A Casual Breakdown of Everything

Silence first, then something to fill it. Sequence the filler. Suddenly, meaning.

That's it. That's all we get to play with.

Silence and sound. Pressure and release. Expectation and fulfillment.

Arrangement!

Points become lines become letters become words become sentences become thoughts become ideas become ideologies become actions become lives become communities become networks become…

In the end, it’s not really all that complicated.

It’s all just silence and something to fill it.

It’s all just a bunch of dots.

Thing of Interest #1 - Blakroc

I will now attempt to document what I am currently enjoying so I won't forget it (as I am oh-so-prone to do). Theoretically, this will be a running series, called "Thing of Interest #" and hopefully I will find the motivation to actually list most of that in which I am interested. We shall see.









Blakroc: My current guilty pleasure. Heretofore I have been ferociously against anything that even smelled of hip hop. Or the "hippity hoppity brigade," as Stephen Fry refers to it:










The general idea being that it is the embodiment of everything ignorant and vile. HOWEVER... I find this to be a rare exception to the rule. The general premise is intriguing to me: What if a rock band wrote rock riffs for rappers to rhyme over? The Black Keys decided to try. And they created a project that they decided to name (in my opinion, quite racistly) "Blakroc," based, I assume, on the hiphop predisposition to misspell easy words, as well as the sheer fact that black people are rocking. Seems simple enough.



But it's the creative process that is the part that intrigues the crap out of me... the collaboration between very, very different art forms. But it iiiis Mos Def. So that's something. And it seems like they produce the lyrics over a very short amount of time, hearkening back to the beat poets of yore, the "first thought best thought" ideal. Very cool, if done well. It seems that in some of the brigadiers there lies some semblance of, dare I say it, genius. But perhaps I go to far...





So I'm listening to this album on low, so no one hears my shame... but my head be bobbin' yo.

Deep Roots

Posted on fb: Friday, December 4, 2009 at 1:27am

I’m crazy for deep roots. The kind that tickle deeply hidden stillwaters, that at a squinted glance correctly infer more than what I know I don’t know, with that irresistible eye-twinkle of mystery that reminds me of the moon on slow-moving rivers at midnight. A slight, pleasant smirk of time-worn wisdom inevitably lingers around the face and peeks out of the most curious little nooks, only to disappear again as if, for some happy moment, you just imagined it.

These are the reincarnated ones.

Their silence is a music of remembrance; their walk, the calm cadence of a moss-covered sundial. Every word they use they have said before, and they could tell you a story about each syllable. A sad story and a happy story, too, if you like.

I want them all to tell me that I’m special… that they’ve seen me someplace before – 1945, in fact – and didn’t I go on and do some really swell things and help a great many people?

And, were that to happen, of course I’d have my reply rehearsed and ready: “No, no that wasn’t me, but I’m proud you think so. Would you mind telling me what they did and how they did it?” I’m still waiting for my chance… but I'm more than alright with just a quick story. A happy one, please.

They all buy cards. Piles and piles of cards. Stacks, mounds, wheelbarrows full of cards. Cradles full of cards. Hospitals full of cards. Hearses full of cards.

They know that all we got is connection.

And there I stand, watching them, a snot-nosed twenty-four-year-old child, staring a fresh life smack between the eyes… looking like a deer disoriented by the moon’s reflection on a slow-moving river at midnight… reaching for the stillwaters…

And trying real hard to grow my roots deep.

Thoughts on Necessity and Art

Posted on fb: Wednesday, December 2, 2009 at 1:46am

In a lot of ways, creativity needs to come from necessity. And perhaps that holds true even in the most ultimate of creations. Did God create the world out of necessity? Not in the sense of “We have to create space and time and everything in it because without it We don’t hold value,” but maybe in a similar sense as someone who has the ability to create something beautiful, but doesn’t, is in some way held responsible for that lack.

Our creative impulse is inextricably linked to the creative nature of our Creator.

Everything that He does is purposeful and necessary.

It addresses a need.

Is that why some art (even by trained artists who should be able to move mountains) is empty of power? And why some art that is technically sub-par is able to draw upon the basic underpinnings of their audience and move the spirit of those that experience it? Time and time again, one can see or hear or read some (pardon) hideous and beastly art-flavored substance that truly affects their intended targets in very positive and productive ways. It’s almost implicit in anything creative that occurs in a modern amateur/volunteer-run religious establishment. It is probable that the success of such anemic endeavors is simply the result of necessity. It isn’t that the audience is unintelligent, or that they are unable to appreciate finely crafted art (although this is undoubtedly the case at times). It’s that the need for the art is so incredibly present that it enables well-meaning but incompetent players to fill it. A thirsty man will still drink dirty water. And with an absence of anything healthier, who can condemn him for his enjoyment of it?

On the other hand, there is the proficient artist who creates art in the absence of necessity. Art for art’s sake, so to speak (all apologies to Wilde and his ilk, but despite their heady ideals they managed to be as functional in their artistic efforts as anyone else in history). He creates a piece that has no connection to any sort of need inherent in others. This artist will then become frustrated that no one else appreciates his expressions. But he forgets that he only meant it to fill his own need. And, unfortunately, this artist doesn’t succeed because art don’t pay no bills (nor should it) unless it addresses more than one person’s need.

[While it is true that quite often it is the case that issues with which an individual artist is struggling are often issues that transcend himself and include a large amount of his peers, but this is, in large part, a happy accident, very hit-and-miss, if approached in such a limited, individualistic manner. The litmus test as to the verisimilitude of the art is in its resonance within the audience to whom the artist presents his art.]

Therefore, in a very “state the obvious” sort of way, the amount of influence that a piece of art has on its audience varies in direct proportion to the amount of necessity that the piece addresses. And influence, in this case, can easily be said to include the amount of enjoyment, or even catharsis, that the audience receives.

[At the risk of redundancy and boredom, it is also important to correlate the degree to which any particular piece meets the requirements of the necessity. If a vessel has three cups of volume, two cups is not sufficient to fulfill the needs of the space. Similarly, four cups is overkill; it’s an unnecessary and inefficient waste of resources. Both examples will inevitably lead to dissatisfaction. The aim is to hit as close to three cups as possible, fulfilling the need but not wasting efforts.]

**addendum… because I can’t let this issue just exist without trying to fix it**
To return to an artistic vision for the church (and those of you who were tagged in this note should know the sense in which I use the word “church”): previously it was mentioned that “It is probable that the success of such anemic endeavors is simply the result of necessity [. . .] It’s that the need for the art is so incredibly present that it enables well-meaning but incompetent players to fill it.” This must be a temporary fix. I’m sorry, but they are placeholders for someone more suited to the task. They are noses doing what fingers should. I’m just picking. No, I’m not. Never should the simple address of necessity be construed as an endpoint, a suitable finish-line toward which to run. It would be a false positive, a dangerous apathy. Dirty water will eventually cease to help and begin to harm. It is the responsibility of those that bear such a second sight, who produce these metaphors and reference points, to continue sanctifying the process. The excellent artist will fuse form with function. He will gauge the necessity and find the appropriate way to fill the need. He will strive to present the absolute best as his sacrifice to his God.

Let's Go.

Posted on fb: Sunday, November 29, 2009 at 2:41pm

Let’s go skydiving and hold hands on the way down.
Let’s go plant a tree in a forgotten forest and visit it over the years like an old friend.
Let’s go to a random concert and have a band sign t-shirts that we wear until the names fade.
Let’s go buy a pizza with anchovies, pick them all off, and share a hot meal with a stray cat.
Let’s go buy AFI’s top 100 movies and watch them all in one year.
Let’s go spelunking and not tell anyone.
Let’s go on a quest to shake hands with Steve Martin.
Let’s go on a week-long cruise and never visit the sleeping cabin.
Let’s go play piano duets in a showroom and put out a hat for tips.
Let’s go have tea with eighty-year-old women and reminisce about old times.
Let’s go read an entire novel out loud, using character voices.
Let’s go trace our ancestries until the trees connect.
Let’s go play Battleship on a battleship.
Let’s go eat a thousand dollar meal.
Let’s go be extras on our favorite TV show.
Let’s go downtown and make faces at rich people.
Let’s go fingerpaint a mural and hang it in the main room.
Let’s go ride together on a sled down a snowy hill in wintertime.
Let’s go learn a language that no one else knows, just for inside jokes.
Let’s go to a remote mountaintop at Perseids and count shooting stars until the sun rises.

Fond

Posted on fb: Monday, November 2, 2009 at 12:29am

What I done read at NGU poetry night, Oct 29, 2009

**I read this at the poetry night at North Greenville University. It was received warmly, but I didn't really get any feedback besides the "oh, you" kind of stuff. So yeah, I was curious as to what you maybe thought about it... i suppose you could call it the time-worn artist's lack of confidence**

When a chef cooks meat, only in rare and very specific circumstances does he use a non-stick pan, even though that would prevent a lot of mess and save him clean-up time. The surprising thing is, the little burned-up bits of meat that stick to the bottom of the pan during the cooking process… the stubborn, shoulder-straining, scrubber-resistant bits that a non-stick pan would prevent… they are some of the most sought-after bits in cooking. They are called the “fond.” This is the story of fond.

When raw meat is put into a hot pan, assuming you know what you’re doing, it doesn’t just burst into flames and turn into a pile of ashes. At the spot where the meat hits the heat, that place where there is the most action, the place where the mechanism of change is being transferred from a source, pieces of cooked flesh adhere to the cooking vessel and are torn away as the meat moves. Yet what takes place during this violent time in the cooking process is not burning, but a chemical process called the Maillard reaction.

Certain foods, like meat, need a good amount of heat to be rendered suitable for their intended dish. The application of said heat to these foods causes their proteins and sugars to react with one another, creating brand new and unique compounds that are responsible for a vast array of tastes and smells that wouldn’t exist otherwise. The Maillard reaction is what makes bread into toast and roasts coffee beans. Without it, foods such as caramel, maple syrup and chocolate could not exist. And it is a result of this reaction that keeps foods cooked in pans from having black layers of char on any surfaces that are come into contact with the heat source. In other words, it allows the food to bend without breaking.

When the meat has completed the cooking process and is GBD (golden brown and delicious… it’s a real term, look it up), it is removed from the heat, leaving the little casualties in the pan with the rest of what was lost during the cooking period (juices, fat, and the like). The chef does not wash the pan at this point, however. It would be a sacrilege, anathema! It is said that in France a novice chef would be mercilessly whipped with baguettes by his coworkers for wasting such a precious commodity. For the fond is used to create what is most succulent about any well-prepared dish: the sauce. The more fond, the better, as it is used to infuse the essence of the cooked ingredient into an accentual addition that transforms a one-note dish into a gourmet meal. Once the meat is done cooking, the chef removes it from the heat and places it on a covered plate to rest. Using a deglazing liquid such as water, milk, or wine, the fond is then coaxed from the bottom of the pan and becomes a flavor base on which to build the sauce.

Without the fond, a sauce would lack cohesiveness in its taste profile, keeping it from complimenting the meal. In other words, it would be a stranger, devoid of context, intruding onto the plate. The meal would be neither complete nor satisfying.

With the fond, a pan-built sauce completes a meal, unifying the disparate parts into a single work of art, worthy of high prices and snooty waiters.



Sometimes I wonder how much fond-ness I really want to bring to this party.

Show and Tell

Posted on fb: Tuesday, June 30, 2009 at 4:00pm

SHOW AND TELL

In the interest of sharing cool things that influence us, i was hoping that maybe this might help someone if they are looking for new and cool stuff. And hopefully you will share too!

Here's a compilation of videos that have either introduced me to, given me new appreciation for, or solidified my admiration for different artists in the past few years.

1. Sigur Ros - Glosoli

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zr_MJAOyOeU

-Sigur Ros introduced me to "post-rock." I am now a raving post-rock junkie. And yes, I know that most of their lyrics are Icelandic, but come on... who really cares when the music is so beautiful. Additionally, Sigur Ros knows that most of their fans are English-speaking and have purposefully put gibberish amidst the Icelandic, just for fun. Tell me that's not awesome. And with name like "Victory Rose" (named after the lead singer's sister that was born around the same time as the band), Sigur Ros is a must-listen, endlessly re-listenable.

A few additional Sigur Ros video recommendations:
Hoppipola - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_EyI4p0yjDQ
Saeglopur - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7yjurf5d6X0
Trailer for their tour film "Heima" - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZYIfUdIyfs
Random Life Appearance in Paris - http://vimeo.com/3814849

2. Battles - Atlas

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpGp-22t0lU

- I was walking through the mall a couple of years ago and literally stopped, turned around, and went into a shoe shop to finish watching the video and find out whose song this was. Battles is in the genre of "math rock," which is another snooty yet amazingly cool sect of musicians that specifically construct their compositions around odd time signatures. Their vocals are meant as instrumentation and add an odd robotic and almost menacing feel to the already rather intimidating music.

Additional video suggestions:
Live performance of Atlas on Jools Holland - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5LvoBRS1Mk
Tonto - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1LLAN29W-4w
NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART: An entire concert - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3PbYLafK1OU

3. Arcade Fire - Neighborhood #1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Hh45-yBMXY

- Finding these live videos were some of the most invigorating few minutes that I've had online in a very long time. I had listened to their album "Funeral" on and off for a few weeks and was about to give up on them... i couldn't really find a way in. But when I figured out that they are really only a massive ragtag band from a random Canadian music school and named after a fire that happened in an arcade there, and saw their huge stage presence and fun theatricality, I came to love them. Please check out the video suggestions to get the full experience. You really can't miss the "helmet-as-percussion" bit on Neighborhood #2. Or the crowd reaction at the end of Rebellion (Lies). Goose bump city. In top 3 of my "I really want to see them live" list of concerts.

Additional video suggestions:
Neighborhood #2 - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vMjM7FKjIg
Oh Sweet Creativity - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-5XK-2Ufd4
One of the best Letterman performances I've seen - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Mum6ggkBJs
Being way bad-A - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nRm1tkMs1mw
Greatest Audience Response on Rebellion (Lies) - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5l7fBwAmmc

4. Animal Collective - My Girls

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zol2MJf6XNE

-"My Girls" isn't necessarily my favorite Animal Collective song... HOWEVER... I feel it is probably the most accessible one that I could find. Animal Collective is weird. And yet, so awesome. It takes patience to find the groove, but the reward for doing so is... well, quite. So! I found out that it isn't the band that's having problems with their music, it was my ears. And now I'm a huge fan. So start with "My Girls" and then move on to the other suggestions... it totally opened me up to a whole new side of music. And that's the whole point of this note, isn't it?

Additional video suggestions:
You'll prolly need this explanation before full exposure: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Animal_Collective
Animal Curses - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h7GZLRxVzvg
Peacebone - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fxvGHQHiY70
Live 1- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3ConWnoe5g
Live 2 - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YLL_RuWjgP8
Oddest Letterman Performance - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ehLEHxvl9rA

5. Slam Poetry

- Fine, so these next videos aren't necessarily music, but they might as well be. I'm only putting my favorite favorites because there are too many good ones to just put them all. So... Start at the top and go down, i guess. Drink deeply and have your life rocked.

The first slam poem I experienced -
Scratch and Dent Dreams - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JfTa4B7wQ_8

ANIS MOJGANI
3 poems - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=znIXyFh6dsI
Milos - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbYmRaPirnY

VERSIZ
Out There - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hYMy5Mp-X6A
The Process - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Bckjq6TlyY

BUDDY WAKEFIELD
Flockprinter - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jw2MZ2xpdUA

SAUL WILLIAMS
Coded Language - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpEAsSzmS34



OK... enough of the epic stuff. Here are just some good videos that I've dug up or been sent that have influenced some of the ways that I view performance.

6. Imogen Heap - Just For Now
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25VGdNU3nrU

7. Grizzly Bear - Two Weeks
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjecYugTbIQ

8. Avett Brothers - Distraction #74
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-15vouXYVs


So now, if you will, please respond in kind. Let me know of the artists, videos, performances, experiences, or whatever that have influenced you in the past few years. Among all of us, we can keep the well of influence nice and deep.

The Statesman

Posted on fb: Wednesday, November 5, 2008 at 4:24pm


The Statesman
By Matthew Martinez

Once upon a vote night dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious channel, lying on the floor,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly the sounds of clapping,
As of some one bust-a-capping, capping on some distant shore.
‘ ‘Tis some loony punk,’ I muttered, ‘clapping for some Senator -
Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak November,
And each news show’s whining member wrought its host to tell the score
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to follow
All the tales surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the dying Poor –
For the sad and stupid people whom the pundits name The Poor –
Nameless there for evermore.

And the silly sad uncertain rustling of each red/blue curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some miracle entreating entrance on the Senate floor –
Some late miracle entreating entrance on the Senate floor; -
This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
‘Wolf,’ said I, ‘or Brokaw, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so briskly you came yapping,
And so loudly you came clapping, clapping for some Senator,
That I scarce knew that it was you’ – here I peered right to their core; -
Partisan and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Horror!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Horror!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into my bedroom turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a clapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my television;
Let me see then, stay derision, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis McCain and nothing more!'

It is here I changed the channel, when, emerging from a panel,
In there stepped a stately black man that I think I’d seen before.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above the Senate floor -
Perched upon a bust of George Bush just above the Senate floor -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this Senator beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly slim young politician wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the statesman, `Not Al Gore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly man to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing such above the Senate floor -
Black or white above the sculptured bust above the Senate floor,
With such name as `Not Al Gore.'

But the statesman, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one phrase, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – only dollar bills he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other men have run before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as the candidates before.'
Then the man said, `Not Al Gore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Not Al- Not Al Gore."'

But Obama still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of man and bust and floor;
Then, upon the futon sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this Democrat man of yore -
What this slim, infamous, ghastly, gaunt, Illinoisan Senator
Meant in croaking `Not Al Gore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the screen whose fiery rays now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
Gazing on my wall’s thick lining that the TV gloated o’er,
But whose GOP stained lining with the TV gloating o’er,
Shall support, ah, not Al Gore!


Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of before!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and the primaries ignore!'
Quoth the statesman, `Not Al Gore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if man or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the statesman, `Not Al Gore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if man or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore –
Tell this vote with sorrow laden if, within the distant future,
We shall get a man to nurture our sick land and drill offshore –
Get a strong and willing leader, whom the Senate won’t ignore?’
Quoth the statesman, `Not Al Gore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, friend or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the race and Senate floor!
Take thy words from out my heart, and tell me who I’m voting for!'
Quoth the statesman, `Not Al Gore.'

And the statesman, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of George Bush just above the Senate floor;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a statesman that is dreaming,
And the cameras o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Hence has voted – not Al Gore!

Let the Pants begin.

As the coders say: "hello world."

I have decided to start an official blog in hopes that I won't keep bugging everyone on facebook with incessant notifications of new notes.

The first few posts following this one will be transplants from said fb notes.

But! to mark the occasion, I will now recite new stuff that has happened in the last few days (that's what a blog's for, isn't it?):

• I shaved off two months of facial hair growth, effectively clogging the sink in the bathroom.

• I spent $31.27 at Mr. K's used bookshop on two Baudelaire poetry books, "The Subterraneans" by Jack Kerouac, "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" by James Joyce, "Theatre and Drama in the Making" by Gassner and Allen, "Wise Blood" by Flannery O'Conner, and "Genius" by Harold Bloom. *bows*

• Colt bought a Wii and we've played it quite a bit. The only game we have so far is Super Mario Bros, which is a good game to start a Wii on. Colt bought it from a sketchy dude on Craigslist, and, after driving thirty minutes on the wrong road before finding his house, I watched what looked like a drug deal as Colt made the transaction. And even though it was at the guy's house, he still had it in his back pocket and wouldn't bring it out until the money was paid. Classy.

That's about it for now. The next ones will be the transplants. As if the distinction really matters on a blog.