Hit the road jack...

Candace - 100211

I am on an extended break from work. I earn an extra 6 weeks of vacation (they call it a "sabbatical") every six years. My 12 anniversary at the company was Sept 27th, so I decided to take my time off immediately. I need the break. The past year has been rough at work, home, school, and life in general. I've almost been laid off three times, worked 60+ hour weeks for months straight, and have seen many friends lose their jobs including 19 more on my last day before break. At home... just trying to figure out how the next half of my life will go is bad, but I am still struggling with figuring out tomorrow and keeping what I have and what I have lost from overwhelming me today. My studies helped me grow greatly as an artist, but at high costs of time, energy, and emotions, and bits of my soul. My soul is tired, beaten, and mixed with anger, regret, loss, but still has bits of hope for the future.

This break is going to be important. I will be traveling to some of my favorite places - Montana, the desert, Las Vegas, and New York City. I am going to enjoy some HFO time. In my college bus driving days, we would use that acronym as code for "Hang-the-Fuck Out", or in other words, just chill and do nothing. I will also be working on my website, which I just got a great domain name for and will be premiering here. I plan to photograph the hell out of my break as well. I may also shoot some reflective video and try to take stock of where my art is and create some things I've long needed to. Since I am going to be in the car for many hours driving to far states, it may be good for me to keep a video journal of my thoughts. I am also working on finishing up a personal photo series that I will also share here.

One more thing.  I apologize for the long break.  I have reasons for the break, but they are boring and involve the work and life that lead up to my vacation.  They are behind me for now.

I first chose this song because of the title.  It is one of my favorites from Ray Charles.  After listening to it, I am getting a second message of why I need to hit the road.  I think some forces in my life are telling me the same message.  Maybe it is time to "Hit the road Jack and don't you come back no more, no more, no more, no more."  I've worn out a few welcomes recently.  Time to go.

The first version is from way back.  The second from a 1996 appearance on Saturday Night Live.   Ray aged so well. He had the magic to the end.  The third is Jamie Foxx's interpretation from his movie Ray.  I wish I had back up singers.

Video

10 years on

Coney Island - 091111

I could reflect on September 11th, 2001 and share what I did that day, what I felt, experienced and lived through.  My memories are old though and can't be trusted to be true.  To be honest, what I did that day, what I felt, experienced and lived through doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.  We all lived through it and have our own stories which probably only have meaning to us.

I could write on how my world changed with two wars, increased security (and fear and paranoia), and the broken political system we live in, but you already know it, just listen to the shouting heads on tv.  We lost the united resolute ethos within a few years so that much is over.  Besides, Bin Laden is dead.

I could commend the bravery of the firefighters, police officers, and soldiers who gave their all on that day and in the wars since, but we already know of their heroism.  They should be honored and anything I say would add nothing to the mountains of sentiment going toward them.

A few years ago I heard a presentation from an eighty-something year old woman. Every year she swims a race from Alcatraz to San Francisco. The race is over a mile long in cool waters with a current pulling the swimmers out into the Pacific. She told us that during the race she flips over and backstrokes to rest and use other muscles. During that time she looks back at where she came from, Alcatraz. She has learned though if she becomes to fixated on it, the current will pull her off course, so she has to continually look around and forward again to keep her bearing. Before she ended her talk she gave me some of the best advice about living.

"It is OK to look back at the past, just don't stare."

On this anniversary, I choose to remain quiet, live my life, try to create something, do yard work, and move on trying to ease the pains in my body, heart, soul, and mind that are distant and recent.  Maybe that is the lesson of all of this for me.  Never forget, but keep moving on. 

Killer Songs

Me - 072411

There are so many killers written into literature.   Many killers are portrayed in paintings.  Actors create amazing characters of murderers (think of Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lector).  I am not much of a poetry fan, but I am sure there are many poems about killing as well.  What I am thinking about today is the representation of killers in songs.

I got onto this theme after listening to Psycho Killer by the Talking Heads on my way home from work.  I then listened to Folsom Prison Blues  and Mack the Knife to get into the theme.  It made me wonder what the appeal of these songs were.  I know I have a number of them on my iPod.

I first explored the voice of the story teller in these songs.  Many are in the first person, but a few are in the third person.  This is interesting that singers and song writers want to be the killer rather than talk about them.  What is the motivation for this?  What makes us want to be vicarious participants in the darkest parts of humanity?

Me - 072411

I think this instinctual drive expresses itself in our acclamation and devotion to mystery/murder novels, television series (CSI, Criminal Intent, Medium, The Sopranos), songs, video games, and movies.  We deep down want to understand the motivations and experiences of a killer without having to actually live them, or to be blunt, pull the trigger or bury the knife.  If we thought about these deep feelings too much we would be disgusted by ourselves, so we never analyze deeper into them.  We just know we like the shows, books, and songs - even if they makes us look away at times.

Are portrayals of violence bad for society?  That is a tough question that is not a simple yes/no answer.  By exploring them through these genres, we can better understand them and maybe even scratch an subliminal itch that keeps us from going further.  On the other hand, these violent productions can stoke inhibited fires to become a reality.  Where is that fine line?  Can we even define that fine line since it is different with every consumer of the content?

Moon - 072411

I explored making abstract violent imagery last year in New York.  The images were inspired by the aesthetic qualities of the night terror dreams I often have.  I don't think the photos got to the point that I was trying to make, but they were my first attempt.  I wanted to capture the horror from those dreams.  They are third person for me, not first person.  Upon further reflection though, the images where the models look at the camera feel first person due to the eye contact.  (Thanks to Moon and Valya for their roles in making these photos.)

Valya - 072411

I think back to when my family first got HBO when I was 13 or 14.  My mom told me she didn't mind me seeing movies rated R if the reason was sex or nudity, but was concerned if the rating was due to violence.  As she said, "Nudity and sex is natural, but violence was evil."  It is in our DNA and basic behavioral psychology to desire sex for procreation.  It is primal.  It is our most basic core programming.  I don't care if someone is homosexual, straight, bisexual, or some other identification, the base drive to do it comes from the same place.  What we find desirable; same, opposite, or both genders, is coding that came later.  Maybe killing is another genetic program as well.

So, back to the question why do we vicariously live in lyrics like "I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die."? (Folsom Prison Blues - Johnny Cash)  Maybe it is because we are too scared to admit that some of these crude, base instincts are in us but we still need to hear others tell the stories.  I am sure many people will disagree with my theory, but I think everyone has an instinctual killer gene in us that we work so hard to deny.  Way back when, this gene helped protect us and get us food, but we don't need it in that way anymore.  By consuming others' stories of killing, through all genres, most of us stimulate, satiate, and suppress this gene without even acknowledging we have it.  Too bad this cycle it doesn't work for everyone.

Below are some killer songs.  I identified whether they are first or third person and shared a few of my thoughts on them.  I didn't want to write too much and would rather read your thoughts on them.  I chose not to put songs about victims, like Strange Fruit.  That may be worthy of a future post.

Mack the Knife - Louise Armstrong - Third person - I remember when I heard McDonalds use an altered version of this song for an ad campaign called "Make it Mac Tonight".  A few years later I was listening to an old *Satchmo album of my mom's that had the original.  I quickly realized this was no fast food ad song... it was scary as hell.  I listened to it three more times.  It chilled me how Armstrong was retelling the story as if he and some drinking buddies were shooting the shit, gossiping about these murders.  Pretty damn cold song.

Folsom Prison Blues - Johnny Cash - First person - This is a rare one in that it is not about the murder, but how murderer is rotting in prison.



Hey Joe - Jimi Hendricks - Third person - This song is about a man about to kill his lover for cheating on him.  Like the story in Cash's Cocaine Blues - the murderer heads down south to Mexico.




Cocaine Blues - Johnny Cash - First person- This is sort of a continuation of Hey Joe in that it is about a man killing his woman, but then tells the story of his running away and finally getting caught.  It is a light-hearted murder song, but very chilling in how it is meant to humorous ending with a weak warning to avoid drugs and alcohol. 




Psycho Killer - The Talking Heads - First person. I think these are some of the best lyrics about the mentality of a killer.

I can't seem to face up to the facts
I'm tense and nervous and I
Can't relax
I can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire
Don't touch me I'm a real live wire

A bit of the song is in French.

Part of the chorus and the bridge are in French. The verse translates to "What I did, that evening, what she said, that evening fulfilling my hope I throw myself towards glory." The chorus lyric "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" means "What is this?"  from the Song Facts website.

My Name is Mud - Primus - First person - A dark disturbing story of how fast it happens and how it has to dealt with by the murderer.  Les Claypool is the band's leader, singer and bass guitarist.  His guitar style is rough, dirty and hard.  I like it.  It matches the theme of this song.




Henry Lee - Nick Cave and PJ Harvey - This comes from Cave's album Murder Ballads.  In this unique song, the killer is not who you would think.  The fair lady is the murderer.  Here is a link to the color youtube version of it.  I highly recommend you watch the black and white version by clicking on the photo and scrolling down to this song. 

Click the image and scroll down to the video

Jack the Ripper - Morrissey- First person - Sounds like he is telling of the stalking of his victim.



State Trooper - Bruce Springsteen - First person - Not sure if this is about a killer, but feels like he is willing to kill to get away.




Midnight Rambler - Rolling Stones - Third and first person - Starts off in the third person and transitions to first person after a long bridge section. 

And if you catch the Midnight Rambler
I'll steal your mistress from under your nose
Well, go easy with your cold fandango
I'll stick my knife right down your throat
Baby, and it hurts!

It feels like he is bragging about his work.





All of these songs are from the last 100 years.  I know there are great pieces from operas, and other musical genres, about murderers and killing and would be interested in learning about them as well.

* My mom named her trumpet Satchmo in honor of Mr. Armstrong.

Secrets, brilliant disguises, masks, and façades.

Candace Nirvana - 070211

If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees. - Kahlil Gibran

I just read a post over at What We Saw Today by my friend Carla titled Secrets.  I recommend reading her post.  To summarize it, she shared some personal information with someone who betrayed her with the secret.  This reminds me of why we all keep secrets and must be careful with whom we share our most personal details.

I wrote a bit about façades and how we build up fake fronts to hide what is inside of us.  I think we also build safe rooms in our hearts and brains where we keep the most intimate secrets buried.  I've bared only parts of my safe room to a very few.  Nobody has burned me horribly, but I've had some bumps along the way.  Nobody, but me (and depending on views on God) knows all my secrets.

Secrets are made to be found out over time. - Charles Sanford

There were two people I shared a bit with that didn't hurt me, but never forgot a word I said.  Even months and years later, both will mention a shared nugget or two at relevant times.  I am not sure if they do that to show they have power over me with the secret or to show they were listening and remember what I shared and care for me.  It may be a mixture of both.  This reminds me of why during biblical times God, and other characters, were hesitant to share their names.  By knowing some one's name you had power over him or her.  Similarly, by knowing a person's deep secret, you have large power over them as well.

What is love? Love is when one person knows all of your secrets... your deepest, darkest, most dreadful secrets of which no one else in the world knows... and yet in the end, that one person does not think any less of you; even if the rest of the world does. - unknown

I recently had a falling out with someone (person A).  We "de-friended" on Facebook and cut other ties as well.  We still have common online friends and that is where the pixel forest fog comes in.  I wrote a status update on Facebook about an event that we and another friend had in common.  An hour later I got a Facebook private message from the shared friend (person B) that was meant for  person A, not me.  It had my FB quote, sort of trashed me and made a few jokes.

I don't know what hurt more,  that person A told person B about the falling out or that person B, a shared friend, was spying and relaying information back to person A.  The fact that all of this is happening online is not new, this type of coy spying has been going on for ages.  I remember these types of shenanigans going on in junior high, but now it happens in the pixel forest as well.

I purposefully keep things secret.  Some are to protect myself, loved ones, family, friends, and other interests.  I kept my name secret on my old blog out of fear of how my photography and dark and/or erotic thoughts could harm me.  I now own this blog and use my name, but no longer share those parts and only some of my photography for the same reason.   I have a separate day job and multiple lives I live and need to protect.

I was once talking to a friend about how our personal universes were shaped.  Hers was one big sphere where all parts of it swirled around together, colliding, bonding, and separating from each other.  Things were not compartmentalized.  My personal universe is more like a wheel hub with spokes going out.  The only place those spokes may touch is at the center, the hub, or me.  I rarely mix my work life with my art life or my family life or college life or blog life or church life.  If I do let them mix, I try to control the meeting as much as possible and am very nervous during it.  I really hate when those hubs or worlds collide outside of my control.

We dance around a ring and suppose, While the secret sits in the middle and knows - Robert Frost

Why do I keep such strict separation between these parts of me?  Part of it is that I know the spokes would conflict with each other, may not understand each other, and would hurt me in the end.  I also keep them separated because I seek out different things from each group that make most of them mutually exclusive for me.  I don't like mixing those groups because the mix rarely goes well.

At times I wish I could be as open as the friend with the sphere universe.  I think it is healthier because she has fewer secrets or perceived needs for them.  For me though, I can't do it.  I was raised this way and it is an atomized part of my essence.

It takes a lot of my energy to maintain my spoke universe and even though I am decent at keeping everything separated, the parts do bleed through to one another on occasion.  One such area is my art.  If you spend enough time looking at it, you can see what I try to keep hidden from other areas.  Maybe my reluctance to change is partly due to me not wanting to give up one of my internal muses, my secrets that make up most of my art and expression. 

The last song from the last Beatles performance on the roof of the Apple Offices- Get Back

"She could taste trouble on my mouth"

barbed wire - 061511

Troublesome Houses by Bonnie Prince Billy came up on my Pandora station a few months back.  I missed half the lyrics before I started listening to it.  After jotting the song name down I downloaded it later that night.

Even though this was my first exposure to this song, Z, over at Any Fucking Day (a great blog), introduced me to this great musician.  I highly recommend you listen to his music.  Pretty good stuff.

Troublesome Houses

I once loved a girl, but she couldn't take that I visited troublesome houses. She'd say, when I got home, to leave her alone. She could taste trouble on my mouth. When she was gone I missed her, I did...and still went to troublesome places. I couldn't withstand a glorious day without seeing these troublesome faces. And quiet eluded me, and keeps from me still, though I need my own bed and it's solace. Day's noises steal in and copper my will, and I face the evils that follow us. I once had a house, and my family knew where to find me if ever they needed. Troublesome houses were foreign to them. They thought all papa's orders I heeded. Now they can't fnd me; they don't have my numbers, and just hear reports of my doings. Troublesome houses are not in their minds, though it's in those I do all my moving.

The masked work of James Ensor

Self-Portrait With Masks - 1899 James Ensor

“The mask traditionally functioned as a complex carrier of meaning. For Ensor, it seems also to have allowed for boundaries to be blurred, and for certain questions to be raised? “ - Richard Kalina – Looking for James Ensor

The purpose of a mask is to hide identity while adding a new one. We wear masks for special occasions, Halloween, and to commit crimes. According to this article, James Ensor used them to both hide the identity and to place a deep symbol into his art.

Ensor’s mom owned a shop that sold masks. Growing up around masks must have given him an appreciation of the power they hold. He knew real people existed behind the mask, but by wearing them gained new identities. He used this ability to switch persona as metaphors in his photos.

The Astonishment of the Wouse - 1889 James Ensor

In the painting, The Astonishment of the Mask Wouse, Ensor presents common characters (e.g., an old woman, a helper,etc.) that are part of every day life and hides them behind masks. By masking these characters, the familiarity of the character to the viewer is loss because the mask makes us see a hidden side of them. We wonder if the mask represents what the wearer wants us to think of them. The mask may also represent what they are trying to hide from us, but comes out when we try to see humans as being more complex than initial appearances allow.

We all wear masks that present us as different people in different circumstances. At work, home, church, public meetings, on the bus, etc., we put on disguises to protect ourselves from our secrets. In Bruce Springsteen’s song Brilliant Disguise, he first sings of the disguises worn by his wife:

So tell me who I see 
when I look in your eyes 
Is that you baby 
or just a brilliant disguise 
Later in the song he confesses that he wears a brilliant disguise as well: 
So when you look at me 
you better look hard and look twice 
Is that me baby 
or just a brilliant disguise… 
… God have mercy on the man 
Who doubts what he's sure of.

Maybe Ensor used masks to show that we all wear them to pretend to be something else. I think he also painted them to show that while we think the mask looks one way to us, those looking at us see something much different, something unintended and unwanted.

And the band played on...

jacqui and truck - 061211

We caught the direct flight from Missoula, MT to San Francisco.  After take off, I put my iPod on and this song by the great Canadian "politically satirical folk" band, Moxy Fruvious came on.   It is aptly called The Drinking Song.   The lyrics are both nonsensical and beautifully poetic.

This song makes me think of artist/musician friend Joe Crachiola and I don't know why.  Maybe it is just that I'd like to be in New Orleans listening to some great music, creating some great photos, eating great food, and drinking a great bit with him.

This song also makes me think of old and recent endings in my life.  Those moments when something ended, yet parts of me hasn't accepted the passing or impending passing.  By the end of the song my eyes were all tearing up, but felt sadly comforted by the tune.

The Drinking Song - Moxy Fruvious

And the band played on
As the helicopters whirred.
Drunk on the lawn in a nuclear dawn,
My senses finally blurred..

He was a rock
Til the end, a solid reminder
Couldn't deny a friend
We lived in the noise and
The sweet amber poison
Peeking up the skirt of the end
And we'd drink
Two gnarly dudes and some records
Much like plates of black food
We filled up our faces
Saw some far places
Stood on the roof in the nude.

And the band played on
As the helicopters whirred.
Drunk on the lawn in a nuclear dawn,
My senses finally blurred..

Between poles, he said,
"We're like cows in the grass.
Brushing off flies
Chaise lounging around
Standing up falling down
Til we no longer opened our eyes."
And we'd drink
Ever notice how drinking's like war?
Cup o troops oe'r the guns
Til the end of our health
A campaign 'gainst myself
Armed with bourbons and scotches and rums

And the band played on
As the helicopters whirred.
Drunk on the lawn in a nuclear dawn,
My senses finally blurred..

Think of bombs
We're poised on the edge of disaster
Whether it's right or it's wrong
We opened the window
Played some nintendo
Sang a few bars of some pretty old song.
"Irene good night. Irene goodnight
Goodnight Irene, goodnight Irene
I'll see you, in my dreams."
Oh to dream, those impotent
Bones of extinction
Flying graceful and free.
None but the best,
Cause the man cannot rest
Til he's finally beaten his me

And the band played on
As the helicopters whirred.
Drunk on the lawn in a nuclear dawn,
My senses finally blurred..

Til the end, he passed out on the
Sundeck that morning
Quietly saying goodbye
But I was so hammered I sputtered and stammered
Told him he couldn't just die
He was a rock
Went straight for his own armegeddon
Face froze in a grin
Ambulance flying in, I never drank again
Can't really call that a loss or a win

And the band played on
As the helicopters whirred.
Drunk on the lawn in a nuclear dawn,
My senses finally blurred..

And now a break for music - Pavarotti

 This week started off busy, but well.  It grew progressively worse.  Deaths (pets), breakups, and work issues.  Funny how the high point for the week was taking an art final covering Post Impressionism to the present.  I look forward to a three day weekend.

This one gets me all choked up.

Is it just me or is it me?

Rome - 2010

Is it just me or is it me?

Seems people around me are annoyed, on short fuses, brusk, and impatient.  I feeling it a bit too.  Just wondering if I am part of the group or part of the reason or both.  Maybe it is time to send flowers and help others feel better, maybe even smile. 

The White Stripes is my favorite band.  I am bummed they split up this year, but I respect they went out on a high rather than over playing their music.  This little song, Hotel Yorba, always makes me smile.

*The Boxer, Then and Now

Mollee 033011

My mom wore out three Bridge Over Troubled Water albums by Simon and Garfunkel while I was growing up. She loves that album. I know every song by heart, even the ones I don't like (So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright). I spent many hot summer days listening to that album with my mom as I read. Each song has meaning to me.

As a kid, my favorite was Cecilia due to its eccentric instruments and rhythms. I liked it even more when I hit puberty and understood the lyrics, I had figured out why he was washing his face -

Making love in the afternoon with Cecilia
Up in my bedroom (making love)
I got up to wash my face
When I come back to bed
Someone's taken my place

As I got older, I really liked Keep the Costumer Satisfied because of the massive brass section. In my mind, songs with "big brass ones" are the tops for instrumentation. You can listen to it here. The brass kicks in during the last half of the song.

In college, I listened to The Boxer's lyrics for the first time. One part really spoke to me.

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that layed him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains

If you listen to the original recoding, Simon and Garfunkel sing "cut" with staccato, clipping it short so the listener feels the punch the boxer just suffered. That was the point when I learned that articulation of words can add so much meaning to the message. It made me listen to music differently. I wanted to hear how Frank Sinatra, Tina Turner, Pink Floyd, Al Green, Pavarati, and many other vocalists said the words so they had more meaning.

I also felt that verse of the song spoke to me since we all "carry all the reminders of ev'ry glove laid him down or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame." What college student doesn't feel they are a failure in school, socially, physically, psychologically at some point?

In my thirties, this verse spoke to me.

Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job
But I get no offers,
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there

All I will say, when haven't we taken some comfort in places we are not too proud of visiting. I do declare.

Yesterday, I wanted to listen The Boxer again. I found a 2003 version of it from a S & G performance on David Letterman. The video is at the bottom. Once you get past the interview, the music starts at 2:00. Part way through, I heard a new (to me) verse.

Now the years are rolling by me
And they rock uneasily
And I am older than I once was
And younger than I'll be. That's not unusual.
No, it isn't strange
After changes upon changes
We are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same

That pretty much sums up a mid-life crisis. As pitiful and cliche as a mid-life crisis is, those lyrics are speaking to me and I am listening. I am not going to dwell on them too much longer, but they are important now.

I've listened to this "new" verse a dozen times now and found out a bit about it through wikipedia. It was not included on the original Bridge Over Troubled Water album.



The Boxer by Paul Simon and performed with Art Garfunkel

I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest

When I left my home and my family
I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station running scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know

Lie la lie ...

Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job
But I get no offers,
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there

Lie la lie ...
Now the years are rolling by me And they rock uneasily And I am older than I once was And younger than I'll be. That's not unusual. No, it isn't strange After changes upon changes We are more or less the same After changes we are more or less the same

Lie la lie ...

Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone
Going home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me
Bleeding me, going home

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that layed him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains

Lie la lie ...

On David Lettermen




The original

x
One final note, it is good to hear S&G still have golden harmonies. They give me goose bumps with their beautiful sounds.