My People

#33

02.02.10

Photos

Today I'm going to let the music do most all of the talking regarding the photographs.  They feature My Assigned Humans; My People.  I captured this image of T, one of Earth's most reclusive and private inhabitants (read: Not Onboard with Bloggery and Facebookery) while she dozed on the aeroplane to San Juan.  I got the photo of my heart-shaped box Q whilst he slept in bed December, 2009.  

I have no idea who inspired me to make T's portrait the way I'm presenting it here.  Somehow it suggests a Smiths or Belle & Sebastian album cover, yet upon inspecting those, it does not really resemble them at all.  I remain clueless about the creative influence, even as I gaze with indefinable fondness at the image.  

In regards to Q's portrait, I believe I have made it clear that Rembrandt is a hero of mine second only to the analytical cubists when it comes to the painted arts.  Here I tried to make Q's photo look like something Rembrandt may have considered painting should he have eaten a bowl of dour pudding and washed it down with a glass of doleful punch.   

Music

I have never been an avid fan of Pearl Jam {and it's a good thing, because it would be redundant to be an 'avid fan' of anything, wouldn't it?  For goodness sakes, if I have to be obese I don't want to be redundant, too!  Because that sounds too much like rotundant, which is not an actual word, but if it were, or if someone said it even thinking it might be a real word, listeners might associate the two and say "Ha ha... look at the rotundant redundant guy!".  I just can't abide that possibility, so how fortuitous that I've avoided the whole mess by not being an 'avid fan' of Pearl Jam. Phew.  Too close for comfort!  Hmm... I think I'll have a donut, now.  And did I see a carton of leftover egg nog behind the 2-liter of Jolt in the refrigerator?}.  

While all my friends went ga-ga over Eddie Vedder's Pearl Jam in the early 90's (or Chris Cornell's Soundgarden, for that matter), I just happened to have preferred R.I.P. Kurt Cobain's Nirvana (and R.I.P. Layne Staley's  Alice in Chains, for that matter).  {Hmm... why did all the grunge bands I liked die young (by shooting heroin in their veins) while all the artists I didn't like remain alive (by eating lettuce and drinking Jamba Juice)?  Fascinating reality, but the reasons elude me yet...}

I am by my own estimation and admission excessively opinionated when it comes to music; but I must give myself credit for at least leaving every closed door 'unlocked' should a band come along and prove me ignernt down the line.  And in this way, Pearl Jam managed to open a closed door in my mind when they created Just Breathe, the featured song today.  The plain fact is that the door could have been locked, dead-bolted and crossbarred from inside along with the couch, bookshelves and dinner tables stacked against it a-la vintage Tom & Jerry cartoons; but the song would have smashed the door down anyway like a S.W.A.T. unit's battering ram.

I heard it for the first time over Christmas break 2009.  I was going through DVR'ed David Letterman, Conan O'Brien, Jay Leno, Craig Ferguson and Carson Daly shows recorded specifically for the musical acts when I saw that Pearl Jam was going to be on Austin City Limits in High Definition.  I've seen some good stuff on that show, so I dropped in a for a visit and a good laugh.  

When Eddie took his stool at the front of the stage with his acoustic guitar, backed not only by his band but also a string section, I think I snorted out loud, and then heckled the t.v. with rapid-fire tourrettian exclamations like "Fraud! Faker!  Drama Queen!", and frankly would have continued in this childish vein had Q not been forced to shush me while he focused on his cold fusion experiment at the kitchen table.

And then, in this precise order; 

1.  They played.  

2.  He sang.

3.  I felt stoopit.

Ignernt, even.

Wow, what a tune.

Yes I understand that every life must end, aw huh,.. 
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, aw huh,.. 
I’m a lucky man to count on both hands 
The ones I love... 
Some folks just have one, 
Others they got none, aw huh... 
Stay with me... 
Let’s just breathe. 

Practiced are my sins, 
Never gonna let me win, aw huh... 
Under everything, just another human being, aw huh... 
Yeh, I don’t wanna hurt, there’s so much in this world 
To make me bleed. 

Stay with me... 
You’re all I see. 

Did I say that I need you? 
Did I say that I want you? 
Oh, if I didn’t now I’m a fool you see... 
No one knows this more than me. 
As I come clean. 
I wonder everyday 
as I look upon your face, aw huh... 
Everything you gave 
And nothing you would take, aw huh... 
Nothing you would take... 
Everything you gave. 

Did I say that I need you? 
Oh, Did I say that I want you? 
Oh, if I didn’t now I’m a fool you see... 
No one know this more than me. 
As I come clean. 

Nothing you would take... 
everything you gave. 
Hold me till I die... 
Meet you on the other side.

These guys have matured like fine Rembrandt Extra-aged Gouda.  I prefer them on Bremner sesame wafers, now.

Eddie V. / Pearl Jam + CCE = True Love Forever.  

Parting Comments

What is it about Mondays, anyway?  

Intellectually it is just another day that happens to follow Sunday and precede Tuesday, isn't it?

If Friday, for example, ate some bad ceviche in Cheyenne and then took a wrong turn in Des Moines and ended up following Sunday, thereby pushing Monday in to Tuesday's gig, et cetera... Would Friday then take on the repugnance of Monday, and Thursday assume the bravado of the former Friday by filling it's slot?

No, right?  

I mean... It's just a name for a day, right?

Or isn't it?  

Perhaps Monday is something altogether different... something malignant and evil.  Something you'd prefer to impale with a wooden stake rather than get up and meet with gladness after a quick shave and a browning banana.  Facing Monday with such ill-preparedness is insane, and I submit that henceforth and forever no one should ever leave their homes on Monday under any circumstances.

My feeling is that while William Ronald Shakespeare (okay, I gave him the Ronald middle name, but you simply must admit he looks like a Ronald, doesn't he?) wrote:

What's in a name?  That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet

...he would have also written, under all conceivable circumstances: 

What's in a name?  That which we call Monday

By any other name would SUCK just the same

Ladies and Gentlemen: Grab your wooden stakes, for next Monday fast approacheth!

Bonus Feature

The Link

(You're welcome.)

Until tomorrow... thank you for looking, listening, reading, and perhaps watching (if you followed The Link).  CCE