Monday, October 22, 2012

Viva La Vinyl!







For many years, I wanted to live in my current neighborhood but everything that was once appealing about it is rapidly fading away like an old Polaroid photo in reverse. St. Mark's Place looks like a mall and the NYU kids and whoo-hoo girls have made the place seem like an extension of college. Adding to my disappointment is the fact that one of the two record stores on my block closed this weekend. I've always found it odd (yet refreshing) that in an era where record stores are becoming extinct, our block has been able to sustain two shops. Until now. This store is collateral damage of the digital music revolution and its conquering of all physical music media. As if that weren't enough of an opponent, they're also on the losing side of the gentrification of the East Village. The building now has new owners and, if you live in New York City, there's no need to spell out the rest.

While I was only in there once or twice and never bought anything, I'm always saddened when a small business owner in the East Village is forced to shutter a business and seek livelihood elsewhere. When it's a record store, I feel an extra bit of sorrow. As much as I love the convenience of things like MP3s and Spotify, I will be the first to tell you that the sonic quality of these mediums does not measure up to a physical record. Whenever I put on a piece of vinyl, I immediately recognize the warm thump of bass that I never get to hear through those white earbuds. That timbre reaches down to my bones and warms me from the inside. There's now an entire generation of people who will never know this feeling. I can't blame the kids, really, as they're not being given the option to experience music any other way. For those of you who know better and who turned your backs for the sake of convenience, shame on you.

I heard that the owners are planning to go to LA and give things a shot there. I hope they make it.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

"I'm Fine, Thanks"



As I've been discussing here and here, I'm one of the newest members of the unemployed class. I'm keeping myself busy with reading, writing, housework, and also looking for a job. Per my last post, I have become disillusioned with the idea of meeting with startup people who are 15-20 years younger than me with the hope of proving that "yes, I'm cool enough to be your co-worker". There have been enough failures in that area for me. I have seen the futility in repeatedly trying something that is not destined to work out for me in the hope that the next opportunity will work out differently. I'm looking at a new idea: to teach what I've learned in over 10 years of experience with the hope of finding a few freelance opportunities.

In the midst of all of this re-evaluation, I finally got around to watching the film "I'm Fine, Thanks" by Grant Peelle that was made with the help of a number of Kickstarter donors (including me). Peelle is a realtor who, somehow along the way, took a detour from his dream of making films to settle into The Script: go to school; get married; get job; get kids; wait until you're retired to follow your dreams (if you're lucky enough to make it). He reaches the breaking point of living a life that is not genuine to him and decides that he is going to follow his dreams and become a filmmaker. "I'm Fine, Thanks" is the manifestation of that dream. In the film, he and his crew interview dozens of people who are in varying degrees of discomfort with the concept of living the traditional rat race life and decide to do something about it. The subjects are not concerned with financial reward- they have a higher, more fulfilling purpose. As one person puts it, "If you live a life cut off from your heart, that's not really living." That line really hits home for me. I have no interest in pounding the pavement in search of another job like those I've had in the past that tend to burn me out after a year. Like the saying goes, the definition of insanity is "doing the same thing repeatedly with the same result in the hope of getting a different outcome." None of the people interviewed in the film are motivated by money. In fact, most of them accept that the key to a fulfilling life is in detaching yourself from material things. I always thought that once I earned a six-figure income that I'd be truly satisfied with myself. Once I got there I was just as miserable as always. In fact, if I were to list the most fulfilling things in my life, money would not be in the Top 5.

I have to admit that I am still on the journey to figure out what I should be doing with my life. I'm taking the advice in Steve Jobs' famous Stanford commencement speech where he talks about finding the things you like with the faith that you will be led down the correct path. I'd like to say that I can define the One Thing that I think I was put on this planet to carry out but I'm not there yet. "I'm Fine, Thanks" has provided me with a much needed shot in the arm to find the courage needed to get off the hamster wheel and onto a much brighter path.

The film has not been widely released yet. More info is at http://cranktank.com/im-fine-thanks/.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Pounding The Pavement


Due to recent events, I've been looking for a job. I've always nurtured the fantasy that if I were laid off I could spend my days in artistic pursuit without the hinderance of a boss or a place of employment. I'm officially employed for two more days but I don't have to come to the office anymore. I check in via smartphone and send a few sporadic emails as needed. Despite the fact that I haven't officially entered the world of unemployment, I'm already antsy. I have to keep lists of things to do so I don't end up spacing out on the couch. I've learned over the last several months that life is more about balance than the quest to cast aside everything that does not seem to be part of the so-called master plan. I have been able to pursue my passions while still kowtowing to The Man. As I like to say, I may not be that crazy about The Man, but I sure do love his benefits and paychecks.

While I've been in Still Employed But Not Really Working Limbo I was lucky enough to land a couple of interviews at a hotshot startup (name deleted for obvious reasons). My initial phone screen was a breeze as was the first round of in-person interviews (or so it seemed). Unlike other startup interviews, I was asked about my actual job experience. It was clear to me that I could do the job with ease and add a lot of value. I left the office with the usual dash of uncertainty but could say that I wasn't nervous and calmly presented myself. Unfortunately, the company did not agree with my self-assessment. I'm pleased that they proactively reached out to tell me that they're moving forward with someone else as I've been left completely in the dark by other companies who chose not to update me or return my queries for status.

Sure, I'm not too psyched to be rejected but this was a job that I really wanted. It was the first opportunity in a few years that I was eager to pursue. In the past, I reluctantly accepted offers of employment because I was ready to get off the couch and breathe some fresh air. As I thought about it, I realized that the people who interviewed and rejected me were probably 9 or 10 years old when I started my career. It's both humbling and humiliating. For a while, I've been telling myself that I want to “go back” to the cool dot-com scene where people come to work dressed however they like, partake of the free food and beverages, and generally feel good about being inside the Internet Palace that so many people wish they could enter. I'll be honest- it's a great feeling. When I thought about all of this last night, the words “go back” really struck me for the first time. I heard “go back” as “go backwards” to something I've already done. It occurred to me that I've been trying to get into companies overrun by 20-somethings when I haven't been a 20-something for more than a decade. In my last cool dot-com job, the only people older than me were the CEO and the head of HR. Almost everyone else was younger than me, including my boss.

I'm not suggesting that I'm too mature or that these younger people are not as smart as me. In fact, the young people I've worked with are among the most talented people I've had the pleasure to be around. I sure as hell wish I had it together like them when I was their age. But I wonder if this dot-com quest is another way I've been clinging to the long-faded ideal of youth. Have I been chasing these jobs down because I want to feel young by coming to work in super casual dress?  I don't sit around and think of myself as an old guy but there are differences between people in their 20s and people in their 40s. As this is all new I'm still processing these thoughts. However, I'm starting to wonder if it's time to get out of the sandbox and start playing with kids my own age.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Laid Off


As I’ve discussed previously, I’ve been in a job for the past year that I never liked. For most of the time, I had to drag my feet out of the elevator and down the hall to my seat.  About four months ago, I had an epiphany:  the job is neither sucky nor great; it simply IS.  Along with that epiphany was another insight: I can choose to let my job define who I am OR I can consider my job to be the place where I have to pass the time so I can get the paycheck I need.  Ever since that time, I’ve come into the office without a care in the world.  I’ve also found numerous opportunities to explore the things I’m truly passionate about. My creativity has soared as a result.  All of that came crashing down last week.  

Over the last few weeks, there have been two mysterious men in our office who turned out to be consultants hired to get this sinking ship of ours back on track.  As soon as I realized that most of the meetings they had were with HR, Legal, and Finance, it became obvious that Step 1 of the resuscitation of the company was going to be in the form of “weight-shedding”.  About a week ago, I received a BCC email regarding a mandatory update meeting at 1PM.  The person across the aisle received a BCC email invite to a 2PM mandatory update meeting.  My neighbor received an invite for a 4PM all-hands meeting that I didn’t receive.  At that point, I emptied my desk and took a walk to kill some time.

At the appointed hour, I showed up to the conference room with my packed bag.  About 6 or 7 other folks streamed in afterwards.  On one side of the table were the two mysterious men.  As people entered, they made awkward pleasantries (“How’s your summer going?”  “Watching the Olympics?”). They eventually announced themselves as consultants who were hired to take over the company to finally achieve profitability.  The rest of the meeting was so by-the-numbers that I felt like I was in a movie:


  • Overview on how the company is at a critical juncture
  • Announcement that “unfortunately, your jobs were affected”
  • Statement that this wasn’t about personalities and how “hard this is”
  • Reminder of non-disclosures and non-compete clauses
  • Gregarious gesture to go home for the rest of the day
  • Another reminder of non-disclosures and non-compete clauses
  • Offer to provide job placement assistance
  • Q & A
  • Dismissal

Since then I’ve been coming in for a few hours a day, soon to trail off to a couple of days per week.  As I’m not hustling to get here early, I’ve been spending more time in the gym working on the extra five pounds I gained by eating chocolate all day.  I consider myself a Dead Man Walking.  Everyone at work knows that I’m one of the “affected resources” so they don’t really pay me much mind as they know I’ll be gone soon enough.  The collar of my shirt was tucked into my shirt and no one seemed to notice.  While a couple of folks have been kind enough to ask how I’m doing, some people are afraid to talk to me or look me in the eye. They treat me like I’m a cancer patient, as if my affliction may affect them if they get too close.  Perhaps my predicament is reminding them of their own mortality.  As almost half the company was let go, the survivors may be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As I walk around here, I feel like a ghost.  I can see what’s going on around me but no one seems able to see or hear me.  I’m a completely detached observer to everything around me in the office. It doesn’t matter if I’m sitting here or not- their day will not be affected in the slightest by any action I take.  It’s not the warmest feeling in the world but I’ve been occupied with thinking about the next chapter and taking advantage of the fact that I’m being paid to do whatever I want for the next few weeks.

I’m not panicking at all.  In fact, I’m looking forward to ending this chapter and moving to the next thing.  The feeling of claustrophobia that I’ve had for the past year is gone.  Instead, the world is feeling wide open to me right now with a myriad of choices to make.  I haven’t felt this empowered in years. 

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Happy Birthday, Jer


I recently watched an old “Mad Men” episode that involved the death of Marilyn Monroe and the intense emotional reaction of the women at Sterling Cooper. Roger Sterling expresses his befuddlement over the fact that the women are reacting very strongly about someone they didn’t know. He clearly doesn’t understand the way that people attach themselves to their popular culture icons. This particular episode came to mind as I sat down to write this.

Ol’ Jer would’ve been 70 years old today. Later this week is the 17th anniversary of his death. I’ll admit that I cried when I heard the news. At that time there was a lot of drama in my life. I think that the occasion of Garcia’s death was the catalyst I needed to release a torrent of stress and misery that had been building up for me. Over the subsequent years since Jerry left us, we’ve learned how his drug use destroyed him slowly. As someone said around the time he died, what he really needed was his own Grateful Dead type of escape where he could find the joy that he brought to many of us. I’ve often wondered what would’ve been if, as expressed in his last Rolling Stone interview, he was able to take a year or two off to get out of the hamster wheel and recharge his spirit. By that point in time, the band became such a huge enterprise that the livelihoods of dozens of people would’ve dried up and I suspect that Jerry had a very hard time accepting all of that.

Of course, I have no idea what Jerry thought about anything. As with many people who are fans of the Dead (or Springsteen or Dylan or any number of musicians), we assume that we have deep insights into a person we’ve never met merely because we can recite lyrics perfectly or walk around with an internal encyclopedia of the person's body of work. In Garcia’s case, I’ve thought about what it must’ve been like to drive around and see your face on other people’s bumper stickers and t-shirts. Jerry was very clear about the fact that he was not interested in being a hero. In fact, he expressed some disappointment over the fact that many people were unable to find anything in America more adventurous than following his band around. All he really wanted was to play music and may have been content if the Grateful Dead never happened and he was forced to hustle coffeehouse gigs and give guitar lessons to pay the rent.

So do I miss him? Not in the way I might miss an old friend who died but there is still a feeling of loss and yearning for what once existed.  Garcia’s passing was, for me, symbolic of the end of a certain period of my life that was full of highway adventures, roaring laughter, and even a life-threatening experience or two. When I listen to his music, there’s a part of me that celebrates those episodes from years past. The other part is all about embracing the joy and the passion in his playing that is stirred up in me even after listening to the same shows dozens of times. I'm grateful tonight for all of the people who took it upon themselves to record as much of the journey as possible so that people like me could revel in it. I feel lucky that I was able to make a connection to the music of a relative stranger and find a little pocket of peace and joy whenever I need it.

Wherever you are tonight, Ol' Jer, a lot of us are thinking of you and saying “thanks”.

Friday, July 27, 2012

"American Graffiti" And The Yearnings Of Summer




As much as I love “Star Wars” (episodes 4-6, anyway), if I had to choose which of George Lucas’ films I’d like to have with me on a desert island, I think I’d have to pick “American Graffiti”.  Lucas captured that end-of-summertime yearning better than any other film I can think of.  Having grown up in a small town, I can certainly relate to the feeling of driving around aimlessly at night, filled with the desperation of hunting down a truly spectacular experience.  I’ve always identified with the Richard Dreyfus character.  He spends his last night before flying off to college prowling around town with the hope of meeting the mysterious woman in the white T-Bird who he spots momentarily at a red light.  As the night progresses and his chances slowly evaporate, his frustration grows.

Most of my summer nights ended with the same empty feeling that accompanied the inability to fill the void with the conquest of love or the completion of some grand journey.  My defeat was sealed once I arrived at home where I had to tip-toe nervously up the stairs of my parents’ house.  As the stairs were old and creaky, I had learned over time the correct pattern for walking on them so as not to hit the sweet spots on each step that would trigger the squeak alarm and wake my parents.  Some steps creaked on the left side and others creaked on the right so I performed a delicate little dance, shoes in hand, deftly maneuvering from one side of the staircase to the other.  No matter how many times I shuffled up those stairs without the victory I aimed for at the outset of the evening, I never lost hope in the magic of summer.

As a kid, summertime seemed like this endless entity.  Days would creep along, seemingly dragged out by the scorching sun and heat. By the time evening approached, everyone was home from work, summer school, or wherever they hid out all day and the phone calls would commence.  Being that this was before Facebook or texting, you had to be glued to the phone to ensure that you didn’t miss out on whatever the evening’s main event was going to be.  You always held out hope that the night could take a series of twists and turns, propelling you from yet another mundane night on the town into something that felt truly epic.  “American Graffiti” took that ideal and ran with it.

Now that I’m all grown up, summer has lost some of its luster.  The time speeds by in the blink of an eye and the most notable thing about this time of year besides the greater amount of daylight hours is that I have to wear short sleeves to work so I don’t melt into a puddle on the subway platform.  These days, I’m not looking for grand sweeping epic moments to make myself feel validated and alive. It can happen by lying in the hammock on the weekends staring out at this:


The magic happens as soon as I arrive at this destination and take my first deep breath of non-citified air.  My life no longer has to resemble an old Bruce Springsteen lyric about heading out to some vague Somewhere Else where I’ll be free of my demons.   I’m not sure if that means I’ve given up on dreaming big dreams or if I’ve found a different definition of satisfaction. Or perhaps, I’ve found that peace and contentment is more of an inside job.

Monday, July 23, 2012

Ty Segall Band- Slaughterhouse



 "Slaughterhouse”, the newest release by Ty Segall Band, is permeated with an echo-laden psychotic vibe that will make you feel like you're trapped in a madhouse for the full 36:24 that it takes to listen from beginning to end. "Death” starts off with approximately one minute of reverb-drenched guitar feedback before snapping into place with a psych-garage groove and guitar riffing that evokes Deep Purple. Continuing the terror-garage vibe is the title track with 1:36 of frenzied guitar and reverb vocals that sound like what the album cover (above) looks like.  “Muscle Man”, with its chunky chugging melody, adds a touch of Childish to the party while the super-fuzz overdrive re-invention of “Diddy Wah Diddy” is a rocket ride that launches Bo Diddley into the stratosphere.

"Slaughterhouse" is the perfect background accompaniment for your next psilocybin-enhanced haunted house excursion.



Image courtesy of intheredrecords.com

Monday, June 25, 2012

My '69 Chevelle


     
     She looked like she sprung herself from the cages of a Bruce Springsteen song and roared through the Badlands on her way to the hilltop in Seattle where I lived.  This was no gleaming machine from a dealer’s lot.  The lady in question was a 1969 Chevrolet Chevelle that was born before the advent of unleaded gasoline.   Her dark blue skin was blemished all over the place from almost 25 years of hard living.  She was built like a fullback- not too tall but wide enough to make her presence known.  On many occasions, I had to jump the solenoid as the car wouldn’t always turn over with the key. In order the jump the solenoid, one has to open the hood and jam a screwdriver in just the right spot in order to get juice to go from the battery directly to the engine.  I'm amazed to this day that I didn't end up as one of those cartoon people who turn into x-rays and levitate when zapped with a surge of electricity.  That car took me on some amazing adventures, including the Oregon Country Fair and the Grateful Dead shows in Las Vegas.  As much as those adventures are stories unto themselves, what I'll remember most was her smell.

     My girl was born in an era before the EPA and other pesky legislators poked their noses around and decided that cars should have things like “environmentally sound emissions”.  Every time I started her up, huge clouds of smoke would bellow out of the exhaust and cover the entire street like it was a KISS concert. Because the floor had holes in it, the smoke would enter the car and make me cough if I was driving for a while.  After one long road trip, I could taste the exhaust on my tongue as I drove. When I  took a shower that evening and rinsed my hair, the water turned black.  There are times where I find myself amazed, almost 20 years later, that these long fume-drenched trips didn't earn me a tumor or two.  The real concern I had every time I took this car out on the road was whether the car would die on me or if it would be impounded for being a public menace.

     She survived an inquiry by the Washington State Police somewhere near the town of Ellensburg.  On my way to Las Vegas, they pulled me over after smelling me drive past them.  I didn’t get a ticket for the emissions as I happened to be driving without insurance but thankfully, I was able to connive my way out of that situation.   One of my neighbors used to leave notes on my windshield threatening to call the police if I didn’t do something about the clouds emanating from my tailpipe.  I was eventually forced to get an emissions test so I could renew my auto registration.  Somehow, perhaps via divine inspiration, the car passed.  Shortly thereafter, I was starting her up and putting on another KISS show in the street when my neighbor began pounding angrily on my driver’s side window.  As he yelled at me, I revved the engine and shoved the emissions test results up against the glass, taunting him with gleeful shouts of “I passed!  I passed!”

    Sadly, as is inevitable with used cars, the only thing she couldn’t dodge was Father Time.  There were a few visits to my local garage, some via tow truck.  I had already replaced the brakes and a few other components as part of the process where all used car owners are forced to justify to themselves yet another expense for their aging vehicle.  One day on my way home, the car was wheezing and lurching as I tried to get up the hill.  I got as far as the mechanic before the car died.  A couple of days later, the mechanic declared her dead as in “you can either buy a brand-new engine and spend more than the car is worth or say goodbye”.  Euthanasia seemed like the logical choice.  I left the car on the side street around the block and said I’d figure out what to do.  As I walked down the street past the spot where the car now resided, I would steal little peeks as if it were an ex that I really didn’t want to see but had to glimpse at anyway.

     After a month had passed, I received a phone call from the mechanic.  Not only was he tired of seeing the car, there was a new odor emanating from the trunk.  I ventured down the hill and opened the trunk to discover a cooler full of mucky water that used to be ice.  Floating in the water was a pile of what used to be ground beef. I cleaned everything out, walked around the corner to the mechanic’s office and handed over the title so that he could either dispose of the car or bring this rusting Lazarus back to life for his benefit.  I never learned what the mechanic did with my car but I never saw (nor smelled) her again.

Photo courtesy of blogcatalog.com

Friday, June 22, 2012

Battling Motion Sickness With Carnival Cruise Lines


     
     I have battled motion sickness for as long as I can recall, even in seemingly harmless places like taxi cabs and surfboards.  The last time I attempted a boat excursion was roughly 8 years ago.  My apprehensions about the trip were batted away by the saleswoman at the activities desk in Cairns who assured me in her Aussie accent that the waters of the Great Barrier Reef were “like glass”.  A few hours (and one Bonine) later, I was lying face-down in the boat for the two-hour trip back to Cairns.  As I moaned in agony, I made a pact with myself that I would never ever subject myself to an experience like that again. 

     Recently, I was invited to a most-expenses-paid cruise trip that served as a family reunion.  The thought of being trapped for five days on a cruise ship didn’t exactly fill me with tons of excitement.  However, as I looked over the details of the trip and the abundance of options for onboard and offshore fun, I decided to take the chance knowing that three members of our party were nurses.  (After all, no one has ever died from motion sickness as far as I know.) Armed with a supply of Transderm Scop patches to stick behind my ear once every three days, here's how it all went down.

The Night Before
    
     I decided to put on my first patch the evening before getting onto the ship as I wanted to ensure that whatever magic was inside these little dots had plenty of time to enter my bloodstream.  I followed the directions to the letter and applied a patch behind my right ear.  Several minutes later, I noticed that my vision was slightly blurry.  At first, I thought it was a side-effect of the day's journey from NYC to Miami but then later recalled that this was to be expected.  As I was ready for bed, I figured I'd defer any panic until the next morning.

Day 1

      I woke up with a headache that seemed to affect me for most of the day but did not return for the rest of the trip.  Cross another side effect off the list.  The blurry vision I experienced the previous evening was gone and I was ready to get to the ship.  As there were 15 of us, we rented a passenger van to take us from the hotel to the Port of Miami, a trip of approximately 25 minutes.  This was to be the first test of the patches.  As I sat in the back of the van, I realized that I was perfectly at ease despite being accosted by a six-year-old boy who found it amusing to pinch my nose for much of the journey.  The good news was that I didn't feel a single twinge of motion sickness.  Typically, I would’ve been woozy not only for the car ride but for an hour or so afterwards.  This small victory bolstered my confidence for the adventure at sea that lay ahead.

     As we were getting situated in our stateroom in the late afternoon, I continued to feel fine and became very eager to check out the ship.  The fact that our stateroom was in the middle of the ship was a huge benefit as I felt much less movement there than anywhere else we visited on the ship.  I wouldn’t say I felt *zero* movement at all times while in the middle, but there was a notable difference.  I noticed in a stateroom located in the rear of the ship that I could feel motion and also as I sat in the ship's library.  As a little experiment, I tried looking out the window once we set off. Sure enough, I was good for a few seconds before the queasiness set in.  If you are prone to motion sickness, it's imperative that you prepare adequately because no matter what anyone tells you, it's possible to feel the movement of the ship even in the middle, regardless of what you’ve heard about the so-called stabilizers that are supposed to steady the ride.

Day 2

      For our first full day at sea and my headache from the previous day all gone, I decided to do a whole lot of nothing.  After breakfast and a morning full of sun, I went back to our stateroom for a nap.  While walking down the corridor, I started to feel extremely dizzy.  A quick check behind my ear indicated that the patch had fallen off so I immediately applied another one.  Thankfully, I had extras with me to last for more than once every three days for the duration of a five-day cruise.  A word of caution- make sure you have plenty of extra patches just to be on the safe side. 

         In addition to using the patches, I made sure to keep myself hydrated and well-fed for the duration of the cruise.  Drinking plenty of water is beneficial not only because of the sun.  In regards to keeping your stomach full, it’s darn near impossible to avoid food while on board a cruise ship. 

Day 3

      We disembarked in Ocho Rios, Jamaica and joined a zipline tour where you’re strapped into a harness that supports your body as you fly through the treetops. In order to get to the starting point, we had to drive in a van for about 15-20 minutes through hilly and curvy terrain.  After we arrived at our destination, we were schlepped into the back of a pickup truck with seats and traveled across roads that were so bumpy we thought we were going to fall out at several points during our 10-minute ride.  Without the patch, I think I’d still be lying by the side of the road in the fetal position.  Fortunately, by looking forward at all times, I was able to make it through with flying colors. And speaking of flying, the zipline adventure went off without a hitch.

Day 4

      As 72 hours had expired since the last patch, I made sure to swap out for a replacement.  Sure enough, my vision started to blur slightly.  My previous experiences kept me from panicking.  Again, it’s best to apply the patches before going to bed so that the blurriness will have minimal impact.  Also, by applying the patch at night, you will allow ample time for the medication to enter your bloodstream overnight.

Day 5/6

      I kept the patch on as I wanted to take advantage of its magic for our trip home the following day.  We had to wake up early as they were kicking us off the ship by 8AM.  After leaving the boat, we checked into a hotel on South Beach and went for a swim. After our swim, I lost another patch.  Next time, I’ll either be very cautious or I will research a brand of patch that will withstand a dunk in the pool.  Sure enough, the flight home the next day made me feel queasier than I felt for the duration of the cruise. 

     Despite the ups and downs, I can say whole-heartedly that the patch was a success. A whole new world of travel has opened up for me.  Bring on the next boat trip!

Thursday, May 31, 2012

Cornershop's "Urban Turban"



The other day, I was hunting for Cornershop’s “Brimful Of Asha” when I stumbled upon the pleasant surprise of their new album “Urban Turban”.  There’s the beauty of Spotify right there- the ability to make a serendipitous discovery that otherwise would’ve been hidden far from your grasp.  

The album opens with “What Did The Hippie Have In His Bag?”, the title’s whimsy matched by the seemingly random lyrics sung with the background vocals of a group of young children. Like “Brimful of Asha”, the song is driven by a basic, chunky guitar riff and is just as charming.  “Who’s Gonna Lite It Up?" dirties up the guitar a bit and adds some spice via a sultry Middle Eastern drumbeat that takes the basic glam-rock vibe and spins it closer to hypnotic trance.  “Beacon Radio 303” is another fantastic amalgamation of sounds: funk bass, fat 303 synth sound and Rajwant’s chanting vocals (in Hindi?). Towards the end of “Urban Turban” is the old-school disco vibe of “Dedicated” which could've made 'em get down in the old Paradise Garage/West End Records days.

“Urban Turban” does a splendid job of uniting a range of disparate sources and will pull you gently towards the dance floor and leave you blissfully stranded.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Chapel Hill



I've been home for about 5 hours and I'm still tired and woozy from my trip home from North Carolina. I've found that the easy, short trips are more taxing than traveling to the other side of the world. Perhaps that's because the smaller planes used for these 1-1 ½ hour flights are way too rocky for my hyper-sensitive motion sickness. Despite my fatigue, I had a most relaxing time out of town. All of the NYC tension I've been feeling for the last few months disappeared until I touched down at Newark Airport. In contrast to the quiet half-empty corridors of RDU that I strolled this morning was the cattle-call turmoil of the security lines that I glanced at as I made my way through Newark Airport on my way back to the city. That night-and-day difference pretty much sums up my long weekend.

We spent 3 days in Chapel Hill visiting family. We've been down there several times between the two of us and have always loved it. As trite as it sounds, the people in North Carolina are effusive in their kindness wherever you go. The disorientation I felt on my first day there was the effect of uncoiling the over-wound state of mind I have when I'm going about my business here in the city. It's easy to become oblivious to the concept that there are different ways of living that are probably healthier in the long run. For the longest time, I always believed that if you were interested in interesting films, music, and bookstores you had to live in either New York, LA, or San Francisco. Social media and entities like YouTube have pretty much obliterated the barriers to entry as we're all pretty much experiencing the same things no matter where we are sitting. In fact, I saw more flyers for a wider diversity of music in Chapel Hill than I see in the East Village. On top of that is the fact that one of my favorite all-time used bookstores is located just over the border in Carrboro NC. While New York still has things you'll never see outside of the city (like Philip Seymour Hoffman's powerful performance in “Death Of A Salesman”), there's enough going on in different pockets of the country to keep one satisfied- and for a much lower cost of living.

We've been contemplating the end of our New York residency for the last two years. The list of reasons to stay is becoming shorter as we remain here. I'm not sure we're ready to bolt just yet but we're beginning to think there's more to gain and less to lose by living elsewhere.

Photo courtesy of http://www.cardcow.com

Friday, April 6, 2012

Kurt





Today at work, a kid proposed “Flannel Fridays” as a work team-building activity. He went on to describe flannel shirts in the historical context of the 1990s music scene. To be honest, it was a well-written proposal given that this kid was maybe 7 or 8 years old back then. This spiel was notable to me because yesterday marked 18 years to the day that Kurt Cobain died. I still remember being at work in Seattle when someone came into our office to tell us that she heard on the radio that a body had been found in Kurt's house. As this was pre-Twitter and pre-TMZ, it took a while to confirm what had occurred up in that attic.

This event has become a milestone for a lot of us who came of age during those years. What I appreciated about Kurt Cobain was his ability to really hone in on moods rather than statements. His lyrics had a stream-of-consciousness vibe that seemed to come out so effortlessly. One of my favorites:

I'll start this off without any words
I got so high that I scratched 'til I bled
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?

The finest day that I've ever had
Was when I learned to cry on command
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?

And then the end:

And one more special message to go
And then I'm done and I can go home

As much as he's been touted as a generational statesman, he wasn't trying to make sweeping epic commentaries. He told us how he felt and he did it with a combination of raw punk energy and the the catchiest of pop hooks. If you don't think Kurt was a fan of more mainstream pop music, listen to the version of “About A Girl” from the MTV Unplugged album and just try to deny the obvious Beatles influence.

Perhaps one of the reasons I keep hanging onto memories of the Seattle 90s music scene is that it was the last time I can recall being truly moved by rock music. I don't know if it's my age, but it seems that a lot of what's out there today just goes through me without sticking to my gut. I'm not saying I don't like a lot of the newer bands; it's just that I don't see myself 18 years from now contemplating much of it or listening to it with any regularity. What keeps me in the game is the thought that somewhere in a basement, there's a kid with a crappy guitar and a beat-up amp who is on the brink of making me stand up and take notice once again.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Everyday Sunshine: The Story Of Fishbone



Fishbone is one of the greatest live bands I have ever seen. Their shows were a whirlwind of sweaty manic energy from the get-go with band members twirling their keyboards around and stage diving with trombones and saxophones. The recent documentary “Everyday Sunshine: The Story of Fishbone”, narrated by Laurence Fishburne, does an extraordinary job of telling the band's compelling story.

The band members met as high schoolers in the late 70s when they were bused from South Central LA to the San Fernando Valley, an era captured hilariously via a series of interviews and animated clips.  By throwing into the musical blender the diverse range of sounds that they were exposed to (funk, punk rock, R&B, and soul), Fishbone was able to create a style that had never been heard before but that has influenced scores of musicians who came after them. Many of them, like Gwen Stefani, Les Claypool, and Flea, offer appropriate gushing tribute.

“Everyday Sunshine” captures the full ride of the band, from their signing while in high school to the near hits and the career-long struggle to find a niche while being too black for rock radio and not black enough for black radio. The film bares it all, including the tensions that drove most of the original lineup away. In what must be one of the oddest band breakup stories ever, guitarist Kendall Jones, seemingly in the midst of a serious mental disorder, leaves the band to join a cult. This leads to a kidnap attempt by band members that almost ends with prison sentences. As the film gets closer to the present day, there are only two original members left, singer Angelo Moore and Norwood Fisher. Their quest to keep the band going is full of challenges (especially in trying to get along with each other) but their belief in Fishbone holds strong and by the end of the film, one is left with a sense of hope that Angelo and Norwood will make it all work out.

“Everyday Sunshine: The Story Of Fishbone” is a long-overdue tribute to one of the greatest bands to grace a stage.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Lilyhammer




Having served as consigliere to both Tony Soprano and Bruce Springsteen, Steve Van Zandt has earned a stupendous amount of street cred, and that's without including his tireless efforts to promote garage rock through “Little Steven's Underground Garage” as heard on SiriusXM Satellite Radio. With the end of The Sopranos, he's devoted his spare time between Springsteen tours to “Lillyhammer”. The show was originally broadcast on Norwegian television but it has been optioned by Netflix as its debut for original streaming programming.

“Lilyhammer” is about Frank Tagliano, a New York gangster who goes into the Federal Witness Protection Program. Instead of picking somewhere predictable like Arizona or somewhere exotic like The Bahamas, Tagliano decides to go to.....Norway. As he explains to the dumbfounded FBI agents in charge of his case, he became fascinated with Lillehammer, Norway after seeing it on TV during the 1994 Winter Olympics.  Also, he figures that no one is going to find him there. As with his portrayal of Silvio Dante, Van Zandt's Nixonian droopy jowls do a lot of the heavy lifting acting-wise. He has one of those great character actor faces that beg to be cast in a mob drama. Unlike Silvio, Frank Tagliano has a little bit of tender charm under his dour exterior and shows a lot more compassion. Frank can develop a crush on an innocent Norwegian teacher in a way that Silvio would never dare demonstrate. He's also a little bit more selfless. It's fun to watch as Frank tries to navigate his way through a foreign setting with his old ways, teaching his new associates some different ways of conducting business. Sopranos fans need not worry- Frank can bring the heavy stuff too, including a particularly funny Olympic-themed torture incident.

Van Zandt is able to bring just enough nuance to his portrayal of Frank Tagliano to steer “Lilyhammer” away from being a by-the-numbers Sopranos spoof. I've only seen the first two episodes and am eager to race through the rest of the series. There are plans for a second season but production will have to wait for Van Zandt's other job, the upcoming Springsteen tour, to wind down. If history serves as an example, we may have to hold out for a few more years.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

I Want My MTV


I just finished the absolutely riveting “I Want My MTV” by Craig Marks and Rob Tannenbaum which documents the heyday (for those of a certain age group) of the groundbreaking music network. The story traces the arc of MTV as it rose from scrappy startup in 1981 flying by the seat of its pants to the juggernaut it soon became as it changed the face of popular music. The book's narrative ends in the mid 90s as the network began its transition away from groundbreaking cable powerhouse towards reality-show warehouse. All along the way, there is a ton of juicy gossip and decadence to sink your teeth into.

At almost 600 pages, “I Want My MTV” is a surprisingly breezy read- every time I picked it up, I fought to put it down. So many images from MTV that have been seared into my memory sprang back to life as I read the book: Larry “Bud” Melman kicking Run-DMC out of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame; David Lee Roth swinging across the stage on a pulley while holding a boombox to his head; Axl Rose getting off the Greyhound bus at the bus depot. "I Want My MTV" comprehensively documents all of the music movements that MTV blasted into our living rooms, from post New Wave to rap to metal to grunge. Also included are the stories and remembrances of the executives who worked behind the scenes as well as the VJs who were in front of the camera. As I turned the pages, I had a lot of “oh yeah” moments about things I hadn't thought about in a long time about like MTV Spring Break, Remote Control, and MTV Unplugged.

By them time you're done reading this book, you may find yourself saddened at the current state of MTV. As Dave Holmes says at the end of the book, no one is going to remember anything in particular about "My Super Sweet 16" as they will a Duran Duran video. Thankfully, all of the good bits are preserved forever online. When you read “I Want My MTV”, you will find yourself scrambling to YouTube to relive some of the best memories of your upbringing.