If someone asked me why I love music, and why I loved rock music especially, I would play them Rhiannon by the holy mid-tempo gods, Fleetwood Mac. This song can knock me out of any funk you can imagine. Just gored by a bull? Put on Rhiannon. Your girlfriend just had a threesome with a couple of midget circus clowns? Stevie’s dulcet tones will cure all your ills. You just realized that you just wasted the last 42 years of your life huffing glue in an alleyway? Mick Fleetwood’s drums will beat those blues away.

This song really is a prime example of how music can be the true emotional medicine. Recently I have been dealing with some moral dilemmas, most importantly, “how do I join the ever pressing adult world while keeping my street cred?” That’s when I pop on some cool rock classics like Rhiannon and realize that as long as my future kids know their Dad rocks to Fleetwood when he is driving them in the minivan to soccer practice, I have nothing to worry about.

This live version of the song is from a hip British show called “Midnight special” which is avaiIable on DVD. I highly recommend it to anyone up at 4 AM making grilled cheese and watching infomercials; three easy payments and it’s yours. The guitar solo half way through is worth it alone. Also, Stevie Nicks proves here why she is THE original rock babe. The voice, the looks, the drug habit…..amazing. Just watch the last minute of the video and you’ll get my drift. On a side note, I’m happy to see that Stevie still has it. At this year’s grammy awards, she gave current teen dream Taylor Swift a left uppercut/ right jab combo to the vocal chords. It was slightly shameful seeing my 70s goddess singing about some adolescent crush however.

Rhiannon can be played anywhere and anytime and you won’t get a complaint from me, this whole performance just oozes everything that was good about the 70s.

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It’s hard to say it’s not saddening when two great American artists and minds die in the same week, then again they were 87 and 91 respectively. And for one of them, it seems as though the majority of his work might still to be published–and I will be holding me breath. Here’s a great article about the two (mostly Salinger) from Dave Eggers, author of the acclaimed novel, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (and author of one of my favorite lines about childhood. Reminiscing his first reading of James and the Giant Peach: “It’s like the cement is still wet when you’re that age; every little mark can become permanent.”)

To me, the name Salinger is synonymous with all the romantic notions of the great American writer. He’s up there with Twain, Whitman, Hemmingway, Thoreau, Poe, Ginsberg…perhaps Zinn.  And I’m not measuring or comparing his or their talents as writers or even men, but simply comparing the concepts and myth capability surrounding their names.  There’s something wild and larger than the men themselves, something truly American in their ring; like Cowboys and Baseball and The White House. Salinger abounds his own realm, the realm of the recluse, the private right, the mastery of character and attractive psychology….  There is complete truth to atmosphere in his writing. It’s not even that he never veers from keeping it real, his stories simply read like a rolling ball obeying the psychology of their landscapes. I’m not trying to sound vague and clichéd but they’re just true.

A week before Salinger’s death I coincidently had just finished one of his short novels, Franny and Zooey. Honestly, I picked it up for no more than liking the binding and was feeling Americanly mythic. I was not disappointed – huge concepts moving through precisely written characters, and above all, real.

I was quite friendly with all his characters, but I took a liking to one in particular and relinquished myself to his corner, until he stated in the last ten pages:

“An artist’s only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else’s. You have no right to think about any of those things.”

This argument, of the artist/audience relationship is one I’ve had at great length for some time with friends and myself. Should the artist’s intent recognize its audience? Where’s the edge of allegory?  Is art that doesn’t connect with or ‘move’ its audience, of lesser value than art that does? I kinda think so. Art is a communication. But what does that say about pop music?

Either way, I kinda resented Salinger when I heard his protagonist (who I, perhaps presumably, thought was ‘Salinger’s voice’) utter such a thing with such conviction. “Easy to say from the heights of your already accredited genius and royalty checks old man. External validation is an easy vice to criticize when you got it.”

Anyway a week later when I found out he died, this old literally friend of mine whom I had just had a lover’s spat with, I felt guilty. Salinger was outspoken about his hatred of the critic and their work. And now little old me, as though in some karmic literary review, had finally laid the last straw on the camel’s critical back…and killed him.  Of course that’s just rubbish from my make-believe world.

Now go visit his.

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From Jennifer Michael Hecht’s book Doubt:

With the gods gone, the universe seemed like a dead place of violence and chance and we human beings the minuscule representatives of our own emotive fantasy. All that is left of this fantasy is what we maintain in our own civilized, cultured behavior–little creatures holding back the encroachment of meaninglessness with nothing but out body shame and our quest for accomplishment. Diogenes had essentially said, I give up, and he found the experience astoundingly liberating.

While not the original Cynic, Diogenes is often held up as the prototype of cynicism. He lived in a tub and off handouts. A rough outline of his reasoning was that if the gods don’t exist, there is no meaning, and if there’s no meaning anything we try to accomplish is pointless. Essentially, as Hecht puts it: I give up.

That’s why cynicism bothers me so much. It really is giving up. I have gone through cynical periods and that’s what it feels like. It’s used to feign wisdom which is giving up on your intellect. It’s used to mock those who are actually trying to do something by saying, “what’s the point? Just give up.” Anyone who can’t find meaning has obviously given up looking too soon. People are dying all over the place, there’s tons of stuff to learn, music and art to be made. Preachy blog posts to write. Fuck. Ok. Don’t take my word for it:

Conan O’Brien on his final episode of The Tonight Show:

All I ask of you, especially young people … is one thing. Please don’t be cynical. I hate cynicism — it’s my least favorite quality and it doesn’t lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you’re kind, amazing things will happen. I’m telling you, amazing things will happen.

And here’s Stephen Colbert addressing the 2006 graduating class of Knox College:

Now will saying ‘yes’ get you in trouble at times? Will saying ‘yes’ lead you to doing some foolish things? Yes, it will. But don’t be afraid to be a fool. Remember, you cannot be both young and wise. Young people who pretend to be wise to the ways of the world are mostly just cynics. Cynicism masquerades as wisdom, but it is the farthest thing from it. Because cynics don’t learn anything. Because cynicism is a self-imposed blindness, a rejection of the world because we are afraid it will hurt us or disappoint us. Cynics always say no. But saying ‘yes’ begins things. Saying ‘yes’ is how things grow. Saying ‘yes’ leads to knowledge. ‘Yes’ is for young people. So for as long as you have the strength to, say ‘yes’.

Two guys. Really smart. Really funny. Two guys who rarely put on a serious face putting one on for something they obviously think is important. Although,  I reserve the right to remain cynical about the Canadiens.

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I’ve had my ear to the ground about this project recently and it’s finally here. Sorta. The Knife, in collboration with Mt. Sims and Planningtorock, will release a digital opera based on Charles Darwin’s “On the Origin of Species” on March 1 but you can check out the first single, “The Colouring of Pigeons” from the opera (do opera’s have singles?) embedded below and you can stream the entire opera over at NPR (but only until February 2).

I gave the whole opera a listen yesterday and it gets 10/10 on originality. Though Peters, our music critic in residence, deemed the first 30 minutes unlistenable, I kept myself occupied by trying to figure out if they were going for some kind of symbolism. The evolution of life was pretty boring for the first few billion years. Probably worse than watching paint dry. Why should the opera version be any different? Wait. It’s not that bad. Just like most people only read a book once, I enjoyed listening to the beginning once. After that it starts getting more and more interesting hitting The Knife’s usual notes in the process.

And the single: breathtaking. Percussion heavy. Layered with different voices singing about the life of Darwin:

Northern forms existed in their own homes
thousand yellow – cocoons
under over – through

While later on a soprano belts out beautiful melodies while Karen Dreiker Andersson of The Knife laments being away from home for so long on his 5 year voyage on The Beagle:

That I will once again be home

I listen to it and pretend all the other douches on the bus are lower forms of life slowly evolving in primordial ooze.

By the way, if anyone wants a great biography of Charles Darwin read The Origin by Irving Stone, probably the most researched body of work on Darwin’s life out there. I couldn’t put it down. Seriously.

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Joel Blair is the only person I know that spent a week painting his staircase red.  He is also the only person who I know who has been a pool boy on a rooftop in downtown Chicago. He’s the only person I know who’s owned a VW Beetle and flipped it on a highway driving to a Supertramp concert or something. His passport collection of himself looks like a 1960’s spy’s passport collection-comically ridiculous.

He’s a photographer-check his awesome site, www.joelblair.com. He’s inventing a phone, www.detraform.com and he has a great blog called The Blair List Project.  It’s very entertaining. If you like interviews with underground actors, personal letters from David Sedaris or just a glimpse of some optical themed books from his collection, this site is for you.

Now if he could only update it more often, it’d be amazing. But, each post is so great, they’re worth waiting for.

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“To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.”

I remember the exact moment I was introduced to Zinn. It was at a party in the Plateau where I knew next to no one. After a long conversation about the economics of corruption with an economics grad student, I had to leave. So I asked him if he one book to suggest, what would it be. A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn was his answer. Easily Zinn’s best known work, it covers the history of the United States from a perspective long-ignored: the common man. He was a passionate champion of democracy, fervently anti-war and convinced of the power of the people:

“Small acts, when multiplied by millions of people, can transform the world.“

Zinn likely inspired millions of small acts. His words and ideals inspired over 2 million people to buy his book which subsequently inspired a 90 minute documentary called The People Speak which included more famous names than I can list here but included Matt Damon, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Morgan Freeman, etc. Here’s an interview he did with Bill Moyers just before the release of The People Speak:

Here are a couple of extra resources about Howard Zinn:

• An interview on the State of the Empire
• A short video about his boyhood
• An article on The Palestine Chronicle
• Turns out one of my favourite medical bloggers knew and was friends with Zinn. Here’s his tribute.
• Obituary in the Boston Globe
• Obituary in the New York Times

(Hat tip to 3 quarks daily)

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When I think of my life, the one I was given,
I feel blessed by the stars for some mystic rhythm
Felt Now was my place, and my time be Here,
I got sneakers on my feet, no rock do I fear.
Because of all the times to be born a human,
Right Here, right Now is remarkably something.

We were all in a lottery of when and where to be placed,
Our numbers were winners what hardships do we face?
We live without war, famine, or myth;
We have electricity, cars, and full service,
Hospitals that cure and know how what works,
Schools and libraries and laws against jerks.
No one in time has lived like we do:
Freedoms and order in a sticky social glue.

Let alone the pleasures and luxuries to boot;
Like heating and mattresses and imported fruit,
Guitars, television, and clear running water,
Deodorant, ice cream, and smooth peanut butter,
Skiing and zippers and convenient store hours,
Toilet paper, braces and daily heated showers,
Forecasts, board games, and late night snacks,
A million little vices to make us relax,
Utter squeezed milk from a machine gun hand,
Chilled in the dairy isles waiting on our demand,
Ice in a freeze box at any moments notice,
Girly mags at ten, our older brother showed us.

Experience and pleasure all around us lives,
We know more truth in adolescence than most men ever did.
It has all been handed to us on a silver platter,
We’re the apex of humanity, it don’t get much better.

So if you’re ever depressed and sitting at home,
Finding trivial concerns are making you moan,
Like walking the dog or an emotional rut,
Missing a party or a bad haircut,
Remember when you are and luxuries we enjoy,
Because if chance were a playground, we were given the best toy.

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Rush Limbaugh published an article in the Onion on Monday stating his flaws and his desire to die. “I am a very bad person. And, to tell you the truth, I don’t really want to be alive anymore.” With the recent deaths this year of amazing people, I can’t say I’d miss Rush.

From the Onion:

“…even if I did die, the hell I would surely be sent to could not possibly be any worse than the bottomless pool of excrement I already paddle around in like some demented, shit-covered walrus. In fact, every time I hear my voice coming through the headphones I nearly gag, and I think, “What the fuck am I doing?” Why would I say that Michael J. Fox is faking his Parkinson’s symptoms? Why would I find it funny to play a song called “Barack the Magic Negro”? Why would I tell people not to give aid to Haiti?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I live in constant terror and that terror informs my every word, thought, and action.

See, the thing is, I honestly cannot control the bilious hatred and filth that oozes out of my mouth. I want to—believe me, I want to—but I can’t. And every time I speak, a tiny voice inside my head is screaming, “Stop talking, you stupid, insensitive prick. JUST STOP FUCKING TALKING. All you do is spread hate and fear, and the world would be a better place without you, you worthless, amoral, cocksucking fuckface.” ‘
Oh Rush……….please do die.

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Petra Mrkyz & Jean-François Moriceau are French artists who have done a lot of art shows.  I like them because of their art, but also it’s really hard to find any information on them. They’re more mysterious than the catacombs of Paris. They did this crazy show last year called Ephemeride 2009 where illustrated an art calendar basically where they had an image for every day of the year. It’s awesome. November 13:

Also,  they made this sweet video for Air’s “Sing Sang Sung” off of last year’s Love 2 album. It’s a psychedelic trip back to the sixties, but like Air-it’s not too psychedelic, just perfect.

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I’ve run across a bunch of interesting articles this morning. Here are some of the highlights:

1) Big Placebo says Medicine never cures anything by Amy Tuteur. A quick, easy-to-read criticism of alternative medicine. I’ve always been really interested in the “natural remedies/alternative medicine” fascination that is so popular today. There are good reasons to be critical of the pharmaceutical industry but they’re not all bad. A recent read of mine, Denialism by Michael Spectre, did a good job of treading the fine line between not over critical and not critical enough. What blows my mind most are the people who accuse the pharmaceutical industry of only thinking about money (which is a fair criticism) while they turn a blind eye to the profits made by alternative medicine remedies. But the real reason I’m extremely skeptical about alternative medicine is because, historically, we’ve always had herbal remedies, weird potions and mystical surgical procedures trying to balance the four humors. As soon as modern, evidence-based medicine hits the scene, BOOM instant improvement in life expectancy. I’m definitely not saying the all natural remedies are ineffective, I wrote an article a while back about a couple that have shown promise, but there’s bunch of expensive supplements out there that are a complete waste of money.

2) Hello ET, We Come in Peace on the New Scientist website. Apparently the Royal Society will be holding a debate next as to whether we should be broadcasting out presence out to the cosmos for anyone who might be out there. That article links to a couple other New Scientist pieces about how the hell we would go about communicating with these aliens…if they exist.

3) Lastly, The Globe Ad Fail by Fagstein. A quick look at what happens when newspaper editors don’t pay attention to the ads next to their content. I’ll bet even American Express cards aren’t accepted right now in Haiti.

4) And while I’m on the topic of Haiti, Bill Easterly, development guru, thinks there can be Too Much of a Good Thing. Relax, he’s not saying people have over-donated to Haiti, but he has a couple good pointers for how to make sure any donations you do make are doing the things you want them to.

5) Oh, and lastly, how a trip to the zoo can win you a wildlife photo contest…as long as you don’t get caught. Which this idiot did (see photo).

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