Thursday, December 23, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
pacific northwest
(^ click the wee speech box for captions)
5 days, 4 nights. 2168mi. highways 1 + 101 north, route 5 south. los angeles, ca to corvallis, or.
dutch baklavah - redwoodss (128 mb)
run time: 56:02
tracklist:
1. black mold - metal spider webs:
2. women - bells
3. avey tare - ghost of books
4. panda bear - search for delicious
5. eternal summers - pure affection
6. brightblack morning light - friend of time
7. boards of canada - seward leaf
8. rachel grimes - at the pond
9. múm - k/half noise
10. kaki king - track three
11. dustin wong - talking walking cloud
12. chieko mori - charm music box
13. great lake swimmers - long into the evening
Sunday, October 24, 2010
life
black mold - snow blindness is crystal antz (2009)
black mold = chad vangaalen. via flemisheye.com: "the album opens with a baffling and beautiful composition, 'metal spider webs,' a lattice of cello and clarinet complemented by shifting electronic pulses. in the dreamlike and metamorphic title track, subtle oscillations and erratic surges build before settling into a simple layering of acoustic guitars and drums...the album is strewn with musique concrete pastiches, creative use of circuit bending and manipulation, and an intuitive and intelligent understanding of rhythmic minimalism." this album comes with a download code for ONE HUNDRED MINUTES of bonus glitches, unfinished beeswax, and other stuff the guy works on during the wee hours of the morning while he is/is not knocking over his bong and watching requiem for a dream for the 43098570394th time.
related: chad vangaalen - soft airplane (2008)
scaaaaaaaryyyy:
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
chilling on the couch with my phoenix
via nymag's vulture: "'yoooo they banned my album cover!!!!!' exclaimed kanye west via twitter last night. 'they don't want me chilling on the couch with my phoenix!' he said, describing the glorious proposed art for 'my beautiful dark twisted fantasy,' a painting depicting a topless, armless, winged female character farting polka dots and straddling a demonic-looking gentleman who we suppose is meant to be kanye. who are they? still unclear."
most excellent:
via latimesblog.com: "kanye...revealed a piece of graphic artwork in which a naked representation of the artist was in a sexually suggestive position with the mythological firebird in female form. in a follow-up tweet, west wrote, 'in the '70s album covers had actual nudity... it's so funny that people forget that... everything has been so commercialized now.'"
the (best) source of this ballyhoosery is kanye's twitter: "So Nirvana can have a naked human being on they cover but I can't have a PAINTING of a monster with no arms and a polka dot tail and wings [sic]"
in other news: the garden of forking paths is a latenite mixtape curated by james blackshaw and compiled in may of 2007. it is slow, exotic, half filled with strings, and half filled with open spaces throughout which those strings draw themselves out to a fine point before, while, and after resonating with the rest of the plucked atmosphere.
says blackshaw of his selections: "chieko mori, a japanese composer, koto virtuoso and one-time FABRICA resident, who first came to my attention with her beautiful and mesmerising debut recording 'jumping rabbit' for john zorn's tzadik label in 2005, which ranks itself as one of my all-time favourite albums; jozef van wissem, a similarly accomplished rennaissance lute player and composer from the netherlands, who has collaborated with gary lucas and tetuzi akiyama amongst others and whose solo albums often make use of palindromic or mirrored structures interwoven with field recordings to haunting and immensely compelling effect; swedish cellist and improviser helena espvall, perhaps currently best known for her work with US psych-folk group espers, but who has also played with such luminaries as pauline oliveros and eugene chadbourne and whose own recent solo work has demonstrated her amazing power and sensitivity as an artist." read more of his thoughts here.
says wiki about jorge luis borges' eponymous hypertext, "beyond its facade as a spy narrative, 'the garden of forking paths' has similarities to today's digital media and hypertext projects, including perhaps wikipedia. borges conceives of 'a labyrinth that folds back upon itself in infinite regression,' asking the reader to 'become aware of all the possible choices we might make.' the elaborate hypertext is much like the book which borges suggests to be the labyrinth, ('every one imagined two works; to no one did it occur that the book and the maze were one and the same thing...the confusion of the novel suggested to me that it was the maze') in a sense of how the site offers different approaches to how you may interpret the information provided, yet you're not trapped in the dilemma of choosing one and eliminating others; you may choose to unfold all possibilities. you "create, in this way, diverse futures, diverse times which themselves also proliferate and fork" (wardrip-fruin, 33)." (more)
chieko mori - jumping rabbit (2005)
espers - the weed tree (2005)
here is a list of tunings used by james blackshaw.
most excellent:
via latimesblog.com: "kanye...revealed a piece of graphic artwork in which a naked representation of the artist was in a sexually suggestive position with the mythological firebird in female form. in a follow-up tweet, west wrote, 'in the '70s album covers had actual nudity... it's so funny that people forget that... everything has been so commercialized now.'"
the (best) source of this ballyhoosery is kanye's twitter: "So Nirvana can have a naked human being on they cover but I can't have a PAINTING of a monster with no arms and a polka dot tail and wings [sic]"
in other news: the garden of forking paths is a latenite mixtape curated by james blackshaw and compiled in may of 2007. it is slow, exotic, half filled with strings, and half filled with open spaces throughout which those strings draw themselves out to a fine point before, while, and after resonating with the rest of the plucked atmosphere.
says wiki about jorge luis borges' eponymous hypertext, "beyond its facade as a spy narrative, 'the garden of forking paths' has similarities to today's digital media and hypertext projects, including perhaps wikipedia. borges conceives of 'a labyrinth that folds back upon itself in infinite regression,' asking the reader to 'become aware of all the possible choices we might make.' the elaborate hypertext is much like the book which borges suggests to be the labyrinth, ('every one imagined two works; to no one did it occur that the book and the maze were one and the same thing...the confusion of the novel suggested to me that it was the maze') in a sense of how the site offers different approaches to how you may interpret the information provided, yet you're not trapped in the dilemma of choosing one and eliminating others; you may choose to unfold all possibilities. you "create, in this way, diverse futures, diverse times which themselves also proliferate and fork" (wardrip-fruin, 33)." (more)
chieko mori - jumping rabbit (2005)
espers - the weed tree (2005)
here is a list of tunings used by james blackshaw.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
beside nudity
via the onion: art world relieved as thieves steal pretty terrible late period renoir work
"the palette was too rosy, the brushstrokes were something out of a college art class, and renoir's gift for capturing his subject's inner mystery seemed to have completely abandoned him—in short, it was garbage and i'm glad it's gone," said malcolm stewart, a curator at the art institute of chicago, which has done little to assist the police in their investigation."
more pierre-auguste renoir works
"beside nudity there is the strangeness of half-clothed bodies; what garments there are serve to emphasize the disorder of the body and show it to be all the more naked, all the more disordered. brutality and murder are further steps in the same direction. similarly prostitution, coarse language an everything to do with eroticism and infamy play their part in turning the world of sensual pleasure into one of ruin and degradation. our only real purpose is to squander our resource to no purpose, just as if a wound were bleeding away inside us; we always want to be sure of the uselessness or the ruinousness of our extravagance. we want to feel as remote from the world where thrift is the rule as we can." /georges bataille, eroticism
more edward hopper works
"the palette was too rosy, the brushstrokes were something out of a college art class, and renoir's gift for capturing his subject's inner mystery seemed to have completely abandoned him—in short, it was garbage and i'm glad it's gone," said malcolm stewart, a curator at the art institute of chicago, which has done little to assist the police in their investigation."
more pierre-auguste renoir works
"beside nudity there is the strangeness of half-clothed bodies; what garments there are serve to emphasize the disorder of the body and show it to be all the more naked, all the more disordered. brutality and murder are further steps in the same direction. similarly prostitution, coarse language an everything to do with eroticism and infamy play their part in turning the world of sensual pleasure into one of ruin and degradation. our only real purpose is to squander our resource to no purpose, just as if a wound were bleeding away inside us; we always want to be sure of the uselessness or the ruinousness of our extravagance. we want to feel as remote from the world where thrift is the rule as we can." /georges bataille, eroticism
more edward hopper works
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
two tramps in mud time
out of the mud two strangers came
and caught me splitting wood in the yard,
and one of them put me off my aim
by hailing cheerily, "hit them hard!"
i knew pretty well why he had dropped behind
and let the other go on a way.
i knew pretty well what he had in mind:
he wanted to take my job for pay.
good blocks of oak it was i split,
as large around as the chopping block;
and every piece i squarely hit
fell splinterless as a cloven rock.
the blows that a life of self-control
spares to strike for the common good,
that day, giving a loose my soul,
i spent on the unimportant wood.
the sun was warm but the wind was chill.
you know how it is with an april day
when the sun is out and the wind is still,
you're one month on in the middle of may.
but if you so much as dare to speak,
a cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
a wind comes off a frozen peak,
and you're two months back in the middle of march.
a bluebird comes tenderly up to alight
and turns to the wind to unruffle a plume,
his song so pitched as not to excite
a single flower as yet to bloom.
it is snowing a flake; and he half knew
winter was only playing possum.
except in color he isn't blue,
but he wouldn't advise a thing to blossom.
the water for which we may have to look
in summertime with a witching wand,
in every wheelrut's now a brook,
in every print of a hoof a pond.
be glad of water, but don't forget
the lurking frost in the earth beneath
that will steal forth after the sun is set
and show on the water its crystal teeth.
the time when most i loved my task
the two must make me love it more
by coming with what they came to ask.
you'd think i never had felt before
the weight of an ax-head poised aloft,
the grip of earth on outspread feet,
the life of muscles rocking soft
and smooth and moist in vernal heat.
out of the wood two hulking tramps
(from sleeping god knows where last night,
but not long since in the lumber camps).
they thought all chopping was theirs of right.
men of the woods and lumberjacks,
they judged me by their appropriate tool.
except as a fellow handled an ax
they had no way of knowing a fool.
nothing on either side was said.
they knew they had but to stay their stay
and all their logic would fill my head:
as that I had no right to play
with what was another man's work for gain.
my right might be love but theirs was need.
and where the two exist in twain
theirs was the better right--agreed.
but yield who will to their separation,
my object in living is to unite
by avocation and my vocation
as my two eyes make one in sight.
only where love and need are one,
and the work is play for mortal stakes,
is the deed ever really done
for heaven and the future's sakes.
/robert frost, 1934
and caught me splitting wood in the yard,
and one of them put me off my aim
by hailing cheerily, "hit them hard!"
i knew pretty well why he had dropped behind
and let the other go on a way.
i knew pretty well what he had in mind:
he wanted to take my job for pay.
good blocks of oak it was i split,
as large around as the chopping block;
and every piece i squarely hit
fell splinterless as a cloven rock.
the blows that a life of self-control
spares to strike for the common good,
that day, giving a loose my soul,
i spent on the unimportant wood.
the sun was warm but the wind was chill.
you know how it is with an april day
when the sun is out and the wind is still,
you're one month on in the middle of may.
but if you so much as dare to speak,
a cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
a wind comes off a frozen peak,
and you're two months back in the middle of march.
a bluebird comes tenderly up to alight
and turns to the wind to unruffle a plume,
his song so pitched as not to excite
a single flower as yet to bloom.
it is snowing a flake; and he half knew
winter was only playing possum.
except in color he isn't blue,
but he wouldn't advise a thing to blossom.
the water for which we may have to look
in summertime with a witching wand,
in every wheelrut's now a brook,
in every print of a hoof a pond.
be glad of water, but don't forget
the lurking frost in the earth beneath
that will steal forth after the sun is set
and show on the water its crystal teeth.
the time when most i loved my task
the two must make me love it more
by coming with what they came to ask.
you'd think i never had felt before
the weight of an ax-head poised aloft,
the grip of earth on outspread feet,
the life of muscles rocking soft
and smooth and moist in vernal heat.
out of the wood two hulking tramps
(from sleeping god knows where last night,
but not long since in the lumber camps).
they thought all chopping was theirs of right.
men of the woods and lumberjacks,
they judged me by their appropriate tool.
except as a fellow handled an ax
they had no way of knowing a fool.
nothing on either side was said.
they knew they had but to stay their stay
and all their logic would fill my head:
as that I had no right to play
with what was another man's work for gain.
my right might be love but theirs was need.
and where the two exist in twain
theirs was the better right--agreed.
but yield who will to their separation,
my object in living is to unite
by avocation and my vocation
as my two eyes make one in sight.
only where love and need are one,
and the work is play for mortal stakes,
is the deed ever really done
for heaven and the future's sakes.
/robert frost, 1934
Thursday, September 23, 2010
i sell the shadow to support the substance
going through a heavy my bloody valentines phase because of this one mind-bendingly beautiful girl. she makes me want to achieve impossibilities and i can't get through to her, so it's just like a song from the late 80s. thanks to music once again for being the perfect inspiration and repository for most of my emotions.
my bloody valentine - tremolo ep (1991)
my bloody valentine - loveless (1991)
my bloody valentine - ecstasy and wine (1989)
my bloody valentine - isn't anything (1988)
my bloody valentine - sunny sundae smile ep (1986)
in other news: phosphene dream is my favorite thing since my last favorite thing, which is cheese.
phosphene, n.
a sensation of light caused by excitation of the retina by mechanical or electrical means rather than by light, as when the eyeballs are pressed through closed lids.
[french phosphène : greek phōs, light; see phos- + greek phainein, to cause to appear, to show.]
it is especially fun to move the image around with your cursor on the computer screen. the most fun of all is when you do that WHILST listening to the album.
my bloody valentine - tremolo ep (1991)
my bloody valentine - loveless (1991)
my bloody valentine - ecstasy and wine (1989)
my bloody valentine - isn't anything (1988)
my bloody valentine - sunny sundae smile ep (1986)
in other news: phosphene dream is my favorite thing since my last favorite thing, which is cheese.
phosphene, n.
a sensation of light caused by excitation of the retina by mechanical or electrical means rather than by light, as when the eyeballs are pressed through closed lids.
[french phosphène : greek phōs, light; see phos- + greek phainein, to cause to appear, to show.]
it is especially fun to move the image around with your cursor on the computer screen. the most fun of all is when you do that WHILST listening to the album.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
new car mix
dutch baklavah - new car mix (83mb)
run time: 36:23
quick lil' mix; part one of two, for now. these are some of my favorite songs of the moment that were hastily thrown onto a blank cd a couple weeks ago. some thought and themes have been applied, and the result is this electrified, (mostly) guitarred compilation of motive songs. every track (except for the superbly danceable, meditative health cover by blondes) employs guitar in some mode or another, played through some device that distorts, multiplies, or otherwise disguises the pure sonic of plucked steel. and since this is a mix of songs i picked to make me feel real good while driving, there are multiple tracks from the same album here. chomp on that, mixtape etiquette.
part two coming along! it will feature rockous strings in clearly apparent limelight.
[tracklist => comments]
Monday, July 19, 2010
visuals like cuttlefish
Jack Rose @ Chapelle Saint-Roch en Volière, Nov. 9, 2009
related: jack rose - opium musick
panda bear @ pitchfork music festival, July 17, 2010
related: jack rose - opium musick
panda bear @ pitchfork music festival, July 17, 2010
mayne
dutch baklavah - mayne (118mb)
run time: 1:25:49
this mix has been in the works since early may and kept changing and elaborating through last few passing months. most of this is (relatively) new music acquired in may and june, infused with (relatively) older songs which were inspired by the more recent jams. initially, i thought this would become my first mandala for amoeba, but that turned out to take on a life and mix of its own, wholly separate from this one right here. with bonnie "prince" billy and flying lotus on the same bill, the mix speaks for itself in its sonic gallimaufry; not much else to say but "enjoy."
[tracklist => comments]
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
amoebendipity
last night was a good night. today was one of those days. tonight was that night.
my dad is in town for the first time in five years, for one week, so i'm feeling especially giving and loving. this morning upon waking i played and replayed a song i've been updating and revising since i improvised it whilst thinking deeply of the coworker who inspired it. it feels good to play it in a way that i can't fully even comprehend except that while the music goes my heart races like a jackalope being chased by a chupacabras in broad daylight. it's an ultra-hyper-intense, verbally inexplicable, musical thing.
afterward, i repaired a piece of glass for cody and bumped noses with kitty exraordinaire, elvis T. belvis. i used the glass afterward and my insides opened up after being functional and performing a mutually beneficial service for a very much loved one. there was little traffic on the way to work and a new mix with various, notable songs of late playing in the car (this will be available soon). i arrived at amoeba slightly early, decompressed in my car for a hot minute, and walked to work in the somewhat searing sunshine.
this decompression phase is also somewhat of a compression phase. all my thoughts are of amoeba and the day ahead of me, and it's not dissimilar in many ways at all from walking to school (college, not high). to know that, on any given day, i'll interact with someone who has impressed me personally for years without even knowing it is like being able to blossom for the person who planted the seed and witnessing their joyous little reaction. this is true of my fellow amoebites, whose musical recommendations i latched onto for several years before contributing my own material, and here are a few of the more memorable, ephemeral, chance encounters i have had with "celebrities," as they are known, in the past nine months of employment at amoeba music.
the first big wig i ever met was stephen soderbergh, and i have helped him several times at this point. at a glance, he is the most mundane person in the world and is even less enthralled and imposing than his slight cameo in waking life. realizing whose driver's license and credit card i was holding, i lost myself and complimented his shirt immediately. he laughed. it was a reese's pieces t-shirt that could easily have been from wal-mart. "weak on a few levels," thought my brain. the next time i met him we talked about new-old jimi hendrix and the tami show. (as a result of the supreme lack of emotional thrills i get from this guy, he is still the only person of such status whose purchases i can actually remember.) he is not thoroughly enjoyed by the amoeba staff, from what i've gathered, and this amuses me richly.
two days ago i summoned quentin tarantino to my register and conversed with him while he called me sweetheart several times. i told him about the vader project, and he told me about the krasnals group (who, on their website, also link to wooster collective). i will never forget that meeting.
lt. aldo raine: so you're "the jew hunter."
col. hans landa: [giddy] that's a bingo!
[lt. aldo and pfc. utivich stare at him in confusion]
col. hans landa: is that the way you say it: "that's a bingo?"
lt. aldo Raine: you just say "bingo."
about a week ago, michel gondry walked up to me, though i did not call him over from the line. he was the line. he is much, much more handsome in person than i have ever thought him to be on screen, and the eencey weencey "why" details are incommunicable. i think that is the ultimate ace up his sleeve: having the wherewithal to make everyone else around him on camera look better than he does but commandeering the position of impetus and catalyst for the magic that surrounds him. when the words came out of my mouth that i saw eternal sunshine six times in theaters, he balked with disbelief. i MADE HIM believe me, explaining why and how, and he did. i empathized with michel gondry over reading charlie kaufmann's transcript of eternal sunshine of the spotless mind for the first time. in life, as a fundamental practice, i will not veer far from that plane of deeply connective, sometimes ephermeral, communication.
one day at amoeba, sometime in the couple weeks before coachella in april, rosemary dawson and aziz ansari patronized The Record Store. the former has beautiful eyes and giggled at my stupid quips; the latter shared my joy from the glory of bonnaroo and the joanna newsom 3xlp he was buying. i told him i dug the piece in fader magazine he did with animal collective, and he told me it was a lot of fun to do. that was a nice connection. later in the day, ron jeremy and flea both shopped around, and i told the latter how excited i was to see him at coachella in a couple weeks. he has two smiles: blue from the nose up, and divine from the nose down. that was a memorable day.
there have been still more encounters with fictional characters from my life up until now that have become non-fictional occurrences with people i respect, admire, and from whom i draw countless, unconscious metaphors, analogies, and meaning in my life because of how their work has inspired and spoken to me. on the flipside, customers are the wild cards of the influential music sphere. i have been schooled to no end by people bringing me their favorite music (for which they actually pay. they've got me beat there.) and gracefully educated by so many people who are so inordinately passionate about the tunes that tune them up. today i befriended a man from texas who plays multiple instruments and resembles, for me, a young britt daniel. whoa.
my coworkers are the bunch of peeps that are truly enriching my life from the inside out. everybody i work with is a musically apt ferris bueller. if downsides have faces, amoeba requires that they enter the store dressed in very silly masks indeed. of the three hundred or so hollywood amoeba staff, i work closely with about fifty of them on a typical day, catching up on the lives of about half of them as the day goes on. one of my favorite coworkers makes it a habit to show me totally obscure british comedy tv shows; frozen yogurt buffets are involved, too. another coworker reads my poetry and gave me a little pin with an image of calvin and hobbes dancing. yet another coworker introduced me to guitar mastermusicians glenn jones and robbie basho, and i introduced him to kaki king and davey graham. friendship abounds because music abounds. or at least that is how things work with me.
today, i called over a fellow with dark brown hair and eyes so blue that i don't remember seeing them--only being seen by them. he was courteous, kind, attentive, and shy. when he opted to pay with credit, i asked for his id, and saw ryan adams printed beside ryan adams' face (i didn't know his face well enough to pick him out of a crowd). the first thought that came to mind: jackie luskey.
i had talked with this lovely creature last night, after probably a year of radio silence through the loud statics of our lives, because i missed her input to the breaking point. we made it a new point to keep in touch more often and reiterated our mutual feelings of separate togetherness; in short, we caught up on all kindza shit. to reconnect is to plug the speaker cable back in.
this is what i conveyed to mr. adams, very concisely and specifically. i told him about jackie's upcoming mfa excursion in oregon this summer and how fulfilling it is to see someone pursue an intrinsically bold passion. in retrospect, he was almost unwarrantably interested and understanding of the situation. when i handed him his cds, dvds, and wax, none of which i remember, he stuck out his hand and shook mine. we implored of each other beautiful moments ahead in life, and i went back to my register to ring up another fellow desiring stravinsky, wagner, and a young chopin enthusiast, all on disc.
in the middle of that transaction, the voice of god (intercom) paged me for a phone call. a couple minutes later, as i was still talking with the classically inclined gentleman, the VOG (intercom) paged me again for a held call. when i finally answered the phone, a voice said,
"hi, this is ryan adams, you just sold me some stuff. [me: oh, hi!] i'm sorry to bother you at work, but, your friend, is she published? [me: she is, but not as huge as she will be.] what is her name? i don't usually do this, but what you were saying about serendipity, i just feel like she may be this great unsung writer that's totally undiscovered and i'd be missing out."
and i replied,
"she is, and you would be. i'm not sure where to find her formal publications, but if you go to her blog you can read plenty of written snacks that will hold you over until you do."
then,
RA: thread, butter, and jam?
me: yeah, like what you put on toast.
RA: thread, like what you put through a needle?
me: ah, no, but that's a nice play on words. it slides off the tongue. it's bread, butter, and jam, like the toast and...what you put on it.
RA: oh, that makes more sense.
me: ya.
RA: and where is that?
me: dot blogspot. breadbutterandjam.blogspot.com.
RA: bread, butter, and jam. okay cool, thank you so much!
me: oh no problem, have fun!
RA: [bye]
me: [bye]
i already know the three of us have inspired new stories and journeys, long and short, in each of our lives. it moves me to know that ryan-adams-the-guy has been an essential link in connecting with a good friend again, and that even a little effort can manifest itself so hugely, and in the most unexpectedly positive ways, when tended to. it took a contemplative year to pick up a phone; a day to bring that simple sentiment to fruition.
shyness is not a factor in my life anymore. if someone is moderately approachable and worth talking to, i will attend to both notions. the worst that happens is bugging someone who doesn't want to be bugged, but that doesn't last long. there are too many fleeting shoulda/coulda/wouldas in life not to capitalize on a should be/could be/will be moment of life, but this is only a thoughtful meandering. the real issue is what to make of these moments and how to make them uniquely grand in the largest sense of the word. life is a series of short interviews with everyone you meet, and if you do well, you get to go on more interviews until the day you die. if you do poorly, you get to go on more interviews until the day you die. it does not matter who is paying whose bills along the way; there will always be bills, and they will always be paid or unpaid. who do you want to interview? who interviews you? what do you see when you look at strangers? who do you want to affect, and who do you allow to affect you? and how, and why? then, do. life does.
my dad is in town for the first time in five years, for one week, so i'm feeling especially giving and loving. this morning upon waking i played and replayed a song i've been updating and revising since i improvised it whilst thinking deeply of the coworker who inspired it. it feels good to play it in a way that i can't fully even comprehend except that while the music goes my heart races like a jackalope being chased by a chupacabras in broad daylight. it's an ultra-hyper-intense, verbally inexplicable, musical thing.
afterward, i repaired a piece of glass for cody and bumped noses with kitty exraordinaire, elvis T. belvis. i used the glass afterward and my insides opened up after being functional and performing a mutually beneficial service for a very much loved one. there was little traffic on the way to work and a new mix with various, notable songs of late playing in the car (this will be available soon). i arrived at amoeba slightly early, decompressed in my car for a hot minute, and walked to work in the somewhat searing sunshine.
this decompression phase is also somewhat of a compression phase. all my thoughts are of amoeba and the day ahead of me, and it's not dissimilar in many ways at all from walking to school (college, not high). to know that, on any given day, i'll interact with someone who has impressed me personally for years without even knowing it is like being able to blossom for the person who planted the seed and witnessing their joyous little reaction. this is true of my fellow amoebites, whose musical recommendations i latched onto for several years before contributing my own material, and here are a few of the more memorable, ephemeral, chance encounters i have had with "celebrities," as they are known, in the past nine months of employment at amoeba music.
the first big wig i ever met was stephen soderbergh, and i have helped him several times at this point. at a glance, he is the most mundane person in the world and is even less enthralled and imposing than his slight cameo in waking life. realizing whose driver's license and credit card i was holding, i lost myself and complimented his shirt immediately. he laughed. it was a reese's pieces t-shirt that could easily have been from wal-mart. "weak on a few levels," thought my brain. the next time i met him we talked about new-old jimi hendrix and the tami show. (as a result of the supreme lack of emotional thrills i get from this guy, he is still the only person of such status whose purchases i can actually remember.) he is not thoroughly enjoyed by the amoeba staff, from what i've gathered, and this amuses me richly.
two days ago i summoned quentin tarantino to my register and conversed with him while he called me sweetheart several times. i told him about the vader project, and he told me about the krasnals group (who, on their website, also link to wooster collective). i will never forget that meeting.
lt. aldo raine: so you're "the jew hunter."
col. hans landa: [giddy] that's a bingo!
[lt. aldo and pfc. utivich stare at him in confusion]
col. hans landa: is that the way you say it: "that's a bingo?"
lt. aldo Raine: you just say "bingo."
about a week ago, michel gondry walked up to me, though i did not call him over from the line. he was the line. he is much, much more handsome in person than i have ever thought him to be on screen, and the eencey weencey "why" details are incommunicable. i think that is the ultimate ace up his sleeve: having the wherewithal to make everyone else around him on camera look better than he does but commandeering the position of impetus and catalyst for the magic that surrounds him. when the words came out of my mouth that i saw eternal sunshine six times in theaters, he balked with disbelief. i MADE HIM believe me, explaining why and how, and he did. i empathized with michel gondry over reading charlie kaufmann's transcript of eternal sunshine of the spotless mind for the first time. in life, as a fundamental practice, i will not veer far from that plane of deeply connective, sometimes ephermeral, communication.
one day at amoeba, sometime in the couple weeks before coachella in april, rosemary dawson and aziz ansari patronized The Record Store. the former has beautiful eyes and giggled at my stupid quips; the latter shared my joy from the glory of bonnaroo and the joanna newsom 3xlp he was buying. i told him i dug the piece in fader magazine he did with animal collective, and he told me it was a lot of fun to do. that was a nice connection. later in the day, ron jeremy and flea both shopped around, and i told the latter how excited i was to see him at coachella in a couple weeks. he has two smiles: blue from the nose up, and divine from the nose down. that was a memorable day.
there have been still more encounters with fictional characters from my life up until now that have become non-fictional occurrences with people i respect, admire, and from whom i draw countless, unconscious metaphors, analogies, and meaning in my life because of how their work has inspired and spoken to me. on the flipside, customers are the wild cards of the influential music sphere. i have been schooled to no end by people bringing me their favorite music (for which they actually pay. they've got me beat there.) and gracefully educated by so many people who are so inordinately passionate about the tunes that tune them up. today i befriended a man from texas who plays multiple instruments and resembles, for me, a young britt daniel. whoa.
my coworkers are the bunch of peeps that are truly enriching my life from the inside out. everybody i work with is a musically apt ferris bueller. if downsides have faces, amoeba requires that they enter the store dressed in very silly masks indeed. of the three hundred or so hollywood amoeba staff, i work closely with about fifty of them on a typical day, catching up on the lives of about half of them as the day goes on. one of my favorite coworkers makes it a habit to show me totally obscure british comedy tv shows; frozen yogurt buffets are involved, too. another coworker reads my poetry and gave me a little pin with an image of calvin and hobbes dancing. yet another coworker introduced me to guitar mastermusicians glenn jones and robbie basho, and i introduced him to kaki king and davey graham. friendship abounds because music abounds. or at least that is how things work with me.
today, i called over a fellow with dark brown hair and eyes so blue that i don't remember seeing them--only being seen by them. he was courteous, kind, attentive, and shy. when he opted to pay with credit, i asked for his id, and saw ryan adams printed beside ryan adams' face (i didn't know his face well enough to pick him out of a crowd). the first thought that came to mind: jackie luskey.
i had talked with this lovely creature last night, after probably a year of radio silence through the loud statics of our lives, because i missed her input to the breaking point. we made it a new point to keep in touch more often and reiterated our mutual feelings of separate togetherness; in short, we caught up on all kindza shit. to reconnect is to plug the speaker cable back in.
this is what i conveyed to mr. adams, very concisely and specifically. i told him about jackie's upcoming mfa excursion in oregon this summer and how fulfilling it is to see someone pursue an intrinsically bold passion. in retrospect, he was almost unwarrantably interested and understanding of the situation. when i handed him his cds, dvds, and wax, none of which i remember, he stuck out his hand and shook mine. we implored of each other beautiful moments ahead in life, and i went back to my register to ring up another fellow desiring stravinsky, wagner, and a young chopin enthusiast, all on disc.
in the middle of that transaction, the voice of god (intercom) paged me for a phone call. a couple minutes later, as i was still talking with the classically inclined gentleman, the VOG (intercom) paged me again for a held call. when i finally answered the phone, a voice said,
"hi, this is ryan adams, you just sold me some stuff. [me: oh, hi!] i'm sorry to bother you at work, but, your friend, is she published? [me: she is, but not as huge as she will be.] what is her name? i don't usually do this, but what you were saying about serendipity, i just feel like she may be this great unsung writer that's totally undiscovered and i'd be missing out."
and i replied,
"she is, and you would be. i'm not sure where to find her formal publications, but if you go to her blog you can read plenty of written snacks that will hold you over until you do."
then,
RA: thread, butter, and jam?
me: yeah, like what you put on toast.
RA: thread, like what you put through a needle?
me: ah, no, but that's a nice play on words. it slides off the tongue. it's bread, butter, and jam, like the toast and...what you put on it.
RA: oh, that makes more sense.
me: ya.
RA: and where is that?
me: dot blogspot. breadbutterandjam.blogspot.com.
RA: bread, butter, and jam. okay cool, thank you so much!
me: oh no problem, have fun!
RA: [bye]
me: [bye]
i already know the three of us have inspired new stories and journeys, long and short, in each of our lives. it moves me to know that ryan-adams-the-guy has been an essential link in connecting with a good friend again, and that even a little effort can manifest itself so hugely, and in the most unexpectedly positive ways, when tended to. it took a contemplative year to pick up a phone; a day to bring that simple sentiment to fruition.
shyness is not a factor in my life anymore. if someone is moderately approachable and worth talking to, i will attend to both notions. the worst that happens is bugging someone who doesn't want to be bugged, but that doesn't last long. there are too many fleeting shoulda/coulda/wouldas in life not to capitalize on a should be/could be/will be moment of life, but this is only a thoughtful meandering. the real issue is what to make of these moments and how to make them uniquely grand in the largest sense of the word. life is a series of short interviews with everyone you meet, and if you do well, you get to go on more interviews until the day you die. if you do poorly, you get to go on more interviews until the day you die. it does not matter who is paying whose bills along the way; there will always be bills, and they will always be paid or unpaid. who do you want to interview? who interviews you? what do you see when you look at strangers? who do you want to affect, and who do you allow to affect you? and how, and why? then, do. life does.
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About Me
- i just love stuff.
- i don't like it--i love it. if i don't love it, i don't swallow.