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.

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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.