8Sided Blog

the scene celebrates itself

Tom Waits and Imitation in Advertising

by // Leave a Comment

A couple of days ago I examined the “Blurred Lines” decision, potentially allowing lawsuits against artists who acknowledge and transmit their influences ‘too much.’ I find this precedent dangerous, but it also got me thinking about the line between influence and intentional mimicry. There are many examples of music made to sound just like another artist purely to capitalize on the identity or success of that artist. The advertising world can be especially naughty in this practice. Recently, Eminem won a case against a New Zealand agency that used an intentional copy of “Lose Yourself” in a political advert. Licensed from a music library (which is a whole other topic), the soundalike track was even titled “Eminem Esque.” There’s no question of the intention there.

Tom Waits has a particularly tough time with imitation. I suppose it’s the price to pay for being such a distinctive, one-of-a-kind figure. Today I Found Out just released a video on Waits’ battles with advertisers and, though I’ve followed the Fritolay fracas, there’s a bit in here I didn’t know. I didn’t realize Fritolay had the nerve to have the soundalike sing a Tom Waits song in the ad (I am assuming Waits had an approval clause in his contract that didn’t allow his label to license the original recording outright). And, even more curious, I didn’t know that, despite Waits’ high profile victory over Fritolay, agencies continued to mimic his voice in ads, creating a legal whack-a-mole for the frustrated singer.

I admit that I don’t understand Tom Waits’ lawsuit over his songs being used in a horse circus, as mentioned near the end of the video. A ’horse circus’ sounds like the most Tom Waits thing ever. There must be something more to that. A compulsory public performance license should allow any of his songs to play in the venue, right? My guess is it was more about how the show was promoted, with an implication of Waits’ endorsement or involvement, rather than the actual musical content.

I’m also thinking about artists that refuse to have their music used in advertising. It’s amusing to explain to younger songwriters that there was a time — not that long ago! — when it seemed the majority of artists wouldn’t allow their songs used in ads. Mindsets have certainly changed, and you’ll get no judgment from me as far where you might lean. But there is something admirable about Waits’ position, though he’s able to earn income from a revered catalog and multiple vocations. I know the Beastie Boys are advertising hold-outs, too (and have had their own headaches for holding this line). Who else is left? And except for that handful of idealistic punk rockers, are there any newer artists or not established (i.e., well-to-do) artists that are also non-starters with advertising music?

America Is Waiting

by // 1 Comment

Brian Eno & David Byrne’s My Life in the Bush of Ghosts is often credited as one of the first ‘sample-driven’ albums. It can be argued whether or not its cut-and-paste tape embellishments are ‘samples’ in the Art of Noise “Who’s Afraid Of?” or The Bomb Squad sense, but the influence is undeniable. The album did alert many already art-inclined musicians to the possibilities found in adding sounds and dialogue to productions. Rather than sampling, we could say it popularized collaging.

I was on a high school trip to Disney World, probably around 1986, and we ended up in Panama City for an overnight rest stop (we were coming from Louisiana). I was hungry for ‘alternative’ records, as they were scarce in small town I lived in. So, in our short stay in Panama City I sought out and somehow found an underground record shop. I was tempted by the many albums I’d never heard of — they all looked like something I should listen to — but I only had money to buy one. I did what you did in those days: I asked the record clerk for his recommendation.

He asked me what I was into and where my taste currently resided. I’m not sure what I said, but I was mining early Cabaret Voltaire at the time (Red Mecca was an obsession) so that may have influenced his decision. He pulled out a vinyl copy of My Life in the Bush of Ghosts and asked, “Have you heard this?” I hadn’t, so he insisted I spend my cash on this unassuming-looking album. Once I returned home and put the album on the turntable I was transfixed. It was weird, completely different than anything else, and organic and sloppy while other sample-based/electronic albums at the time were technical and precise. I wish I could thank that guy at the record store.

I bring up My Life in the Bush of Ghosts today because of this sad news story reported in Soundblab:

Less than two weeks ago from this writing (December 2, 2018), the body of longtime progressive radio host Ray Taliaferro was discovered in the woods near Paducah, Kentucky. Taliaferro was a pioneering black broadcaster and community leader in San Francisco starting in the late ‘60s. Sadly, he suffered from dementia in his later years and mysteriously went missing several weeks before his body was found.

It’s hard not to think about Taliaferro wandering disoriented and alone when he was a lamp to so many in life. For posterity though, his voice was captured in a much more vibrant moment as the first that is heard on Brian Eno and David Byrne’s collaboration, My Life In The Bush of Ghosts.

If you know the album you immediately know the voice: “America is waiting for a message of some sort or another.” It’s so matter-of-fact, but ominous, almost authorative, denoting a conspiratorial paranoia that we recognize all-too-well in 2018. I knew nothing about Ray Taliaferro — I didn’t even know he was behind the song’s vocal until today — but he seems to have been a well-respected broadcasting forerunner. I wonder what he thought about his voice on “America Is Waiting,” portraying him with nervousness and an almost methodical mania.

This brings up some of the problems expressed about My Life in the Bush of Ghosts. There’s a matter of cultural appropriation and context-shifting that could be extended to Ray Taliaferro.

At the time, fellow world-tapping producer Adrian Sherwood seemed to sneer at this and Eno’s intent of creating a “vision of a psychedelic Africa” when he titled an African Head Charge album My Life in a Hole in the Ground, not soon after the Eno/Byrne release. Sherwood also later appropriated the Eno quote for another album title.

Writing for Getintothis, Jono Podmore is heavily critical of Eno and Byrne’s ethics with regards to the project but eventually celebrates the tension:

The musicians were by and large white but the style is rooted in African American forms of funk, replete with thumb slapping bass and the sound world of George Clinton. There’s no rock drum sounds, no wailing guitar solos. And then there are the “found voices”. Of the 10 tracks on the original release, there are 9 vocals and 6 of them are American, and at least half of them are clearly African American voices. None are African. There’s a sense of selling American culture back to itself as exotica. A slight change of context, a touch of “African psychedelic vision” and the picture we get is a Pynchonesque world, a filmic unreality directed by Wim Wenders featuring Harry Dean Stanton as a sweaty southern preacher …

Cultural appropriation is a tricky subject. No one disagrees that the originators should get their due. And context-shifting is fine and dandy until it happens to you. But the mash-up of different cultures is how new movements and genres are made — Hank Shocklee has even stated the influence of My Life in the Bush of Ghosts on The Bomb Squad and his innovative production for Public Enemy. And these combinations also release a bubble, inspiring fans to track down the influences. Paul Simon got a bit of flack for Graceland, but the album did turn a lot of people (including me) onto Soweto street music.

Even Jono Podmore admits, “The first African book I ever read was My Life in the Bush of Ghosts – because the album had introduced the title to me.” The line is even blurrier once we learn that Eno and Byrne never read the book themselves — they just liked, and appropriated, the title.

Positivity is Resistance

by // 1 Comment

I woke up early this morning to a wild amount of fog over our lake. I had never really seen anything like it in the 2+ years we’ve lived here. Beautiful and eerie. Here’s a video I shot from our dock at around 7:30 AM:

I listened to Basecamp’s Jason Fried on The Chase Jarvis LIVE Show podcast. There’s a lot of great advice in this episode. Jason has a knack for ‘duh, that makes perfect sense’ statements that I hadn’t thought of before — or, at least, considered in that way. His fantastic book Rework is filled with this type of knowledge.

In the interview Jason touches on the benefit of a news deprivation diet, a gospel I’m always glad to spread. Says Jason:

I think {constant news} is a way, unfortunately, for negativity to get in your brain and to get you upset about things. I don’t want to be that way. That’s one of the reasons I don’t really follow the news. I used to be a news junkie. {But} I don’t pay attention to the news at all anymore. Almost nothing really matters right now. Everything’s breaking news 24/7; everything’s a hot story. But none of this shit is a hot story that matters right now. If you’re in the path of a hurricane, you’ll want to know that, but a lot of other things can wait. I’m more a fan of things that can wait than right now.

This is my feeling, exactly, and it does take discipline to reach this no-breaking-news state. There’s so much pressure to keep up, to know every little thing that’s happening. FOMO (fear of missing out). But Jason espouses an alternative philosophy: JOMO — the joy of missing out.

I wrote an email the other day to a creative friend in Europe distressed by all that’s happening in France. I hoped to reassure with these words:

All these horrible things that are happening are ultimately a reaction to the way the world is changing. And it’s positive change these awful people are reacting to: inclusiveness, justice, expanded freedoms for everyone. As one can’t stop change, things will get better. But it’s going to be a rough ride for a while. It always is, as it always has been.

Our best way to make a difference in these times is to be productive, create, and do our best work. We can’t do that if we’re constantly distracted by ‘breaking news’ and all this mess. And, in my opinion, the people in power right now purposely create distraction and outrage to keep us from doing our best work — it’s intentional.

We can’t control any of this. But we shouldn’t feel defeated, as it was never our battle to begin with. Instead, it’s wise to concentrate on what we do have control over and brush off the rest. It’s not a head-in-the-sand attitude — it’s still healthy to be concerned and to engage in activism — but our preoccupations should be on what we can influence, whether it’s our work, our family and loved ones, or our local community. Positivity is resistance, and our work and change have the power to reverberate as we show our peers that we care enough to create rather than wallow, worry, and complain.

On another note, it looks like I’m going to SXSW next year. I’ll be there supporting Monta At Odds who are playing a couple of showcases. I’m excited to see and meet with a bunch of old friends and eat as much as possible of that fantastic food Austin has on offer.

“Blurred Lines” Precedent Won’t Bring Clarity

by // 3 Comments

It’s finally over, but this probably won’t be the last post about it. Via Forbes:

The five-year copyright battle surrounding the popular single “Blurred Lines” finally ended this week with a judgment of nearly $5 million against artists Robin Thicke and Pharrell Williams. Marvin Gaye’s family had accused the duo of infringing Gaye’s 1977 song “Got to Give It Up.” California Judge John A. Kronstadt’s final ruling, which entitles the Gaye family to half of all royalties to the song moving forward, effectively puts an end to the highly publicized lawsuit. […]

Thicke and Pharrell … failed to petition the U.S. Supreme Court for a writ of certiorari by the applicable deadline. As a result, the judgment has been entered against them, and the case is now effectively closed.

The controversial “Blurred Lines” copyright infringement case is officially precedent. If there’s any silver lining for Thicke & co., it’s that the Marvin Gaye estate only gets 50% of future royalties. I’m surprised they didn’t get 100% (which is not out-of-bounds in infringement rulings).

In the end, the most interesting court case related to this ruling won’t be the “Blurred Lines” affair but what ends up being the first similar high-profile copyright lawsuit to follow. Who will it be? Led Zeppelin vs. Greta Van Fleet? The Fall vs. Pavement? The Bob Marley estate vs. every contemporary reggae artist?

I kid. But the test will be how far someone wants to take this precedent. In an age when there’s a lawsuit over the lyric “haters gonna hate,” you can bet the limits of the ruling will get tested sooner than later. I’m not even sure how a jury could reach a sensible conclusion, as similarity in style is arguably subjective. I have a mental image of a bunch of stoners sitting around a turntable, and one says, “man, this sounds just like The Piper at the Gates of Dawn,” and everyone agrees.

There’s a fine explainer in The Vulture with copyright expert Jeff Peretz:

… the issue at stake in this case is the “how,” not the “what” — in other words, how the song is presented. Pharrell admittedly set out to create a “party” song in the style of “GTGIU” knowing full well it was within the legal boundaries to do so. He, in essence, walked right up to the legal line but made sure not to cross it. What the original decision did was move the line. By letting it stand in appeal, Judge Milan D. Smith Jr., who wrote the majority opinion, has literally changed the rules. But if the difference between “what” and “how” were properly explained to the jury the first time around, this never would have gotten this far.

Law professor Edward Lee argues in Billboard that the “Blurred Lines” sonic homage to Marvin Gaye could have fallen under ‘fair use:’

I’m not sure which account best explains what happened. But the jury believed Pharrell and Thicke copied from “Got to Give It Up,” and hence the verdict. What would have happened if Pharrell and Thicke invoked fair use and told the jury that they borrowed a small part of the ’70s groove from Gaye’s song, but gave it new meaning, a different character and new expression in a modern pop, dance song fitting today’s tastes? Surely, no one would mistake “Blurred Lines” for a song from the ’70s — it has a much different character. Of course, the jury might have rejected that defense as well, but fair use fits better with Thicke’s original explanation in GQ that the duo intended to borrow the groove of “Got to Give It Up” in creating their new song. Moreover, having the jury or court balance the factors of fair use provides a more nuanced and realistic assessment of the competing interests at stake than the simple test of infringement does.

He adds: “The music world needs a clear decision applying fair use to a non-parody musical work. Without it, copyright lawsuits will only increase.” It’s no surprise that I agree. The democratization of distribution, in turn making almost every artist work available to the public, is leading to an overflow and breakdown of copyright litigation. No artist creates in a vacuum, and if we want to continue to creatively ‘Steal LIke An Artist,’ then something’s got to give.

Limpid as the Solitudes

by // Leave a Comment

I’m fascinated by the album Limpid as the Solitudes, a collaboration of collagist-composer Félicia Atkinson and multi-instrumentalist Jefre Cantu-Ledesma. If there were a record bin nearby, this would probably get filed in the ‘ambient’ row. That would be a mistake. Limpid as the Solitudes is too restless to be background music; it asks for a piece of your attention, sonically waving to remind you of its presence if you happen to consciously drift away.

There are found sounds, environmental sounds, sounds that keep us guessing, all accompanying pensive drones, far-away splashes of guitar, sparkles of piano, and other melodic snatches. I’ve played around with environmental sounds that create an imaginary space, a mental movie that fills the listener’s head. But while my music movies used one long take, Limpid as the Solitudes practices quick edits, jump-cuts, and sudden changes of setting. That may sound jarring or disorienting, but the masterful random-but-its-really-not placement of the sounds unexpectedly soothes. It’s like our thoughts, falling from one memory to another, haphazard but oddly reassuring.

The album’s press release mentions film as an inspiration, naming Chungking Express, Tarkovsky’s The Sacrifice, and Antonioni ’s The Passenger (by the way, those latter two films each feature a famously long shot as opposed to quick cuts). Brion Gysin and his book The Third Mind (co-written with a William S. Burroughs) are also name-checked. The Third Mind offers that when two people collaborate they create a third presence, a creative partner that didn’t exist before. Its reference is probably not just pointing to the duo of Atkinson and Cantu-Ledesma, but also to what’s summoned by the combination of disparate sounds. The ‘third mind’ is also evoked in the manipulation of communication, including sound, visuals, and the written word. It’s important to note that Gysin saw a hidden truth resulting from these mash-ups in words and art. The occasional addition of Atkinson’s whispered, often unintelligible, voice anchors the collage in this human language.

Back to memory, these ‘cut-ups’ (as Gysin called them) might resemble the processes of our brains. One memory leads to another, leading to another, leading to another until we have no idea where it started. There’s an inspirational chain leading us on, with the intersections as blurry barriers hiding how the combinations connect. To me, that’s the sound of this album.

In an interview, Félicia Atkinson says, ”I want to make music that makes people dance, but in their dreams, or in a state of slow moving.” Last night I listened to Limpid as the Solitudes in bed, with headphones, and quickly fell into that slow-moving dream dance. The uninitiated may think this album is too filled with distractions or too experimental in appearance to be ’sleeping music,’ but I found it calm and comforting. It felt like an inventory of someone else’s thoughts while putting my own aside. That’s an acceptable description of a dream if I’ve ever heard one.

Listen now to Limpid as the Solitudes on Bandcamp or all the other places.

The Best of Music to Check Out

by // 1 Comment

How have end-of-the-year album lists changed since the advent of streaming? I think they’re entirely different, both in how the lists are compiled and how we, as music listeners, read them.

‘Best Of’ lists weren’t as freewheeling as they are now. There was pressure for the publication and its critics to have selections in the top slots that were familiar to the reader, even if just casually. And it seemed that lists were limited to a top 10 or 20 — 25 if we’re feeling crazy. After all, these were suggestions of music you should buy. Previewing these releases, if you were so bold, meant taking the list to the record store and asking the person at the counter to play a little bit off each record. You’re out of luck if there aren’t any open in-store play copies.

These lists are no longer meant as suggestions for purchasing — it’s music to check out. Fire up your favorite streaming service and take the top ten for a stroll. Or, if you’re feeling ambitious, sample the entire list. But that can take a while as today’s end-of-the-year album lists can go to 100.

The differences don’t stop there. While the pre-internet year-end music lists in Rolling Stone or The Village Voice included selections that generally spanned all genres, online publications offer specialized options. It’s curation, in a sense — find the site or blog whose taste you trust, and that’s the ‘Best of’ list meant for you. And these specialist sites (and even more general music sites) have no attachment to keeping things safe and familiar — it’s not rare when an album you haven’t heard of occupies the number one slot.

I’d argue that, in most cases, these are no longer ‘Best Of’ lists, but they’re more like playlists. That is, playlists of albums rather than songs (though there are ‘best song’ lists, too), curated by the taste that guides a blog or a site’s editorial staff. A top ten has always been subjective, sure, but now we’re talking about albums that we should sample, not purchase with hard-earned money. In a way, this makes these lists less subjective. “These are the albums that we enjoyed this year and, if you like our site, perhaps you will, too.” The difference is listener investment, and, though there are also some negatives to that (which we may discuss someday), it does inspire risk-taking.

I’m not saying the critic doesn’t believe his or her album is the best of the year. But I do feel the path to making that choice and the other choices that populate the rest of the list are less determined, less rigid. And I’m happy with that.

I’ll be sampling a handful of ‘end-of-the-year’ lists over the next several weeks. It’s a December tradition. I’ve picked my favorite lists, and I’m going through them, giving each album at least a three-songs-chance before I decide “yay” or “nay.” I’ll make a note of the ones I like the most and will go back to them later for repeated listens.

This last part is essential. One significant difference in charts then and now is that if you purchased the album, it had better be good. You lived with it for weeks and got to know the album, sometimes even if you weren’t crazy about it. That’s the attachment of investment that streaming doesn’t offer. As music fans, we now have to be intentional in our listening. Streaming is nothing more than a tool for access, but it encourages a casualness by nature. The majority of music listeners have always listened to music casually, so there’s nothing lost there. But if we’re die-hard music fans, it’s necessary to be aware and vigilant in our habits as streaming users.

OK, here are the ‘end-of-the-year’ lists I’m listening through:

Once I’ve exhausted those (unlikely, as it’s a lot!) then I may explore what I haven’t listened to in the more general lists, such as Pitchfork’s The 50 Best Albums of 2018 and The Best Electronic Music of 2018, and NPR’s Best Music of 2018.

Happy hunting! I’d be curious to know your go-to end-of-year lists … and your album picks.

Disco’s Shadow

by // Leave a Comment

Musical collisions can create the most exciting and innovative sounds. I’m fascinated by that gray space on the Venn diagram between two disparate genres, instruments, or creative objectives. Jon Hassell combined elements of ancient world music with electronics and spawned a blurred terrain he termed ‘fourth world music.’ And I’ve written previously about the fun things that happened when classic rockers ran head-first into the new wave.

But the often-reluctant introduction of disco to other styles is curious and complicated. Disco is a combination of genres in itself, and the results can be extraordinary – queue Brian Eno’s “I have heard the sound of the future” pronouncement upon encountering “I Feel Love.” But love it or hate it, we must accept that we are living in disco’s shadow, with every genre touched not just by its beat and groove, but also by disco’s radical production techniques and rearrangement of format (singles, remixes, extended versions, etc.).

There was a period of collision when disco was forced upon, rather than accepted, by mainstream artists of the non-disco persuasion. Alexis Petridis writes about this phenomenon for The Guardian:

Critical opprobrium, a collapse both of sales and artistic credibility, fans who paid good money to see you baying for your blood: you couldn’t wish for a more vivid illustration of the risks awaiting the late-70s rock artist who chose to go disco at disco’s height. It was a hell of a gamble. There was always the chance of some short-term commercial gain, but the odds were stacked against you: the back catalogues of umpteen 70s artists are flecked with ignored attempts to cash in on the success of Saturday Night Fever, remembered largely by fans as catastrophic career aberrations. Even if you did get a hit out of it, your success would almost invariably be accompanied by mockery or even anger.

It’s easy to identify the artists that embraced the opportunity for experimentation versus those unwittingly dragged by their feet into the studio session. There are plenty of aberrations, but then there’s also “Heart Of Glass,” “Another One Bites The Dust,” and “Miss You.” Talking Heads would’ve been a different band without the combination of disco and their artsy ethos, and I’d argue new wave and post-punk may not have taken off without the ’70s nightclub’s groovy influence. We wouldn’t have this surprising moment from Crass either:

It’s a bit old-fashioned to mock disco — I think the consensus, finally, is that it was a significant cultural movement, not just musically but socially as well. A lot of the resistance to disco had a sinister backbone that had nothing to do with the music, as evidenced by the infamous Disco Demolition’s quick transformation into a riotous hatefest.

I remember a moment watching Late Night With David Letterman as a kid in the early-80s. Paul Shaffer would regularly have a guest fill in with the band who would often be a studio musician of some renown, though unknown to the general public. There was a drummer with the group that night and, I can’t recall who it was (though I can guess), but Shaffer introduced him as “the man who ruined music.” When Letterman asked what that meant, Shaffer explained that this drummer “invented the disco beat.” The drummer then demonstrated by playing a simple four-on-the-floor rhythm with a slight shuffle as Letterman and the audience jeered. I remember being confused by this — ruined music? I know they were joking, or maybe half-joking, but in retrospect, it seems that Shaffer — the guy who co-wrote “It’s Raining Men” — really should’ve known better.

P.S. – I do realize the photo of Klaus Schulze at the top doesn’t have a lot to do with disco, but, man, it’s such a great image.

The Road is Seductive

by // Leave a Comment

Warren Ellis has a terrific blog (Morning.Computer) and newsletter that I enjoy so much that they partly inspired me to restart this regular blogging practice. Currently, the post at the top of his site is titled That Shingy Life, a reference to the often maligned ‘digital prophet’ Shingy. Ellis’s post is about the speaking class, a roaming pack of ‘thought leaders’ who present in front of countless seminars and conventions. The problem with this lifestyle, with the goal of more speaking gigs above all other goals, is there’s nothing to show for it all. Maybe a couple of archived YouTube videos, but not much else.

Listen, the road is seductive; I know this. Once you’re in the circuit there’s quick money for just a couple hours work (though — important! — you’re not factoring in travel time and the day or two of not being productive at home), there are free plane tickets, there are adoring fans, maybe even alcohol and attractive people showing interest in you. It’s a lifestyle that’s hard to resist. And, if you haven’t figured it out yet, I am applying this Shingy stuff to DJ gigs.

I don’t live a life with regrets — it all has a purpose, right? — but if I had a do-over, I’d spend the 2000s creating things rather than being on the road. I had a ton of fun, somehow became an in-demand DJ, can honestly say I saw the world and forged some terrific friendships. That’s all wonderful. And I’m not discounting the memories and stories, but that’s all that’s left from a decade of my professional life. I think I’d rather have two or three albums of original music to look back on — something tangible and owned, and something that continues to earn as part of my body of work.

I talk to a lot of emerging solo producers and often ‘more DJ gigs’ is at the top of their goals list. It’s not, “I’ll consistently record great music, get known and grow a devoted fan base, and then DJ gigs will follow.” Instead, I repeatedly hear, “I want DJ gigs,” like it’s a substitute for everything else. That’s the seduction of the lifestyle, the allure of the short-term blinding the artist to the long-term. Know that if you desire to be an artist that lasts, to make a lifetime go at it, then gigs should be near the bottom of your to-do list. Focus on that body of work, and if it’s consistent enough and it’s great enough (and consistency often leads to greatness), then the offer of that high paying gig across the ocean will organically follow. I promise.

Ellis neatly sums it up with a plea:

A thought for the new year: try to stay home for a bit and make some things that might last, please?

That’s a 2019 resolution I can get behind.

Appreciation for the Moka Pot

by // Leave a Comment

Last August Caroline and I ventured to Ravello, Italy, for her nephew’s wedding. We had booked a reasonably priced apartment via Airbnb with the critical feature of a panoramic view of the Mediterranean. Upon arriving and surveying the scene, we were flummoxed by the presence of a Moka pot as the sole coffee-making device. We love our coffee (and I was a happy Aeropress snob for a while), but the Moka was new to us. Our morning brew was mandatory (especially with jet lag) and this Moka thing didn’t seem like it would deliver the goods. We weren’t even sure how to work it.

I know what my European readers are thinking: so typically American of us.

But there’s a fairy tale ending. After a few days trapped to the Moka, we fell in love with it. The look of it, the ritual, the sound it makes as it’s brewing, the anticipation. And the final product — delicious, thick espresso. Upon our return home, we immediately located and purchased our own Moka pot and now have the daily ritual of an early-afternoon espresso pick-me-up. The bonus is we’re reminded of our fantastic time in Ravello every time we rev it up.

It’s with interest and delight that I happened across this Atlas Obscura article on the history of the Moka pot. ‘Humble Brilliance’ indeed. Did you know its design is featured in the Museum of Modern Art and the Cooper-Hewitt Smithsonian Design Museum? I think it’s fascinating that design and function were combined in a popular product so early in the 20th century. Take that, Apple.

There are many other great tidbits in the piece, such as:

Alfonso Bialetti’s son, Renato, came back to Piedmont in 1946 to take over his father’s shop and decided to stop making everything except one product: the Moka Express. The newly low price of aluminum and coffee, and a growing middle class of people who could buy products like this, made the Moka pot a perfect device for the time. Renato was also a pretty shrewd businessman; in 1953, he commissioned the drawing of the company’s logo, L’omino con i baffi, “the little man with the mustache,” which has since been inseparable from the Moka Express. The Moka Express was “the first way that Italians could realistically make coffee at home that was some approximation of what they could get outside,” says {Specialty Coffee Association’s Peter} Giuliano.

Renato Bialetti ended up buried in a replica of a Moka pot. I don’t blame him.

The article mentions that — thanks partly to the international popularity of those infernal coffee pods — the Moka pot has hit hard times and the Bialetti corp is just hanging on. Thus I’m glad that, late in the game, I discovered the Moka and now advocate on its behalf. And advocate I will: if you have a coffee-aficionado friend who might enjoy an early-afternoon routine, buy him or her a Moka pot for Christmas. Or tell a loved one to get one for you if you’re the coffee fiend in question. Mokas are cheap, they’re fun, and they make great coffee.

So, that’s the 8-Sided holiday gift guide: buy everyone a Moka pot.

On a musical note, I’ve been working to the Ambient Arrivals Archive playlist. The curator recently included a cut from our artist More Ghost Than Man which clued me onto this. It’s a mostly beat-less collection, drone-y and spacey, the kind of thing I like in the background while writing and doing ‘deep work.’ That said, there are some distracting songs in there — including, by mistake (I hope), an AC/DC song — so I suggest copying the tracks into your own playlist so you can delete anything that will interrupt your flow state. But I’d say at least 90% of the 200+ songs are suitable.

Ending today’s post with festive gratitude: if you had told me when I was 22 that I’d someday end up with a beautiful woman who blasted “Venus In Furs” while making holiday cookies, I think my head would have exploded.

Daily Blogging, Even on a Rainy Day

by // 1 Comment

Someone, somewhere out there, might be noticing that I’m blogging again. Yes, there are more than a few time gaps in entries if you go through the back posts. The quality varies, with quick ‘quotes from articles’ type posts rubbing shoulders with the less frequent meatier commentary. The majority of the posts are strictly music industry-oriented.

I’m not sure why I kept dropping off (and I’m not sure if I’ll drop off again tomorrow if I’m honest) but I may have been doing this for the wrong reasons, in turn putting some pressure on myself. The idea might have been to transmit some authority and knowledge on these subjects and to find a niche in the music industry pundit-sphere. With those goals, there’s only so much I can write, and just so much that indeed maintains my interest.

But writing is important to me, as is getting better at it. I want to be a writer, sure. Have you heard the advice for people searching for a calling, telling them to think back to what they wanted to do when they were little kids? I didn’t want to be a musician, or a label manager, or an industry pundit — those ambitions appeared later on. When I was in grade school, I wanted to be a writer, plain and simple. I was sort of obsessed about it if I remember correctly.

Seth Godin’s been doing the rounds. He’s got a new book, This Is Marketing (I’ve got it here and can’t wait to dive in). Seth’s appearing on tons of podcasts and, as I love hearing him talk, I’ve been listening to a bunch, one after the other. Binging Seth. And a natural question he’s asked repeatedly in these interviews is, “What’s the best advice you can give to our listeners?” His answer: blog every day.

You’re either thinking “that’s great for Seth” or “he must know what he’s talking about” as the guy has been blogging every day without fail for years — here’s post number 7,000.

Seth said this about daily blogging on the Unmistakable Creative podcast:

If you know you have to write a blog post tomorrow, something in writing, something that will be around six months from now, about something in the world, you will start looking for something in the world to write about. You will seek to notice something interesting and to say something creative about it. Well, isn’t that all we’re looking for? The best practice of generously sharing what you notice about the world is exactly the antidote for your fear.

I love this: daily blogging as an exercise to notice more, to observe the day with intention, to create firmer opinions and ideas, and to cope with the fears of uncertainty and of time passing. The idea of a daily blog seems challenging but, after only a week into it, I’m already remembering more about my days, and putting little mental placemarks on the moments I want to write about later.

I’ll still do the occasional meaty posts about subjects like why music streaming is the best/the worst, but most of what you’ll see here will be somewhat stream of consciousness — derived each day from what I read, what I watched, what I listened to, who I spoke with, what I’m thinking about, where my head’s at. I hope it will be at least mildly entertaining. If so, I’ll eventually launch a weekly (or every-other-weekly) newsletter compiling the best of my frantic observations and recommendations. At this point, I’m sure you can hardly contain yourself.

Will I keep it up? I think so. I bet I’ll miss a day or two occasionally. But I’d like to give this a go with the hope that eventually I’ll be writing without hesitation and acutely aware of what’s happening around me. I also want the discipline, as maintaining this practice should get me on track to schedule in other tasks that require discipline, like recording new music.

Apologies if this ends up a self-indulgent mess (possibly it already is). But I am doing this for myself after all. Another in a line of creative experiments, fuel for the creative life I’m aiming to lead. Game on.