thesis film
5. Finishing the script for said film
5. Working on my friend's new movie The Rosselsons in Malden
6. Getting rid of a lot of my vinyl records that I never listen to. If you want to check these out, they're all chilling in my studio at the school.

Expect a new Clifford Gritts video and a post on the Beach Boys before the week is out.

Eat Your Grants

Tonight is what a friend of mine would call a 'trimma tree night.' This is in reference to when Holden Caufield got hammered and called old Sally and offered to trim her tree because he was so fucking lonely. Thankfully no calls have been made, no Facebook messages have been sent, and it shall stay that way since the only lady in my life is my script.

I'm nearly done. It will be done before the sun comes up. Wine and the soundtrack albums to Midnight Cowboy and The Harder They Come have been helping. I don't know. I am lonely, granted. Lonely people gravitate towards the internet. Most likely, the only reason you are reading this is because you are lonely and stumbled upon this. I'd like to think that. In that way, we've made a bizarre and intangible connection through this horrible blog post.

Can you tell I'm writing a movie about cults?

Footlose and Fancy Freud

I've been having a series of dreams where I'm with the Three Stooges. Last night I was on a fishing trip with Moe, Larry, and Curly Joe (Joe Besser, not Joe DeRita. Talk about oddly specific). Joe started having a heart attack and I was holding him in my arms, but he was so big and I was trying to make sure he stayed in the boat and we didn't capsize. In order to make this easy, I willed his head into my backpack and his body disappeared.

When we got to shore, I left the backpack on a table next to a building where there were a lot of fishermen. As I went inside I yelled "Don't sit on that backpack, Joe Besser's head is in it. No seriously, his head is in that bag. He's still conscious."

Dear psychiatrists out there, what's with all my Stooge dreams? And why are they weird? And why haven't I had a MST3K dream even though I've been watching the show since I was 7?

i want to forgive

Imagine writing a tune like this.
I can. Wake up at noon. Walk out of your hotel to the beach. Fall asleep in the sun. Write a little. Drink a little. Fall asleep again. Write a little. Drink a little. Fall asleep. "And that's the way it goes..."

I believe in mankind and jazz. I don't believe in art. I believe in my art. And I suppose I believe in Frank Zappa too.

For the first time in years, I actually like myself.

Mrs. Jenkins Turned Him Green

Recently I've been intrigued by one of Zappa's oddest LPs, Francesco Zappa. I actually found it in the MassArt library in the classical LP section and was kinda blown away by that. It is a compilation of two opuses by Italian composer and cellist Francesco Zappa (yes he is real) who flourished around 1763-1788. The music was found by Frank Zappa in the 1980s at UC Berkley and performed by the Barking Pumpkin Digital Gratification Consort (aka Zappa on the Synclavier II).

Zappa's Synclavier work was criticized, both then and now, for being too "cold" and lacking "human touch." This is true to some end since Zappa never really used warm tones with the Synclavier in any of his work- even in the highly advanced Civilization Phase III. The coldness in FZ can be found with the hard-to-identify instrumentation (except the really good harpsichord synth) and the lack of intonation.

However, this detachment works to the album's advantage due to Frank Zappa's distaste for court music (hilariously explained in David Ocker's liner notes). Using his line of thinking, a composer can sadly be removed from his own work if he has to write it to please a hierarchy of society. Francesco Zappa was the court composer for the Duke of York right before Europe was swept with the spirit and terror of the French Revolution so he too must have felt this emotional detachment from his work.

Another note on the digital orchestration- it's fun. It's almost goofy. It sounds like early computer game music. This was most likely an aesthetic choice by Frank Zappa. The two biggest clues to this is the silly (but brilliant) Donald Roller Wilson cover and the collage on the back cover that contains a sign reading "UMRK DIGITAL BAROQUE AMUSEMENT FACTORY." Frank argued through his career that his music was for entertainment and amusement and "should not be confused with any other form of artistic expression." (from the liner notes of The Perfect Stranger) Francesco's music was for the amusement of the European elite. Frank Zappa takes the music, puts it into the musical aesthetic of the 1980s, and makes it for the amusement of everyone. You can say a lot about Frank, but you can't say his stuff isn't amusing.

Why I Love Hockey

But first, a TV mini-rant. I've made it abundantly clear that I'm not the biggest fan of episodic television. I've liked some shows like Six Feet Under and The Sopranos, but after two seasons I usually get bored or annoyed. I'm a movie guy. I like resolution. But I did get sucked into a show called The Playboy Club on NBC. It just got cancelled after three episodes. Sure it wasn't the best show, but the writing was decent. There was a good flow, especially with the club manager's character. Anyway, just surprised, that's all. Especially since Pan Am is a horrible show and just got a huge article on it in the Globe.

Ok I just talked way too much about TV. Fuck TV. Reasons why hockey is the best-

1) It's on ice. Without a doubt the most unforgiving surface in every way.
2) They wear SWEATERS, not jerseys. I've always hated the word "jersey" and have always adored sweaters.
3) It's an international sport, but with interesting countries that you can't pronounce and are cold as fuck. As a New Englander, I appreciate this.
4) Beards

5) Goalies in full pads look like bears or monsters from Where the Wild Things Are

6) Punching.
7) Expansion teams are slowly being moved to places where people actually give a fuck about the sport.
8) Hockey gave us the greatest photograph ever captured-

Evidence I Was Destined For Art School #027

From February 10, 2007-

My first wide-released movie will be called "The Amazing World of Stamp Collecting" regardless of the subject matter.

***

Today I entered another dimension with Mr. Luther Price. That was pretty neat. Between him, Kuchar films, Oh Dem Watermelon and my first attempts at performance art, it is all too clear my thesis cannot remain a simple narrative. Like at all. I have way more to offer. If I REALLY wanted to make normal movies, I would have stayed on the Emerson wait-list.

In my best high school movie, The Boys of Eden, I had the narrator actually interact with the characters. I'm gonna bring that back. Also my last film before going to college, Break Out, was COMPLETELY improvised. I told my actors the scenes and they just made it up. Shit, Christopher Guest's films are all improv so I'm gonna bring that into it too. Tomorrow is gonna be a big writing day.

Also working on a big project for Zappa's birthday this year. Tentative title 63 Video Tapes for Frank.

This studio space is already paying off big time. I've already taped two performance pieces. So many to go.

100611

When I got home there was shepherd's pie on the counter.

What you eating?
Shepherd's pie.
What's that?
Oh, mashed potatoes, meat, corn...
Is it lamb meat?
No. I suppose it could be, though.
Are you a shepherd?
No.
That's a very strange name then. Why not call it meat and mashed potatoes?
Because it's called shepherd's pie.
That makes no sense. Meat and mashed potatoes makes sense.

Who knew she would soon call me her little shepherd, falling asleep in her arms?

That sounds very condescending to me.
It wasn't though, really.
Little? You're like 6' 2"!
I know but it was fine.

As I ate it, my tongue told me it had gone cold. Then why did I feel so warm?

"Of COURSE you're hungry! I'M hungry! WE'RE ALL HUNGRY! So let's EAT!"

Y is Not a Dirty Word

Lennon/Ono's Unfinished Music #2: Life with the Lions is a great avant-garde album. Too bad it's nearly impossible to listen to.

1) It's impossible to listen to because it's impossible to find. It was released in 1969 on the experimental and very short lived Zapple subsidiary of Apple and never saw a re-issue until 1997 with the rest of Yoko Ono's catalog on RykoDisc. That is to say, it never saw a re-issue (zing!) I only have my copy thanks to pure luck. My friend found it without a jacket in the bowls of a record bin at some now-closed record store. Thank God it was in spectacular condition. Here's my make-shift cover:

2) It's impossible to listen to because Side A is a 27 min improv consisting of mainly Ono's unique vocal style (screaming) and Lennon's guitar feedback (noise). It's tough. Believe me. I like this and it's tough. It's interesting to me because after a while, the feedback and screaming feed off each other just like in jazz improv...really, really fucking weird jazz improv. John Stevens and John Tchicai join in later on percussion and sax but they're almost too late. If they came in once the guitar and vocal started meshing, it would have been more successful.

3) It's impossible to listen to because Side B is a Fluxus audio-documentary about Ono's first of three miscarriages with Lennon. Track two is the baby's last heartbeats followed by a Cage-ian "Two Minutes Silence." Yeah. Need I say more?

4) It's impossible to listen to because "Yoko Ono" has a horrible connotation in International Pop Culture. So horrible in fact that at this point, "Yoko Ono" is purely the subject of the sentence that ends with "broke up the Beatles." That's why all three of her experimental albums with Lennon are seen as obscene, not a continuation of her own artwork. They are not seen as Fluxus work finding its way into the mainstream. They are seen as John Lennon "going too far." The art world doesn't accept them either. Historians try desperately to separate Ono from Lennon, thinking that these records diminish her as an artist.

It's a good work. Not as great as their avant-garde peers, but worth it. It's hard to ignore all the pop culture shenanigans behind it, I grant you. That's defiantly the subject for a whole different argument.

I sure do miss kissin'. It's nice. It makes both people happy. It's fun. It's fun as shit. And the best part is its almost deceivingly innocent. You tell your friends "We only kissed" with an almost straight-face but Jesus H. Christ your heart is going a mile a minute replaying it in your head.

I dunno. I miss it. I dunno.

Su-su-studio

Good news everyone!

I got studio space at MassArt. Hopefully for the whole year. Movin' in tomorrow and as a studio warming present to myself, I checked out a Panasonic WV341P aka a fucking ancient B&W studio camera. Oh boy, the tapes I will make. This is finally the year I'll make my Halloween and Christmas specials that I've been planning since freshman year basically...the Christmas special dates back to even senior year in high school. Things are indeed starting to look up.

An Apple A Day

As the two regular readers know, I've been collecting all the Apple LPs released in the US for about three years now. Today marked the half-way point with the acquisition of Badfinger's Magic Christian Music and George Harrison's bizarre Electronic Music. In celebration, I'm going to return to a method that got me into minimalist writing- the one sentence review. I remember Bailey asking me to do it for Mora and that got me on a roll. I reduced Zappa's and Dylan's discography to two pages. So here's my one sentence reviews for all my Apples-

The Beatles, Spiniker's. Hyannis, MA.
This is the greatest work of pop art.

John Lennon and Yoko Ono- Unfinished Music #1: Two Virgins, Looney Tunes. Boston, MA.
Shit, I wanna do this the night I meet my soul mate.

James Taylor, Goodwill. Hyannis, MA.
Underneath all the hippie production, a beautiful songwriter is born.

Modern Jazz Quartet- Under the Jasmine Tree, In Your Ear. Allston, MA.
Too much finger cymbals, but moments of brilliance.

The Beatles- Yellow Submarine, Spinkier's. Hyannis, MA.
It's only a Northern Song.

Mary Hopkin- Post Card, Nuggets. Boston, MA.
Skip it and find the McCartney penned "Goodbye" 45.

John Lennon and Yoko Ono- Unfinished Music #2: Life with the Lions, Luke's. Pawtucket, RI.
Side one: Punk rock, Side Two: Fluxus, and need I say more?

George Harrison- Electronic Sound, The Record Exchange. Salem, MA.
Without a doubt the most bizarre LP in Beatledom.

The Beatles- Abbey Road, originally my Uncle John's.
Everything is called a masterpiece these days...but this really is one.

Badfinger- Magic Christian Music, The Record Exchange. Salem, MA.
It's missing the best early Badfinger/Iveys track, "And Her Daddy's a Millionaire."

The Beatles- Hey Jude, originally my Uncle John's.
Surprisingly awesome collection of oldies and newies that flows real well.

Paul McCartney- McCartney, Provincetown Boostore. Provincetown, MA.
Paulie did the whole 4-track tape in a farmhouse decades before it was cool.

The Beatles- Let It Be, originally my Mom's.
My favorite Beatle album to argue about and look for bootlegs.

John Tavener- The Whale, Luke's. Pawtucket, RI.
A surreal combination of orchestra, opera, and spoken word.

George Harrison- All Things Must Pass, Spiniker's. Hyannis, MA.
The best Beatle solo album.

John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, Wild Rufus. Belfast, ME.
Nothin' better than therapy through rock 'n' roll.

Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band, Wild Rufus. Belfast, ME.
Lennon was right when he said punk and post-punk ripped her off.

Paul and Linda McCartney- Ram, Goodwill. Hyannis, MA.
One of his best records sans Wings.

Radha Krshna Temple (London), Looney Tunes. Boston, MA.
Personal note: I got this record in the winter so it always reminds me of Christmas.

Badfinger- Straight Up, Looney Tunes. Boston, MA.
The birth of power-pop is in these grooves.

Mary Hopkin- Earth Song/Ocean Song, got on EBAY from some dude in CA.
Holy fuck, sorry I wrote you off after Post Card.

Phil Spector's Christmas Album, Instant Karma. Orleans, MA.
I love that one of the greatest rock 'n' roll albums ever is a Christmas album.

Ravi Shankar- In Concert 1972, Looney Tunes. Boston, MA.
Sadly all the ragas get interesting in the last three minutes.

The Beatles- 1962-1966, originally my drama teacher's, Mr. Bellamy.
The first band that hand picked their own greatest hits so you know it's amazing.

John Lennon- Imagine, gift from Mimi.
Half of it is so fucking angry and half of it is so fucking beautiful.

George Harrison- Living in a Material World, Spiniker's. Hyannis, MA.
It kicked McCartney off the Billboard #1 spot for a reason.

Ringo Starr- Ringo, originally my Uncle John's.
A little help from his friends goes a long way.

John Lennon- Walls and Bridges, originally my Uncle John's.
A mish-mash of tunes but worth it for "#9 Dream."

Ringo Starr- Goodnight Vienna, Cheap-o. Cambridge, MA.
His best album.

John Lennon- Rock 'n' Roll, Spiniker's. Hyannis, MA.
Worth it for the "Rip it Up/Ready Teddy" medley with the drum line you can set your fucking watch to.

Video is my Substitute for Love

I love my TV. It's a Magnavox with fake wood paneling along the sides. Its special features include a remote control and Mono sound. It's cable ready, too.

My eyes have been glued to this thing for pretty much my entire life. In the winter, we would move it into the living room so we could watch movies while sitting in front of the fire. Dad would hook it up to his nice stereo and I would love that click sound the receiver would make before it would start pumping the sound from our tapes in full dimension stereo. I watched the new millennium arrive on this TV. I've been sick in front of this TV. I've cried in front of this TV. I've got laid in front of this TV.

I'm simply never going to part with it. God forbid it becomes obsolete. I had a scare this morning on Cape when my TV there couldn't receive digital signals anymore even though it's far newer than this Magnavox. If that day comes, I'm going to have someone paint a beautiful portrait on it and make it a permanent video piece.

Right now, Blue Velvet is on it's screen.

Hip Idiom/Jewish Idiom

I listened to Lenny Bruce's Carnegie Hall Concert tonight for the first time and found a reference to what I call romantic reductionism. He was talking about the Bible and how the over-usage of it voids it of any real meaning. Like when people say "good night" or "thank you." "It's a contraction now," he said. "G'night. GUHNIIGH."

There really isn't anyone else like Lenny. Carlin picked up his cadence and the freedom of speech torch, Kinison picked up the obscenity torch, but no one has (or will) come close to what Lenny was. Carlin and Lenny do have lots of similarities but it's much like the Woody Guthrie/Bob Dylan relationship and that's a whole other story.

He was a comedian, but he didn't really tell jokes. He was an orator, but he took digression and made it an art form. He was a poet, but his lyrics were disjointed. Lenny had his own language, that's why it's hard to get into his act and follow him. You really have to listen to him. He's the only comedian who speaks softly when he's saying something important, almost daring you to follow him down to his part of the world. Lenny was Lenny in a profession full of schtick. He was the first to really argue that stand-up comedy is an art form.

It's tough when you come across something so amazing to get your mind on anything else. It's like when I finished Everything is Illuminated earlier this week. I honestly can't read another book now. That book me affected me in such a way that I still can't put it into words.

A Fail Experiment in Short Fiction

"You're full."
"Huh?"
"You're full, aren't you?"

I looked down at the untouched second half of my sandwich.

"No." I scoffed.

The thought of eating another bite made me queasy. The thought of her still being right after six years made me queasy.

"Look!" I said, laughing. "I'm a different person!"

I bit it.

***

Afterword by TKS

Does one false statement make the entire line of thought fiction?

Fragments

Dead Muse
Sing No More
Of the place we've seen

"You're always running around, trying to fit into a mold."

Let History Repeat Itself

"How can you listen to that?"
"What?"
"How can you enjoy Steve Winwood?"
"It's upbeat! It's fun. It reminds me of home."
"It's just not good."
"It's boat music, man!"
"No. THIS is more boat music. It makes me wanna do a lot of coke and throw money at people."
"Yeah..."

Yes, yes, yes, I do realize my running mix is probably identical to any given gay man from 1988.

Secure. Three tapes.

End of Summer Mix

1) Eric Clapton- Breaking Point

I'm home. I missed you a lot. Did you miss me?



2) Pat Metheny- Facing West

This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! I need to go up there! This is what I've always wanted! I'm going out on a limb and I'm ready for adventure!



3) Rod Stewart- Every Picture Tells A Story

Whitey Bulger captured? Can I please go down to the courthouse? What's that? Recipes for cooking the best lobsters? OK GBH...I guess that's just as good...



4) Foster the People- Pumped Up Kicks

"Look over there. Pretend they're the audience. I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."



5) The Avalanches- Since I Left You

I'm hung over and it's so bright in Brighton and I love everyone I can see.



6) Roy Orbison- In Dreams

You're just like me.



7) Vampire Weekend- Oxford Comma

Hiding in Nantucket. Everyone is so beautiful I want to cry.



8) Frank Zappa- Jesus Thinks You're a Jerk

"What if Pat gets into the White House?"
"No fucking way, Ike! Hahaha, you know what I mean? HA!"



9) Okkervil River- Mermaid

She's pretty, I think...



10) Steve Winwood- Wake Me Up on Judgement Day

Gotta keep pressing on...

Culture

I started running today after a five month hiatus. I suppose that's what happens when you're feeling low. You eat shit, drink shit, make bad decisions and work for public broadcasting. Not to say that last thing is bad. I was trying to make a joke.

I finished reading a novel called Galápagos by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. It's about the de-evolution of mankind after a cruise ship of seven living people, one dead person, one ghost and one dead dog shipwrecks on the Galápagos Islands one million years ago in 1985. That combined with the Zen I seek in running made me think a lot of about the power of the human spirit which all seems irrelevant at the end of the novel. Vonnegut has a way of doing that.

Repopulating seemed kinda sexy in a way. Where sex goes beyond desire into necessity. Humans love to pat themselves on the back for being important. They also love to pat themselves on the back for getting laid. Talk about the best of both worlds. Especially when you're the first generation after a war that destroys all your ancestors. I'm a sucker for shit like that. Importance. Passion. Comfort.

I cried the day Vonnegut died. I cried an awful lot in front of an awful lot of people. I was wicked embarrassed. People treated me like a problem case, much like nowadays. At least everyone forgot about it the day after. I sure as hell didn't. However, one kid, a jock, came up to me and said "You must really care about about him." I said I do. When Salinger died all I thought was "So it goes." How ironical.

Now I'm reading The Catcher in the Rye for the fourth time whilst listening to Bob Dylan's criminally underrated Street Legal. I find a lot of comfort in art. These two things are art. There's also white wine and whoopie pies to be had. These two things are _____.

082911

I walked into my room on Parker and it smelt the same way it did back in the Winter.

Now my stereo and record cabinet is back in Marblehead.

I really don't know how to feel about this.

***

The treatment is done. It's vague but I feel its a good start. I haven't been this sure about a project since The Boys of Eden nearly four years ago. A perfected treatment will be done by the time classes start a week from Thursday. Thankfully I have Thesis class that exact afternoon so I can really hit the ground running on this one. I know pretty much who I want for my cast and crew. Next week I need to make the phone calls.

Sometimes I Live in the Country

Pats lost to Detroit 10 to 34
You can't win them all
Unless you're Silva
Murdering Okami
In the second
Sometimes I get a great notion
To jump into the river
and Drown

and I would lay there beside her
as she held the moon close to her breast
and cried in her sleep.

Isthisnewyorkitself?

Race to the End of Summer

I have been deterred from finishing a treatment for my thesis. Thankfully I've been deterred for very good reasons. Driving other people's cars, late night monster movies, wine, laughter, beaches, going to bed early and sleeping late. My days at 774 are numbered. I don't want to think about it until I am a safe distance away.

Tomorrow I'm gonna spend a great deal of time writing. Playing catch-up in school. Making sure my affairs are in order before I move into Autumn.

Most if not all of these albums are fantastic. I highly reccomend Destroyer's Kaputt. It's a very well produced musical fantasy. Post-smooth jazz horns(yes, they made it up), WICKED fucking clean guitars that's reminiscent of The Smiths and Twin Peaks, and arrangements that call back Steely Dan and Dent May. Yup, it's a hell of a combo.

The Bard Knows Best

"O time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me t' untie!"
- Twelfth Night, Act II, Scene ii

081011

The world is so small
How could anybody not look you in the eye
Or wave was you drive by?
The world is such a wonderful place.

I feel naked without my typewriter and tape recorder being within arms reach. Also can’t stand it when my bed isn’t next to a window so I can look outside at the rain. Minor complaints in a sea of things I could bitch about. On the bright side the beer is cold and the Disney VHS tapes haven’t faded at all through these years.

I don’t really have much to say. I just felt like creating something.

I read some of my old notebooks from as far back as 2003. My handwriting was surprisingly better back then. Content wasn’t great. Did find some of my earliest songs and they were pretty good.

I had a dream the other night where a friend of mine made a video for me. The camera was small and sitting inside an empty fish tank. She slowly filled the tank with water and the camera tried to escape. The tank filled up quickly and the camera looked up at her looking back at the camera. As she pulled the camera out of the tank, I too felt like I just came out from under water. She wiped the water off the camera and I felt hands going through my hair. The video ended abruptly and I searched all over the house I was in for her to thank her. She was no where to be found.

Pre-season is gonna be here soon. After pre-season comes the official start to football season. Then comes autumn and the cold and coats and all the colors of the season. Breaths are shorter. My kind of living. And football sets a wonderful structure around it all. No matter how crummy the week is, there’s two great days to look forward to, and one of them is Monday for Christ’s sake. How great is it to be happy on Mondays?

I can't do long summers. My skin can't take it. Long winters are fine. I can take those any day. Sure I'll dream about the sun and beaches and all those fine things, but can only dig it in bursts. The trip to Nantucket was about all the summer I needed. Cold drinks, warm beaches, that scene. But normal day-to-day in horrible heat? It drives me insane.

Promote

Paul has a blog. Paul's blog makes me laugh. It's got booze and smoking and punching and yelling. I like Paul. This is us making metal faces.

080311

Why did I bury my head in the sand when Vampire Weekend first came out?

First of all, they're from New York and the last thing I needed in high school was 20something washashores feeling ways about stuff on Cape Cod. Second, they attracted a crowd I wasn't into back then. Polo shirts looked like straight-jackets. I'll leave it at that.

But now I'm 20something and I don't live on the Cape anymore. This has been the first summer away from there. Hence: now feeling ways about stuff. That and after a long lost weekend on Nantucket, I wish I was a mix of a Ralph Lauren model and a F. Scott Fitzgerald character.

Trust me, the music isn't life changing all of a sudden. It's just good summer music. It's what I need when I'm staring at Parker Street and wishing it was bay-side in Welfleet. I love when music is appropriate for times like that. I hate when it's too appropriate. Hence me apparently going on another long span of time before listening to Picaresque again. It's a dragnet for...well, a lot of things. Concerns that never go away.

****

At the Box Car (a play in one act and three old fashions)

ME: Sir, I just wanna shake your hand.
MAN: Oh? What for?
ME: You're suave. You're one suave guy. I saw you down on Federal and I dig your style.
MAN: Why thank you! What do you do, young man?
ME: I'm an artist. I make tapes.
MAN: My brother is a performance artist. He's really into it down in, uh, New York.
ME: Far out! How about you, sir? How do you make a living?
MAN: (sheepishly) Well I'm sorry, but I'm a lawyer.

****

A little girl
A kid
Dropped a piece of paper
Into my lap
and said
"Draw me your best drawing."
So I did.
"When I was
Your Age
There were only
THREE
Star Wars movies."

01XX11

I'm gonna be a good dad
with my half-hearted christmas lights
white wine, cigarettes, and Barbie dolls
Lips you can't feel
The whole world is getting engaged
and
Asking: "What's so wrong with telling someone
they're wonderful?"
and I thought when I get home
it won't be hot yet
but it might be warm
I'd love to take you
It's so beautiful down there
but I have my heart set on taking that bath
so i shall finish what i started

An Actual Homework Assignment For Art School

10) DISCUSSION QUESTION (follow instructions carefully):
Describe five specific incidents in which you have used your body to make sound in the past day. These do not need to all be sounds emanating directly from your body, it can also involve using your body (such as your hands or mouth) to trigger a sound. At least one of the examples should involve triggering or using some type of technology (such as ringing a doorbell or turning on your MP3 player). Include the exact location, a description of the sound, whether other people also heard the sound, how (and if) you heard the sound yourself and any other interesting information.

1- Right when I woke up, I cracked my knuckles. I was sitting up in bed. The noise was a very distinct and very loud crack. I don’t crack my knuckles often so the noise startled me a bit.
2- Early this morning, one of my roommates’ cats ran into my room and scared the shit out of me. I was half awake and I let out this horrible moan of fright. It came from the back of my throat and was very low. I hope someone else heard it because it was so weird.
3- I hit record on my tape deck. I was sitting on the edge of my bed. The deck made a nice CA-CHUNK followed by the hum of the spindles moving.
4- My esophagus made a strange gurgling sound after I ate when I was sitting on my couch. It was particularly loud. As always, no one heard it but me.
5- Since nothing loud or even interesting happened to me today, I started humming just now, seeing how low I can get. I can feel it in my chest but now it’s starting to hurt a little.

A Dream/Notebook Scraps/Hakus

Two nights ago I was in some room that resembled the house where I took piano lessons as a kid. These doctors told me they had to operate on my teeth, just like last time. I remembered “last time” and remembered it going pretty well so I agree. They lay me down on just a normal bed with a lot of pillows. They gave me a lolly-pop covered in the anesthetic. I ate it and became woozy, not completely out of it. I then started to panic. The doctors assumed I was out and took out the huge drill. I started crying and moaning. They hid the drill immediately. I cried harder. The anesthetic didn’t work and may never work. I dipped my finger in the anesthetic goo and sucked. That worked. I rolled over once, lay my face into a pillow, and was gone.

I could still hear the doctors and the room though but felt nothing. I started to dream up a different scenario. I was on a plane and must have been a big shot director because I was in first class and was talking to celebrities. I asked an actress to be in my movie once we landed and she agreed. I then found myself on a movie set, trying to call out orders. However my mouth kept expanding and I felt the hands in my mouth and things poking my teeth. It didn’t hurt but that didn’t make me feel any better.

***
(Excerpt from a longer piece)
I'm sick of waiting.
I meditate on
This
before it falls away
and my hands run silent
it will soon
No need to look up, I FEEL
it in my stomach
All I have been taught
I know it must peak and resolve
Here comes the waiting
I'm sick of waiting

***
(Excerpt from a song)
Do you remember late at night
Rod Sterling's solemn face
We'd fall asleep on the couch
Dream of Pepsodent and Frosted Flakes

***
Yes, I am ready.
I'll have a cup of coffee.
Eggs, scrambled. Thank you.

I'm watching the game
We were leading at the half.
Now they're on our ten.

Please turn a light on.
Can you read me a story?
No, I'm not sleepy.

Reasons Why I'm Out of it Today

I was searching for songs to listen to at work and spent five minutes looking for a song that in the end was written by my friend Joe.

I went to the jon and when I pulled my pants back up, I forgot I was wearing shorts so my first thought was "What the hell happened to my pants?"

"These stories are true. My life is a series of crises."- Woody Allen

How to Condense Text and other stories

Original sentence:

I drove over the Sagamore Bridge into a patch of fog.

Condensed sentence:

I drove over the Sagamore Bridge into a metaphor.

***
There's no part of junior high health class that discusses this. Just act like the dining room table is a subway car. First avoid eye contact. Second, you may think of something to say, but honestly, how can you say it?

***
Has anyone really listened to Christian rock music? It popped up on my dial and it felt right so I didn't change. Sure they're just rejected Creed love songs but with Jesus jammed in it, but they're pretty convicted. Maybe because they're talking about something bigger than going steady.

***
Dear anybody who wants to make a compilation album, listen to Mothermania. You have a nerdy fan base? Just use another take, remix, repackage, and give it a goofy title.

coming up next on trying to fall asleep radio: music from the sea shore, non-threatening violins playing 12-tone, and people with reassuring voices listening all your positive qualities.

Meanwhile in the Office...

I couldn't for the life of me finish the online crossword. I kept hitting the solve button until it was done, granted there wasn't much left. Then the website did a really cool "Congratulations!" animation.

I wish I actually earned that. Now I feel guilty.

Dwindle to Static

Now that I work in radio (work in the loosest sense of the word) I listen to it more than I already did. It's benefiting me seemingly no end. Before I started here, the classical station we produce barely came in back home on Parker. Now, it comes in crystal clear. I mostly listen at work now. It is, after all, a good policy not to bring the office home with you. Sadly, public radio can get a little mundane before 1 o'clock so I often find myself listening to WBZ 1030.

"Commercial radio."

It's like a slur around here. There's normal guys then there's "commercial guys." Commercial guys are apparently very loud, abrasive and want money more than anything. It sort of hurts when I hear people say it. They're slandering my warm wake-up call. They're demonizing my favorite non-human co-pilot. When I hear them talking this way, I usually lower my head past my cubicle walls and turn down my streamer. I know I'm wearing headphones, but what if they can still here the cheesy theme for Traffic on the 3s buzzing out of my ears.

WBZ was all I had first semester of freshman year. I didn't have a TV until December so my ancient clock radio was my real roommate. On my really low days, I'd lay in bed far after the alarm went off and just listen to the news reports until they switched anchors mid-day.

The traffic report always gets me. It makes me feel like I should be driving. No matter how horrible the traffic is on Rt. 3 or 93 north, I wish I was either in the thick of it and groaning or somewhere far off thinking "Thank goodness I'm not in that mess!" or "Man, I'm making great time."

Eventually, in this imaginary drive, I go too far north and start to lose the signal. It gets me every time. "I thought every one got 'BZ!" I'll shout at my radio. As the signal dwindles to static, I feel far from home. I sigh to myself, then scan the dial...trying to find the local NPR affiliate...

A History/Mercy

It was very long ago, when the winters were crisper, the trees were taller, and the night sky was always clear. We cut across backyards, searching for the moonlight that guided us towards the water.

"Don't worry. No one's home."

Eager to follow. Eager to do right.

"Which one is stuck in your head now?"
"Rebellion."
"Me too."

Lips tasted so new. Music sounded so new.

* * *

"What you mean you don't like it?"
"It's too poppy."
"Of course it's poppy, it's POP music."
"Yeah but it's too old. It doesn't sound right."
"Don't you realize this is one of the most important albums of the 1980s?"
"Do you hear yourself? 80s music sucks!"
"But this is important!"
"It's not a hit against you. We just don't like it."
"But it's important..."

Office Dullard

Can someone tell me why all the championship swag for the Bruins is really lame? They're all understated and poorly designed. There were seven games in the series. That gave designers at least two weeks to come up with something neat-o. All I want is a giant neon yellow hoodie that has Marchand punching the Sedin sisters in the dick. Is that too much to ask for?

$50 for a t-shirt and hat in Fanuiel Hall is highway robbery.
$50 for a t-shirt and hat in Downtown Crossing is a deal...when you throw in meeting Patrice Bergeron.

Yeah...that happened.

It's been pretty busy at GBH today (yeah that's a thing too now) but right now having a bit of a lull and now the e-mail refuses to work. As a result, I've started and stopped three different crosswords, watched the "Don't Give UP" video twice, and now getting choked up watching "Nothing Compares 2 U." It's so easy to forget how fucking amazing that tune is.

Guess I should go find something non-profity to do. Like...get a tote bag...or...eh screw it. Peter Gabriel is far more entertaining.

Three by Four

by Kat Hornstein, Joe Favini, T. Kane Stanton, and Tom Wickersham

i-
Better late than never
She looked like she could sell watches in the Sears catalog
Few knew he, 'ere I slew me
skinny ties, patent leather. world war II.
Hold them high, Henry! Don't give her a Chance
I ate the cherry. Indict me if you like.
Defend the devil with wistfulness, maneuver-once
it's an aesthetic? no, it's a typewriter.

ii-
Am I pale? No, I can't be.
I will not negotiate with a ruddy cookie terrorist. ever.
Ruddy milk mustache, ashen silken lashes
Fine. alright. I'm confident mine's better anyway.
For Christ's sake, am I ruddy or not?
Let's just put it this way my dear friend:
Ere I felt spacy, the day I offended Bill Macy's...complexion
I used to be seaworthy. Thought I still was, but I guess you all beg to differ.

iii-
Enjoy the cookies, you backstabbing fucks.
His tongue's a little itchy, but i swear he's a helluvaguy.
Discounted moon stairs? They got robbed.
I know karate I know kung-fu I know Margaret Atwood too.
You're welcome for the drinks too--shit-birds.
Baby, you know I'm not his keeper. Now come back to bed.
I'll be Abel this time.
Everything is a weird thing for you. I think we had sound.
Barrel chested Sampson ran out of good scotch hours ago
I was a man without a seatbelt. I reeked of squandered wit.
A spiral malt jungle busting into a Columbus skyline
For God's sake, at least be patriotic when you drink.
I feel forgotten, neglected, au gratin.

Victory

The Cup was always a thing of the past to me. The last time I cared about the quest for it was after Ray Bourque's bitter-sweet trade to Colorado in 2001. My dad was excited. I was excited too. The only thing that prevented full-out celebration was the jersey- a giant A where a giant B once was.

I still watched, halfheartedly so. The Sox win defined a new era, the Patriots started a new love of football, and even the Celtics got to have their say too. But I still thought of the Bruins. I thought of the Bobby Orr t-shirts that started to appear in Newbury Comic stores. I thought of the renaming of that area off Causeway back to the Gahhhden. When was it gonna be the B's turn? Has to happen sometime.

'09 looked good. '10 looked even better. '11 had to be the year.

And so it is. Tim Thomas giving a performance I'm going to tell my kids about. The sheer joy exhibited by Chara and Recchi. The disbelief on Seugin's face. The fireworks shot outside my friend's apartment window. Whether you're a hockey fan or not, this was a night for Boston. This was a night for us all.

90 Min to Go

Hockey, specifically the Bruins have always been part of my life. My dad taught me how to skate on the bog behind our house, there was a huge Bruins sticker on my bedroom door, I'd love watching the games on TV with my dad and as a result, I learned how to swear watching those games.

Yes friends, the Bruins in the mid 90s cause much cursing around New England. They haven't known the sweet taste of the finals since I was born...pretty much EXACTLY since I was born. Since I grew up in a place where hockey was important but the team was such a disappointment, the Cup was a mere fantasy to me. My dad would tell me of giants like Bobby Orr and Phil Espisito and the legendary Canadian holy grail steeped in tradition and superstition. It was all bedtime stories.

Tonight, it becomes a reality. Tonight, new stories will be created. Tonight begins a new journey with new giants of the ice. This is something I can be a part of just by living it.

From the End of the World to Your Town Part II

5/13
Saunders Island

Due to fog, we are stranded here for another day. We're suppose to leave the Falklands tomorrow.

Best Case Scenario: Leave wicked early tomorrow to catch our plane at Mt. Pleasant
Medium Case Scenario: Leave Wednesday for where-ever. Maybe London.
Worst Case Scenario: Leave a week from tomorrow.

We've resorted to watching Spiderman 2 and 3. Not only are they horrible, they bring up too many bad memories of high school. The last thing I want to dwell on when I'm stuck on a remote island. The only thing keeping me watching is the fact I'm dying to watch a movie. Like MST3k or The Life Aquatic.

5/14
Departed Saunders by small fishing boat to Cove Hill located on mainland West Falkland. Hired a ride from Cove Hill to Port Howard.

5/15
This inn looks like a grandmother's wet dream. I was relieved when we got here when I found they had the entire James Bond collection on video and they had a leg of mutton in the oven waiting for us. We had that, baked beans, and red wine for dinner. Other than missing our flight and not being in any America, this is pretty ok.

Now the fun part. Today we are either taking a FIGAS plane back to Stanley or a ferry followed by a taxi. Hopefully the former and not the later. Either way we will end up in Stanley, back at the Lookout Lodge, tonight. We will most likely stay there until Saturday. Arrive back in NYC a week from tomorrow. I don't want to spend my birthday in Stanley but I shouldn't complain. Andy spent his stranded on Saunders. I just can't wait to get home. I'll have more control over my life I feel.

Picked up by a FIGAS plane back to Stanley with a pit stop in Chartes.

Back home in Room 57. Still sick as a dog from that horrible flight. It was a double whammy of air sickness and a panic attack. I'm dizzy just sitting up.

I'm now really upset I didn't fix my watch battery. I hate walking down two hallways to see what time it is.

I miss my friends a lot. It breaks my heart thinking I won't see them on my birthday. Next time I go on vacation I'm gonna go somewhere else like Disneyland or Maui or something.

5/18
The food is getting worse. I'm eating less and sleeping more. The need to get home grows stronger, most recently due to an e-mail from a professor scolding me about not getting back when I said I would.

We've been working for the past two days at the Falkland Islands Television studio. They have been lifting my spirits. There's only three employees- Liz, Paula and Mark. There's also Paula's husband Steven who works for Stanley Services who owns the station. They are new to video production so we've been happy to lend a hand. I even did a voice over for a segment on new books at the library. Too adorable.

From the End of the World to Your Town Part I

Edited from the personal journal of TKS. The local time for both Chile and the Falkland Islands (excluding Saunders Island) is an hour ahead of Eastern Standard Time. Departed on 5/5/11 from JFK International New York, NY. Arrived in Santiago, Chile on the morning of the 6th.

5/6
Staying at the Hotel Orly. What a city. Very European and because of the fog and cold conditions, it reminds me of Boston. A tropical Newbury Street.

5/7
Departed Santiago, Chile for Punta Arenas, Chile.

Left early in the morning. Sun wasn’t even out yet which isn’t saying much because the sun finally came out around 8:30. Dreamt of learning Spanish and Napoleon.

It’s always hard collecting my thoughts on trips like these. Too caught up. I did escape Boston at the best possible time. I was deep in despair and now I am all kinds of excited about life.

Departed Punta Arena, Chile for Mt. Pleasant, Falkland Islands. Shuttled from Mt. Pleasant to the capital of Stanley.

Staying at the Lookout Lodge. This is less of the cozy/rustic accommodations I was expecting and is more, in fact, like a sparse summer camp. It’s either well before 9 pm or well after since I fell asleep right after our windy nighttime stroll around the town. I don’t have much energy to head back out to the Victory Pub. Also my room perpetually makes it sound like there’s a hurricane outside.

Where the hell am I? Why do my hands still smell like home?

5/8
Another weird series of dreams including the Sea Camps, the Mormon church, James Bond movies, and meat sauce. Most of it dealt with fear and uncertainty. There was also a party in this now reoccurring dream Cape bay-side motel.

Great Sunday morning here so far. They serve hot breakfast around 11. Thick slices of bacon, rice, cereal and instant coffee that isn’t too horrible. No newspaper, though. Then again if there was one, it would have to come on one of the few flights that arrive here each week. BBC and BFBS radio however. It’s bright outside and yet it’s awkwardly raining/hailing/snowing. Feels like home.

5/9
Last night went to the Globe Pub and got significantly trashed. I sang karaoke, got in a shirtless dance-off and was knocked down and piled upon twice. All in a night’s work for an International Idiot.

Today had a great lunch with Jamie [the other cameraman] at the Malvina House Hotel. Killer fish and chips. Discussed filmmaking, Hit and Run History, and the interview we just did for the Falkland Island Radio Service. Then a jaunty hike across godless terrain to the old Pembroke Lighthouse, the eastern most point in the country. The sheer beauty was worth the trek back in the rain.

Although exhausted, I had to keep walking around Stanley proper in order to acquire a pair of boots for our trip to Saunders Island. After an hour of searching for a 20 pound note and getting lost on the five freaking streets here, I got a pair of brown work boots at Pandora’s Box- an interesting store that sells shoes, baby items, toys, women’s underwear, and condoms.

5/10
Departed from Stanley Airport west to Saunders Island.

Sweet shit I just had the most amazing bath of my life that I think I’m going to throw up.

This house has no name. It is situated at the end of the Pole-Evans’ settlement. Horses, sheep, geese, dogs, cats. Haven’t seen cows yet but we have fresh milk so they’re somewhere.

The horses come right up to the windows and are breathtaking. Feeds into my wild side. Apparently, this whole island is what I dream of all day. This whole trip I’ve felt one part Hemmingway and one part Charlie Chaplin. Maybe two parts Chaplin.

We arrived here mid-morning on a twin-engine pond hopper. The clouds were high so we flew low. I was still miserable from the night before so I promptly opened the whiskey. We listened to ourselves constantly being played on the radio. Sparse meals filled us and we were grateful. I heard a cover of “Skinny Love” by a 14-year-old girl on the radio and cried.

Before I knew it, I was out like a light. The crew explored and visited penguins while I dreamt of Fenway Park, Harry Nilsson, concerts, forgotten friends from elementary school and pro wrestling.

My head is heavy and dizzy. I think of the Academy and it tears me up inside. I don’t exactly know where I’m gonna end up when I get home. I just hope wherever I end, someone is holding me.

5/11
Took a ride on a Defender across the island, bound for the Neck- a beach filled with penguins.

Drunk. Homesick. Disgruntled. Tired. Saw a shitton of penguins.

5/12
Went down to Brett’s Harbor on the nicest day of this entire trip. Completely still, only a soft breeze. Sunny. Mild like Cape Cod in late spring. Got the closest I could get to sheep. I shouldn’t complain because I got to pet one back in Stanley. I was content just to sit on the shore and make tapes. As happy as I am, I’m still kinda homesick.

So

I don't think I truly feel at home somewhere until I've had a shower there. Parker was hard to get used to at first but every time I took a shower, I felt more at home. I think about that and feel that same way every time I take a shower and I always mean to write it down somewhere. Finally remembered.

In times of despair, I usually find how cyclical time can be. Right now end of junior year college is feeling like end of junior year high school. I'm having a play produced that I'm overly nervous about, I'm too busy with my art to focus on academics, and in the midst of panic attacks, Kate Bush's part on "Don't Give Up" always lights a small bit of hope that I break down. I only JUST started Side two of this LP and I don't want to know what's gonna happen when "Mercy Street" comes on.

I don't know. I make too many connections. I search for too much meaning.

Something Nice

I'm revising my script The Artist! listing to a warbling cassette of the Nutcracker suite while Sooki sreeps at my feet.

I like this.

Digital Venting

Tonight I watched the wicked intense Game 5 of the Stanley Cup Quarters- Montreal at Boston. 2-1 in the second overtime. Sweet shit. I don't think I've sworn that much in front of my mother. She got wicked into it too and she never watches hockey. Stayed up for the whole thing with me and my mom is like everyone else's mom- she'll fall asleep 10 minutes into a friggin' movie. The game wrapped up nicely enough right when Moses parted the Red Sea in The Ten Commandments over on Channel 5.

Speaking of, as far as that new HD print goes, brilliant. I think I'm starting to fall for Blu-ray. It makes those Technicolor pictures LOOK how Technicolor actually looks. Also in school I'm learning how to author one and I'm blown away how much they can store. Oh PS3, drop in price soon. Or let me have a surprisingly prosperous summer.

That being said, I still miss 2 VHS sets. Long movies should have appropriate home movie breaks. Pausing is so awkward and I've always felt that way. Plus it feels more like an event- taking out one tape and putting in another. I'm also looking at you, Laserdiscs and CEDs. You know how I'm a sucker for flipping discs.

I started writing a treatment to the second installment of Slip Conway after watching a great triple feature of detective movies- Chinatown (1977), The Thin Man (1934) and Soylent Green (1973). These characters are getting more developed and the stories are getting more ambitious. It's wicked exciting like when I started doing Clifford Gritts videos but times ten.

Hopefully most if not all of the post-production for Slip will be done by the end of the week. I can't believe I'm leaving the friggin' country next week. Still so much to do.

706

Takin' a break from ADR work on Slip Conway. NOBODY should have to do it the way we're doing it. Avid is being retarded (as always) and not letting us make a reference file to jump to ProTools. So we're doing this completely independent from the video. I just want this done before I leave and I'm trying to do all I can to lessen the editing burden from Joe.

24 hour access can't come soon enough.

Thank you internet for listening to me bitch. You're like a pillow to cry into...a sticky, sticky pillow.

"kids fighting for space" is probably the best sentence I ever wrote.

RSD11

This has been the most chaotic Record Store Day to date. Newbury Comics in Harvard Square was a MADHOUSE since it was also Harvard University's accepted students day I think. The exclusive releases weren't even remotely organized and anything I toyed with the idea of getting was gone. HOWEVER, did get a copy of Smiley Smile AND Incesticide! Thanks to the discount, it was like buying one higher end record.

Then we cramped ourselves into Planet Records and In Your Ear- neither of which I have ever been too. Both were just as cramped. Planet was cramped with people, In Your Ear was just cramped with records. Got a '90s Boston grunge compilation called Where's Stanton Park? I giggled. ALSO got a RUSSIAN copy of Paul McCartney's Flowers in the Dirt- a very important album from my childhood. The jacket and cover are so oddly soft, it's like the record is wrapped in cloth. Oh Russians.

Good haul. Now I'm broke. No more records until Okkervil's new disc and even then, I can just wait until my birthday.

Monday Night Special

found this bit in my notebook from my "Brownsville Girl" phase where everything I wrote could have been a new verse for that song. soooo here's a new verse:

I once made a movie where none of the footage survived
I was dressed up like a cowboy
And gave my deputy badge to the beautiful girl
Riding shotgun.
She would aimlessly look out the window
As I looked at the side of her face.
We came to a field near the bay and her face lit up.
The image was too blue,
The wind was too fast.
I couldn't even light my cigarette.
I embarrassed myself on the floor of her room
and we never talked about it again.
It's too bad that I think about it every day.

***

I wish it was later. Not later but deeper. Dead muse. Sing no more.

New Week, New Videos

First, the old. An Experiment in Romantic Reductionism. Did it last semester. The idea of this experiment is to focus on the little moments in everyday life that carry (hopefully) bigger meaning. These are just my examples. You can make your own.

Second, Ballet for Tape Music will be exported tomorrow. Expect that online in the next few days.

Third, Stallion was shot earlier this evening. The loop will be edited tomorrow. The soundtrack will have a final mix-down. A self-contained QT edit will be online in the next few days but the full instillation (including a "suburbs" bounce) won't be ready till next week (realistically).

I need to bang out essentially two more pieces. Gotta crack the whip on Slip Conway. Also need to plan filming the performance of KFFS. I'm going to visit the rehearsals tomorrow for the first time in a month.

The Civil War has been on WGBH all weekend long. I have been somewhat transfixed. It's probably the stock Burns uses...or the narration and soft violin music. Either way, perfect nap soundtrack next to ball games.

I smell pizza and beer. Hurry up, next weekend.

An Experiment in Romantic Reductionism from T. Kane Stanton on Vimeo.

Right in the Beans

On one level, Ballet for Tape Music (new title) is done. I videotaped it. I edited it. Exporting is another story. I want to bounce it BACK to videotape then re-upload it to the computer for a QT file. The finished product will be both a physical tape and a QT file.

Sadly, that's not as easy as Joe made it sound last night. Especially when you're working with patch bays that date back to the 1980s and a computer that's obnoxiously up-to-date. Today, I went back to the school to work on it but the studio was all tied up trying to show off for Accepted Students Day. I think the last thing parents want to see is a hung over video artist, wearing a "Disco Sucks" t-shirt, cursing at a VHS deck. Hey, kids gotta learn the reality about art school some day.

Speaking of, I love Accepted Students Day. It's the day that art kid stereotypes shine. The goth girls who have probably screamed "No Mom! I'm going to ART SCHOOL" a lot in the past few days. The dorks who wear blazers over ironic t-shirts...oh wait...that one hits too close to home. Suddenly this bit isn't funny anymore.

Today is also opening day at Fenway- one of my favorite sporting events of the year. In fact, let's look at my top five sporting events-

1. Souper Bowl
2. Opening Day at Fenway
3. Wrestlemania
4. Kentucky Derby
5. Ultimate Fighter Finale

The city is humming. The Blue Angels set off car alarms all across the hill. The cheers from Pedroya's home run could be heard allllll the way back at 774. That being said, I hate baseball. So many games, so few well-payed players giving a shit.

Let's talk hawkey. Boston/Montreal. Washington/NYR. Vancouver/Chicago. These first round games aren't even fair. So yeah, I'll enjoy this Sox game today, but tomorrow, my stick is back on the ice.

Record Store Day POA

This year's Record Store Day seems to have the least amount of exciting official releases compared to the past two years I've been aware of Hipster's Christmas. These are the only titles I can at least pretend to long for:

The Beach Boys- "Heroes and Villians/Good Vibrations"(double 10"...at 78 rpm? the hell?)
Bob Dylan- Live at Brandeis 1963 (may be worth checking out...at least as a bootleg)
Daft Punk- Tron Legacy (picture disc...alright, I'm listening)
Jenny and Johnny/Gram Parsons split
Kate Bush- Hounds of Love (pink 10")
Nivana- Hormoaning (since it's hard to find a copy of Incesticide at a reasonable price, I really want this)

The split and Hormoaning are givens. Tron will totally depend on how much it is. Two picture discs on a Disney label...things may get stupid.

I really hope some Newbury has the new Okkervil River 7". I'm also seeking a copy of Smiley Smile or Please Please Me. Oh! Or even a copy of Eccentric Soul: The Capsol Label. And maybe this will finally be the year I buy a physical copy of I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning.

I'm nerding the fuck out and RSD is still eight days away.

While You Were Art I

What a wonderfully unproductive semester.

Well, that's a bit hyperbolic. Unproductive as in no actual finished products. Last night's filming of Slip Conway completely fell through. Thankfully the cast is still on board with doing it so it'll be rescheduled soon.

Hopefully by the end of the week I'll have my first video of 2011 done. It's called Ballet for Audio Tape. It's another exploration of romantic reductionism. I'm going to condense several albums into three brief movements (the emotional essentials of the records) on a cassette tape. My dancer will then try to move to this new sound and I'll take the footage and try editing that to the cassette. It's a very bizarre process and it's hard to describe.

In anticipation of this project (and do act as a prequel), I'm going to upload my Introduction to Romantic Reductionism on my Vimeo site. It's so much fun to have an -ism. He filled his head with notions, seemingly.

Oh man, I'm sitting in the library, looking over the Fenway, and I see the tests of the new HD jumbo-screens at Fenway Park. Unnecessary? Yes. Crystal clear in the rain and half a mile away? Yes. I'm actually in awe of the quality.

Man, the city looks cooler in the rain whilst listening to Miles Davis.

Argument Against Snobbery No. 1

Most people will not give the original mixes of M.O.I's We're Only In It For The Money and the Beatles' Let It Be time of day. The former is overly censored and the latter has a Phil Spector slickness that was originally called "a cardboard coffin for the greatest band in the world."

I just listened to them back to back and I feel like I'm back on Bank Street.

We're Only In it will always be Summer 2006. Turning 16. Starting to gain a little independence. Starting to explore video work. Being in love. Acting in a radio play. The sun warming my face.

Let It Be will always be my Mother's favorite album and that means a lot.

Sinner's Midnight

For the first time since 2007, I'm in a band again. Joseph, Alberto and I. We are Uncle Deadly. I mostly play the keys which has me wicked excited. I haven't played this much keyboards in years and years. So much of it is still there. During our first practice, I was whipping out great licks. Tonight I was a little too tired to play at my best, but did teach the boys an old song of mine called "Similar But Not The Same." We're totally reworking it to give it a little more life and a little less...well, death. I'm surprised they took a liking to it. I know it will be even better once we're done on it.

Two other points. One, I saw Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears at the Middle East on Sunday. I swear to God, I wish I could live there. He played the blues with such a hard edge. Being part of "Booty City," "Sugarfoot," and a cover of "Louie, Louie" live was worth the price of admission and THEN SOME. Got to talk to him after the show too a/k/a shake his hand and say he's a cool guy to a "enthusiastic" reply of "Thanks, man." Whatevs. He's Black Joe and I'm just another tax-paying citizen of Booty City.

I bought three more albums. The Sun Sessions by Elvis Presley, Psalms for Ticklebag by Reality Challenged, Touch Me There by L. Shankar (produced by FZ), and The Man from Utopia by FZ. The last one brings my FZ count to 21 with 27 remaining. They are all good (and bizarre) records and will probably get a proper review at some point in time.

I've been having a strange week. It's not the same feeling of dread. It's like a mental growth spurt I suppose. Maybe I'm preparing myself to return to the Cape. I was originally thinking it was going to be this weekend, but with the crummy weather and a hopeful shoot, I may stay around here. The people grew sad...or corn. Depending on their want.

Back to my song, the two best lines I feel are "I'm sick of being a stranger sleeping in a stranger's bed" and "Love is the only reason I came." Well done, High School Kane. Well done.

If We'd All Been Living in California...

This past week I bought three LPs (technically four, but I'll get into that some other time). First, two Zappa albums. Orchestral Favorites and Uncle Meat on Tuesday. Then on Wednesday, Joseph and I landed the last two copies of The Strokes' new album Angles which became yet another mild drug that kept us going through our all-night writing session. We probably listened to the thing three complete times, the did all our favorite cuts, then by luck, watched them perform "Taken for a Fool" on Leterman. I love the fact this 80s-power pop thing is back. Gotta dust off my Cars albums and what not.

We continued to keep the stereo on all night and I put on Orchestral Favorites when the sun was coming up. At that point, my blood had been replaced with shitty Mexican coffee so the album seem to last about eight minutes. Granted, it's not suppose to be one of his best. It was one of the unauthorized albums Warner Brothers put out instead of Zappa's Läther box set. To show the album had no input by the big cheese, not one of the members of the The Abnuceals Emuukha Electric Orchestra was credited. But for what it's worth, best version of "Strictly Genteel" around.

Uncle Meat was the one I looked forward to the most. As with nearly all of his older LPs, Zappa did major remastering for both the Old Masters projects and the 1987 release of his back catalog (see Ask for Record at Counter) The 1968 mix shows all the problems with digital compression. When CD mastering technology first came out, one of the main objections was to get rid of the hiss picked up from the original tapes. High pass filters were installed. Add that to compression, lots of high frequency sounds on the recording suffer. As a result, the percussion on the original LPs sounds DYNAMITE. Tunes like "Nine Types of Industrial Pollution," which on the CD sound like fuzzy sonic ramblings, end up having wonderful texture. The drumming on "Cruisin' for Burgers" is so freaking heavy on the LP, it's wonderful. Wonderful wonderful wonderful wonderful wonderful it really makes it.

Also the album on whole flows a lot better. It's more more cohesive- like a fluid stream of consciousness instead of a rushed group of loosely related tunes. This is probably because the '87 mix has an obnoxious amount of reverb. I can't wait to get my hands on a vinyl copy of Lumpy Gravy now.

ZAPPA LP COUNT- 20*
LEFT TO GO- 31**

*Including Mystery Disc 2
**Up to 1988 and not counting The Old Masters Box Two and Three.

someone to run their fingures through my hair and MEAN IT

You Can't Make This Same Lame Zappa Reference Anymore! Vols. 5-6

Last night I had that dream again. This time it came with a bit of a twist.

My mother's boyfriend drove me home one night. The area looked vaguely like Freeman Street but I was sure I had never been there before. He first stopped at a liquor store and I waited in the car. After waiting a bit, I went inside looking for him.

Inside the store were a handful of kids. Very creepy looking, like Village of the Damned meets The Wicker Man creepy. They were very snide and made these condescending comments to me.

I decided to split and walk home at this rate. A young boy ran in front of me. I followed him but pretended like I wasn't doing so. The further we went, the brighter it got until I was in a field with a bunch of kids, playing some kind of bizarre and unorganized game of Capture The Flag. I still ignored the kids even though I saw other kids my age being the counselors and coaching them along. Nearly everyone my age was guiding some younger kid.

I made my way up the hill to this gypsy caravan. Inside each wagon was basically a summer camp cabin and one of my friends was there. I snuck into one of the wagons and all the kids were watching old variety shows from the 1950s and Frank Sinatra movies, transfixed to the sets. I made my way to the back room where the bunks were.

It was a girl's cabin and Bailey was on a top bunk, wearing typical camp counselor garb. I smiled at her but she looked concerned.

"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I just wish I could do this again."

With that, I buried my face into the bed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

***

It may be an understatement to say I have been very emotional lately and these dreams don't help at all. They bring me way down when I'm in the best spirits. These dreams of let-down children. Jesus H Christ on a crutch. That's heavy. In more than one way...

I have a bunch of music posts to do due to the shit ton of albums I've acquired in the past two days. The Strokes, Frank Zappa...well that it. Two Zappas. Also I just found the picture I took for my "I Melt With You" rant so that will come up at some point. Now that my life is sorta back in a normal position, I'll lay that all out. But I'll lay it out easy.

You Can't Do That In Hyannis Anymore! Vol. 3

There was a Newbury Comics in Hyannis in this crummy strip mall. It was right next to the Toys 'R Us so it was only logical for my giddiness over toys to be transferred to albums just next door. The first time I ever cut class was Junior Year in order to get my hands on Bright Eyes's Cassedega (2007). A lot of my first memories of Zappa albums started in that parking lot at night when I'd drive away hearing "Gregory Peccary" or "Uncle Meat" for the first (and certainly not the last) time. I dragged girlfriends there after having to endure clothes shopping. My friends would go and loudly and bluntly express our opinions. One time the whole store SANG when "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the stereo.

The floor went through many changes but in my heart, the record albums were always in the way back. I was maybe 12 when I first shuffled through the then slim record selection. Most of it was hip-hop. Rock albums were RARITIES hence my first new LP I ever bought was Weezer's Maladroit. No I was never a huge Weezer fan but asking for a Barenaked Ladies LP was (and still is) a futile request. Also Daft Punk's Discovery was wicked out of print on vinyl.

There's still a Newbury Comics in Hyannis. They moved to the mall in the slot were the old Friendly's used to be. It's not that I'm bitter that it's changed. It has but that's not my point. I guess I'm learning that that certain part of my life is over. I have new record joints now. Better even. Digging beyond my wildest dreams. But nothing will come close to the joint I'd frequent after school was over, after the sun went down, and drive home from, listening to something new in the dark.