If I Had Some Words, This Is the Way I'd Sing Them

Well. Since the subject's gone and come up now, I might as well lay this out plainly - the closest thing to a manifesto I'm likely to do on my own tastes and on my philosophy of composition. I figure it's all going to be out there at some point, so I might as well go ahead and own it now.

I like music with solid, simple, repeating chord structures on which you can layer other things, and maybe improvise around, that's appealing enough to keep the attention but instinctive to jam to. I enjoy writing that kind of music; I'll no doubt do lots more of the kind.

I like music with the utterly straightforward three-chord phrases that have been used by folksingers for centuries - the progressions that get used time and again because they work, and provide the kind of melody that doesn't need to go anywhere unexpected to say what it has to say. I enjoy writing that kind of music, even if I've moved somewhat away from it more recently, and I'm sure that approach will always be one I eventually return to.

I like music that's complex and intricate, with strange and unorthodox chords and lots of little movements that add up to a cohesive whole. I'd like to write some music like that, though I'm only now starting to feel like I have the tools at my disposal to even begin to make it properly.

I like spare, stark, minimalist music that does what it needs to do in a few well-placed strokes. I'd like to write some music like that, if I can ever get myself to the point where I have the confidence to stop embellishing what doesn't need it.

I like shimmery, swirly, ambient music - the kind that's usually built around a couple of very basic pieces but piles on as many layers of sound as it needs to create its atmosphere. I'd like to write some music like that, especially if I can get comfortable enough with the requisite technology to really make it self-indulgent.

I like dissonant, difficult, experimental music that pushes the boundary of being just plain noise. Gods help me, I'd like to write some music like that too.

I like pretty music and creepy music, and the places where the two intersect. I like straightforward, sincere music and pretentious music. I like subtle, understated music and over-the-top, bombastic music. I like music that builds on ancient traditions and music that's so cutting-edge it still has fresh blood on it. I like, to use a favorite metaphor stolen from Tony, music that's been aged and corked and music with a screw-off cap. And if you want to know what music I'm interested in creating, I'm afraid my answer is going to have to be the same one I approach almost everything in life with: "A small slice of each, please."

What I'm not interested in is One-True-Wayism, or worrying about what's already been done ('cause it all has, kids), or limiting my palette out of fear that the Comic Book Guys of armchair criticism will sit around and say "Worst chord progression ever." I'm not interested in making happy either the proverbial masses (whoever they are, besides me and thee) or the self-appointed elite; indeed, I'm not interested in catering to anyone's aesthetic except mine and that of Folks Who Might Like the Kind of Thing I Do. And I'm really, really not interested in kowtowing to the opinions of anyone who clearly wishes I'd made something other than the work that's on the table. I am more than happy to accept that what I do will, inevitably, not be everyone's thing. At the same time, I have a reasonably good picture of the level of my own talent and skill, and feel confident in saying that if you don't like what I create, the problem is not mine.

Two more things bear saying now, so hopefully I don't need to say them again.

First: if you feel inclined to pass judgment on everything I've ever done, or contributed to, or indeed am capable of, based solely on the handful of pieces I've made available for free on the Interwebs: You are under the impression that an elephant is some variety of rope. This is understandable, under the circumstances, but you are not in possession of anything like enough knowledge. Please refrain from acting as if you are.

And second: Having an opinion does not entitle you to set aside all standards of discourse; that is to say, while your tastes are entirely your own business, all attitudes are not of equal merit. Or, to put it as plainly and unequivocally as I can: If you can't think of anything nice to say, go on and fuck yourself.

Pop Goes the Perkygoth

I wasn't sure I was going to link to this, but I think it really gives the following the necessary context; plus, hey! It's my first Internet your-music-sucks flaming! It's giving me that warm feeling of having arrived, somehow, like your first mugging in a new city.

The whole unfortunate exchange has cemented something for me about just what it is that gets up my squid about snobbery, and why I find stuff like What Not To Wear so unbearable, and why my own lingering elitism feels like the character flaw I'm most self-conscious of:

Snobbery is, in its essence, a form of bullying.

It's not about improving the world; it's about using that trusty old poleaxe in the Emotional Abuse arsenal, shaming, to bring someone else down and make them small and hurt. It says: if you enjoy this... make this... wear this... you are not only inadequate, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. And it's toxic and awful and, when you think about it, a horrifying way to relate to other human beings. And it gets a pass, I suppose, because the people who are capable of doing it are often clever or funny or talented, and because watching one person destroy another has been entertainment since the Coliseum and before; and now, we can say that, hey, no one died, and look! It's all worth it; you're a better person now! Your tastes have been corrected!

But it's not okay. It's not okay when spouses or lovers do it to each other, and it's not okay to do it to strangers, and it's not okay to make a spectacle of it for the sake of amusement at some poor clueless bastard's expense. (And it's really not okay to make excuses for it just because it's funny.) It's hurtful and nasty and it leaches joy from a world that does not have that resource in abundance.

If I'm coming across a little vehement here - well, I did just get called a no-talent paint-by-numbers songwriter today, so it's just possible that maybe there's a touch of stung pride talking. But also, as I said, part of the reason I recoil so strongly from this stuff is that it's a sin I very much feel the temptation of, which is no doubt one of the factors at play in having written my initial comment on Der's site with - to be completely fair - more vigour and heat than was really called for. I feel how easy it would be to condemn and snipe and set myself up as Better Than All You Lot; there's something very satisfying about the assurance that your tastes are right and proper, and everyone else is a moron. Part of this is, yeah, the frustration of just living (not to mention trying to create something worthwhile) in a world where relentless banality and Sturgeon's Law are ever-present. The trouble is that, when you really look at things, it's clear that "banality" is a slippery and subjective thing, and that there's very little agreement on what the theretical 10% of everything that isn't crap comprises. This suggests to me that we'd damn well better start learning two things: 1), how to get along with people who just plain like different stuff; and 2), that a preference is not a fucking virtue.

And that's all that probably needs to be said about that. You'll have to excuse me; I have some musically and lyrically uninteresting work to prepare to subject the clueless public to this weekend. I'll let you know how that works out.

You'll Think I'm Dead, But I'll Sail Away

Holla and avast! 'Tis that most glorious o' days again!

Yer stalwart cap'n has been adrift in strange waters some while now, what with peregrinations ta lands afar; but he's returned ashore, and is preparin' ta regale ye with no end o' salty tales, and mayhap a fine shanty or two. O' course, it be worth notin' that a mug or two o' the strong stuff might go far in recallin' his custom'ry loquaciousness, should ye be inclined to offer't.

Precedin' that, though, I've all this rigging ta see ter. Ye can find me later in port, and I'll open up this sack o' plunder and toss a couple o' doubloons yer way. Arr!

In the Hills, the Hippies

In a few bare hours, I'm off to Swampstock XIII and likewise more or less off the radar for a short while. Some of yez I'll be seeing there.

And it gives me the warmest of rock-star warm fuzzies to note that OVO will be taking the stage on Saturday to perform a whole set's worth of material that will be new to lots of people in attendance because it didn't exist a year ago. Woot. (Take that, bitchy inner critic! I have Accomplishments!)

Anyway, wish us safe journey and good weather, and I'll let you know how it goes.

Zhongguo Boogie

You probably know this already, but Caren and Niels have arrived safe and sound in the Middle Kingdom, after some small red-tape delays. Everyone wish them well and send them love!

The Truth About Cats and Dogs

I have a strong suspicion that there have been conversations going on in my house not unlike this one.

Someday I'll Grow Up to Be a Beautiful Girl (reprise)

You Are 52% Lady

You're part lady, part modern woman. Etiquette is important to you, but you brush aside rules that are outdated or silly.

Are You A Lady?

...Well, hello.

Word Virus

Literature is holy to me, which again shows how much I know about holiness.
- Kurt Vonnegut

I've been tagged by Jean, who had it of Antiprincess, who got tapped by Belledame; so on with the memeage:

1. One book that changed your life: Er, "the good ones all do" is a copout, so I'm going with The Hobbit, which made the kind of impression on me at six that you never get over.

2. One book you have read more than once: Hogfather, by Terry Pratchett; I go back to it every December as proof against Scrooginess.

3. One book you would want on a desert island: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. It rewards rereading in every way I need a book to do.

4. One book that made you laugh: Anansi Boys. Niel Gaiman's extraordinary sense of humor is often glossed over even by his fans, but this one has him in top form.

5. One book that made you cry: It's tempting to say Little, Big, out of sheer despair that I'll never write like John Crowley. But that's another copout answer, so: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I mean, who didn't?

6. One book you wish had been written: One more Fafhrd and Grey Mouser novel.

7. One book you wish had never had been written: She Said Yes - the one about the girl who was supposedly shot at Columbine for saying she believed in God. Because first, that never happened; and second, shame on this poor kid's family for using her tragedy to fuel uptight Midwestern Christianity's ongoing sick martyr complex.

8. One book you are currently reading: The Snarkout Boys and the Avocado of Death, by Daniel Pinkwater.

9. One book you have been meaning to read: The Mind of the Raven. Actually, I've started it; I just keep meaning to pick it back up. In the haven't started at all category: Iron Council, by China Mieville.

10. Now tag five people: Er, I'm not gonna actually pressure anyone to do this. But I'd love to see The Missus, Spyder, Vishal, Maija, Andy, and Big Tony give their answers. (Yes, I know that's six.)

Into the Sunrise

Over the weekend we bid a fond zai jian to Caren and Niels, who are going to have to settle for what passes for Chinese food in China for a year or so; we're already looking forward to being able to take them out for proper Chinese when they get back to the States.

And oh, yeah: we miss them already.



Safe journey, sweethearts. May the Lord of Beginnings shine His light and grace upon you as you start your grand Adventure, and bring you back home and whole again.

Yes, We Have No Sense of Subtext

Belledame skewers an especially deserving example of premillenial loonyism; I contribute, with my usual sense of subtlety and tact.

Ring of Fire

Today or possibly yesterday was Lughnasadh, though considering the truly awful heat wave currently boiling this slice of the Mid-Atlantic, I'm reluctant to set anything on fire I don't have to, and dancing is right the hell out; one assumes the gods will understand.

As compensation, though, I offer this, which I wrote ten(!!) years ago and, alas, probably works better sung than read:

Fields of grain of golden hue
Make a crown for Master Lugh
Gather round beneath the tree
Pass the jug of Barley Bree
Light the pipe and hand it here
Crow as loud as Chanticleer
Howl a love song at the stars
Glorious on Lughnasadh

Honor Him who blessed the land
The Bright One of the Skillful Hand
Keep the Goddess's accord
Her union with the Great Horned Lord
Swear by Oak and Ash and Thorn
Swear by blood of Barleycorn
Say you'll love me near and far
Marry me on Lughnasadh

Come and join the feast of golden Lugh
Give a little back of what you grew
Scrape the fiddle, dance and play the drum
Turn around and see what you've become

Holly King is standing by
Waits to watch the summer die
Take your fill before it ends
Save a seed to plant again
Merry meet and merry part
And merry come back to the start
Dance the dance of all we are
Round and round on Lughnasadh

Bright blessings, all; keep cool out there.

Very Seldom Naughty

Good show last weekend - or at least we more or less looked like we know what we're doing, which goes a long way.

Here's a brief rock star montage, for them of yez that missed it:









I'm off to WV tonight, and from thence to Cleveland to see Les Claypool make thumping noises and be disturbing; and after that, we're having a big rehearsal and bandthink session, so there will hopefully be more OVO-related good news here soon.

On the domestic side of things, we added four wee paddy-paws to the L-K household over the weekend. Meet Willow:



She's been having a grand time of it so far, even if it's been challenging convincing her big brother that she isn't the best squeaky toy ever.

(All photos by Miss Mita, who we are going to be missing very badly all too soon.)

I Have No Text and I Must Comment

Weird glitch with comments in the last few days: you can post 'em, but they don't register with the comment count. So if you've left one since yesterday, it really does show when you click through, even though it reads as 0 on the front page. But you probably noticed that already.

I assume this is some strangeness on the part of BackBlog that will resolve itself in due course.

Come On You Stranger, You Legend, You Martyr

Syd Barrett, dead at 60.

David Bowie, from the linked article: "His impact on my thinking was enormous. A major regret is that I never got to know him. A diamond indeed."

See also the BBC's obit.

Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands
The bleeding hearts and the artists
Make their stand

A fond farewell; the world is sadder and less strange today. Wish you were here.

(Hat-tip to Antiprincess, on whose site I read the news.)

Update: Read this too. Heartbreaking and lovely.

That Space-Cadet Glow

In case anyone's still watching this space who wants to know and doesn't yet: OVO will be playing at The Cup this Saturday, and it looks like we'll be rolling out some new material. It's our first show since St. Patrick's Day, so I think this may actually count as a reunion concert of some kind. Come on out for the ren-folk proggoth love!

Girlie-Manifesto

I've been seeing a lot of references to this lately, but hadn't clicked through to watch until today (appropriately enough - not to mention we spent the afternoon watching Serenity, which has plenty of things itself to say on the subject of Independence). And can I just say:

Wow.

Damn.

And yes.

Strange Visions

It's probably much too early to start getting excited about this; but not too early, perhaps, to fervently wish for Alan Cumming and Ian Holm in the title roles.

Ra and June

This month's been a whirlwind, Faithful Readers, and I've been off the radar as much as not; forgive my sparseness of discourse lately.

I was in NYC for MoCCA a coupla weeks ago; thence to WV this past weekend; and tomorrow I'm leaving for NEARfest, which looks to be especially good this year - I'll do an after-action report if I have the opportunity.

And somewhere in there I picked up the new Current 93 and haven't had a chance to give it the listening it deserves, though some encouraging reviews continue to get me all aflutter to do so.

That's all I got for the moment. Real Serious Blogging will commence when the dust settles. Meanwhile, here's hoping everyone had a lovely Solstice. Sumer is icumen in!

Old Dead Calendar

It's 06/06/06 today! I hope you're all enjoying your Scandinavian death metal albums and Black Masses.

Meanwhile, slacktivist commemorates the day with one of his immensely sensible meditations; and of course there's some clever Beastliness going on over at Making Light. Me, I think I'll just relax with a bit of soothing music.

(Of course, whether or not 666 has any apocalyptic significance is subject to debate, depending partly on which version of Nero's name you crunch through the gematria; but nobody released any dubious remakes last Thursday, and besides, I have a soft spot for the classics.)

Pick a Window!

This most Erisian of dates marks the anniversary of the Second Defenestration of Prague. Celebrate appropriately.

They Eat of the Beef, and Enjoy to Look at the Bosoms

The wise and excellent Sage talks sensibly and at some length about boobs.

The First Rule of Project Mayhem

Stuff there's no social protocol for: Looking at your boss's computer at work and noticing she has a World of Warcraft icon in the Start menu, and sharing that split-second moment of nerd telepathy where you agree to pretend that you didn't see it and don't know what it is.

The Star to Every Wandering Bark

I blinked and missed the last two weeks, most of which were spent new-parenting with Monty.

He's growed a bit since then, too. We love him to pieces.