Kool Aid in the Cult of Personality

Hugh Grant, Bill Clinton, Eddie Murphy, Britney Spears, Michael Jackson, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Christian Bale, Kobe Bryant, John Edwards, George Michael, Pitt & Jolie, Rihanna, Magic Johnson, Gary Hart, Charlie Sheen, Whitney Houston, Robert Downey Jr, and now Tiger Woods.

The list goes on and on and on. Not everyone on this list has acheicved the same level of scorn and/or righteous indignance of the masses, but this list still will continue in perpetuity, and five minutes later, no one will care. Right now, we're in the middle of a traffic jam, rubbernecking at a celebrity car wreck with Tiger Woods at the wheel. He can hit a little ball with a stick really well- is that any reason to hold him to a higher standard than any of the people I know that sleep around just as much? Since when did fame equal heroism? We no longer live in a culture that provides heroes for the masses to worship, only idols to be ogled. When those idols prove to be no more beatific than everyone else, they are torn down and either repaired or replaced, for no better reason than "yes, we can."

Behind the Music

Last night, I made the trek out to Oakland (which has become an almost weekly thing) and went to my new favorite venue, the Fox Theatre. Last month, I had the pleasure of seeing Sonic Youth there, and found the place to be pretty damn decent. Quality, even, as they say inland. The Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs were performing, and having heard good things about their live show, I had reasonable expectations. It's a funny thing, because I usually have no expectations. People tend to think that as a musician, I always want to go see live music, check out bands I've never heard of, and just generally hang out in the scene.

Nothing could be further from the truth. When I go to show, it tends to be work. Not that I have an agenda, but I can't help analyzing everything that happens from how efficient the tech crew is, to the lighting, stage presence, the flow of the setlist, audience reaction... How long do they wait between songs? Is the FOH actually paying attention? How would I do things different? It isn't easy to sit (stand) back and have a good time with a constant commentary in my head.

There were two openers: the first was totally forgettable ironic indie hipster noise that annoyed me for the entire twenty minutes I had to slog through. Next came a band that I'd recently read about in the Guardian. I probably read about three sentences before deciding that it was some sort of detached satirical tripe that writers working for independent weekly newspapers take for cool, and I find to be a steaming pile of koala crap, air-lifted fresh from down under.

I was right.

There's a quote from author John Lawton, who said the "irony of the information age is that it has given respectability to uninformed opinion." Well, modern technology has given respectability to the bedroom producers who shouldn't have gotten out the front door. Of course people should be able to pursue any hobby they like, but there is a sharp, clear line between hobby and career. Anybody who is computer saavy and not completely tone deaf can program something that sounds like music, and then can jump around pretending to sing to it. Those people are free to do it all they want, but I prefer they don't ask me to be around when it happens.

Enough about all that. My whole point of writing this post is to proclaim that Karen O has the potential to become the biggest star of her generation. When I watch a show, I pay attention to everything (see above), and it is truly rare to see someone play a crowd the way she does, and clearly enjoy it. It was obvious from the start that it was her show, that no matter what went into making the music, she was the focal point on stage. It was rock and roll at it's finest- majestic, dirty, grandiose, and in your face. My fear over the years has been that MTV would ruin the live show. That bands would either try to recreate their videos to the point that there would be no point in paying to see it done up close and personal, or the other extreme- they eschew any artifice and just stand there in t-shirts, staring sullenly and looking like they want to be anywhere other than on stage. Karen O struck the perfect balance, knowing that some things that happen on stage are stupid, but people pay to see SHOWS as opposed to performances.

Stunday, July 12, 2009

I guess one could say that my uncle M was the gray sheep of the family. He wasn't the Crazy Uncle, or the Uncle In Jail, he just had bigger horizons than Louisville. Growing up, relatives would talk about how I seemed to take after him. How I would probably just up and leave when I grew up, just like M. I had always wanted to meet him, then one day out of the blue, he'd moved back to KY, gotten my number, and called me in SF. We talked for two hours. He told me about touring Europe, playing with Al Green, living the free life of an Artist. He'd returned after 20 some odd years with absolutely nothing to show for what he'd accomplished in life, and wouldn't have changed a thing. He told me not to let anyone tell me how to live, because anyone who isn't driven by the passions we share, won't understand. A couple years later, we finally met. There wasn't much talking this time, we just went into his studio and played for a couple hours. It was rough, sloppy, even cheesy at times, but there was more communication going on than anyone else who was watching would know. I'm glad we got to meet that one time. There won't be another, because my uncle died Saturday night.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Being the fan that I am of balance, there was a flip side to the loss of a kindred spirit. You, faithful reader, may remember R, the woman with whom I share a bond so strong that we allowed each other to live our passions separately, rather than compromise ourselves to be together. I haven't seen her in 11 years, or spoken to her in 6, and not for want of trying. Well, thanks to the addictive miracle of Facebook, I saw a picture of her, taken less than a week ago. Seeing that picture, and feeling what I felt- I truly understand love. Not the lusty giddiness of romance, not the dizzy, whirling dervish of a crush, not even the Emily Bronte thumping chest of unrequited love, but embracing the simple thought of another as the most important thing in the world. The problem with this, is that someday, somewhere, someone is going to read this, and think that she will have to compare. I have no illusions here; R has been happily married with a daughter for most of this decade. This is the totally selfless love that has nothing to do with attraction or even emotional attachment. It's what Rilke was talking about, the ultimate, perhaps that for which human lives are as yet barely large enough.

The United States in America

I used to live on Dolores Street in a flat that had been rented by the same woman for 50 years. She grew up in Colombia, and came to the States in her 20's. We were talking one day, and she asked me what country I was from. When I told her I was American, she told me that she's American too, America is more than the United States.

I'm not big on holidays in general. For most of my adult life, I've been ambivalent about Independence Day, but after living in the Mission for 3 years, I had come to actively dislike it, and now, it actually scares me a little. The active dislike is because I live far enough from gang territory to not worry about it, but close enough that I hear "fireworks" year round. Nerve wracking.

Now here's the scary thing that I realized this weekend: this is a holiday to celebrate the psychotic, sociopathic, and immature nature of government. The idea that were the government a person, it would be institutionalized for life is lifted part and parcel from The Illuminatus Trilogy. I'm not just referring to the US government, in fact, I'm thinking of North Korea, Iran, The Xinjiang province in China, Honduras, Mexico, Darfur...

Anyway, when we have problems with other people, we're supposed to talk them out (at least that's what my parents taught me). Use logic, philosophy, humor, whatever is best in diffusing the situation. The governmental notion of humor is, "do what we say or we will execute you." (A Chinese official really did threaten execution to anyone who dared to protest). For logic: "We don't think you are right , and if you don't agree, we'll kick you out and not listen to you (see Honduras). You get the idea; the point is, every July 4th, we celebrate the fact that our government has been kicking other governments in the nuts and stealing their lunch money for two-hundred thirty-whatever years. Pretty sad, if you ask me.

Really?? I mean really?

I've been on the lookout for a while now, if you take my meaning, and tonight was a good night. A really good night. Not in the "I had a good (nudge nudge wink wink) night" sort of way, but in the, "wow" sort of way.

She's half Belgian and half Spanish, a WTF combination that is right up my alley. There was no small talk, it was straight into philosophy, religion, European vs US culture, language and semantics, and Bucky Fuller. Everything I could possibly ask for. She has dark, Mediterranean looks, speaks French, and is almost six feet tall. How could anything possibly be wrong?

...she just turned twenty one.

She wasn't alive when 'Thriller" was released. She probably knows "Chocolate Rain" better than "Purple Rain." Say Johnny Depp, and '21 Jump Street' won't even be a possibility. F i f t e e n y e a r s separates our ages. She seems to be an old soul, and I am pretty young at heart (the Facebook quiz told me I'm still 27) but day-yum!

I-yi-yi...


UPDATE
I was chatting about last night's events with a friend, and she had something profound to say. It went something like this:

"so?"

Absolute genius. I'm always creating problems before things even get started. I'm picky as hell. No one is ever going to be perfect, so if 95% is there, why let 5% be the deciding factor?

Sometimes It's Nutty, Having Most Everything Said

I just finished writing a new post. It was witty and inventive and told another chapter in a related story. Then I realized that the main thrust of this story divulges a secret that is not ready to be told. Granted, it is highly unlikely that the person who can't know about this secret is going to read my blog, or find out the secret from one of the five or six people who read it.

So, while I would love to tell you, I can't put it out there for the whole world to see. Suffice to say, someone whom I trusted implicitly took away something and someone who was precious to me. He lied to me, he hurt her, and betrayed us both. He was family to me, and I love him for all the things he did, but, knowing what I know now, I can never forgive him. On the other hand, the hurtful, cold, and even crazy things she did make so much more sense now, and while she went too far, I can start to forgive her.

Songs about F*cking

I like sex.

You're probably wondering "who doesn't," and, "why does a declaration need to be made," but think honestly; could you say those three words to anyone, anywhere? In the United States, people are generally obsessed with sex, but hate and fear talking about it.

We have an increasingly agnostic and liberal population, regardless of whether you're in a red state or a blue state. Still, we're stuck in Puritanical views regarding sex. I'm thinking about this in light of the death of David Carradine. More details are coming out about the likelihood of his death being an accidental result of auto-erotic masturbation. So many comments on these news stories disparage him as creepy, deviant, even evil person. Yes, it is a high risk behavior, but so is mountain climbing, or skydiving, or owning a pet chimpanzee, all of which may be seen as a bit crazy, but not in a negative way. Yet somehow, when you bring sex into it, if it isn't straight, missionary style, and in a committed relationship, it's morally wrong all the way up to repugnant.

Does This Apartment Make Me Look Fat?

Facebook is a great tool for sharing info and thoughts with immediate circles, old friends, relatives, celebrities, and their pets. I like reconnecting with old friends and classmates, or being reminded why they had been jettisoned like so much detritus. I recently heard from about the oldest friend I have, in a manner of speaking (we haven't seen one another in at least 25 years). Looking at his page, I saw that he was married with two children and seemingly settled into a happy family life.

Seeing how a sizable number of my friends are in long term relationships, or engaged, or married, or expecting kids, or have kids, this shouldn't have been a big deal. Thing is, I can remember when they met, had a one month anniversary (?) got engaged, etcetera, etcetera. With this guy, one minute he's ten, the next minute he's Bob Saget. It's like not noticing yourself in the mirror until one morning, you get into the shower, catch a glimpse of something and spin around into the Karate Kid pose before realizing that jiggly person in front of you is you.

The jiggly person I'm looking at in the mirror has no defined career path, still lives with housemates and hasn't had a proper date in about a year. On the other hand, while I may not be a rockstar, I've made music that I enjoy, met and worked with some of my heroes, played a few big stages, and been given some coins for doing it. There are no regrets in any of the decisions I've made in life- I know I was not cut out to be a 'picket fencer,' but I think I need to find a little more equilibrium in my life. It's time to go ahead and make a few changes that I've been considering, but for one reason or another, haven't done. There's never going to be a perfect time, so like the old man that kept a bee colony in a shoebox under his bed, 'f*ck 'em, I want the honey.'

Dragon Music

Last Friday was kind of really amazing. More than 'kind of' in all reality.

OK, it was neat, really neat.

It was a performance with some moderately insane musicians, making not-so-easy listening music, and having a blast doing it. In truest improv fashion, not everyone in the ensemble had ever met each other before playing. C&M and N were really sweet to come show support, and seemed to ingratiate themselves with several of my other friends, whether they knew it or not ("who are the Brits? We LOVE them"). While they had some idea of what was going to happen, I don't think AD and AJ knew what they were in for, but they seemed to enjoy themselves anyway. I also enjoyed the little hello that made me remember that Rule #2 is no longer a factor (nudge-nudge, etcetera [I've become a fan of writing out 'etcetera', since I really can't come up with a good reason to abbreviate a word that isn't that long or difficult to spell]), but I have no mojo as of late, so it probably doesn't matter.

The trippy thing about the show was the family vibe. Remember, I have no mojo, let alone a preggers gf, toddlers, teenagers or otherwise. This made me feel very Donny (that's 'out of my element,' for those who don't speak Lebowskese). In an audience of a hundred twenty some odd people, there were at least half a dozen pregnant women (including the one on stage). Despite allergies to cuteness, I have to admit that the baby with shooting range ear protection didn't give me hives. There were also a couple of stories that gave me hope for the future (and might make me consider giving thought to the possibility of recuperative therapy on my baby making gene):

S is a phenomenal drummer with a huge range, but is primarily known for his jazz work. With characteristic non chalance, he mentioned how proud he was that his pre-school age son loves Iron Maiden. When he tried to play AC/DC, his son said, "no Daddy, I like the dragon music." This prompted P to tell how he had just celebrated his younger daughter's ninth birthday by giving her her first stereo system. One would imagine in most households, prepubescent girls are infatuated with whatever pop confection is on MTV or Nickelodeon or whatever the kids do these days- but not P's daughter. No, N loves the Residents. Of course, this reminded me of when P took his older daughter to see the White Stripes, and how after the show, he asked E how she liked it. She said they were ok, but the Ramones are better.

On being a rockstar

"Smell that air... isn't it great to be young and insane?"

Last week, I put my bass in my indestructible Han Solo-in-carbonite case and got on a plane to Portland. The band was to play two shows in support of Thievery Corporation. It was the largest venue I've ever played, and both shows were sold out.

I've realized an odd contradiction about myself recently: I'm a musician and a performer, that is what defines me, but I HATE talking about it. I cringe when someone asks me what kind of music I like. Tell me how much you love the bass, and I'll want to curl up in a fetal position and suck my thumb. Yes, I can get in esoteric, philosophical discussions with other musicians, but for the most part, I would rather talk about unicorns or foot fungus than my favorite bands or what style of music I play.

After one of the shows last weekend, T and I found ourselves in the dressing room, trying, with limited success, to have a quiet moment to decompress. People were pulling us left and right, have a drink, meet this person, etcetera. From the audience perspective, performers are up on stage, having a great time and getting everyone else to join in. That gives the impression that we're all energizer bunnies who do nothing more than party non-stop. ...OK, fine, that image isn't totally unwarranted, but imagine this: You run into a good friend on the street, who introduces you to a new beau. In a brief amount of time, you put effort into shaking hands, making eye contact, and trying to generally make a good impression. Not too taxing, but say that couple gets married, you go to the wedding, and have to do that 50 or a hundred times. If you've done that before, you know how draining it can be by the end of the day. Now try doing it 1500 times in 45 minutes and you'll have an idea of what it's like to be a stage performer. It's pouring your entire being out to a group of strangers, connecting with each one of them and taking them on trip through your soul.

Taking a minute to regroup after that isn't asking too much, is it?

How can we be friends if we can't be lovers?

Sorry to punish the earholes of your mind with a Michael Bolton reference, but it was the first thing that came to mind, and lately, if I think too much about what I'm going to post, I start thinking about something else.

As all five of my faithful readers know,  I don't have the settle-down genome in my DNA. Having a career and a family is not something I have thought too much about. On the other hand, as I get further on with my life, I see people that I don't want to become...

-The 40 year-old dating a college student

-Dennis Hopper in 'River's Edge'

-One those people wearing clothes that are only hip on people half their age (or wears newer versions of the clothes that were hip when he was half his age)

-That guy at the bar whom everyone knows, but secretly wonders what he's still doing at the bar at his age when it's last call on a Monday night?

-Celibate

-Someone who shocks his entire social network by saying, "have you met my new girlfriend?"

Whatever

I'm a follower of M's blog, but she hasn't posted in what seems like forever. I was going to mention this to her, but then I noticed that my last post was the same day as her last post. It isn't as if nothing has happened in the last 39 days, or my computer was broken, or I was in a hut in Borneo with no internet access. I just haven't been able to pull myself away from Color Junction on my iGoogle Homepage. Everybody (yes, I have asked the entire planet's population- thaaat's why I haven't posted) thinks I should get a crackberry or an iClone, but I know me- I'll miss my bus stop because of that ball rolling game, or I'll start sneaking off to the bathroom at dinner parties to post to Facebook.

The real reason I don't get one of those things is that they are too damned big and ugly. I want one that works like a Theremin. Sleek, compact, and with a soundtrack to 1950's horror films. No, there wouldn't be any email, gps mapping, or that ball rolling game, but that's what holograms are for.

The Black Community

About a month or two ago, it was a rainy day, so I put out an umbrella stand at work. One of my coworkers walked by and said something about an umbrellaellaella, which I attributed to tourette's. Someone else walked by and said the same thing, and since you can't get tourette's from sharing the same glass, I asked what they were talking about. This was my introduction to the music of Rihanna. I still haven't heard the song, and I don't care. I actually knew who she was from my daily reading of dlisted.com, where she is known as Alien Princess RiRi. So when I heard about her getting beaten by her boyfriend, all I knew was that she sang a song that would probably annoy me, and that she looks like a Caribbean "7 of 9."

ABC.COM published a story about the reaction of the "Black Community" to RiRi's incident. I can't be certain, but I don't think I ever received any membership information on joining the Black Community. I have no idea where the Black Community Centre is, and I've never been invited to any Black Community Meetings. Is there a Black Community Rep. Theater Company? How about the Black Community Credit Union? If I get a ticket, can I do Black Community Service?

I find it hard to believe that the writers at ABC news would be so obtuse as to think that all Black people share common experiences, values, morals, etcetera. If Anna Kournikova got beaten, would they ask the Russian Community about their view of domestic violence? If Skeletor- I mean Marc Anthony beat up J-Lo... if J-Lo beat up Marc Anthony, would ABC talk to leaders in the Puerto Rican Community? What about Britney Spears? If K-Fed had smacked her, would the reporters head down to the Trailer Park Community?

Beyond the fact that an all inclusive Black Community doesn't exist, who nominated nothing but raspy voiced pastors with questionable verbiage, and friends of Oprah to be the only spokespeople? If those are the leaders of the Black Community, then I'm glad I don't have a membership.

Danzon

When I was pre-pubescent, I would watch Teletunes every Sunday morning with my brother. We spent hours over recordings of our favorite videos, learning dance moves from Malcom McLaren's "Buffalo Gals," and every move made by Prince and Michael Jackson. While other kids played kickball and four square at recess, I practiced breakdancing. I really loved dancing, and when I got older, I could be seen every Thursday at Club America, and when that closed,  I spent Sundays at Synergy, and Tuesdays at the Snake Pit. Somewhere in between, I would put on my purple Cross-Colours jeans and go raving. Everywhere I went, I owned the dance floor, and everyone I danced with owned it as well. I wouldn't go near a dance floor unless everyone there was there to own the dance floor. No drinks allowed, and if you weren't dancing, and I mean shaking your ass, you were pushed to the side.

Tonight, I went to a dance party. I don't dance much anymore, but I got an invitation, which included an open bar and free food. Global financial retardation doesn't allow me to pass up "free" much anymore, so, despite my better judgement, I went. I say "despite my better judgement," because I found out it was a hippy party. I've gotten beyond the idea of hippies being mildly retarded kids with bad hygiene and even worse fashion sense, and grown to understand that modern hippies are pretentious would be artist-types who lack common sense and refuse to see the world for what it is. There's other stuff involved in their misguided communal psyche, but that is irrelevant to this particular post.

Simple fact of the matter is- hippies can't dance. This was the 5th anniversary of some Burning Man polyester bell bottom and sparkly feather boa b.s. that should have inspired serious freakiness, yet was the same "party like it's 1969" craptasticness that pervades San Francisco. Whatever it was that passed for dancing looked more like a bunch of people that needed to pee. Everyone shifted their weight from one foot to the other in a semblance of rhythm to the umptsee-umptsee fuckery coming out the speakers. I couple of women were really trying, but they looked more like they were allowing the spirit of the goddess to inspire their limbs to undulate in a manner evocative of femininity and sexual spirit-awakening while grounded to the earth mother sensuous Gaia Venus water air thing.

I didn't care about looking cool when I was in their place; I cared about tearing up the floor. I wanted to see everyone else tearing up the floor, and we knew we had done our jobs when we didn't know if we were covered in my sweat, your sweat, or the condensation dripping off of the ceiling. Another thing- people can't dance and drink at the same time. The two are mutually exclusive. If you are really dancing, you can't hold on to a drink. If you are really drinking, you can't dance. I'm not saying dancers must be straight edge, I'm just saying drinks have no place on a dance floor- or hippies. 

No, Your Enemy

I've been reading a book lately that has a cast of anti-heroes as protagonists. It reminded me of when I was a kid, and I had gone to a movie with my mom. We went to movies almost every week while I was in grade school, and this one was some ultra-violent post apocalyptic bubblegum that I don't even remember. What stuck in my mind, was the two of us getting in the car, and her asking if I thought I could ever kill anyone. Not the kind of mother-son conversation one is likely to forget. So there I was, 11 or so years old, and my mom is telling me how if there were any people trying to hurt me or anyone else in our family, she was pretty sure she would be capable of killing them. I imagine that would be true of most mothers, but it isn't something that is often discussed.

There are always going to be subtleties in morality. Your vices are my verses, vice versa and versa vice. Take the Israeli offensive going on right now. Opinion is likely split among those who support Israel, those who are outraged, and those that don't care because it isn't happening to them. This is a conflict that has, in one way or another, been going on for over a hundred years. There is no way of saying which side is right and which is wrong. How can there be any sense of morality in this situation?

On a more basic level, everyone has been through times when it was seemingly appropriate to be dishonest, cruel, or just plain wrong, but for the "right" reasons. What, though, are the "right" reasons? I'm inclined to think there are no "right" reasons, just as much as there are no "wrong" reasons. What it comes down to, is that everything is justifiable in one way or another. Not that I'm planning to do a Marquis de Sade and explore every possible depravity, I'm just saying that I can't judge anyone's actions, and no one can judge mine. Each of us has a biased perspective of our own worlds, where each of us are rulers of our domains. For instance, I don't have any interest in having a 9 to 5, coming home to a wife and kids for a night of TV and the occasional weekend getaway/ yearly trip Disneyworld. Some would say that not propagating the species is wrong, sinful, and just plain weird. I would say that there are enough people on the planet, and enough unwanted babies being born to fill all of Angelina Jolie's needs.

If there are no morals then there is no good or bad, just subjective levels of freedom. This is the true nature of anarchy. Say "anarchy," and most people will have visions of Mad Max style living, but anarchy just means, "one should do what one thinks is right at that moment in time." That is about the same thing as "do what thou wilt shall be the only law," the motto of Alistair Crowley, who cribbed the idea from Francois Rabelais (who was a Benedictine Monk, so let's skip over the satanic thing for now). There is an assumption that anarchy would lead to increased "criminal" behavior, but if there aren't laws, there can't be crime.

...OK, that was the flippant answer, the real one is that one is responsible for one's own behavior. Hopefully, as part of that responsibility, one is making decisions informed and infused with love of others and the self. We are a fallible race, so of course not everyone will be looking out for everyone or even anyone else, but that will happen whether or not there are laws in place to redress the minority of truly evil spirited people. There are not many Lex Luthors in the world- people who plan and act out ways to prey on others. Most crimes are crimes of opportunity, committed during a moment of desperation in the perpetrator and weakness in the victim. No, I'm not saying that the victim is asking for it, I'm saying that predators prey on the most vulnerable: it may be the hungry cheetah in the Serengeti who attacks the gazelle that wanders off alone, or it may be the crack addict that attacks the drunk who wanders off into a dark alley. The people in the center of the bell curve don't have much to worry about. No matter what laws are in place, or who is in charge, things don't really change for those being governed.

...but I won't grow a ponytail

I've been geeking out pretty heavily lately. Photoshop is something that I like to fool around with, and I've been doing it for years without any real purpose. Now I feel like my experience is growing into a skill I could actually do something with. I know I just ended a sentence with a preposition, what are you going to do about it? To further my skills, I've been entering Photoshop contests online (where else?).

I told you- GEEK