I have returned from another long weekend in the West Virginia hills, this time for a session of recording with two-thirds of OVO to lay down the first serious tracks for Supplicant, our debut LP.
Of course, we started things off in proper rockstar fashion by finishing half a bottle of amaretto and sleeping till Saturday afternoon, so while we weren't quite as productive as we might have been, we nonetheless got some very decent material out of it. And considering that I loaded up the wagon with guitar, bass, mandolin, strumsticks, violin, whistles, recorders, drum, and wok and managed to use almost everything I brought along, I feel a good deal was accomplished in an all-too-brief time.
More to come.
October 24, 2006
October 19, 2006
NaNoSeconds, Part I
Most of my online writing these days, it seems, is on the NaNoWriMo fora, where, contrary to my presence almost everywhere else on Teh Internets, I can't seem to shut up. I have, indeed, been well-nigh pontificating on a number of writing-related subjects, for all that in measurable terms I have as much authorial cred as your average poetry.com prizewinner. But I've never let that sort of thing stop me before, and I'm not about to start learning humility now.
So, this being the case, I figured I may as well spread the ego-onanism around as much as I can manage before all my writerly energies are directed elsewhere, and I'm reposting some of my Collected Dubious Wisdom here. For posterity. Or something.
Anyway, this first one is from the Fantasy genre forum, where every year the NaNoZeitgeist seems to bring a new tide of neurosis about something or other; one year it was everyone worried about writing Mary Sues, and another it was avoiding cliches. This time around it's a sort of free-floating anxiety about what actually qualifies as Fantasy, and you can probably imagine about how much patience I have for that. It was quickly apparent that expecting my little screed be a preemptive strike against every young fantasist's genre dysphoria was too much to ask, but I suppose it was worth a try. So, then:
In an effort, however futile, to hopefully forestall a tide of threads on some variant of "Does This Qualify As Fantasy Or Will The Genre Police Come Get Me In The Night," a few points bear making. Thus, a preliminary-if-of-necessity-incomplete list:
1. Not setting your novel on another world does not disqualify it as fantasy.
2. The absence of magic in your novel does not disqualify it as fantasy.
3. The absence of elves (dragons, unicorns, cockatrices, manticora, Generic Evil Hordes, or what-have-you) does not disqualify it as fantasy.
(3a. The absence of elves-as-rock-stars does not disqualify it as urban fantasy, but that's really another rant.)
4. The absence of epic quests, bildungsroman'd formerly-humble heroes, Feudalism Lite, and/or the stark division of the fictional cosmos into Good and Evil, singly or in any combination, does not disqualify it as fantasy.
5. The subtlety with which you treat the otherworldly element(s), whatever they may be (and however you want to stretch, bend, fold, or spindle the meaning of "otherworldly"), does not disqualify it as fantasy.
6. The presence of gunpowder, clockwork, the printing press, the seed drill, the steam engine, the incandescent lightbulb, or any other technology that would have given Paracelsus a headache does not disqualify it as fantasy.
7. The presence of rayguns, supercomputers, antigravity, faster-than-light travel, or any other fx-laden ultratech shininess does not disqualify it as fantasy.
8. The presence of elements, either of plot, style, or tone, normally associated with the various modes of Horror does not disqualify it as fantasy.
9. The use of any narrative or character voice other than the stentorian and faintly purple This Be a High and Valorous Narrative, Forsooth does not disqualify it as fantasy.
10. And so on. You get the idea.
...which is not to say, by the by, that there's anything at all wrong with doing fantasy that's Exactly What You'd Expect. This is not a discussion about cliches or the anxieties thereof, which is probably also worth having, but not on this thread, i'faith. If that's the book you're doing, you are almost certainly confident in its fantasyness, and this list is not about you.
This list is about everyone who approaches genre with a great idea dampened by fear of breaking the Rules.
And I am here to say: Cut it out. The Rules you're worried about don't exist, or they've been broken already so badly they might as well not. If you think you might be writing fantasy but are concerned that you're violating some sort of protocol if you deviate from the standard (whatever that is), I can give you a long list of folks who have already shattered those icons and danced among the shards.
(Oh, alright: Gene Wolfe. Jack Vance. Ellen Kushner. China Mieville. Kelly Link. Jeff Vandermeer. John Crowley. Sarah Monette. Garth Nix. Hal Duncan. And that's just for starters.)
Look: Genres (and subgenres) are not checklists, they're not pigeonholes, and they're most definitely not straightjackets. Genre is not prescriptive; when it works, it's descriptive, saying "If you liked that, you might also like this." (Or not.) Fantasy in particular is an elusive quarry, and changes shape as soon as you pin it down, but it's enough to say that it isn't only what's considered "generic." It probably has room for whatever it is you're doing too, so for the love of all the gods and muses, resist the urge to second-guess yourself on whether or not it "fits" and come let your work join the conversation already in progress. (And if you're still worried that it doesn't fall under the definition, consider the possibility that the definition could stand to be expanded; fantasy, of all the modes of Lit'rature, has enormous capacity to grow and include.)
Here endeth the ranting. Additions and expansions welcome.
So, this being the case, I figured I may as well spread the ego-onanism around as much as I can manage before all my writerly energies are directed elsewhere, and I'm reposting some of my Collected Dubious Wisdom here. For posterity. Or something.
Anyway, this first one is from the Fantasy genre forum, where every year the NaNoZeitgeist seems to bring a new tide of neurosis about something or other; one year it was everyone worried about writing Mary Sues, and another it was avoiding cliches. This time around it's a sort of free-floating anxiety about what actually qualifies as Fantasy, and you can probably imagine about how much patience I have for that. It was quickly apparent that expecting my little screed be a preemptive strike against every young fantasist's genre dysphoria was too much to ask, but I suppose it was worth a try. So, then:
Some Not-Rules
In an effort, however futile, to hopefully forestall a tide of threads on some variant of "Does This Qualify As Fantasy Or Will The Genre Police Come Get Me In The Night," a few points bear making. Thus, a preliminary-if-of-necessity-incomplete list:
1. Not setting your novel on another world does not disqualify it as fantasy.
2. The absence of magic in your novel does not disqualify it as fantasy.
3. The absence of elves (dragons, unicorns, cockatrices, manticora, Generic Evil Hordes, or what-have-you) does not disqualify it as fantasy.
(3a. The absence of elves-as-rock-stars does not disqualify it as urban fantasy, but that's really another rant.)
4. The absence of epic quests, bildungsroman'd formerly-humble heroes, Feudalism Lite, and/or the stark division of the fictional cosmos into Good and Evil, singly or in any combination, does not disqualify it as fantasy.
5. The subtlety with which you treat the otherworldly element(s), whatever they may be (and however you want to stretch, bend, fold, or spindle the meaning of "otherworldly"), does not disqualify it as fantasy.
6. The presence of gunpowder, clockwork, the printing press, the seed drill, the steam engine, the incandescent lightbulb, or any other technology that would have given Paracelsus a headache does not disqualify it as fantasy.
7. The presence of rayguns, supercomputers, antigravity, faster-than-light travel, or any other fx-laden ultratech shininess does not disqualify it as fantasy.
8. The presence of elements, either of plot, style, or tone, normally associated with the various modes of Horror does not disqualify it as fantasy.
9. The use of any narrative or character voice other than the stentorian and faintly purple This Be a High and Valorous Narrative, Forsooth does not disqualify it as fantasy.
10. And so on. You get the idea.
...which is not to say, by the by, that there's anything at all wrong with doing fantasy that's Exactly What You'd Expect. This is not a discussion about cliches or the anxieties thereof, which is probably also worth having, but not on this thread, i'faith. If that's the book you're doing, you are almost certainly confident in its fantasyness, and this list is not about you.
This list is about everyone who approaches genre with a great idea dampened by fear of breaking the Rules.
And I am here to say: Cut it out. The Rules you're worried about don't exist, or they've been broken already so badly they might as well not. If you think you might be writing fantasy but are concerned that you're violating some sort of protocol if you deviate from the standard (whatever that is), I can give you a long list of folks who have already shattered those icons and danced among the shards.
(Oh, alright: Gene Wolfe. Jack Vance. Ellen Kushner. China Mieville. Kelly Link. Jeff Vandermeer. John Crowley. Sarah Monette. Garth Nix. Hal Duncan. And that's just for starters.)
Look: Genres (and subgenres) are not checklists, they're not pigeonholes, and they're most definitely not straightjackets. Genre is not prescriptive; when it works, it's descriptive, saying "If you liked that, you might also like this." (Or not.) Fantasy in particular is an elusive quarry, and changes shape as soon as you pin it down, but it's enough to say that it isn't only what's considered "generic." It probably has room for whatever it is you're doing too, so for the love of all the gods and muses, resist the urge to second-guess yourself on whether or not it "fits" and come let your work join the conversation already in progress. (And if you're still worried that it doesn't fall under the definition, consider the possibility that the definition could stand to be expanded; fantasy, of all the modes of Lit'rature, has enormous capacity to grow and include.)
Here endeth the ranting. Additions and expansions welcome.
October 18, 2006
Remember, Remember
Yes, as I mentioned previously, it's about that time again.
This has not exactly been my best year for writing (prose, anyway; songwriting I've actually managed a bit of); that rather impressive breakdown I had right at the end of last year's effort seems to have taken some of the wind out of my sails, especially as far as trying to continue Otherwood goes. We'll see if this time around does better for my momentum.
So, to that end, I am already wading out into the uncharted waters of the planning stage for this year's NaNovel. It will indeed be another Jenny book; I am, in fact, thinking of this as a kind of proving ground for the voice and style of the revision of The Vasty Deep, which I promise I haven't forgotten about finishing. (Hey, V's taken five years to get back to his and it was much better the first time around than most of my first drafts actually mumble mumble razafrazzin expletive deleted.)
I remain ambivalent about circulating the work-in-progress this time; while I certainly like the added incentive to keep producing story for a (presumably) committed audience, it also presents me the unfortunate temptation of wanting to be a participant in my own fandom, which probably isn't quite fair to all you folks. I definitely won't be posting it publicly to the Intarwebs, since I might actually be getting over myself enough to be concerned about first-publication rights; I'm considering putting it in friends-locked posts on the LJ, which may be either the best or worst of both worlds. We'll see. I still have at least another two weeks of vacillation before I sort that out, which will frankly be the least of my concerns by then.
Otherwise, though, let me toss this out: I have a vague and general idea of what I'd like to do with this year's effort, but I'm still early enough in the outline that I can incorporate some Audience Participation. If you've got a request of something you think I ought to put in this year, let me know; if I can incorporate it into what I've got planned so far, I might just do it. (Yeah, I know: "Finish it." Everyone's a frickin' commedian.)
Threefold Law
Oh, all right, one more (since Aishwarya tagged "you," and I, like Vishal, am taking it personally):
3 books:
Three, Three, Three Things
3 books:
- Imajica, Clive Barker
- Riddle-Master, Patricia McKillip
- The Nightmare Factory, Thomas Ligotti
- In the Court of the Crimson King, King Crimson
- Of Ruine or Some Blazing Starre, Current 93
- Hoofbeat Caw & Thunder, Timothy, Revelator
- Se7en
- The Name of the Rose
- Night Watch
- I'd gladly eat this Boston Creme doughnut even if it was considerably more stale than it already is.
- Why haven't I discovered the Decemberists before now? They're like if Jethro Tull had somehow halfway turned into the Smiths. On a pirate ship.
- I can tell I'm rapidly approaching the point where I'm going to be obsessed with next month's novel all the time. Is it too early to say Sorry, and Goodbye To You All?
October 09, 2006
"There's trees in the desert since you moved out"
Tagged again, this time by belledame, who caught it from feministe; and who am I to refuse? So, then: five things (hail Eris!) Feminism Has Done For Me:
1. I work as a Filthy Assistant at a small woman-owned company, and am the only male out of ten employees at corporate HQ. Aside from having feminism to thank for making it possible for me to have the Best Boss Ever, I also don't have to feel like this situation is some sort of failing on my part.
2. Thanks to my feminist mom's unwillingness to believe that having a dick makes certain kinds of work impossible, I am self-sufficent: I know how to cook, clean, do my own laundry, buy my own clothes and groceries, and generally see to it on my own that any place I live remains livable. Of course, the fact that I'm not especially good about doing all of those things regularly is another of feminism's lessons, in that I also realize that if they don't all happen every day the world will, by some miracle, consistently fail to end.
3. The work of Ellen Kushner, Susanna Clarke, Patricia McKillip, Carla Speed McNeil, Elizabeth Bear, Jill Thompson, Joolie Wood, Carla Kihlstedt, Teresa Nielsen Hayden, and many others has had a profound influence on my life and my work. Not only am I proud to list those women among my heroes, I'm glad to live in a world where I have access to their work and can pick it up without the fear of getting Girl Cooties all over me.
4. I've kept my hair long for the last four vaguely respectable jobs I've held, and worn an earring to interview for the last three. The breakdown of strict patriarchal standards has given me a great deal more freedom to be who I am without sacrificing material success. (And I don't worry about losing my job if I get spotted by a coworker on the weekend while I'm in nail polish and eyeliner, either.)
5. Some of My Best Friends are Chicks, Really! Er, that is: I feel confident in saying that having an alternative framework for interacting with women (i.e., as actual, yanno, people), without needing to dominate, condescend to, or try and fuck them, has given me a long list of satisfying friendships I wouldn't otherwise have had, and my life would be poorer without them. And I have the pleasure of a marriage that's a geniune partnership; in addition to not needing to be the sole breadwinner/caretaker/responsible adult in my house, I get to spend my life with someone who's actually my friend along with everything else. The whole thing makes me wonder why we didn't start to figure all this nonsense out a long time ago.
...all of which, btw, feels just slightly uncomfortably like I'm pointing out my Feminist Cred, something I generally hate to do (I've said elsewhere that I suspect it's one of those things like cool or Zen, in that if you think you have enough of it to draw attention to, you don't), but the benefits of having one or two bona fide hairy males joining in on this is probably to the greater good. (If it makes you feel any better, The Missus just observed that the bespectacled Naughty Librarian look is suddenly in all over the place, and that's a benefit of feminism I can get behind for almost no altruistic reasons whatsoever.)
Um, not going to tag anyone on this one, I think. I'll leave it to those Fawning Admirers who feels sufficiently inspired to do their own if they like. But I'll point out here that there's also a fine list over at Butterfly Cauldron, and that both Jean and A White Bear are using this meme to launch promising-looking series. Go and read.
1. I work as a Filthy Assistant at a small woman-owned company, and am the only male out of ten employees at corporate HQ. Aside from having feminism to thank for making it possible for me to have the Best Boss Ever, I also don't have to feel like this situation is some sort of failing on my part.
2. Thanks to my feminist mom's unwillingness to believe that having a dick makes certain kinds of work impossible, I am self-sufficent: I know how to cook, clean, do my own laundry, buy my own clothes and groceries, and generally see to it on my own that any place I live remains livable. Of course, the fact that I'm not especially good about doing all of those things regularly is another of feminism's lessons, in that I also realize that if they don't all happen every day the world will, by some miracle, consistently fail to end.
3. The work of Ellen Kushner, Susanna Clarke, Patricia McKillip, Carla Speed McNeil, Elizabeth Bear, Jill Thompson, Joolie Wood, Carla Kihlstedt, Teresa Nielsen Hayden, and many others has had a profound influence on my life and my work. Not only am I proud to list those women among my heroes, I'm glad to live in a world where I have access to their work and can pick it up without the fear of getting Girl Cooties all over me.
4. I've kept my hair long for the last four vaguely respectable jobs I've held, and worn an earring to interview for the last three. The breakdown of strict patriarchal standards has given me a great deal more freedom to be who I am without sacrificing material success. (And I don't worry about losing my job if I get spotted by a coworker on the weekend while I'm in nail polish and eyeliner, either.)
5. Some of My Best Friends are Chicks, Really! Er, that is: I feel confident in saying that having an alternative framework for interacting with women (i.e., as actual, yanno, people), without needing to dominate, condescend to, or try and fuck them, has given me a long list of satisfying friendships I wouldn't otherwise have had, and my life would be poorer without them. And I have the pleasure of a marriage that's a geniune partnership; in addition to not needing to be the sole breadwinner/caretaker/responsible adult in my house, I get to spend my life with someone who's actually my friend along with everything else. The whole thing makes me wonder why we didn't start to figure all this nonsense out a long time ago.
...all of which, btw, feels just slightly uncomfortably like I'm pointing out my Feminist Cred, something I generally hate to do (I've said elsewhere that I suspect it's one of those things like cool or Zen, in that if you think you have enough of it to draw attention to, you don't), but the benefits of having one or two bona fide hairy males joining in on this is probably to the greater good. (If it makes you feel any better, The Missus just observed that the bespectacled Naughty Librarian look is suddenly in all over the place, and that's a benefit of feminism I can get behind for almost no altruistic reasons whatsoever.)
Um, not going to tag anyone on this one, I think. I'll leave it to those Fawning Admirers who feels sufficiently inspired to do their own if they like. But I'll point out here that there's also a fine list over at Butterfly Cauldron, and that both Jean and A White Bear are using this meme to launch promising-looking series. Go and read.
September 25, 2006
Resolution Wanting
Like many, many others in fandom, I was devastated this morning to learn that John M. Ford died late last night.
I knew him mostly by his delightful (brilliant, funny, erudite) posts on Making Light; I knew his writing largely by reputation, though I'd just gotten around to rereading his story "Chain Home, Low" in The Sandman: Book of Dreams and marvelled at its loveliness, determined to find more of his work now that I knew who he was. And, of course, I knew him as the author of this, which remains, five years later, the most poignant, touching, fitting memorial to the events of September 11 I've yet seen.
I didn't have much interaction with him even on ML, and certainly never felt familiar enough to address him as Mike, as his friends did. He did leave one perfectly-turned response to a comment of mine (itself a reply to this), which had me giggling for hours; I wondered if he knew how much it made my day. I thought, in the way of fen who come to be in touch with the community of their literary heroes, that I might find a way, someday, to craft something smart and witty and poetic enough to properly repay him for it. I am sad beyond words that now I will never have the chance.
I will say this, though: John M. Ford was what I want to be when I grow up.
The world is too soon without him, and he is already sorely missed.
We work so hard to contain the fires of our spirits, and every day I am more convinced that this is an error and a tragedy. Better by far to be a bright sun burning fiercely against the vast cold dark. The other stars are closer than you realize, and they go out sooner than you think.
I knew him mostly by his delightful (brilliant, funny, erudite) posts on Making Light; I knew his writing largely by reputation, though I'd just gotten around to rereading his story "Chain Home, Low" in The Sandman: Book of Dreams and marvelled at its loveliness, determined to find more of his work now that I knew who he was. And, of course, I knew him as the author of this, which remains, five years later, the most poignant, touching, fitting memorial to the events of September 11 I've yet seen.
I didn't have much interaction with him even on ML, and certainly never felt familiar enough to address him as Mike, as his friends did. He did leave one perfectly-turned response to a comment of mine (itself a reply to this), which had me giggling for hours; I wondered if he knew how much it made my day. I thought, in the way of fen who come to be in touch with the community of their literary heroes, that I might find a way, someday, to craft something smart and witty and poetic enough to properly repay him for it. I am sad beyond words that now I will never have the chance.
I will say this, though: John M. Ford was what I want to be when I grow up.
The world is too soon without him, and he is already sorely missed.
We work so hard to contain the fires of our spirits, and every day I am more convinced that this is an error and a tragedy. Better by far to be a bright sun burning fiercely against the vast cold dark. The other stars are closer than you realize, and they go out sooner than you think.
September 22, 2006
Beckon and Egg
Well, this is timely: We have finally got out act together and put up the long-overdue OVO page on MySpace, which also find linked at sidebar.
Mostly rough mixes, at this point, but nonetheless that's a whole new crop of material suitable for unsettling the listening public, available for download and for Vishal to sigh and give me a firm talking-to about my doubtless mangling of Sanskrit. Huzzah!
Mostly rough mixes, at this point, but nonetheless that's a whole new crop of material suitable for unsettling the listening public, available for download and for Vishal to sigh and give me a firm talking-to about my doubtless mangling of Sanskrit. Huzzah!
September 20, 2006
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.
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.
September 19, 2006
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.
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!
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!
August 31, 2006
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.
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.
August 29, 2006
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!
August 18, 2006
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.
August 16, 2006
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. |
...Well, hello.
August 09, 2006
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.)
August 07, 2006
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.
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.
August 05, 2006
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.
August 02, 2006
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.
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.
July 21, 2006
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.)
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.)
July 11, 2006
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.
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.
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.
July 09, 2006
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!
July 04, 2006
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.
Wow.
Damn.
And yes.
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