i hate music

Two days in a row, now that's weird. As i was turning a particular corner while driving home from work, the same song came on the radio. This was at the exact spot and almost at the same time. "Who Says You Can't Go Home" by Bon Jovi. Boy, how i hate Bon Jovi. I swear my brain is turning to goo with the rubbish top 40 hits that they play on the local station. Anything to beat the silence in my car.

damien jurado - sad-sack folk rock

Ang Lee made a mistake with the otherwise flawless 'Brokeback Mountain'. He neglected to commission Damien Jurado to score the soundtrack. In his latest release 'And Now That I Am in Your Shadow' Jurado has created the spiritual equivalent of doomed relationships between individuals born at the wrong time and in the wrong place.

If the breathtaking sceneries in the movie can sing they will sound like this collection of songs, sparse and possessed of a stillness that is overwhelming in its scope.

She has a dad she doesn't know
Who sends her letters with no return address...
"I don't know his name..."
"He don't know my face..."
"I am better off this way..."

You never ever listen to Jurado on speakers. His music is painfully personal and should be listened to only on head phones preferably with the lights turned way down low. Recently Jurado declared himself officially a band by adding 2 permanent members ostensibly to augment his musical vision. Ironically he sounds even more alone than ever.

The melodies are skeletal but speaks of wide open spaces where strangers meet up accidentally and just as suddenly break up and move on. Memories of painful separations permeate the words which say more by saying less. Love goes unrequited giving rise to painful longing which feels so bad that it feels good. Looking for a good hurtin'? Look no further. File under 'very special indeed'.

Tarzan Boy

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Jungle life
I'm far away from nowhere
On my own like Tarzan Boy

Hide and seek
I play along while rushing cross the forest
Monkey business on a sunny afternoon

Tarzan Boy
Baltimora


The above is an excerpt of the song that was playing on the car radio on my way home. I do not know how many of you remember it and even if you do, i do not expect you to own up to it. The cheesiness of the words are only equaled by the cheesy synthesized-music that accompanies it. Despite myself it brought a smile to my lips. I also thank the maker that i was alone in the car.

The stupid meaningless piece of fluff actually dredged up a lot of memories. It is inherently tied up with the adolescent rush of seeing and buying the latest issue of the many teen-pop/fashion magazines at the news stand. The joy of hiding in your own room and scouring the glossy pages for bits of inconsequential facts regarding the latest pop sensation with their bizarre hairdos and clothing sense. The pathetic attempts at imitating said fashion just before the annual school ball and never getting it quite right. The sense of exquisite danger dancing for the first time with members of the opposite sex. Discotheques with deafening music and multi colored strobe lights. The first taste of alcohol.

A fact that might not have appeared in the pop magazines though : the singer and songwriter of this song, Baltimora, died of AIDS soon after the huge success of 'Tarzan Boy'.

jericho - a new tv series

the past few months i have been following a new tv series amongst others called 'jericho'. the premise is that the united states of america has been attacked by unknown military forces. a few mushroom clouds later it focuses on a small town of 5, 000 and how the folks there deal with being cut off from the rest of america and the world. communication lines are down and so is power supply. tempers and egos clash and everybody is looking out for number one. not only do they have to cope with internal strive they also have to deal with roving mercenaries from out of town looking to milk the disaster for all its worth. season one ended 2 days ago and fans have to wait with bated breath for the next episode which will only appear sometime in february 2007.

i was initially hooked but things turned sour for me 2 episodes ago when mysterious boxes of supplies are parachuted down to the town folks from unidentified airplanes. the mayor of the small town decides against distributing the food to the people fearing that they may be poisoned. reason? all the boxes carry a chinese flag. this reaction is typical of the culture of fear which the bush administration has taken to new heights; something that the writers of the show is obviously not immune to. also during this episode, one of the protagonist rattles off a list of potential culprits for the disaster that have reduced their cosy american lives to rubble. no prizes for guessing who was mentioned in this list of shame.

this is symptomatic of the all-pervasive scaremongering that is riding roughshod over common sense. only a few episodes ago, another character comes across an abandoned goods train outside of town packed to the brim with food. the town had no problems digging into those supplies that time. why? no chinese flags.

fitter happier

Fitter, happier, more productive,
comfortable,
not drinking too much,
regular exercise at the gym
(3 days a week),
getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries,
at ease,
eating well
(no more microwave dinners and saturated fats),
a patient better driver,
a safer car
(baby smiling in back seat),
sleeping well
(no bad dreams),
no paranoia,
careful to all animals
(never washing spiders down the plughole),
keep in contact with old friends
(enjoy a drink now and then),
will frequently check credit at (moral) bank (hole in the wall),
favors for favors,
fond but not in love,
charity standing orders,
on Sundays ring road supermarket
(no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants),
car wash
(also on Sundays),
no longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows
nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate,
nothing so childish - at a better pace,
slower and more calculated,
no chance of escape,
now self-employed,
concerned (but powerless),
an empowered and informed member of society
(pragmatism not idealism),
will not cry in public,
less chance of illness,
tyres that grip in the wet
(shot of baby strapped in back seat),
a good memory,
still cries at a good film,
still kisses with saliva,
no longer empty and frantic like a cat tied to a stick,
that's driven into frozen winter shit
(the ability to laugh at weakness),
calm,
fitter,
healthier and more productive
a pig in a cage on antibiotics.

words - thom yorke
music - radiohead
album - ok computer

reading over the words above never fails to creep me out. to actual hear it read by lead singer thom yorke using a voice synthesizer is even more sinister. you would expect sentences like these to crop up in motivational speeches and state-sanctioned campaigns for cleaner and healthier living. below this veneer of normalcy, images of various insects and cats being killed or tortured pop up in unexpected places suggesting that all is not well in utopia.

the one line 'concerned but powerless' sums up the frustration of the modern man; watching helplessly while nature and humanity at large are subjected to all manner of abuse. at the end of the day we are only left with the above litany and the nightmare of repeating them ad nauseum for all eternity.

where the performer is demystified

ok, ian curtis while fronting post-punk mancunian legends joy division hung himself in a fit of existential rage and despondency. in a stroke of wanton wastefulness his fate and that of his band was sealed. ironically his band attained a level of mysticism that they would never have dreamed of in a thousand lifetimes if he had towed the party line and gone over to america to conquer the college circuits.

combining the mannered monotony of curtis' vocal stylings and the bloodless throb of the rhythm section, they carved beautiful things out of great big slabs of darkness. sucked dry of american influences, they offered a tantalizing vision of a cold and grey european cityscape, sexy to the extreme despite of its minimalistic and grainy veneer. would they have been any less relevant if curtis had lived out a ripe old age of embarrassing world tours and liaisons with underage groupies?

here lies the question of whether the external packaging and baggage of a band can be separated from the actual creative output. i used to think that it can, but as age catches up with me and cynicism attains adulthood within, i begin to doubt it. perhaps it is the current atmosphere of the music industry (there i have said it) of quick cash-in and staged fame-chasing that has soured it for me. would the teeny-boppers buy justin timberlake's latest album if he wore a brown paper bag over his head? you are only as good as you look.

even taking on the role of an outsider, which joy division exemplified, is just that; a role. no one can truly be who they are when put on a stage under the sweltering heat of the limelight. the reason why someone gets on to a stage is to try to raise himself above everybody else, to break out from the everyday. look i am better than you! what matters is what they do with their time. and of course how they look.

from the backpages of robert zimmerman

The ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face
from 'Visions of Johanna' by Bob Dylan

in my opinion this has got to be one of the best sentences ever thought up by man. it is unique, timeless and self-sufficiently meaningless. besides conveying meaning in the interest of communication, ingenious use of words can transcend meaning and evoke an image in the mind of otherworldly beauty. something that hints at an alternative and hopefully better world, tantalizing only because it is unachievable.

electricity is something that we cannot see but holds great sway over us. it creates and can destroy. what is the first thing that comes to mind with the word 'ghost'? fear. this lends a menacing undertone to the line. this woman must be undoubtedly stunning to look at and at the same time holds a fearsome power over the author. she possesses an ironclad will and an indomitable spirit which she flaunts with great aplomb. she is beauty and power personified.