Failure's Art

#37

02.06.10

Music

Elliott Smith is my favorite singer-songwriter of all time.  That means I favor him over Bob Dylan, Nick Drake, and Leonard Cohen.  If that doesn't reverberate within your cranium, I have failed to convey the importance of what I just said, and will chalk it up to being a crummy writer.

In the same way that I picked yesterday's Josh Ritter tune and then staged a photo to accompany it; today I decided that any additional day that passes without featuring Elliott Smith would be a sad day in the life of this Blog.  To make cosmic amends, I may feature Elliott tunes exclusively for months!  Alright, I won't do that, but I love this guy and feel his music like no one's business.  Tomorrow Tomorrow is very representative of the Elliott Smith sound and style.

Like many artists of the highest caliber, regardless of their respective art forms, Elliott led a troubled and short existence on this planet.  His real name was Steven Paul Smith; but he didn't like "Steve" because Steve Smith was the drummer for Journey.  He picked the name Elliott because of the street in Portland, Oregon where he lived with his father early in his career.  

He was proficient on many instruments, including guitar (as featured in this track,) also bass guitar, piano, clarinet, drums, harmonica, and others.  He began his musical career in college with the grungy Heatmiser, but his mellow, solo side project skyrocketed with the release of Roman Candles, and that was the end of Heatmiser.  This song is off his 4th album, XO.  

He is known for absolutely astounding finger-picking guitar work, Tomorrow Tomorrow being exemplary, and compared to Nick Drake in that regard.  He is also compared to Drake with his whispery vocal style.  But the fullness of sound... therein lies the difference.  Oh, the sound, the sound, the sound.

I hope you'll keep this song playing for 60 minutes in the background while you do whatever it is you do.  It would be inconceivable to me that at the end of that experience you do not feel the same affection for Elliott and his music as I do.  His string picking at the beginning of the song seems impossible, and it mesmerizes me on every listen.  The trademark layering of his own voice via multi-tracking is displayed in elegant fashion on this tune, too.

This song is, to me, excruciatingly deep.  I find so many layers of meaning here, and most of them are heart-wrenching and painful.  But the pure fact that he was able to write and sing with such honesty and explicitness allows a ray of hope and happiness to shine through, regardless of the lyrical content.  That's how it is for all of Elliott's music in my case.  He was a brilliant star, and I lament his loss and pain more than any other musician.

He was found stabbed twice in the chest in 2003.  It remains a mysterious death; neither  ruled suicide nor homicide (by his girlfriend Jenn Chiba) as many believe.  Alas, this is strikingly similar to Kurt Cobain's death which was ruled suicide, but widely believed to be homicide by his wife Courtney Love.  The heroin addiction of Elliott and Cobain cannot be overlooked as another tragic, common thread in their lives.

Everybody knows which way you go,

     Straight to over.

No one wants to see you inside of me,

     Straight to over.

I heard the hammer at the lock

     Say "you're deaf and dumb and done".

Give yourself antoher talk

     This time make it sound like someone.

The noise is coming out,

     and if it's not out now,

 Then tomorrow, tomorrow.

They took your life apart

And called you "failure's art".

They were wrong, though they won't know

     'Til tomorrow.

I got static in my head,

     The reflected sound of everything.

Tried to go to where it led,

     But it didn't lead to anything.

The noise is coming out,

     and if it's not out now,

I know it's just about to drown 

     Tomorrow out.

Rest in peace, Elliott.  

 

Photo

 

I adore the finger picking in this song, and wanted to get a photo of a Yamaha acoustic guitar since that is what Elliott played (his electric guitar was Epiphone, I believe).  Despite being sicker than Ozzy's dog after eating spoiled bangers and mash (but not so dead as Ozzy's dog after getting eaten by a coyote), I went to the guitar store tonight on a mission.  Alas, the guitar store I wanted (Mammoth Music) was closed, so I had to go to BestBuy.  And wouldn't you know it?  They had plenty of Takamine, Gibson, Ovation and Taylor... but no Yamahas.  So I just snapped a pic of this one that looks slightly like Elliott's from pictures I have seen, though I was going by memory.  This one featured above is a Gibson Songwriter Deluxe, for what it's worth.  I love any natural wood grain, and tried to get in close to that on this guitar.  They had scant acoustic guitars at BestBuy, but check out this wall o' electrics:

  

Parting Comments

I meant this to be a short blog entry because I'm still quite sick and want to get plenty of rest... but the music made me write more.  Please forgive me pushing the photo to junior varisty while I focused on the music, but again, I owe that respect to Elliott.  He's given me more than I've given him, after all.  And sadly, I'll never be able to balance those scales.

One small caution for those wanting to explore more Elliott Smith; please know he does not shy from dark themes or coarse language.  Anyone wishing to avoid either/or both elements should avoid Elliott's albums; but if you let me know, I can give you a list of singles like Tomorrow Tomorrow that can be enjoyed by all.

 

Until tomorrow... thank you for listening, looking and reading.  CCE

 

The Grenade, or Honey-Lemon Tea?

  

 

#36

02.05.10

Photo

Today was not a great day.  It was one of those days when you're tempted to grab the closest hand grenade and seriously consider pulling the pin.  

What... you don't keep a hand grenade within reach at all times, just for such occasions?
 

Please don't assume it was my clients or my job that had me staring at the pin of my explosive device; it was all me.  More specifically, it was my engorged turbinates and the "no vacancy" sign blinking in hot neon lights outside my nasal fossae.
 

Here is a photo illustrating the 2 options I had for the evening.  One involved a warm cup of soothing goodness; and the other involved tiny pieces of Me spackling the ceiling:

Music

I first heard Josh Ritter sing when I got a subscription to Paste Magazine around 2004.  Along with SomaFM, I'd say I learn more about new artists and music from Paste Magazine than any other source.  They used to include a CD with 20'ish tracks from different artists.  Now you get a smaller print issue with an electronic code to download the songs digitally.  I still subscribe, and find it to be much better than any other music rag I've ever subscribed to.

This song, Girl in the War, is my favorite Josh Ritter song.  It's off my favorite Josh Ritter album, the Animal Years.  Frankly, I cannot believe I haven't posted it to date on this blog; and today the song actually led the photo.  In other words, as I was driving to work I had this song in my head and knew it MUST be posted on the blog.  Once at work I dreamt up the photo subject while sitting at my desk contemplating my trusty grenade; an implement of war. 

Rather than accuse me of too weak a connection between "an implement of war" as my photo subject and the featured song Girl in the War... you should just celebrate the fact that on this day you get to listen to a choice cut of music.  That's what I'm hoping for, anyway.

Lines like this light me up, every time:

Pretend the dove from above is a dragon,

     and your feet are on fire.

...

The keys to the kingdom got locked

     inside the kingdom.

And the angels fly around in there

     but we can't see them.

...

I got a girl in the war, Paul

     here eyes are like champagne.

They sparkle bubble over

     and in the morning all you got is rain.

Wonderful!

You simply must, must, must listen to this song a good dozen times with your eyes closed and your mind relaxed.  I promise, you'll feel his sorrow, pain and fear in a visceral way.  Well, at least I know I do every time I hear it.  I had the high privilege to see him play it live in concert at the University of Alaska, Anchorage in January 2009 ; and I would pay to see him play any day in any arena, even if it were a full set of (gulp!) Huey Lewis and the News covers.

Ritter in Alaska

Josh puts the "real" in "cerebreal".  (?)  His folks are both neuroscientists at the University of Idaho in Moscow, where he is from.  He started following their footsteps in neuroscience before changing his focus to music.  He was "discovered" by Glen Hansard of the Frames, an Irish band, and his career took off from there.  Glen Hansard plays the male lead in the AMAZING movie "Once".  If you haven't seen that, you should.  And then on the way home you should pull over to the nearest Raspberry Records and buy the Animal Years.  Because between the two, that would be an epic night in your life! 

 

Parting Comments
 

This hand grenade is one of my prized possessions.  I'll discuss it more in the future, because I have decided to make it a recurring staple in my blog.  It possesses a richness of color, shape and size, as well as a heaping dose of intrigue.  And today it happens to fit my mood.  

And now it's time to focus on my honey-lemon tea, a king bed with flannel sheets / down comforter / down pillows, and 6 full bottles of NyQuil.  A caring friend came up with that therapy, and I aim to crank it through the Scientific Method this very night.

Until tomorrow... thank you for looking, listening and reading.  CCE 

  

Walking on Bonaire

#35

02.04.10

Photo 
 

In a break from tradition, today's featured photo was not taken the same day the blog entry was prepared.  I've been trying to post photos I've freshly taken the day of preparing the blog, but that just isn't going to work today.  I awoke very early this morning sneezing from a new cold, and want to get in to bed early tonight.

What better way to shrug off the sniffling and sneezing than to reflect on those warm white sandy beaches of the Caribbean that I was able to enjoy less than two weeks ago?  


I took this photo of my own footprints on Sorobon Beach in Bonaire exactly two weeks ago tomorrow (Thursday).  You'll probably be concerned upon noticing my left foot abducts more than my right, and then you'll likely presume I have a left-longer-than-right leg length discrepancy causing hyperpronation on the longer side and supination on the shorter side.  You'll then inquire as to whether or not I have orthotics, to which I'd respond "Are you kidding me?  Do you know how much those quack podiatrists charge for custom molded orthotics?!"

I really fell in love with Bonaire the one day we spent there.  The interior of the island was all cactus; the exterior coast was all white sandy beach.  It was impossibly clean, and the people were amazingly fun and pleasant.  A sublime and picturesque place, for sure.  

Here is a shot of the capital, Kralendijk, captured from the back of the Caribbean Princess where I was enjoying a piña colada:

 

 

Music

One of my favorite songs all time is Walking on the Moon by the Police.  I will post that as a secondary song for this blog, but don't want to feature it because it's already familiar and known to everyone.  So I will feature the cover by Cas Haley, a pudgy white kid from Texas that sings as if he were born and raised on Jamiaca (or Bonaire!).  I first saw him, I am quite ashamed to admit, on a tv show from a few years ago called America's Got Talent, or something like that.  The dude just waddled out to the center of the stage and let this song rip.  Within moments David Hasselhoff literally froze in the middle of applying baby oil to his exposed chest hair at the judges table, and you knew the song was as cool as the other side of the pillow (I borrowed that expression from Stu Scott).

So with me feeling sick, and wanting to relive some of the warmth and sun of the Caribbean, and relating these sentiments to the reggae-style of this song which covers one of my all-time favorite tunes, and the fact that my footsteps in the sand might resemble footprints on the moon, all led to the photo and song selection tonight.

Tonight's brevity is a special gift from me to you.

Until tomorrow... thank you for looking, listening and reading.  CCE 

Owls With Knees

  

 

#34

02.03.10

 

Photo

 

Whether or not you find this image beautiful is unpredictable to me.  However, I hope that at least you find it to be interesting.  And if the photo isn't interesting or beautiful to you, I hope the music is enjoyable to your mind and your ear.  And if the music isn't enjoyable, then at least I hope you'll sign the guestbook before you leave and never come back (and who could blame you?)

 

I was putting Q to bed and didn't yet have a photo to post.  Typically I'd be sweating an oily substance that might be described along the lines of dulce de leche, but by this point I've learned to trust that Intrigue and Beauty Abounds... so there was no fear.

 

As I opened the book shelf in Q's bedroom to get Roald Dahl's The Enormous Crocodile, the night's read, I noticed his owl collection has expanded nicely over the past few years.  I called him over and we set them up on his dresser, and the photo of the day was safely procured.

 

Here is a different view, angled, that doesn't show all of the owls:

 

 

 

Music

 

Alrighty, then... how have you been enjoying today's experimental music?  I regard the Massachusetts band The Books very, very highly.  They are experimental, but otherwise simply cannot be classified.  They are a duo of high-brow art guys who call their music "collage pop", since they really cut-and-paste music bits, loops and samples in an almost visual way, while still creating an aesthetically pleasing aural experience.  I first learned of them when I heard their amazing work with José González on an AIDS benefit album, and I'll feature that song at some point in the near future.  Part of the reason for today's post is to simply introduce you to The Books if you haven't meet their sound already... knowing you met José González's sound back in blog entry #5.  Just wait until you hear their collaborative work featuring a Nick Drake track!  Ah, rats.  I've spoiled the surprise.  Hopefully you won't immediately google it... but I'd understand if you did.

 

This song, An Owl With Knees is very smooth to my ears... I like the simplicity of the lyrics and the space within the music.  The name of the song comes from the one sensible sentence in the entire lyric:

 

It's strange to see how time agrees

To slow down for owls with knees.

I think the meaning here is that owl's don't have knees, and time doesn't slow down for anyone or anything.

Parting Comments

 

T and I had been married 12 years when we decided we were ready to start our family.  When we learned we were going to have a little boy, a tug-of-war regarding the naming of our progeny ensued.  I was hoping for Miles Coltrane Edwards; T preferred naming him after my father whose initials are CQE.  T actually calls him CQE, and you've likely noted that I tend to call almost everyone by their initial(s) too.  Because my uber-cool nephew had the "C" of my father and his own father (different from my own 2 C's), and no one had claimed my father's "Q", and because Q is inarguably the greatest, most Qoolest letter ever invented, we eventually settled on my 1st C, my father's Q, and our shared E.  Voilá - CQE II.

If you're following this blog regularly, my condolences.  Yet at least you will have noted that we here in the Subarctic Edwards Clan have a fascination with owls.  It began when Q was a newborn.  We thought it would be cool to have a whole bunch of figurines of my father around his room as a reminder of whom he was named after, and also to look out for him symbolically.  Sadly, the marketplace has scant available figurines of my father (I think they're all bought out by the Madagascari as soon as they're produced from Trenton, NJ to Bangkok, Thailand), so we were forced to find a different representative from Kingdom Animalia to represent my father.  We decided on the wise owl.  Which is why we had an owl painted in the Q of that mural in his nursery, if you remember blog entry #8.  

From there we started collected interesting owls here and there, and family members have joined in the hunt.  The first piece we acquired is the owl second from the left in the photo above.  It is carved out of whale bone and has whale baleen for eyes.  I purchased it for Q while I was doing a field clinic in Nome, Alaska, at Maruskiya's Gift Shop when he was still an infant.  They have really neat Alaska Native arts in that shop; our piece was carved in Savoonga, St. Lawrence Island.  You should stop by there the next time you're in Nome!  The one in the front and center is carved from buffalo horn; the turquoise one on the far left was purchased by T's parents in Turkey, my parents got him the one carved out of light wood made by the same folks that make nutcracker ornaments in Germany, we purchased the round owl made from a gourd and the bug-eyed owl in the back while in the Caribbean a few weeks ago... so you can see, there is already a nice little worldwide collection going here.  If L.A. is the great melting pot for humans in the U.S. of A.; the second shelf from the top of Q's book shelf is the great global melting pot for trinkety owls.

Parting (Lame) Joke

What does the smart owl say?

Who, Who.

What does a very smart owl say?

Who-m, Who-m. 

Okay everybody... In unison now... on three...

1, 2, 3:

Groan.

Until tomorrow... thank you for looking, listening and reading.  CCE

 

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

In This Home On Ice

#32

02.01.10

Photo

While I was reflecting on The Czars Paint the Moon lyrics from #30 I thought of these irregular and randomly shaped pieces of ice churned out on to the shore of glaciated lakes.  They reflect that blue-grey light referenced in the song, plus a hit of green.  Perhaps you'll recall blog entry #13 Grey (Blue) Ice Water which attempts to describe the paradoxically indescribable beauty of glacier water.  This glacier water ice holds similar properties and beauty.

Here are a few more photos showing how simple ice blocks wedged from the edge of a lake might make for interesting and beautiful photography subjects:

Perhaps these images will not strike you as beautiful and / or interesting, but they do strike me so.  I love how these subjects were lying on the ground at my feet while I looked above them, searching for a pretty vista to capture.  I wonder how many times in my life, or in every day, there is beauty at my feet and I miss it while looking for the forest through the trees?

Music

I have been burned twice in the past year for highly recommending Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (CYHSY) to friends, and like Edward Bear (a.k.a. Winnie-the-Pooh), being of very little brain, Here I Go, Again.  In This Home On Ice was the first song I ever heard of CYHSY, and it hit me so strongly and so favorably that I have issued them a permanent carte blanche to create as they see fit, and I will follow.  The song just explodes from the first bar with amazing rhythm and lead guitars, with a different "tone" than ever have I heard.  

Many listeners will probably experience a similar and surprising "Whoo" escape their lips as the song starts; but from tragic personal experience, that Whoo-factor is usually battle-axed once Alec Ounsworth starts to sing.  I have no argument that his delivery is whiny and nasally; but it's that very brave uniqueness  that strikes me as wonderful.  

Ounsworth is the lead writer and vocalist for the band, and he is from my home-away-from-home Philadelphia.  The rest of the band is based in Brooklyn, New York.  This track came off their first and self-titled CD.  The song has many layers of meaning if you decide you can tolerate the singing and listen to it several times.

To me it is a critique of society built on a fragile foundation, 'in this home on ice".  I like the line about being sad because now he can "dance all night".  It doesn't make any real sense, unless he's just saying he will live happily despite his misgivings.  I hope you'll share your ideas with me if it strikes you in a different way.  

Parting Comments

The Czars were featured in #30 "Wolf Moon" with their song Paint the Moon.  I had written so much about procuring the photo of the moon that I slighted their very beautiful song.  I thought up today's blog entry just last night as I was reflecting on some of their lyrics:

Don't paint the sun anymore.

Paint the moon, and the stars

In an autumn sky.

Paint me cool blue waters, with

Shades of gray.

Just don't let me

Live my life this way,

Without you.

I think the song deals with the loss of a loved one, probably by death in this song, but possibly about any loss.  In any event, I like the mood and cadence of the song.  There are some nice harmonies, too.  But what I really like are these lines above asking not for the standard or typical bright sun-shiny days, because you cannot really appreciate those sun-shiny days unless you experience ample blue-grey days as a counterbalance, right?  So why fight it or avoid it?  The Czars say bring it on, and I agree.  Beauty abounds; it's just a matter of perspective to find it all around us.


Until tomorrow... thank you for looking, listening and reading.  CCE