On Whitney Houston.

Its February 2012 and Whitney Houston has died. It's a popular fad for the contrarian set to be vocal about their disinterest or happiness. I assume its mostly affected; I say that, I'm accused of being an asshole and met with graphs and chart about how its perfectly reasonable to feel that way.

The internet takes another chunk of civilities face to an early grave.

If you didn't see it on MB (and I didn't check to see if it happened) you probably saw it somewhere else or around the office place. its not unreasonable, Newton's Law of Motion says "o every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction." This is no different.

But if there was something to be gained from a senseless and early death, or at least something for us to chew on at the musical trough its at least these two things: The existence of the genre "Adult Contemporary", and American Society's need to dig up the past to show homage when its, at best, niceties in the wake of a passing, and at worst, the Grammys trying to make a buck.

But first things first. Adult contemporary. Ostensibly there to fill the dead silence of department stores and to drown out the screams of dental patients to the waiting and terrified patients in the lobby. If this were Luther Vandross I wouldn't have thought twice about it. But only the aforementioned contrarian set would posit that Houston didn't have talent. The woman was called "the perfect instrument" and while she isn't my cup of tea, and she's inspired to many rehashed, half-assed imitators on the Idol shows, theres no denying she could have done nearly anything with those vocal chords.

When writing on a music form on the internet, it most likely takes a Jesuits discipline to remember there needs to be a balance to what rattle through out headphones to make the world go 'round. So calling a spade a spade, Houston's work was certainly craft, and whether or not there was passion is for you to decide. It was certainly conditioned ("ok this track needs to be passionate") but it isn't disqualifying. And if anything it harkens back to a time when music was created more like films than the garage-born DIY stuff we see today. Houston's music was "American Graffiti" while many of what would follow her reign at the top sends to be the sonic equivelent of a soap box racer. Tin Pan Alley was written by Writers, played by Performers, and sang by Singers. Why is this different than Houston and why do we consider it less?

If there is any performance that settled the argument it was her Super Bowl performance of the Star-Spangled Banner. A song crafted with such a ridiculous arrangement (vocally) one might be on to something to refer to it as the vocal equivelent of the Rach 3 (Rachmaninov Piano Concerto 3).

No jingoism intended. The song happens to be very difficult to sing correctly, and as an American, we've been punished by countless no-talent hacks botching the god damn thing so badly they ought to be tried for treason. But I digress.

Its a curious thing to say, 50 years on, that what we appreciate in the here and now (the 30's) is more valued than what we've seen since the Studio's of the 70's mastered shlock. Theres some digging done on this issue that requires more time and interest than some mad jackle on a throw away blog of rambles and grumbles.

and further more, is it this too-little too-late mentality that requires that we go to the grave after ever artist dies and dig up some deep respect we have for them? As one friend posted on his Facebook "Who intentionally listened to Whitney Houston in the past 12 months?" if we're being honest with ourselves, it was probably less than 1% of the American populous.

So why the Grammy play-up? Is it just the human condition of wanting what we've lost? Is it a postmortem concession for an industry that abandons as quickly as it propels? Houston's is a genre that no longer carries water. While it may have been the Resurrection of Tin Pan Alley (or 2.0 as it were), it didn't survive the 80's. It had something of a revival in the late 1990's with a coffee house make-over. But by then the game had changed, and the nation had clearly changed. Houston was good, but in the newest incarnation she wouldn't be taken seriously.

Talent had gone, surplus to requirement. Good players were not needed to play boring chords on an acoustic guitar. Was what we're seeing sweep across the landscape a human lament for a genre that, having left its own for dead, had played by the rules so well, did everything right, and were still abandoned by a disinterested public?

The question that should remain is not about Whitney Houston but about music in general. Is there a purpose in sticking within the western scales and digestible time signatures? Has music moved well beyond craft in an age where I can get 12,000 views singing off-key versions of Foreigner songs into my webcam.

If Whitney is to be mourned, then let her be the figure-head of craft. Let her not represent a genre lost to time and filled to the gills by throw-away, over produced garbage. Instead let her be a symbol for everyone who worked their figures to the bone to be a session musician. Is there no room for them any longer?

Is there No Country for Old Men who play the saxophone any more?

The future of discussing music...

I feel bad for the “heard it first” crowd. The internet is expanding quicker than the universe. Indie music, which seemed to be the most genre open to odd arrangements and instrumentation since electronic music hit it big has now been consumed by big business. I find more cooler music on commercials now than I do on websites. The ability to say you heard it months ago is dying. Yesterday is the new “months ago.”

I read once that it’s impossible to remain counter-culture for long because capitalism will find a way to market that culture and make a buck. Not to mention, with the internet allowing everyone to build their portfolio in any capacity they want (advertising, directing, creating music) people who normally wouldn’t have the experience years ago are now proven sensations. Youtube & the Internet have taken the old boys network out behind the woodshed and murdered it painfully.

In a similar comment, I remember some fairly successful mogul (Jay-Z maybe) saying whats wrong with the record industry is that people who had one great find never get fired. That he personally had been told “You can’t fire him, he discovered Motley Crue!” The nerve of some people.

I mention all of this because its leading to one great and final “enough” from the youth of the world that’s going to essentially erase time. The Clash was once called “The only band that matters.” It was predicated upon them living on the cutting edge. But today, that edge is moving so fast that the distance between “Heard it yesterday” meaning current, and “heard it yesterday” meaning forever ago is impossible to distinguish. Hipsters, be forewarned, trying to be ironic about hearing something yesterday is going to land really poorly.

For me, this is all great news. “Heard it first” was always a really poor indicator of music or people who listened to it. It implied you were an amazing scout with a sharp ear for new music; that your judgment was to be higher than those who heard it second or fourteenth. But now you can’t help but trip over some ******* with a rebec backed up with a three-piece brass set walking down to the subway or walking by a television set. If music were dimensions, the days or width would be dead or dying. It’s time to move on to height.

Depth in music is not new. People have been trying to write up the Beatles like they would Shakespeare for too long. It’s not inherently bad, we all start somewhere, but Literature and its critique have evolved as they have because of the type of medium that Literature is. Music, by virtue of its difference, must follow its own path. But it seems only plausible for music that’s old, presumably because we’ve sat with it for a while. Literature needs to allow for time to determine its value to some degree because it is, to steal a line from Christopher Hitchens, “the vehicle by which we deal with questions of ethics and morality.” (paraphrase). Literature is not inventing by refining. It is the Aristotelian Mirror to our human condition. And this differs from music in two very large ways: Music does not give us the same reflection or philosophy nearly as well if at all, and music consistently tries to reinvent the wheel.

You’ve no doubt seen someone try to write something where the words represent the action. Poems about leaves falling throw words all over the page. Shell Silverstein was a master at this sort of thing. But his longevity is not determined by his groundbreaking presentation. And that presentation doesn’t make for good literature. But when music attempts the same concept, that’s what separates the wheat from the chafe. One of the reasons the “heard it first crowd” also held some sway is because they had the potential to bring you not new music, but new sound. Music is like food at times because the same old ingredients you know in parts can be mixed to create new flavors you couldn’t imagine. Do you remember the first time you heard a sound or style that you’d never heard before? There’s a moment there where something ancient and familiar reappears before you, like this sound you’ve never heard before seems somehow natural and refreshing. It is on this ground that music, even in the rapid-paced world of technology, has a future and a contribution to make.

Music going forward should yield a deeper discussion. Without concern about what comes next, we can worry about what will influence “next”; what “next” will reflect of the past. I think it’s best if our discussions of music become richer, that our discussions concern themselves with layers. Depth, arrangement, and scope seem familiar to those who’ve spent time in the more established genres; Classical and Jazz fans probably routinely talk in these terms, but those forms never worried about “next” in the first place. The existed as new at a time when technology only allowed them to be heard places other than in the club live. Today it allows us to auto-tune the news.

As I look around my usual music outlets whether it be friends of forums, I sense a great lull in the conversation. Music, as I’ve said, hasn’t really slowed, so why the conversation? Sloth is natural in a time of transition. No one is looking to commit to things that are on a dead-end. Beta Max, the Mini Disc Player, Google+ -investing in those products was a waste of time for everyone involved. It’s natural to wonder what’s next when the old norms have been worn out and dried up. But I think when the dust clears, technology finally removes “first” from the musical lexicon, we’ll discover that the path forward isn’t “forward” but in fact, its “down.”

Two Cents

Just be on time, don't be afraid to fail, and when you get thrown off your horse, just learn how to land well, dust yourself off, and climb back on. If you learn nothing else in life, learn how to handle the rough landings. If you know how to get back up, you're never going to suffer for too long.

You'll only have a handful of people you can really trust by the time you die. Don't wait too long hoping people turn around. They never do. Know the difference from friends who change and friends who just grow apart. Its a two way street, and your interests just aren't there. It doesn't mean you did anything wrong.

I don't know what happens when you die, but I've never bought into the scare-mongering. You know what the right thing to do is. Do it. That being said, there is no premium on your own happiness. Money, looks, and status won't make you feel any better - if you're not happy, make moves.

Politics will depress you once or twice in your life time, but as one famous politician said "There's no Republican way to clean up garbage." When all else fails, figure out how to help your community because its probably where your kids will grow up, or where you grew up, or where your friends kids will grow up.

There are two styles (for men) that are timeless. I refer to them as the Sinatra and the Springsteen: suits or t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers (chucks more so than nikes). If you don't want to look back 30 years on and think you're an asshole, stick to those two. And by the way, don't let people tell you dressing a certain way matters for shit, if you wear your personality on your sleeve expect someone to spill something on it. I don't know what that means, but who wants juice on their personality? I sure don't.

I used to think guys who worked out all the time were brainless and had some terrible priorities. The truth is, few things matter in the end. Read books and work out. Fitness, both mental and physical, are going to be the only things that matter at some point. Through them almost everything is possible, without them, you're going to pay a lot of money for the same damn thing.

Get a passion. There's nothing worse than a person who likes nothing. They're boring to talk to and they don't make for good party guests. Always be a good party guest.

At some point you're going to try to be something you're not. You're going to look back and hate yourself, I promise. There's nothing else I can say about that except everyone has to learn that lesson by doing it and feeling the agony of selling out and getting nothing for it.

A smarter person than myself once said "Solitude without peace is loneliness." If you know what you need, I'd suggest you go for it and apologize after the fact.

Grow your hair long before you're 21. Grow your beard out before 25. Its probably not going to look good, but if you do it before then, you won't appear to be completely clueless.

Sugar really is that bad for you. Its (and laziness)killed off enough of my teeth that I can tell you honestly.

Good luck. Believe in yourself. And keep your shoulders back, you're not greeting people at Frankenstein's castle.*

*Jack Francis Donaghy

Honoring the Dead

I get the impression from speaking with people that I think a lot more than is average. And one of the things I constantly do is think of moments in time or scenes or people that I haven't seen in a great many years, or who've shuffled off this mortal coil. Tonight I thought I'd write about the later.

Her name was Helene (pronounced Hel-en) and I met her when I was roughly 16. It feels weird to say this about someone who's no longer with us, but it was normal to say then I thought she was beautiful. For the next few years, she and I had an intermitent-at-best friendship. This was partly do to our mutual attraction to one another and mostly do to me being sort of an asshole about that. I've made countless mistakes in my romantic life but I never really held on to them as long as the ones I made with her. Maybe it was because I attempted to be logical about a passionate situation and screwed up royally.

I can't say we were serious or that, at the time I'd found out she had died that we were close. I would often think about her and wonder if she ever did the same. In the near recent past, living in the town she had grown up in, I attmpted to track her down. I found her on Facebook and her profile was sparce. I assumed it was one of those "tried it and hated it" profiles. In fact, it wouldn't even let me post or message her. I was told (by the computer) that what I could do was write a message and tag her in it. I did and wished her a Merry Christmas and hoped things were well.

Then I got a message from a mutal friends (who I was better friends with). I remember the weight on my chest when I read she had died. As these things tend to do, I think I'd lost touch with normality - I googled her to find news articles, rememberence pages, and some page that let me know she was working to educate inner city youth. I was sad and numb at the same time. I went back to that Facebook page to check on one thing: Most folks with even the tightest security settings for some reason don't lock up their profile photos. I always assume that they don't understand locking your profile pictures doesn't mean hiding your current profile photo. To whatever end this was luck, who ever had locked up her page post-mortem failed to make the same move, even though her current profile picture was the default silhouette.

It was deep in the month of Decemeber and had to be around midnight when I saw the 4 old profile photos. I mention this because it added to the haunting I felt; two of the photos were her, staring into a webcam presumably to try it out. I'm sure it was the situation, but she seemed sad and empty. And I must have just looked for around 10 minutes, thinking of all the wrongs and missed opportunities. It wasn't sadness or loss. It was something beyond emotion where I felt like she would always be a part of me.

So here I am tonight, writing a tribute to a woman that I barely knew in reality but still think about on a regular basis. I can't help but think that for a passing romance, she's shaped my life in innumerate ways, and the least I could do was honor her memory in a never-read Blog on the internet. It makes me sad to think we lost her early when its clear her intent was to make an impact on the lifes on many more with less advantages and to whom she would help more.

Such is life though. Her memory should carry on in those she managed to touch by the young age of 25. And it would be my hope that, in her continued presense in my mind, I should attempt to reach even half as far as she did in a small attempt to honor the dead.

Old Hat Rabbit Tricks Dog New

The Sonnet of Fading Friendship

Tea leaves are worn as a shifting mask,
Truth lingers beneath our social mores.
Disciplines unruly task
Diplomacy's unending chore

That stability should silently ask
Civilities grip, utmost, endures.
When our culture mirrors the Pyrenees' basque
Patience hand is all that cures.

The bull it stomps and billows smoke
It kicks up dust and draws its line
Mistaken for its confidence

Against its lingering pains did poke
Like a gaping wound to meet the brine
Charges headlong against insignificance

When did folks get boring?

"The great enemy of truth is very often not the lie--deliberate, contrived and dishonest--but the myth--persistent, persuasive and unrealistic. Too often we hold fast to the cliches of our forebears. We subject all facts to a prefabricated set of interpretations. We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought."
— John F. Kennedy

I remember a time when the weekend was uncharted territory. Before I got a smartphone and had a calendar on it to keep track of plans. Back when I knew 15 people who'd be up for anything this weekend. They have shuffled off to Europe or California. Some got married or committed themselves to an eternity of work because of their jobs.

I seem to remember my early-to-mid 20's as nothing but carnival rides and fireworks. Even the bad times were at least interesting. When I overdrew an account, it was by $800. When someone broke up with me, it was seemingly the most ruthless ay to do it you could imagine. These days I never overdraw my accounts; I'm in a stable relationship. Its not lamentable, but its leading me to some new places and I'm not sure I understand the rules here.

It seems when you hit (or approach) 30, everyone wants to conduct themselves as if they're bloodless WASPs around whom everyone ought to conduct themselves as if it were a tea party, regardless of how endreged your current position is. And if anything about Marriage bothers me, its the unspoken cultural dictum that we need to whitewash our past. That who we were is just how we coped with the misery of singledom and now that its gone, we should all disregard our inner impulses and just be pleasant. If I have to bear witness to another smiley introduction that is the mimetic equivalent of a curtsey I'm going to drink myself into a coma.

For the record, I'm fine with marriage and civility. But it doesn't equate to boring. Or at least it doesn't have to. There's a regular occurrence whenever I'm out where people make this face as if I've offended them. The problem is I'm almost never speaking about them. Their being offended, in my opinion, because I refuse to conduct myself like royalty and I'm removing the image of the tea party. Whenever it happens, I can imagine the conversation when I'm gone. "oh thats just Brow."

I don't intend to make this a rant on the falsehood that takes place between people. We all know what fake is, and we can generally tell when people are it. But if you've got a job, you're likely fake the entire week. I have to pretend I'm interested in stories, problems, other peoples families, and feelings. Thats just how the game is played if you want to pay rent. But when we punch-out and the quitting whistle has blown, why continue? And if you have a reason, don't you fear for the impending mental breakdown? Have people not seen American Beauty?

I like to think of myself as a people person. I engage strangers and old friends in the exact same way: like I'm playing a Rugby match in the rain. I get messy, I'm not afraid of sliding around or full contact, and I never lose sight of the goal - lets have a decent time. Because at some point soon, I'll be wearing a tie and shaking hands with clients who's money I need. I'd prefer to not sit around and wait to get back there, so for this short period, while we're young and insouciant, why don't we agree to have a drink more than we should, to roll with a few more punches, and try to remember that regrettable past for just a couple hours. Because you've got an eternity to act old, be miserable, and play it safe.

tears of a clown

"Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary." - Steve Jobs

"I want you to know that you haven't lived until you've fought back, that you haven't won until you've lost, that you can't understand what it's like to relish something until you've suffered, and that some mistakes you never stop paying for"- Roy Hobbs