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Whew! I just got the videodownloader for Mozilla that allows one to grab videos off of YouTube. I plan to spend every free second I have filling my hard drive with Tom Waits and John Hartford video. I haven't really poked around the site so much, because I would have to stream it, as opposed to soaking it up in my natural habitat. Now, it's on...
I don't know if I should bother with an all-out post on TW or JH. I figure that all the FoRTP are already pretty familiar... Maybe another day. In searching for Derek Bailey info, I stumbled across a great performance space that Zorn has started. It's called The Stone. If you read the calendar section, and don't perk up at one name or another, then go to NYC and get educated.
I've seen NY hotspots for the uberhip come and go from my distant third party perspective. The Knitting Factory and Tonic spring to mind. The Stone is so heartily idealistic that I belive/hope it works. I mean, Carla Kihlstedt and Zeena Parkins?
I first stumbled across Kihlstedt's work through my insane search to own a copy of every sound Tom Waits has recorded. He sat in on a Tin Hat Trio song called Helium, from the album of the same name. I was intrigued by Tin Hat. They had three albums out, and each featured a guest vocalist on one track:Mike Patton, Tom Waits, and Willie Nelson. They, apparently, have been reading my diary. The more I found out about CK, the more motivated I was to find more. I'll always remember how blown away I was by her voice on the 2 foot yard album. Listen to anything you can by her. Lots of it is on Tzadik...
Feeling a little half-hearted about today's post. I''l add something when I can think a worthwhile thought.
I threw up a page of some anti-dub on MySpace. I was planning on posting all the audio I've been working on, then my bootleg version of Acid went all kaflooey and it seems impossible to connect to any decent torrents here in the CR. Enjoy what you get, and I'll post more when I can.
It was awhile ago that LuWorm broke the news. He was hesitant about telling me, because he understands how I get. "I think Derek Bailey died... but I'm not sure..." Yeah, he's dead. I stumbled upon a tape of him playing live when I was about 19 or so. I thought he was either absolutely insane or a complete genius. Like Miller says in Black spring; "Only an angel or a saint can have eyes like that..." His choice of tone was rounded and even. He didn't even opt for alternate tunings, but the sounds that he wrenched from those six strings still bring me to a halt. I've never found that first tape that I've long since lost to a hot car. At the end of his set and towards the end of the tape, he started plugging his label, Incus Records. He was noodling on his guitar and absent-mindedly rattling off the address for mail order and what-not as I scribbled down the information on a stained napkin with a half-dry Sharpie. He stopped halfway through the details, and I looked up from my makeshift pad and pen. He repeated the last three chord voicings and paused. I waited. "That reminds me of a jazz song," and chuckled to himself. I grinned and continued writing.
He and Monk taught me to loosen my ears, and, for that, I am indebted. I'm thinking now of a documentary I saw on Monk. The European sponsor friend of his was talking in her socialite fashion of Monk's last days. She said he never mentioned the illness of which he was well aware, but for one time. "We were riding down in the elevator, and he leaned towards me ever-so-slightly, and said "I'm really very sick, you know."" Something about the pentameter of that statement reminds me of his solo piano, lost in the heart of some Duke song.
Then there's Beefheart... I came to him through Zappa. I used to be one of those guys who walked around convinced that you just hadn't heard the right Zappa if you were less than a total fanboy. Honestly, I don't even listen to him that much myself anymore. Read the Amazon reviews of Trout Mask Replica. They are all either 5 or 1 star reviews, and usually for identical reasons.
Don's a hell of a painter, too...
Right now, I'm listening to X-Ray Spax, and wondering why indie bands never take it far enough for me anymore... If you've slept on them, wake up! It's the best rock sax this side of David Bowie and Viva L'American Death Ray music.
Listening to them at full volume makes me remember and agree with something I heard Henry Rollins say about the Sex Pistols; What a bunch of Hairdressers.
It makes me want to start a punk band that is not bogged down with the pretension and self-awareness. Vonnegut relates a Kilgore Trout story in Breakfast of Champions about two microbes discussing the meaning of life while choking on their own shit and making consequent champagne. That is the best way to take in this entity punk; Choking on your own shit and wondering aloud why the fuck you're even bothering... Everyone looks stupid in a labcoat, so shit your pants and dive on in.
I can't go all off on a music post without dropping my central obsession of the last few (Not Waits, that's for another day), Mike Patton. Can't say enough about this guy. My ears are sluts for him.
Today is/has been a rearranging day at the chateau d'RTP. I was looking at my bare walls. I have a few personal pictures and 3 Mucha prints from a set of 4.
I'm missing the one on the right, which, I believe, represents the evening time. I start looking for things to liven up the place. I'll start with pictures today, and maybe get more plants tomorrow. Spring is here, and it's time to blow the stink off. I started flipping through the handful of images that I had stuffed into my luggage. It was full of old self portraits and a few framed tidbits. Then, I stumbled across one of my favorite shots of two of my favorite comedians...
Legend has it that whenMichael Jackson met the two of them, he asked if they were brothers. That makes me think of that old conversation-starting question about your dream dinner party. Michael Jackson, Andy Warhol, and Alfred Hitchcock have to be 3 of the top five. KJP was telling me about the Warhol show at the MCA. I've actually seen a Marilyn silkscreen at a gallery here in Prague. I love Warhol, but Mostly because I think his jokes are hilarious. Looking for Warhol shots led me to this image of Beuys, then, it was all coyotes in the city for me.
Do yourself a favor, and read up on Beuys. I don't want to do him the disservice of summarizing here. He first blew my mind whaen I was a nerdo 17 year-old who would ride the South Shore into Chicago and sit all-day in the Abstract Expressionist wing of the Art institute. They had a speacial exhibit of his work, and I kept coming back to one piece. He hated AMerica, and refused to come here on anyone's terms, but his own. He arrived wrapped in felt and was carried to a small room, where he was locked in with a coyote, only to be carried out in the selfsame felt. So much to be said about felt, lard, coyotes, and American City Life. He's my fourth guest for dinner, even if he is a fucking Nazi. Now, in thinking of representations resonant with my own reality, I'm thinking of Acconci.
His work regarding intimacy, depersonalization, and invasions of the two really hit a note. Also, he's a funny fucker. Here is his Name-Calling Chair, which I affectionately refer to as the Asschair.
I got to hang out with Vito for a day when he visited the ART school I was attending. His speech that night was absolutely classic. His writings and use of text is breathtakingly perceptive and witty. He talkied mostly about the various architectural scenarios he was involved in at the time. It just thrilled me to watch him parlay of-so-smoothly with all the blubbering professors that could not stomach his talk of the death of the ART space. He was dead-up Proletariat, as if to shake away the coyotes tugging at his blanket.
I took a break from my new self-help book and started re-reading Voltaire last night. Here is how he looked to me...
Where to now? I could delve further into the vulgar lifeblood of city living, rattling off on the people living in the train station, but the sun is shining. They filmed some scenes from the new James Bond flick here a few months ago.
Supposedly, Praha is doubling for Miami. Palm trees and beaches remind me that KJP is on her way. I can't wait until she's here to sooth my worried mind. She's such a princess to me.
I would go to church more often if this guy was gonna show up, too... You nin-com-fucking-poop!
People should listen to more Jimmy Scott.
Jimmy Scott breaks my heart every time. I first heard him on a Twin Peaks soundtrack.
The woman two tables away is eating her chicken sandwich so noisily that it's making me sick to my stomach. She's talking about upcoming short film festivals in Prague, so I want to hear it, but she punctuates each thought with a messy smack.
How big of a nerd am I because I want all these?
Well Kiddies, my digicam is on the fritz, so expect slightly more regular updating on this, my original sanctum sanctorum. I can't post long today, as I've got to work. I'm getting excited, because KJP will be here in a few short weeks, and she's staying for good. Nothing makes me happier than that.
What else? Bob Marley died today. He was treated at the same cancer research center as my Mom; Sloan-Kettering. KJP and I went to Jamaica awhile back, and we were saturated with every single possible variation on Three Little Birds that you could imagine. They even dropped it elevator muzak steez... geez louise.
I'll bet this badass was the product of some really hot Bear-on-Bear. I wonder where Timothy Treadwell was for that one.
My favorite Baristo, Tomas, just asked me what the status of Puerto Rico is in relation to the US. He thought it was a territory. I thought it was a commonwealth. It's a territory with commonwealth status. Now you know...
Check out Aster Erebros' blog. It's chock full of his musings that, at first glance and ostensibly, skirt the mundane while avoiding any and all banality.
Stephen Colbert improves upon our wildest dreams...
I've been focusing the bulk of my blog time on the RTPrague site. I forgot my camera today, so I'll spit a little chum into the water for the faithful.I was riding on the tram, watching people. We pulled up to the stop at Lipanska, and a man sitting near me motioned out the window to someone standing at the stop. "Get on the tram" he signalled. I looked out to the stop, and a man with an umbrella signalled back, "No, you get off of the tram." The man on the tram, with two fingers, clearly stated, "Get on the tram if you want to talk to me, because I'm not getting off of the tram." Umbrella man was having none of that. "Get off the tram," also with two fingers. The doors closed, and the man on the tram shrugged. "Alright..." As the tram pulled away towards Husinecka, the umbrella rubbed his fingers together with his thumb. Clearly, "Where's my money, fucker?" The man on the tram just stared at his empty hands. The next stop was mine.For what do you use your nose? I've been covering lots of lessons for one of the other teachers at Prague Institute this week. It's a little difficult to keep track of where everyone is in their individual curriculae. I had a 2 hour long beginner lesson at the Pesticide Research company on the north side. I threw together a few little exercises. Those in combination with my usual bag of tricks should have easily been enough to pad out 2 hours worth of teaching in addition to their books... excepting that I brought the wrong books. 8 students for 2 hours basically off the top of my dome, and I succeeded with flying colors. One of the students told me that I was the most good teacher. So, I'm feeling cocky. The same student also told me what her nose is used for:feeling air.I've got to eat before my next lesson, but keep checking back. I cancelled my MySpace account, because I was totally wasting my time with it and neglecting my loyal readers.
