8Sided Blog

the scene celebrates itself

Brightly Transmitted Influences

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Today, I’m listening to Im Fünfminutentakt, an album by the enigmatic act Fred und Luna released last April. In playful press releases, Fred und Luna are purported to be moon-based explorers observing and commenting on Earthly activities through the language of music. This set-up, along with a synthesized and intentional retro sound that those same press releases refer to as “elektrokraut,” signals the kind of thing I’d often shy away from. But Im Fünfminutentakt is a terrific album.

Fred und Luna owe much to Kraftwerk and the electronic German music of the Kosimche ’70s. But where the album excels is when those brightly transmitted influences are stylistically fiddled with. Im Fünfminutentakt‘s first three tracks are what I’m talking about: there’s “Aurum C,” a bubbling, motorik album intro, and “Nur ein Viertelstündchen,” which brings to mind a becalmed take on New Order’s “Your Silent Face”—itself a Kraftwerk tribute. But the standout is the song sandwiched in between those two. “Es ist so schön”—”It is so beautiful”—is a fancy female/male duet that’s one part new wave dancefloor in restraint, one part affected Weimar torch song, and one part Cluster foolin’ around. It vibes for days and sounds like what hopeful young American couples imagine Europe to be like.

Im Fünfminutentakt and Fred und Luna first grabbed my attention when this album was released, but the reason I’m commenting on it now is less felicitous. Fred und Luna was one person, a creative hustle and bustle by the name of Rainer Buchmüller. In addition to creating the music of Fred Und Luna and performing/DJ’ing under that name, Rainer is also listed as a poet and record store owner—two identities perhaps even more financially challenging than professional musician. The sad news over the wire this week is that Rainer succumbed to cancer and is no longer with us.

Rainer was obviously harboring expertise and indebtedness to the strain of German music lovingly referred to as Krautrock. Not only do the recordings of Fred und Luna wear this proud lineage on their sonic sleeves, but Rainer was involved in Future Sounds of Kraut, a compilation series released via Compost Records. The aim is to highlight the latest crop of German artists (though not exclusively so) that are carrying the Krautrock torch into our modern age. Volume 1, embedded below, is well worth a listen. Volume 2, already completed, is due on March 1. Rainer Buchmüller did not live to see its release, but I am thankful he was able to complete the project.

Time’s running out, my friends. Stay focused on the things and people you love.

Elongated Installations

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This morning, I took a photo of the sunrise over my backyard lake. I used to do this almost every day—my sunrise diary. But I also used to get up a lot earlier. These days, I’m in bed until 7:30-ish, which is seriously sleeping in compared to my routine a few months back. These aches and pains, combined with the cold weather, are making it tougher to catch the sunrise, but these photos remain an aspiration. How many sunrises can one see in a life? It’s worth seeing as many as you can.

I’m amused by another barometer of time due to the recent attention given to the performance of John Cage’s “As Slow As Possible” (or, originally, “Organ2/ASLSP”) at the St. Burchardi church in Halberstadt, Germany. The performance began in 2001, nine years after Cage’s death, and the church’s organ is scheduled to stop playing in 2640. This length is based on the age of the oldest keyboard instrument — 639 years — at the time of the project’s conception. Temporal reflection is the goal, as is the draw of a special kind of nerdy tourist to the town of Halberstadt.

There are other elongated installations that comment on humankind’s mere blip on the great timeline. Pogues member Jem Finer’s “Longplayer” beats out “As Slow As Possible,” beginning a year earlier and performing its computer-generated synthesis of sound well into 2999. There’s also Danny Hillis’s The Clock of the Long Now, associated with The Long Now Foundation, as well as the unexpected alliance of Bezos and Eno. Presently under construction, it’s assumed to sit within its mountainous Texas dirt hole and periodically chime over 10,000 years.

The idea is to encourage long-term thinking. Very long-term thinking. One can hope contemplation on the organ’s final note fading into the middle of the 27th century might inspire more people to consider future generations for the sake of our resources, our efforts at sustainability, and planning out our lives within a community of species. But, watching the video of the changing of the note at St. Burchardi church, you’ll see folks staring with anticipation and applauding enthusiastically as the next organ pipe finally bellows its tone. They are completely in the ‘now,’ not the ‘long.’ “As Slow As Possible,” probably to Cage’s discomfort if he knew, has become a series of sudden spectacles.

All this long-term contemplation makes me crave something speedy. So, I’m dipping into the catalog of the eclectic Icelandic label Móatún 7 for a split single from Futuregrapher and Self Oscillate. It’s what we kids called drum n’ bass when we probably should have just said ‘jungle.’ I know nothing about either of these artists, but they’ve made an enjoyable attempt at frenetically percussive riddim music. Futuregrapher’s “Dominika” has a nostalgic appeal with a fairly traditional use of that ‘Amen’ business over synthy whisps, moans, and sighs. Midway into the track, an acid riff appears out of nowhere, like someone accidentally hit the wrong patch on the softsynth. But it’s brief, and it works—and I don’t like acid riffs, so hey. As interesting as that is, Self Oscillate does one better with the slinky “Gatekeeper,” sounding a little like if Photek were obsessed with film noir instead of Wuxia movies. The tune is spare, mostly chunky hi-tension drums, frequent sub-frequency dives, and a repeating half-measure bass line. I’m not sure how these cuts stand up to the rampant innovation of jungle’s heyday, but for this split single’s year of release (2019), I think they did just fine.

Ballad of the Blog

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There’s nothing here, and it’s like I’ve tumbled into an invisible thicket. I call this blog danger, loosely defined as an inescapable aura of demise in the face of consistency. Can I bring a date to the relaunch? Because that’s what I’m promising—a blog anew, updated and worthy of apprehensive glances. I could go into where I’ve been, but my explanation isn’t worth your time. It’ll come off as moan moan moan been so busy my eyes are a mess fatigue is the mind-killer and so on and on and on. Let’s assume (please) that I’m trying for real this time. Mocking is appropriate if it doesn’t work out.

I hate saying that I’m adopting a different tone and narrative strategy, but here we are. I’ve been thinking so much about writing these past several months. Tomes have been composed in my head, endless scrolls like ones pouring out of Kerouac’s typewriter, scotch-taped thoughts and brain flowers. Cut-ups, nonsense, and language experiments. That’s what I’ve always wanted to do, this fascination with wooooords and how they woooooork. I guess I’ve been held back by the imagined you, the reader, when the blog should exist more as my exercise (and exorcism).

It’s funny because I can point to all the different phases 8sided.blog has gone through in content and style following each of my random disappearances. This was once a music news blog, then a hot-takes-on-music-news blog, then a little more review-y, a little more interview-y, and occasionally link-bloggy. I never know exactly what the blog should be, which is both the best excuse for slacking and a technique for success. If I leave my space undefined, then where’s the measure of failure? There’s also laziness in the haziness, especially with all the previously alluded-to moan-moan stuff going on. But the key, I think, is to leave this without a purpose or goal and trudge forward valiantly, imagined reader be damned.

Man, I need this blog. I need to make this blog. Writing here, no matter how pretentiously and haphazardly, makes me feel like a special human being. And blogs these days are a kind of resistance—a thumbed nose at the tech brahs and the corporate interests and the sequential swiping up and discarding of beloved online journalism. I’ve had it with that shit. Staying quiet is no longer an option when I could be brusquely blogging on this here ‘indie web.’ Hoist the flag; I’m sailing the high seas.

What’s different? I’m thinking of adding some color and a bit more artsy-ness to the look of this thing. Some playfulness. There will be a lot more music—reviews, interviews, and whatnot in that signature pretentious and haphazard style. I’d like to get more personal about what I’m doing on this Earth, though I rarely leave my tiny patch of it anymore. In that regard, the challenge is to add fire to the unexciting. That’s where those language experiments fit in. And there will be links, and comments on links, and perhaps a word or two(thousand) on the links that give me heart palpitations.

That’s it. Let’s get this show on the road. Relaunch engaged, and hopefully (ha) I’ll be back tomorrow.

FELT

Wheel Around the Filter

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The track that opens SYMBOL’s I Am Humble and Powerful is the title track, and it’s something of an obstacle course. The Rhodes-ish electric piano is pleasant enough, playing freeform lines and chords that eventually resolve on melodic themes. References to Grieg’s “Morning Mood” appear with perhaps an intentionality, but possibly not. These tones are accompanied by jittery, high-speed electronic percussion that wouldn’t be out of place in a video game quest. Together, there’s an odd synergy between the dueling elements, like the mismatched characters of a buddy movie coming to blows but eventually hugging it out. The two seem out of place as a team. And the striking thing is there are over 15 minutes of this curious interplay.

That’s an odd way to open an album, which brought to mind the aforementioned obstacle course. These opening 15 minutes are hardly dissonant or unsavory, but less patient listeners will likely drift away. It could serve as a barrier to the unworthy. Rewards exist for those who hang in there. Because, as a whole, SYMBOL’s album is a bold transmission of sound rendered pristine and sometimes degraded, an imperfect beauty just within reach.

Christopher Royal King is the lead guitarist in ‘cinematic rock ensemble’ This Will Destroy You and the rotating mirror behind SYMBOLS. Christopher is also a graphic artist, working with visuals as a designer and someone whose output occasionally haunts galleries. I’m fascinated by and drawn to musicians who work equally in the visual arts; their music often hides layers, like a finished painting obscures its earliest brushstrokes. And visual art is an appropriate launching point for this album. Like the abstract dichotomy of the challenging first track, the songs on I Am Humble and Powerful evoke both clashing hues and colors that beautifully bleed into each other.

Further tracks jettison the drum shenanigans of the opener, but a rhythm remains in the mix via staccato arpeggiations emanating out of the synth machine. The overall atmosphere is broken and gentle. I’d say we’re listening to some weird music box on its last legs, spurting out its final wabi-sabi notes in a manner that’s strained but glorious. “External Reminder Prompt” lays down this vibe with quick analog-ish chunks that pleasantly wheel around the filter. Watery bubble patterns and what could be distorted Vangelis riffs grab hold of “Emotional Texture Reflection” and calmly let go before things get out of hand. But, to my ears, the grand statement has got to be the operatic swell of “A New Nothing” gliding into the tarnished nursery chimes of “W.I.L.D.” Here, we meet the simplicity of riffage, a repeated motif made unrepetitious with various distortions, filters, and reverby accents. No disrespect meant to the provocative album sequence, but this later tune is something I would joyfully ingest for 15+ minutes.

a solution is obvious

• Antique music box, rare, maybe haunted
• Perfection and Wabi-Sabi in Music
• The Nine Strangest “Buddy Movie” Team-Ups
• Why is Edvard Grieg’s ‘Peer Gynt’ A Staple In Pop Culture?
• Far out: Vangelis on the science and power of music

Simon Berz’s Geological World

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Piecemeal improvisations, disconnected by not only time and place but also mortality, take residence in the three-way collaboration, Breath Versus Beats. Swiss sound explorer Simon Berz launched the project by laying down a quintet of spacey drum and percussion pieces at Mariny Studios in New Orleans. Months later, Simon had an onstage encounter with Toshinori Kondo, the Japanese electric trumpeter known for his work with John Zorn, Herbie Hancock, DJ Krush, and Bill Laswell’s band Praxis. As Simon relates, “[Kondo] was standing on stage and tapped me on the shoulder. I saw this guy for the first time in my life, and the first word he said to me was, “‘Recording.'”

Fast forward to the pair taking the unedited Mariny sessions to Kondo’s studio in Tokyo, where he lovingly blanketed his distinctive trumpet excursions over the top. Unfortunately, sometime later, Kondo passed away at the much-too-soon age of 71. The five tracks remained unfinished — the two musicians had stopped short, feeling the addition of a low-end instrument was a necessity — until Bill Laswell entered the picture. As a long-time collaborator and friend of Kondo’s, Bill enthusiastically provided the missing puzzle pieces with his rumbling bass guitar and deft mixing ear. Breath Versus Beats was both born and reborn.

The song’s first four titles conjure the elements — “Water,” “Earth,” “Air,” and “Fire” — while the fifth evokes their absence in “Emptiness.” Simon is a sound artist who often works with raw materials like rocks and trash and describes his process as coming from “the geological world.” Thus, it’s not surprising that natural elements provide sonic inspiration, but the tonal palettes that separate the songs, while distinct, are only discernibly connected to their titles by subtle interpretation. “Water” does flow alongside the gentle ride of Simon’s drum pattern, eventually meeting turbulent rapids once Kondo’s trumpet takes on the role of an overdriven electric guitar. And “Earth” certainly imagines a dirt-clad crew digging downward, Simon’s drums taking on a quick but soil-like plod while Bill’s bass flops around cooly in the mud.

It’s apparent after repeated listens that Breath Versus Beats is actually about three elements: Simon, Kondo, and Bill. The contributions of each are individual in the space occupied within the music’s territory, as well as how their instruments define the works’ collective whole. That each track resulted from three different improvisations recorded at different places and times is an amazing realization. There’s a palpable togetherness and organic color throughout Breath Versus Beats, owing to this trio of remarkable musicians who have spent their creative lives mining unconventional techniques. “Emptiness” is the best expression of this musical solidarity, blending the participants’ contributions into a gorgeous fourth-world soundscape. The performances feel restrained but in an artful way that respects the others’ parts before rising to a majestic hue. It’s as if this album is saying the elements found in nature feel separate, but they work best when they come together.

Simon Berz recently joined Lawrence Peryer for an extended discussion about Breath Versus Beats, the experimental jazz scene in New Orleans, and creating audio art from rubbish and found objects. It’s an excellent conversation — you can listen to it in the audio player below, on the episode’s web page, or in your favorite podcast player. Below the fold is an excerpt from this chat (edited for clarity) where Simon talks about the possibility of creating a symphony from scanning the barcodes of store-bought vegetables.

[Read more…]

The Piano Remains Among the Rubble

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We don’t need any more dystopias (fictional or otherwise), but Alex Lopes‘s gentle approach to the year 3023 offers a mirror-angled lens on another way to tell the story. The piano remains among the rubble, it seems, evoking centuries-distant memories. Discovered recordings point a ruined society toward a simpler past, even if that past is our ruinous own. Every generation deserves a reminder to pare down and hit the roots.

Brazilian musician Alex Lopes often records his solo piano compositions in one take and, as he describes, “I just tweaked some stuff on the post-production.” The songs on DYSTOPIA are sparse, not flowery or busy, and heavily melodic. Titles like “DOUBLETHINK” and “BRAVE NEW WORLD” (Lopes opts for caps) disclose the particular futurism/pessimism that serves as inspiration, but I’m hard-pressed to hear somber echoes in the music. At times, the compositions steer toward the traditional and almost hymnal (thus, hopeful), but there are also Sakamoto-like moments that squeeze catchiness from minimalist songcraft.

DYSTOPIA gifts an uncomplicated calm that helps ease a listener out of feelings of, well, dystopia. Alex’s music here is understated and pleasantly conventional, but there’s something to be said for the familiar beauty that lies in those qualities. Lopes gets bonus points, too, for contacting me through his recently activated Mastodon account. That’s doubleplusgood!

a dream that lies to itself:

• The Best of Brazilian Brutalism
• Reel life: Brazilian realities reflected in cinema
• The Dystopian Elements of Brazil (the movie)
• The Future of Architecture: Utopias, Dystopias, Heterotopias
• Ryuichi Sakamoto: “We are destroying the world.”

A Mess of Headaches

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I have nothing that coherent (i.e., reassuring) to say about Songtradr’s acquisition of Bandcamp. There’s an opinion that Songtradr appears to be a better fit for what Bandcamp does than Epic Games. I’m not so sure. Songtradr is interested in exploiting art (‘exploiting’ is used here factually, not judgmentally) rather than creating art. One could argue Epic at least had a hand in creation — I’m sure many of its game designers consider themselves artists.

A company changing hands in under two years doesn’t bode well. The sale also may betray a purpose behind Epic’s mystifying-at-the-time purchase of Bandcamp. Is it far-fetched to suspect Bandcamp was a chess piece in Epic’s protracted battle against Apple over the high % take from app store sales? For this reason, Bandcamp doesn’t allow purchases from its app, as Apple would compromise Bandcamp’s payment of around 82% of sales directly to artists. At the time of Bandcamp’s acquisition, this tale of the small fry (artists) suffering under the heel of the giant evil villain (Apple) was helpful as a narrative Epic wanted to argue in court. As Apple prevailed for the most part, perhaps Bandcamp’s advantage to Epic expired.

Others have noted that Bandcamp successfully unionized right after Epic’s acquisition. Bandcamp could be seen as a hot potato that might be hot enough to trigger similar moves throughout the larger company.

As for Songtradr, one must consider how a company expects to make money from something like Bandcamp. Songtradr’s statement promises that this new arrangement will “offer Bandcamp artists the ability and choice to have their music licensed to all forms of media.” Sounds great from the outside, but Songtradr presently charges its artists to enter into licensing opportunities. It’s not a lot — $50 a year for the privilege — but pay-to-play licensing platforms tend to put a bad taste in my mouth. And Songtradr utilizes all-you-can-eat licensing models. That means a business or licensee pays a yearly flat fee and can use as much music from Songtradr’s catalog as they wish.1Though I’m sure high-profile licenses like TV shows are exempt, I don’t know how many of those kinds of licenses the platform really does. Most prominent music supervisors steer clear of quantity-over-quality outlets like this. There’s not a whole lot of money for the artist under this model, and it’s doubtful a meaningful percentage makes back their yearly $50.2I’m happy to hear otherwise in the comments from artists with positive experiences.

The real question is how Songtradr can navigate the uncertainty about music rights pervasive on the Bandcamp platform. This wasn’t a problem before, as Bandcamp never got too deep into any usage scenarios that required scrutiny. That’s why the platform is rife with songs containing uncleared samples, cover songs that haven’t been properly registered, and even ‘bootleg’ remixes and appropriation of others’ recordings. Before, no one really seemed to care. But it’s a potential legal disaster for a platform that hopes to add Bandcamp artists to its licensing catalog simply by having them opt-in and pay a fee.

Songtradr will obviously require artists to sign an online contract stating that they own all the rights to the music and that they’re responsible for any legal trouble. But many artists have no idea about the rights to their songs. I still run into producers who think if they’ve bought a song, that gives them a license to sample it at will. And there are others who believe their unique ‘take’ on a classic tune makes them the credited writer. More often, many artists will opt in without consulting (and maybe without identifying) their songwriting — or label! — partners, inspiring a whole mess of headaches. Sure, an online contract with the artist will allow Songtradr to shift the legal blame, but believe me, after a few mid-profile licensing snafus where the client has to redo a project, all platform credibility is lost.

But what happens to those of us who love and use Bandcamp? As I told an internet friend, “Like reciting ‘memento mori,’ we need to always think about what we do in a world without Bandcamp because that day will come.”

I wrote in a prior blog post that having a central hub for your artistic endeavors that you own and control is essential, preferably accompanied by an email mailing list. If Bandcamp gets destroyed and your ‘store’ moves elsewhere, you need a way for your audience to know. Better yet, have your music also available to stream and purchase on your website or hub. Then, if Bandcamp or whatever is no longer an option, your audience will still have the means to access your music while you explore the next steps.

Elaborating further on this point, Peter Kirn wrote something important about Bandcamp and any potential replacement on his Create Digital Media blog:

Honestly, the real problem is, given the nature of platform capitalism and the governance of private corporations being for investor benefit, ultimately all these tools are doomed. It’s not really fair to say these services are artist-first, because artists ultimately have limited say over them. That’s not to say we shouldn’t use these services, but the dependency on them – and the extent to which we’re serving someone else’s needs – should absolutely be a worry.

That’s the rub. Not only should artists have hubs and sites under their command, but we need to start thinking about true artist-first tools that operate on community rather than profit. I feel that the rise of things like ActivityPub is pointing the way. And I know smart people are working right now on this sort of thing for the discovery and distribution of music.

I’m hopeful that the uncertainty around Bandcamp might be the thing that moves thought into action. When you consider how interests are presently aligned, here’s never been a better time to make something new and important happen for the betterment of independent music.

Pour Out a Little Coffee

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Today, the final musicREDEF newsletter with Matty Karas as ‘curator’ was sent out. I’ve read this newsletter for several years — it’s been a morning coffee companion — and though the curated links to breaking and notable music stories are the main draw for most, Matty’s commentary always brought the newsletter to the forefront of my inbox. Matty’s voice, his humor, his often on-target opinions, his moving eulogies, his constant frustration over things like the under-representation of women in the music industry and frequent gun-related fatalities of young rap artists — it often felt like I was having a conversation with Matty. So, when he dropped the news of his departure yesterday, it was like a good friend had just told me he was moving out of town for good.

Matty was also an early booster of this blog you’re reading, which is another personal bond I have with musicREDEF. A short news item about Matty in Variety mentions that “if you were lucky enough to have him link or retweet one of your articles — and you never had to send him anything because there was a 95% chance he’d already read it — you knew you were doing something right.” I don’t think I ever sent Matty one of my blog posts, but he picked up on them multiple times. And as I started getting serious about writing on here (before it seems I got unserious, but more on that someday), getting linked in musicREDEF was a boon to my ambition and ego.

Well, maybe a little too much ego stroke as I found myself thinking, “Will Matty be into this? Will I get a link?” whenever I embarked on a particularly meaty post. That overthinking wasn’t healthy and contributed to a bit of burnout, but that’s not Matty’s fault. And, honestly, I’m thankful that I went through that period of striving for musicREDEF linkbait. I ended up learning a lot about why I write, why I do this blog, and how I’m the only audience I should be satisfying. But, yes, as the Variety quote stated, it helped me feel like I was doing something right.

I know I’m hardly alone in already missing the prospect of Matty’s latest thoughts on what the hell is going on in this thing we call the music industry. I’ll also miss the prompts — musicREDEF gave me lots to think about, and more than a few blog posts were inspired by those curated links. But I can’t imagine Matty will become silent. Instead, I anticipate he’ll find other avenues, perhaps even his own (blog it, Matty!), for deciphering the madness of this industry and its artists. And, as he and REDEF boss Jason Hirschhorn are presently choosing a worthy replacement to curate musicREDEF, we may soon end up with daily double-shots of indispensable commentary.

Thanks, Matty, and best of luck. Onward. 🚀

Noise Annoys

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You may be familiar with a derisive term said in film circles: homework movies. This phrase refers to influential achievements in cinema that one doesn’t necessarily enjoy but are requirements for students of film history. Your mileage may vary here; some consider Citizen Kane the most obvious example of a ‘homework movie,’ but I find it quite enjoyable.

We don’t need to debate how most of Jean-Luc Godard‘s films feel like homework. Since the mid-60s, his movies have increasingly pummeled audiences with literary references, philosophical quotations, and fiery polemics. Even the most seasoned fans and expert critics of the French New Wave openly admit Godard often vaults far above their heads. I’m no exception.

This begs the question: why keep watching something you aren’t sure you like, much less understand? Watching and admiring while shrugging for explanations opens us to accusations of pretension or bandwagoning. Somehow partaking in inscrutable films like Godard’s is taken as its own performance.

And that’s cool. To insist that everyone, or even anyone, should sit and watch Godard, especially his later films, is a ridiculous proposition. Besides the earlier touchstones, Godard’s movies are of a taste one can’t acquire. You either savor the exercise of watching his difficult cinema or you don’t. No harm, no foul. 

But it’s not like we claim these films are difficult for everyone but us. I mean, I don’t feel superior or enlightened watching Godard’s Film Socialisme. Quite the opposite! However, it does make my brain feel like a muddy automobile subjected to an intense car wash before driving back out into the mud. And the parts connected to my eyes and ears got extra squeegeed. 

As you may have guessed, Godard’s death and a Criterion Channel subscription inspired me to dive into the filmmaker’s infamous later work over the past few weeks. It’s been a trip. I wasn’t sure how to approach this ‘homework,’ but then I read Roger Ebert’s suggestion that the key to later Godard is to succumb to his world: 

One single Godard film seems accidental. But if you see half a dozen, you begin to get a sense of his universe. You see themes introduced, developed, worked out, discarded and then later satirized.

You can’t watch these alongside other movies (or compare them, god forbid) because he aims to rip cinema apart at the seams. I’ve been watching the later films in a row, and I feel like I’m ‘getting’ them by seeing them together, though that doesn’t mean I’m also not frustrated and exasperated. It’s all part of viewing Godard as he lets ‘er rip.

I also think it’s vital to understand all of his films are ‘meta’ — from Breathless on — in that they reflect what he’s wondering about at the time. They’re not autobiographical; they’re the act of someone trying to figure things out and not settling on a worldview. I don’t think Godard is sure about anything in his films, even the bold pronouncements. It’s telling that one can read multiple reviews and essays on, say, The Image Book, and they’ll each tell you the movie is about something completely different. These movies show Godard loudly wondering, trying on ideas to see how they fit, and letting the public continue the discourse. What a fascinating thing. Richard Hell elaborates: 

Godard is willing to do something in a movie just to see what happens if he tries it. He can be boring in the exercise of his full freedom, but you can’t have one without the other, and I want them like nothing else.

As problematic as Godard was, I came away from these last films seeing him as an inspirational figure. He persisted and remained uncompromised until his demise at 91. His work is so hated and hatable, mostly because he didn’t give a fuck right to the end. I mean, Godard inflicted Cannes juries with films so dense and furious and, yes, incomparable that they had no choice but to create a prize for him. 

I talk a lot about punk rock on this blog, mainly in the context of autonomy and a strict DIY ethos. Godard was all that, but he also spit out punk rock in its more identifiable ‘two fingers in the air’ flavor. I’m trying hard to think of any accepted figures of the punk world who walk the talk into senior citizen status. I guess some of the Crass folks are still communally living in the woods, but I’m hard-pressed to come up with any others off the top of my head.

I can’t say I love love love Godard (very few do). And he’s not one of my favorite filmmakers. But I’ve become inspired by my journey through his most iconoclastic work. Just as the punk rockers inspired others to pick up guitars and bash away, Godard’s 21st-century films, made up of barely connected visual and audio collages, have me thinking about making weird little movies. Godard shot footage on a camera phone in Goodbye To Language, so why can’t I? That these films provide an imaginative impulse is perhaps the greatest compliment I can give. 

Note: This post was inspired by and contains parts of a recent exchange on Mastodon.

❋-❋-❋-❋-❋-❋-❋-❋

The spirit of Godard’s uncompromising nose-thumbing/rules are made to be broken/commercial appeal be damned attitude has thrived in the noisier, improvised edges of the DIY musical arts since the accessibility of home recording. And Drone Bone recalls the early excitement of a time when PortaStudios ignited the garages of suburban noisemakers. Their self-titled exercise pairs Adrian Orange (of Thanksgiving and Adrian Orange and Her Band) and Ashby Mary Collinson for a seat-of-the-pants session recorded in 2007, now reissued by Brooklyn’s Perpetual Doom outfit. Ashby Mary is knocking riffs on the Wurlitzer in a fashion that recalls Suicide‘s repetitions, and Adrian is credited with drums and guitar. This all sounds live and on the spot, but I’m assuming the guitar was overdubbed unless Adrian plays drums and guitar simultaneously (I’m not entirely discounting that possibility).

“Drone Bone was born out of sheer restlessness,” writes Ashby Mary. It sounds like it! Some songs begin with the duo’s conversations as they quickly decide how to begin before barreling right into the racket. The music (and some of you may doubt that designation) is ramshackle and rambling, but the point is the joy of creative collaboration without expectation or preconception. I’m not even sure there was a plan. But there’s a great sense of release in these tracks, and you might find it exhilarating, sort of like how I felt when I first heard Jandek records or Daniel Johnston cassettes in the ’80s. Those fractured vibrations inspired teenage me to rattle a suburban garage of my own, and hearing Drone Bone makes me hopeful that its listeners’ next-door neighbors will not be pleased.

And the Heart Grows Fonder

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My eyes are a mess. You probably already know this. Funny thing: I’ve only been admitted to a hospital once — at the age of 12, I stabbed my leg with a knife while building a tree fort on Christmas Eve — and still have all my organs. That includes my tonsils, my appendix, and even my wisdom teeth. I often joke that I’ll probably get hit with everything all at once, as if my maladies have been biding their time. I couldn’t have predicted that it would all go to my eyes.

I’ve always had an outrageous astigmatism, but in my late 30s, the condition graduated to outright keratoconus. Then there’s this double vision, requiring expensive prism lenses on the glasses I wear in addition to the keratoconus correcting contacts. And now I’m dealing with fucking Fuchs’ Dystrophy. I’ve noticed a haze in my right eye that I first chalked up to foggy contacts. But, of course, I live in the armpit of humid central Florida, where fogged-out lenses are a way of life. But then the haze — now resembling a light gauze — became noticeable without my contacts. This state of affairs also made driving impossible at night, as oncoming cars’ headlights made the gauze in my eye burst into an unattractive light show. 

Thanks to a superb new optometrist, the Fuchs’ was identified. She referred me to a specialist who explained the condition would get much worse in no time at all. The two options were a cornea transplant — sorry, nope, for reasons I won’t go into — or a new procedure that involved scraping the Fuchs’ out of my eyeball. Yikes, but okay, sure.

I had this procedure about a month ago. It went smoothly. Supposedly the surgery is just like a cataract removal (if that’s a helpful frame of reference) — I was awake, somewhat sedated, and didn’t feel a thing. It looked like I was watching a stationary version of the light tunnel at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey as the doctor performed the surgery. 

For the first couple of weeks, my eye felt like an eyelash got trapped on the surface. An awful feeling, especially as this was an eyelash that wouldn’t budge. And half those days, the feeling was accompanied by a faucet of tears. I went through multiple boxes of tissue. I couldn’t read, I couldn’t watch movies, and I could barely look at anything for long.

Now all that is thankfully over, though looking through my right eye is like peering through the bottom of a drinking glass. This fuzziness should fade to normal eyesight in several weeks. And I have to drip exotic eye drops ordered from Japan into my socket four times a day. The drops have something to do with stem cell growth. Unfortunately, they’re expensive and only available in Japan as the procedure performed on me is so new. So I had to order a pack of these eye drop bottles months in advance.

It’s a slow process, and it’s slowing me down. I’m constantly fighting off frustration as I fall behind on projects and work. These past months have felt like a deep pit, from hurricanes creating a wake of chaos to my bout with COVID that turned into weeks and weeks of godawful exhaustion, and then this eye biz. There’s so much I want to do (like post all the time on this blog!), but I feel captured in the sticky web of inconvenience. 

I’m finally prying myself loose. I’m still way behind on my work stuff (and please accept my heartfelt apologies if you’re someone I work with), but for the first time in ages, I’m experiencing motivation. More than anything, I want to write and ramp up my creative output. It’s as if the period of incapacitation has made the heart grow fonder. So I’ve devised plans and goals for this blog that are inspiring. I’ll detail them in an upcoming Ballad of the Blog post.

These months have also been a learning experience and a lesson in not beating oneself up. I’ve had lots of practice with self-blame during these challenges, and I’ve come out the other side more accepting and less debilitated. Anne Helen Petersen had a similar epiphany in today’s Culture Study newsletter, which I highly recommend you read. Ann imagines what her weekend would be like if she had completed all of her work tasks: 

The work would’ve been done. But I’ve already tried that whittled-down version of a life, and it’s not a life at all. It’s a burnout trap, a suffocation, a flattening of self. Sure, I’d have completed all the work, done all the tasks, finished all the laundry. But to what end? And to what future? The next weekend would come, and I’d feel some semblance of control, which I may or may not have been able to carry over into the week. But achieving control is not the same as achieving happiness.

As I advised someone on Mastodon going through a post-COVID struggle similar to mine: “Don’t mentally punish yourself for not being able to get everything done that you think you need to while feeling [exhausted]. I was doing that constantly, and I’m sure it made things worse.” If I gain extra wisdom and a new spark to create that I continue to cultivate, the turmoil of the last several months will have been worthwhile. As a wise person said, “When life hands you Godzilla, build Mechagodzilla.”