The last day or so in Japan went past in a rush. Unlike the interminable 4 hours stop-over at Paris CDG airport before flying on home - even more tortuous its acting as a contemplative state of purgatory. In fact I got so bored with wandering around and testing perfumes in the duty-free and reading Italian women's fashion magazines in the news shop, that I carelessly picked up a copy of The Wire magazine to peruse. Huge mistake, I know. Look, I was desperate.
Do you think The Wire's contributors will ever get tired of using the word 'epiphany'? I must have counted out another dozen examples in that issue alone. And then of course, that prime pumpkin-head Nick Cain leaps out at you with a full page review of Peter Rehberg's recently released anthology. Now you might think this is bitterness for his inane review of Racket but far from it. Eminently worse is one of his (inane) 'good' reviews, especially after reading the incontinent twaddle he has to say about Pita's work. How that managed to get past the magazine's editor is beyond me. Cain is so toe-curlingly aroused by the sound of his own wretched prose, he actually manages to put you off wanting to hear the music. (And by the way I'm sure it is a great release.)
Anyway, enough already on that. The last day in Japan was for the performance that evening at the Red Brick Warehouse with the wonderful Marcus Schmickler also performing, in addition to a charming Toshiya Tsunoda and Luke Fowler. The opportunity also arose for an extra collaborative set with Incapacitants' Mikawa-san, so after a 30 minute solo set featuring Killing Hurts Give You The Secrets (live for the first time), we did 15 minutes or so together. For many years now I feel I've no real time sensitivity to music so that, whether recorded or live, it's impossible for me to make personal evaluations. Could be one of the best things ever, or a load of stinking rubbish - only time can tell.
Before I sign off with regards to this trip, and I do apologise for the consistently tiresome name-dropping, it'd be good to mention one particular highlight, that of meeting and spending some time with Joan Jonas - what a truly lovely and fascinating human being, one whose artistic passion burns ever bright.
In summary, it's such a privilege to get these kinds of opportunities that, let alone 4 hours, I'd happily sacrifice 4 days or 4 weeks stuck in limbo at CDG in exchange for. Just so long as that bloody magazine isn't anywhere to be seen.
Showing posts with label the wire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the wire. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
PARATAXIC DISTORTION
Mischievous, I know. After hearing about Asmus Tietchens' inclusion of Racket in a new German-language book Kopfhörer (a compilation of music reviews without the various contributors having listened to the music in question), I felt it worth extending the experiment by reviewing the book without having read it. Someone at the forum cuttingly pointed out that it was hardly a novel idea since The Wire have been doing that for years. Quite.
Actually, to me, the relationship between music and words (reviews in particular) is a rather interesting one.
In those barren days of the 70s when music was in far shorter supply and not ubiquitous as nowadays, for a teenager it was most challenging to gain access to much beyond trashy pop, rock and classical. And it was in this climate that I now vividly recall reading record reviews (from the NME and the like) and enjoying the 'sounds' through visualisation. Phrases such as 'a vortex of spiralling shards of sound'; 'blisteringly frenzied fretwork'; 'lyrical anarchy'; 'thundering percussion from the depths of hell itself' would be most arousing. Sadly, like a young girl dreaming of her Prince Charming arriving to gather her on a white horse, this was a case where one's imagination would lift you to magical sonic mind orgasms that, of course, no worldly music would ever be able to satisfy - and thus routinely end in a disappointing anticlimax upon hearing the real thing. And, as you may correctly remark, surely went some way to explaining an impatience with what was perceived as a general lack of ambition and conservativeness within the artform.
Since Kopfhörer is in book format, and employs this unique strategy deliberately (not as a hack's exercise in laziness), I give it the benefit of any doubt about its intent. There are around 20 contributors, many of whom are musicians themselves, and it's highly likely that a fair few will enjoy this opportunity to shamelessly plug their own work. However, in all probability, much of it will be a fascinating insight into the writers' souls regardless of their respective opinions.
And this kind of personalisation is to be encouraged. Many press reviews are often too perfunctory for my own liking and don't engage enough on an emotional level. This format promises far more as the reviewer has to call upon her own familiarity with the artist (both acquired and researched), and somehow synthesise that with who they themselves are, and what they represent - or indeed wish to represent.
Did Asmus choose Racket himself? If he didn't, then he got the short straw. Whitehouse provokes such wildly disparate responses and carries so much potential baggage that he will be walking through a minefield. In that sense, it's bad enough making this music, let alone someone as venerated as Tietchens himself having to discuss it, blindly. I have a lot of time for his work, and respect his output even though we undoubtedly have very different approaches to composition - and I won't like him less should that respect not be wholly reciprocated. Either way, my gut instinct tells me that it won't be very different to what he'd write if he did listen to it. (At the same time, I'd certainly be disappointed if he displayed the wilfully reactionary ignorance of a David Toop.)
Most collections can be hit and miss, and this book is surely no exception, yet the experiment is so unique and interesting that my virtual conclusion is that I would recommend checking it out. If you can read German.
Actually, to me, the relationship between music and words (reviews in particular) is a rather interesting one.
In those barren days of the 70s when music was in far shorter supply and not ubiquitous as nowadays, for a teenager it was most challenging to gain access to much beyond trashy pop, rock and classical. And it was in this climate that I now vividly recall reading record reviews (from the NME and the like) and enjoying the 'sounds' through visualisation. Phrases such as 'a vortex of spiralling shards of sound'; 'blisteringly frenzied fretwork'; 'lyrical anarchy'; 'thundering percussion from the depths of hell itself' would be most arousing. Sadly, like a young girl dreaming of her Prince Charming arriving to gather her on a white horse, this was a case where one's imagination would lift you to magical sonic mind orgasms that, of course, no worldly music would ever be able to satisfy - and thus routinely end in a disappointing anticlimax upon hearing the real thing. And, as you may correctly remark, surely went some way to explaining an impatience with what was perceived as a general lack of ambition and conservativeness within the artform.
Since Kopfhörer is in book format, and employs this unique strategy deliberately (not as a hack's exercise in laziness), I give it the benefit of any doubt about its intent. There are around 20 contributors, many of whom are musicians themselves, and it's highly likely that a fair few will enjoy this opportunity to shamelessly plug their own work. However, in all probability, much of it will be a fascinating insight into the writers' souls regardless of their respective opinions.
And this kind of personalisation is to be encouraged. Many press reviews are often too perfunctory for my own liking and don't engage enough on an emotional level. This format promises far more as the reviewer has to call upon her own familiarity with the artist (both acquired and researched), and somehow synthesise that with who they themselves are, and what they represent - or indeed wish to represent.
Did Asmus choose Racket himself? If he didn't, then he got the short straw. Whitehouse provokes such wildly disparate responses and carries so much potential baggage that he will be walking through a minefield. In that sense, it's bad enough making this music, let alone someone as venerated as Tietchens himself having to discuss it, blindly. I have a lot of time for his work, and respect his output even though we undoubtedly have very different approaches to composition - and I won't like him less should that respect not be wholly reciprocated. Either way, my gut instinct tells me that it won't be very different to what he'd write if he did listen to it. (At the same time, I'd certainly be disappointed if he displayed the wilfully reactionary ignorance of a David Toop.)
Most collections can be hit and miss, and this book is surely no exception, yet the experiment is so unique and interesting that my virtual conclusion is that I would recommend checking it out. If you can read German.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
TRIGGERED 2
What did you do in school class that's had any real relevance in your life? That is, beyond jumping through hoops in order to do the same thing all over again in further education. I suspect we learn life's most useful lessons despite school and not because of it.
Within our academic system (both in schools and in universities) and beyond, I've always found the heavy emphasis on the analytical over the behavioural quite frustrating; and it was a significant moment for me when I decided to focus energy on learning how to affect things rather than how to do things or about things.
The topic of TRIGGERED is a good example because you can discover fascinating and useful behavioural implications to the analyses of the wider effects of having a bed called 'Lolita'. In fact, it was through the use of this knowledge that the New Britain album was deliberately and conceptually designed - often considered one of the most 'extreme' albums within the canon. I briefly alluded to this in the recent Whitehouse feature in The Wire magazine.
If you carefully deconstruct the components of New Britain, one would be hard pressed to find anything that's particularly contentious, and yet because of these filters and the overloading effect of multiple juxtaposition and the absence of an overt rationale, it creates the (intended) rather sinister aura, one which will captivate the imagination enough to drag the listener well away from their comfort zone. Or to the metaphorical forest that I often refer to. This is achieved through the careful design of the song titles, colour scheme, typeface, label logo all placed (unusually) on the front cover, and all set up before a note of music had even been recorded! (Ironically, Tony Blair's New Labour were to permanently adopt the 'New Britain' epithet a few years later.)
While I've used this technique on other occasions, never was it so successful as it was with New Britain.
Within our academic system (both in schools and in universities) and beyond, I've always found the heavy emphasis on the analytical over the behavioural quite frustrating; and it was a significant moment for me when I decided to focus energy on learning how to affect things rather than how to do things or about things.
The topic of TRIGGERED is a good example because you can discover fascinating and useful behavioural implications to the analyses of the wider effects of having a bed called 'Lolita'. In fact, it was through the use of this knowledge that the New Britain album was deliberately and conceptually designed - often considered one of the most 'extreme' albums within the canon. I briefly alluded to this in the recent Whitehouse feature in The Wire magazine.
If you carefully deconstruct the components of New Britain, one would be hard pressed to find anything that's particularly contentious, and yet because of these filters and the overloading effect of multiple juxtaposition and the absence of an overt rationale, it creates the (intended) rather sinister aura, one which will captivate the imagination enough to drag the listener well away from their comfort zone. Or to the metaphorical forest that I often refer to. This is achieved through the careful design of the song titles, colour scheme, typeface, label logo all placed (unusually) on the front cover, and all set up before a note of music had even been recorded! (Ironically, Tony Blair's New Labour were to permanently adopt the 'New Britain' epithet a few years later.)
While I've used this technique on other occasions, never was it so successful as it was with New Britain.
Friday, July 13, 2007
67
Simon Reynolds' much-feted Rip It Up And Start Again is an entertaining but ultimately shoddily researched book about what he describes as 'post-punk'; he has far less grasp on the literary and artistic cultural references he bandies about than he and his band of nostalgic mostly fortysomething readers might like to think. But that's rock writers for you. Anyway, enough of that.
On a personal note, it's irritating how Reynolds' included unverified quotes from Neil Megson get lazily regurgitated in various quarters, and once again, in this month's Wire magazine, Megson eagerly jumps at the opportunity tossed in his direction. And before I continue, I should state for the record that I admire both Chris and Cosey, nor do I have a problem with Sleazy (despite not being especially familiar with his latter-day work).
Hippie Megson has been playing the numbers game since the early 70s, trying his luck at almost any thing in the hope of hitting the big celebrity jackpot that, like the grapes to Tantalus, so sadly seems to keep eluding him. And despite the bold bulimic rhetoric he utilises in conversation, Megson in all that time - with the assistance of his trusty sidekick, the Oxford Rhyming Dictionary - has not managed (in my opinion) to write one single half-decent set of lyrics. His continual griping and posturing and bitching and rationalising and whingeing and namechecking and boasting says a lot more about him than it does about anyone else: a subtext of why he doesn't get the recognition and public love for everything that, at least in his own addled moral worldview, he feels he's invented or achieved, and donated to the world.
The ironic and disappointing truth is that he's not a man in drag at all, I really wish he was. He's Nicholas Fairbairn with piercings.
On a personal note, it's irritating how Reynolds' included unverified quotes from Neil Megson get lazily regurgitated in various quarters, and once again, in this month's Wire magazine, Megson eagerly jumps at the opportunity tossed in his direction. And before I continue, I should state for the record that I admire both Chris and Cosey, nor do I have a problem with Sleazy (despite not being especially familiar with his latter-day work).
Hippie Megson has been playing the numbers game since the early 70s, trying his luck at almost any thing in the hope of hitting the big celebrity jackpot that, like the grapes to Tantalus, so sadly seems to keep eluding him. And despite the bold bulimic rhetoric he utilises in conversation, Megson in all that time - with the assistance of his trusty sidekick, the Oxford Rhyming Dictionary - has not managed (in my opinion) to write one single half-decent set of lyrics. His continual griping and posturing and bitching and rationalising and whingeing and namechecking and boasting says a lot more about him than it does about anyone else: a subtext of why he doesn't get the recognition and public love for everything that, at least in his own addled moral worldview, he feels he's invented or achieved, and donated to the world.
The ironic and disappointing truth is that he's not a man in drag at all, I really wish he was. He's Nicholas Fairbairn with piercings.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
PROPAGATION OF THE FAITH
Please indulge me this one last broadside, I do solemnly promise this to be the absolutely final blog entry regarding The Wire magazine.
Our school head, a patronising maternalistic old dragon, often tried to force us to eat the weekly shepherd's pie, which all of us hated despite her it's-good-for-you exhortations and yet I did really use to love the rice pudding. Especially with a blob of jam. So anyway, as I was tucking into a third bowl of the goo, Martin, a nice kid with good intentions, who regularly used to sit at the table opposite me, would contort his face, and say, 'William, I don't get it, I just don't understand how anyone can eat that muck, it's disgusting, you're crazy!'. He couldn't get his head round it and that was an early moment I realised how people can be such prisoners of their belief systems, anything that doesn't fit into their narrow worldview is incomprehensible to them.
Keith Moliné, please tell me how much your article helped to pay a bill. Tell me how much sex it'll help you get. Tell me how it's improved your journalistic CV. Tell me how it's helped you do a bit of networking. Tell me what success really means to you as you stop and reflect that this is not about us, it's about you. And in the meantime, while you rewrite your 1,000 words on 'Noise and the Failure Imperative', I'll just sit here and enjoy my rice pudding.
Our school head, a patronising maternalistic old dragon, often tried to force us to eat the weekly shepherd's pie, which all of us hated despite her it's-good-for-you exhortations and yet I did really use to love the rice pudding. Especially with a blob of jam. So anyway, as I was tucking into a third bowl of the goo, Martin, a nice kid with good intentions, who regularly used to sit at the table opposite me, would contort his face, and say, 'William, I don't get it, I just don't understand how anyone can eat that muck, it's disgusting, you're crazy!'. He couldn't get his head round it and that was an early moment I realised how people can be such prisoners of their belief systems, anything that doesn't fit into their narrow worldview is incomprehensible to them.
Keith Moliné, please tell me how much your article helped to pay a bill. Tell me how much sex it'll help you get. Tell me how it's improved your journalistic CV. Tell me how it's helped you do a bit of networking. Tell me what success really means to you as you stop and reflect that this is not about us, it's about you. And in the meantime, while you rewrite your 1,000 words on 'Noise and the Failure Imperative', I'll just sit here and enjoy my rice pudding.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
WITCHFINDER PENCIL
The guardians of morality at The Wire magazine have this time 'Savage' Pencil interviewing Chris Corsano for Invisible Jukebox. He plays Shitfun for him, then proceeds to goad him into condemning the supposedly 'dodgy' views inherent. Corsano commendably doesn't take the bait, stating that he appreciates and enjoys the music, even pointing out that his wife (who doesn't much like so-called 'noise music') very much enjoys Whitehouse.
The interview continues, Pencil prodding CC with questions perming the theme of whether Whitehouse are 'dangerous': even going so far as to mention the erect penis on the album's cover, and questioning its dangerousness (ironically declining to mention that the penis in question is the work of Wire favourite Steven Stapleton).
The interview continues, Pencil prodding CC with questions perming the theme of whether Whitehouse are 'dangerous': even going so far as to mention the erect penis on the album's cover, and questioning its dangerousness (ironically declining to mention that the penis in question is the work of Wire favourite Steven Stapleton).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
