Archive for the ‘Media’ Category

Time for some Googlebombing

Tuesday, January 3rd, 2006

According to digg, Bjoern Harste, a German blogger, received a cease and desist order from his city regarding his blog. Apparently, they want him to stop using their name in his blog, because it’s coming up in the top 10 on Google and they don’t want surfers to think that his blog is associated with the city. Obviously, Sozialgericht Bremen doesn’t quite understand how Google works.

I can’t read the German, but I ran it through Google translation. Besides, Cease and Desist orders just piss me off. Everybody’s so damned touchy about their image and so forth. WTF ever.

If you want to help the city out, please don’t link to http://www.shopblogger.de/blog/archives/2715-Der-Brief-vom-Sozialgericht.html with “Sozialgericht Bremen” as your link text, as this would push Bjoern’s page even higher in the ranking. Wink, wink.

Ha… No Updatey

Monday, January 2nd, 2006

I never update this thing. What can I say? I’m lazy.

Today was one of those days that make me question my direction in life. I’m a Computer Science major. Working with computers is my job, my path in education, my hobby, and eventually will be my career.

So why am I so easily pissed off by them?

The story: I was planning on going over to Chris Rose’s house to trade some local band CDs, check out his studio, etc. I have a punk CD I recorded last year, but I remixed some songs a few months ago. All I have that was ready to go on CD was the old mixes. I thought, hell, I can rebounce the unmixed files, remaster them, and be done in a few hours, right?

Wrong!

First, GarageBand apparently decided that it needed to fix the timing of the vocal tracks on some songs. Which is great, except they were already on time. So I listened to a song, heard it was off, and double-checked. The timeline showed that it was on time. “Whatever”, I said, and pushed the track forward by ear so the words were once again in time to the music.

It only got worse from there.

I use Pro Tools Free with free RTAS for mastering. But it’s only available with Mac OS 9. Luckily, my Dad has about 20 old Macs, and one’s a second-gen iMac. I started mastering, then realized that I was putting everything in mono. This was about 7:30pm, and my target time for getting over to Chris’s was about 5:00pm. It was only after another hour of mastering that I realized that I had no way to get the newly mastered songs off the computer. This particular iMac had broken FireWire. I had to burn a CD of the files just to get them on there in the first place. I tried two USB flash drives — no dice. They’re probably NTFS, while OS 9 demands FAT32. The thing didn’t see my iPod in disk mode, either. Blehhhh.

Then, as I was mastering the last song, the damn thing crashed. I rebooted, and got nothing on the screen. That was my ‘fuggit’ moment. I’d had enough. I burned CDs of the old stuff, and was off.

Chris’s studio setup was nice. The man got a Mac and some nice equipment. I’m jealous ;-). If I ever bought that much stuff, I think it would upset Carrie quite a bit. Right, too — I need to get a car, first.

Then I got on MySpace. I’ve hated it from the start, but finally got on there so I could keep up-to-date on Killing the Hare, the last of the ‘old skool’ Bitterroot Valley punk rock bands.

Crap…

Monday, June 27th, 2005

US Supreme Court rules against Grokster.

This could set a precedent that might, in theory, make VCRs and tape decks illegal.

Not good, not good.

Review: Star Wars – Revenge of the Sith

Thursday, May 19th, 2005

George Lucas had quite a lot to do in Revenge of the Sith, his final installment in the Star Wars saga. This film, sitting as it does between the other prequels and A New Hope, had to be the bridge between them. As I entered the theater I wondered, with some trepidation, whether good ol’ George could pull it off. Could he make this movie as entertaining, action-packed, and enlightening as Episodes IV-VI, or would it fall flat like its two predecessors, awash in woody acting, bad dialog, and waaaaaaay too many scenes about “tort reform” or whatever it is that the Galactic Senate is squabbling about?

The answer is — thankfully, resoundingly — yes! Revenge of the Sith is the best of the Star Wars prequels. Alone, this is not saying alone, but I shall be so bold as to say that it might be the best Star Wars movie of them all. This may sound like blasphemy to some, but I assure that my assertion is grounded in reason and not the thrill of popcorn and droids and explosions and soda.

This film succeeds so wildly because it is about a man. It might as well have been named Star Wars: Anakin’s Fall. The other films had character moments, especially Return of the Jedi, but none of them captures a story as powerful as the drama and tragedy of the rise of Darth Vader. The movie chronicles, in sometimes excruciating detail, what drives Anakin Skywalker to the dark side of the Force. Anakin’s fall is natural; it doesn’t feel rushed or unexplained. We can even be thankful for the awful scene in Attack of the Clones when he tells Padme of how he killed all the Sand people, because it showed his darker and more vulnerable side. Anakin’s tears flow from the knowledge of what he is becoming, and more strikingly they flow because he knows he is powerless to stop his transformation.

It is all, to quote Peter Parker, all for the girl. And this time, believe it or not, there are even moments of chemistry between Padme and Anakin. I really felt, for the first time, that Anakin was doing everything for her.

But drama does not a Star Wars flick make. There was action — tons of it. Exploding, riveting, bodies and spaceships careening everywhere! This film had more action than either of the first two. The pacing felt right, and not spread out and thin like in the other prequels. Sometimes, Lucas even manages to meld the drama and the action. For example, when Palpatine orders the Jedi exterminated, we get to see the very real repercussions of his mandate.

In viewing this film, you have to cut your losses. You know how it’s going to turn out; you know that the Jedi can’t win. But even small victories feel rewarding as the order and ideals of the Old Republic crumble into the foundations of the Galactic Empire. Anakin loses his battle with evil and succumbs to it, scarring his mind and body, but Obi-Wan escapes. Palpatine faces Yoda, power is tested, and Yoda lives to fight another day. These are the only comforts in a galaxy that is slowly consuming itself with fear and cowardice. It is a dark, dark movie, but even in its darkest moments, there is a germ of hope: just look at the title of Episode IV.

Star Wars Costume

Thursday, May 19th, 2005


For this film, I decided to splurge and dress up. I found some instructions and got underway.

First, the Lightsabre. $7.00 at K-Mart.

Next, the costume. Unfortunately, because I picked the priciest place in town, I paid about $40 for all the cloth.

A white T-shirt underneath and a brown pair of paints completed the look. I think it turned out really relly.

C.C. is sporting his Sith costume — my black jacket, black pants, and a black T-shirt. He already had the Darth Maul lightsabre.

Special thanks to Mom and to Maggie for helping with the sewing.

Serendipity

Wednesday, April 13th, 2005

It’s half past midnight on a Thursday. I’m brushing my teeth in the first-floor bathroom of Jesse Hall. As the mundane events of the day tumble through my brain like grains of sand in an hourglass, I hear something. It’s quiet, but unmistakeable. “Ode to Joy.” Beneath my feet. Someone’s playing fiddle in the music practice room. Not super-fancy music-major pyrotechnics. Just good, honest-to-God fiddle.

I like to record music, and since I’m the only person I work well with, I like to do it alone. Unfortunately, my music misses the instrumentation I can’t play myself — pretty much everything but guitar, bass, and keyboards. Here’s a chance to get a real instrument in one of my songs, a musician besides myself. Of course, I have to get the building’s master key (I’m on the staff) to get into the music room. Would that seem weird to the fiddler under my feet? “Hi, I’m Dave, and I like to record music. Care to work with me?”

Or I could just go to bed. It’s late. Work is early tomorrow morning. And my teeth are brushed. What if the mystery fiddler is an exchange student, and I somehow intimidate him or her? What if they say no?

Ultimately, time becomes the deciding factor. As suddenly as it had started, it stops. I spit out my toothpace, race to the office, and grab my master key. At the elevator, I press both the down and up button, in case I catch the fiddler on his way up. He should be pretty easy to see, right? The guy with the fiddle?

I get to the basement and the door of the music room. No fiddling. I open the door, and there’s Nick. He’s a student in my building. We say hi when we pass by each other. We’ve even had one or two philosophical conversations. There’s a fiddle at his feet.

“Hi,” I say. “Wanna make some music?” I don’t have a fiddle part written. I don’t even have a song written.

But there’s plenty of time.

Rocky Horror is On

Tuesday, April 5th, 2005

How do I constantly find opportunities to wear women’s clothing? Last year for my Acting II class I played a queen (a medieval queen, smartass), replete with gigantic prom dress, huge high heels, and a tiny tiara. And last summer, I got conned into playing Dr. Frankenfurter in a local cast show of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. This, obviously, was a step up (or down), as I was now wearing women’s underwear, as well. And a corsette. And pearls.

And now I’m doing it again. The show will be on May 14th, the day after the last day of finals week. Most of the original cast (at least, the major players — Brad, Janet, and Eddie/Dr. Scott) will be returning as well. We’ll get seven weeks to practice, instead of one. It should be fun.

More details will be appearing as I get them. Maybe even some pictures and crap.

Review – With the Lights Out

Wednesday, December 1st, 2004

For The Obsessed:



For Others:

I have to admit to having been obsessed with Nirvana. When other class of ’02 kids were saving money for Nintendo 64’s in eighth grade, I was saving money for the Nirvana singles box set from CDNow. I was also saving money to order an import (the Japanese Hormoaning CD) from someone via e-mail, of all things! I was the kid sending two blank Maxell’s to some guy for a tape of rare Nirvana stuff. I even had a Nirvana lyrics website that got quite a few hits in its heyday, but has since been supplanted by superiour successors. In short, you could say I was a fan.

As a Nirvana fan, I love this stuff. Questions we’ve had for years (What’s the real name of “In His Hands”? What to call what we called “Verse Chorus Verse”?) have been answered (“In His Hands” was actually “Verse Chorus Verse.” “Verse Chorus Verse” was actually “Sappy.”). In addition to stuff we couldn’t get ahold of and high-quality versions of what we could, there are also demos — tons of them. From a boombox recording of “Teen Spirit” to acoustic demos of stuff from In Utero, this disc has a little of everything.

A little of everything — that’s the problem. See, on the 60-page booklet, there are lists of recording sessions. Songs included in the box set are listed in bold, the rest, in roman. And there are so many roman-face songs in those lists. So many interesting things that die-hard fans like me would love to hear, but can’t, yet. The die-hard, money-wastin’ freak in me is waiting for Nirvana — The Complete Studio Sessions. That would have been an interesting way to organized this set — I’d like to see a full CD of ‘rare’ tracks recorded in the studio. And one of acoustic demos. How about all the In Utero demos on one disc, all the Nevermind demos on another, all the stuff from the sessions at Reciprocal Studios on one or two more? I’m a content completist (just look at my Bad Religion collection or newly-purchased Bloom County/Outland books), meaning that I want all that’s available to absorb from my obsessions. I want to have every Nirvana song. I’m close, and this set brings me closer, but I want it all.

There’s a lot of poor-quality stuff. Hence, the rating for the obsessed (me) and others. Personally, it gives me goosebumps, partially because I like to record similar stuff myself and because of how haunting it can be. Aside from “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, which inexplicably is included in a version that does not differ from that on Nevermind (Devalued Teen Sense Purchase Incentive Track, anybody?), With the Lights Out will turn off the Teen Spirit- and Heart-Shaped Box-fans. But Nirvana’s always had a thick coat of sludge — in cryptic coats of mumbled lyric, screaming feedback, and Drop-C# bass riffs. See past the sludge, however, and there’s the beauty: haunting, burning, ephemeral.


PS — I came across an Amazon.com recommendation list called “Where isn’t there a Nirvana US? Cultural Imperialism” or something. Basically, its author was complaining about bands from Britain with (U.K.) appended to their names. I’ll tell you what, we here in the US sure are oppressing the British, what with distinguishing between U.S. bands (bands here, one might say), and bands in the U.K! On behalf of America, I aplogize and offer a compromise — you got 200 years imperializing, and we’re almost done with ours. Any consolation?

The Flogging Molly Paper

Saturday, November 6th, 2004

[Keep in mind that while I had lots of fun writing this paper, it still has lots of academic windbaggery. Also, I had to integrate texts from other readings we’ve done into the paper, so if you don’t know what No Telephone to Heaven Is, don’t blame yourself.]

Flogging Molly is at the forefront of a new niche in punk rock music: the Irish punk band. In the tradition of the Pogues, Flogging Molly combines traditional Irish music with the more contemporary sounds of rock ‘n roll. The band takes this fusion one step further than the Pogues, however, because their songs typically incorporate the madcap, four-on-the-floor rhythm and energy of punk rock. It is fitting, then, that on their newest album, Within a Mile of Home, there is a song about the Caribbean, called ‘Tobacco Island.’ Like the plantation slaves who melded the music of their homelands with that of their white oppressors (which would eventually become rock ‘n roll), Flogging Molly’s song does something similarly subversive: it combines punk rock, a creation of Ireland’s former oppressors, and its own traditional songs. Through the mixing of genres, the song subverts. ‘Tobacco Island’ similarly undermines this oppression through its lyrics. The song transforms a kidnapped Irish slave into one of the African slaves, throwing into question the notion that skin color makes one the slave and another the master.

Traditionally, songs about the Caribbean have been about the surf, the sun, and the sand. Probably the ultimate example of this trend is ‘Kokomo’ by the Beach Boys: the song is plea from one lover to another to come to the sunny islands of the Caribbean. ‘Tobacco Island’ throws this convention out the window. Instead of treating its island, Barbados, as a tropical paradise, the song addresses the slaughter and destitution of slave life, drawing parallels between the African slaves and the oppressed Irish people. The song’s speaker is an Irishman sold into slavery, and he makes no mistakes about where he is going in the song’s chorus: “All to hell we must sail / For the Shores of sweet Barbados / Where the sugar cane grows taller / Than the god we once believed in.” These initial lines set up the parallels between the Irish people and the African slaves by leaving little room for misinterpretation about where the speaker is going (and his displeasure at the thought) while simultaneously leaving open to interpretation the origin of the speaker. The first four lines give no hint as to who the speaker is; he is merely another passenger on a slave ship and could be of either race. The speaker, if he is an Irishman, has lost his faith in God; if he is an African, then he will eventually lose the religion and culture of his homeland.

The first verse draws parallels between the invasion of an African village by slavers and the massacre at Drogheda, Ireland in 1649. Oliver Cromwell was sent to Ireland to quell Catholic uprisings, and Drogheda stands out as his campaign’s most shameful moment. Although Cromwell had instructed his soldiers to hold their fire, negotiations broke down and they stormed the city. Almost every person in the city was killed, including women and children. There were about thirty survivors who were rounded up and sold into slavery in Barbados. Although this verse specifically mentions Cromwell, if we disregard these lines then we can see the connection already established between the Irish speaker and his fellow slaves on Barbados. He speaks of how he and his brethren were “Blackened from the sun,” becoming similar in appearance to the African slaves who toiled alongside him. Seeing no hope for rescue, the speaker proclaims, “This rotten cage of Bridgetown / Is where I now belong.” The speaker becomes a nomad, a recurring theme in the Caribbean literature we’ve read: Clare from No Telephone to Heaven feels the same way, as does the speaker in ‘Wherever I Hang.’

Another repetition of the chorus follows, creating a transition between the Irish and African people on the island. The second verse of ‘Tobacco Island’ could come from either a slave from Barbados or one of the banished Irishmen. It is filled with imagery of suffering and torture, of blisters and blood and “floggings… aplenty.” The speaker laments the fact that he was ‘”Paid for with ten shillings.” Slavery dehumanizes all by putting a price on each slave’s head, regardless of race. Master and slave alike are dehumanized by this transaction. As in the chorus, it is difficult to tell who this speaker is, and this ambiguity reinforces the idea of combination, of intermixing culture. The final lines provide additional insight into this theme of hybridity. After a day working in the fields, the Irish and African slaves join under the moon, ‘together danc[ing] as one.’ The two peoples may have been different in their home nations, but slavery has united them, both as the merchandise they have become and through their resistance through song and dance. The idea of musical resistance is a theme repeated throughout the texts in our course, from the singing mob at Leopold’s arrest in Sugar Cane Alley to Christophine’s singing to protect Antoinette in Wide Sargasso Sea. Another theme that recurs in the literature we’ve read in our course is hybridity. The Irishmen and Africans in the song become two of one, like Harry/Harriet in No Telephone to Heaven or Antoinette in Wide Sargasso Sea. They belong nowhere, and it is this feeling of homelessness that unites them.

The song’s bridge reduces the suffering of the slaves of both races to its simplest terms. “Agony, will you cleanse this misery?” the speaker asks, lamenting that “it’s never again I’ll breathe the air of home.” The African and Irish slaves have been unified, and this is their final resistance. Skin color was all that separated slavers and slaves, and since white men too are slaves, the question as to why some people are slaves and others are not arises. This hybridity sews the seeds of doubt, and this can be viewed as an act of defiance on the part of the slaves. If there are white slaves as well as black, what is keeping somebody from making the masters into slaves themselves?

Interestingly, at the Flogging Molly concert I attended in Spokane a few weeks ago, the band’s singer, Dave King, dedicated this song to Walter Cromwell himself. This dedication added another ‘layer’ of resistance; by facetiously dedicating his song to the song’s villain, King pointed out the fact that he and his people were still around and free. He was able to both write the song and sarcastically dedicate it to Cromwell, who King was free to denounce. When the crowd around me proceeded to boo Cromwell, King told them not to. “Don’t worry,” he said, “the bastard’s dead!” The ultimate resistance comes from what the slaves created: the hybridity in song and unity of race, despite initial differences in skin color. While the slavers could only tear apart and destroy, the slaves managed to create: they melded and assimilated, despite their masters’ best efforts. The slave songs and musical cross-pollination survive to this day, and the traditions of the slavers do not — there is no such thing as a ‘slaver song.’ As the African slaves prevailed through their music and their open nature, so too did the Irish.

Photos. Poison’s in Stores. Me Happy.

Tuesday, October 26th, 2004

Current Listening: Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers – “Don’t Do Me Like That” (Greatest Hits)

I was talkin’ with a friend of mine / Said a woman done hurt his pride / Told him that she loved him so, then / Turned around and let him go

So I got the CD’s down to Rockin’ Rudies and Ear Candy, and a promo copy to KBGA, the college radio station. The local music program airs from 5pm-8pm on Saturdays, so give it a listen… 😉

Here, of course, is the box of CD’s:

And here’s my George Bush ‘Liar’ T-Shirt, which came yesterday. Excuse my freakish look and wild, untrimmed hair: