Sharp. Really sharp.

I was just skimming a book on Jackson Pollack and it re-awakened my desire to be on the cutting edge. Unfortunately that edge is a long way from where I stand. Not like the fab D-Ray, she's so on it that I doubt she ever needs to shave her legs. Oh, and yes that is an accordion and no, it doesn't suck. You ain't never heard sounds like the ones she gets (wrangles, manipulates, outright-pillages) outta that thing!

Posture and Philosophy

We played the bikefest last weekend. Our first gig in at least a year. The whole band was a bit trepidatious; we haven't practiced much in the last couple of months. Half way through the first song there was a noticeable change in mood. It was like we all realized at the same time that: "Yes, we know how to do this!" Not only was it more fun than monkeys wearing pants, but we played better than we've done in a long, long time.

So much of music is in the brain. Assuming you've spent the time getting your hands to obey orders, a good performance comes down to attitude and mindset.

I've been practicing standing up straight. I've had bad posture since my early teens and I used to suffer terrible back spasms. None of the myriad advice I was given worked, possibly 'cause most of it didn't make sense. I mean, how exactly does pretending there's a balloon attached to your head help? I felt like I should be ducking in doorways and avoiding anyone with a lit cigarette.

The hardest part about standing up straight is remembering to do it. I have to force myself to remember when I'm taking a shower, washing dishes or playing guitar. It feels really strange, strange "down there" when I try and be more, er, erect whilst playing guitar. Something about that pelvic tilt stirs the Rock God in me. I want to stick out my tongue, put my foot up on the monitor and make the girls scream. Fortunately the ironic/sarcastic portions of my brain are overdeveloped. There's little possibility I'm going to make an ass of myself by rocking out too much. In fact other than bobbing my head there's little moving I'm going to do at all. The curse of Classical training.

I'm going to have to learn to move around a bit if we're going to gig more, and that is the plan. Or so I'm told. Play a few gigs and use the money to record in some guys livingroom studio. Sounds good to me, I'm tired of trying to make P happy with the recordings I've been doing.

The other thing I've been thinking about is philosophy. Specifically the nature of reality. Seems like I'm surrounded by new-age hippy types, all of whom are trying to convince themselves that they're more powerful than they actually are.

There's nothing wrong with self improvement and there's certainly nothing wrong with valuing one's self, but there are limits. When you start to believe that the whole universe is subject to your will, that's when you lose me. We certainly create our own circumstances by the actions we choose, but reality as a whole? No way.

To believe that would be to deny those great moments of community that happen when playing with the band. Those moments when the group rises above the sum of it's parts, when things go goosebumpy in the night. Moments like we had halfway through R ubber D uckie last weekend.
If I create the universe out of whole-cloth then everything I around me is, well, me. The others in the band couldn't be separate entities that I've managed to achieve a fleeting and wondrous connection with. At best they'd be parts of myself that I was unaware of. A worthy goal I suppose, meeting the hidden parts of ones psyche, but in this case I refuse to believe that's what's happening.

My universe is inhabited by more than just me. And I don't mean light-beings, spirit-guides or pod-people. (Well, I'm not entirely sure about the latter.) No, my universe is full of humans: strange, wondrous, almost unfathomable in their thoughts and actions. I cherish those instances of connection that go deeper than day to day communication. Those moments, that for me, come from a band in full cry, eight hands speaking with one voice. Keep your crystals, chakras, signs and spaceships-behind-the-comet, humanity is mystery enough for me.

*That's me, hiding on the left. Yup, I wear my guitar really high, another curse from a Classical upbringing. Can yah say "Rawk God"? Hmmph, me neither.

Primal

Been thinking a lot about exclusivity. We're had a minor flood last week. The big river was about 6 or 7 meters above it's normal level. Nothing too severe, there are a few houses with flooded basements but not many.

I live near the river and ride along it every day getting to and from work. There's always people about, especially on nice summer days, but never that many. The flood brought out the gawkers. Can't really blame them 'cause I've been gawking some myself. But they are annoying me. There's a little voice that complains every time I have to go around a group. One that says "You don't belong here." Primitive territorialism rearing it's hoary old head.

I've never felt this way about the music I've made, even when I was in a regularly gigging band. The few times I was confronted by a fan I felt embarrassed. For me, cause I never felt what we did was that great and for them cause why the hell would anyone waste their time listening to this crap for? Hey, I had self-esteem issues, er, well, "have" is the proper tense.

I wonder now if I should be more territorial, if that's a route to valuing what I do? I know I have it in me, over and above my current annoyance at the flood gawkers.

On our trip to Ireland the LUC and I attended a gala dinner/dance for the conference. She loves dancing and I do too, but I've never learned how to dance with someone. In my early 20's I spent one summer going to a nightclub every night, seven days a week. I was too shy to try and pick someone up and too poor to drink much so I spent a lot of time dancing by myself. I loved it. Dervish trance all the way. So the LUC and I get up to dance and she looks around smiling at everyone, everyone but me. Or so it seemed at the time. Lots of guys come up and talk to her, people she's met at the conference. Most of them don't know about me. A percentage of them, and not an insignificant percentage, have a little more on their mind than just saying "Hi". Nothing serious and no cause for alarm on my part, not really. But somehow I got really jealous. Not a proud moment. (I went for a walk, gave 10 euros to a homeless guy sleeping on the steps of a church and felt better about myself)

I lack these feelings in regards to music I've created. I don't share it with the world because I don't value what I do rather than wanting to possess it all for myself. It's in me somewhere, that "Me, Mine!" territorialism. I can see how that feeling, transferred to my creative work, could be motivating. Make me more likely to put something out, get over my apprehension. I kinda like the idea of my inner caveman bullying my inner-child; the whiney little git needs a good spanking. Or maybe some cookies and a nap, hmmm, nope that's my outer-adult that wants Bourbon Cremes and bit of a lie down...Tah.

Flummoxed, Flabbergasted and Flattered

A couple of days ago the fabulous Jett Superior wrote a post triggered by something I wrote. Wow. Hell, calling it a post is to do it a dis-service, it was nothing less than a rhapsody. I take no credit for it, but am overjoyed to have provided a spark for one of my fav bloggers. For those of you who didn't get here through the link in her post: go now, read her work, savour the verbal fireworks, humour, irreverence and honesty that is the Superior way.

Noisy Old World

Well, I'm back. The trip was a long one. Well, it was only three weeks but we did so much that it seemed longer. I'm too tired to write anything coherent, in fact I'm barely able to type. Jet lag is such a first world problem that I can't complain about it. Or at least I can't complain about it without feeling a twinge of guilt. The vast majority of humanity never gets farther than 50 miles from home in their whole life. Here I am, having just flown back from across the Atlantic having had the opportunity to explore another country and I'm going to whinge about being a little tired? OK, I am but...well...there's the twinge.

[The next morning]

Ah, that's better, nothing like a good sleep in your own bed.

So, on to the music. I spent some time considering the musical nature of transportation. Things in motion have a rhythm almost by default. But where is that rhythm in a plane? It's not like a train clacking over the tracks, the deep throb of a ship or even the swaying of a bus. All there is is a hiss. Very un-musical. But after too many hours in the air, bored of my book, uninterested in the movie and with the LUC asleep, I noticed something. That hiss had harmony.

It was composed of three distinct parts. One very high frequency hiss, another a bit lower, not more than an octave or two and a much lower frequency roar. I'm guessing that they were caused by, from top down, the plane's air pressurizing system forcing air into the cabin, the wind of our passage against the fuselage and the engine noise vibrating the whole plane. My ears aren't good enough to tell what the actual harmonic relationship was, but any two notes sounding at the same time is harmony regardless of their relationship.

The jet age, it's all about speed baby. It's certainly not about comfort or beauty. The clip clop of horse hooves brings a smile to most, it's almost restful. The clickity clack of trains is a well know sound of romance as are those made by big ships These are human sounds, despite their mechanical (or equine) sources. Their frequencies are within the range of human heart beats and that makes them comfortable. The noise of a plane is pure industrial. It's frequencies are so fast that it becomes a hiss and a roar. It's not on a human scale. Despite that, it is musical.

The harmony of an airliner is one unending chord. It speaks of speed and efficiency but it also speaks of life. The environment outside a plane at cruising altitude is deadly. If any of the three sounds were to stop you'd be in a world of trouble. Heartbreaking pictures on the nightly news kinda trouble.

In the end all sound is life, that's what the plane was whispering to me in it's un-aesthetic way. Everything we hear is created by life or in some way necessary for life. Coughs, snores and sniffles. Barks, howls and chirps. The neighbour's lawn mower, a passing car, a distant siren. These are all obvious sounds of life. But so too are storm winds tearing up trees and houses. It's the sound of the world's lungs at work. Thunder on a summer's night promises life giving rain. The roar of a forest fire is the sound of old growth giving way to new.

Life, it's everywhere and it won't shut up: music universal and unending.

Holidays

I'm on holidays, in fact I'm in Dublin. Great trip so far.

Musically, I've discovered that airplanes do indeed make music, albeit very monotonously and that an Irish crowd has a different sound than a Canadian one. Still haven't heard any live indigenous music, but then it all seems a little touristy when we find it.

Tah for now.