FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Illusion of Safety / Daniel Burke, Travis Bird Tour
Experimental music veteran Daniel Burke will be touring Illusion of Safety material, along with newcomer Travis Bird, Burke’s partner in Chicago experimental guitar duo, Travis Bird and Daniel Burke. The duo will be touring the majority of the shows to perform Illusion of Safety material, but in several cases, they will also feature their specific guitar focus.
September 16 (Illusion of Safety): Robinwood Concert House (Toledo, OH) 9:00 PM
September 17 (Illusion of Safety, Travis Bird and Daniel Burke): The Shop (Pittsburgh, PA) 8:00 PM
September 18 (Illusion of Safety, Travis Bird and Daniel Burke): Highwire Gallery (Philadelphia, PA) 8:00 PM
September 19 (Illusion of Safety): Fairfax Old Town Hall (Washington, D.C.) 10:00 PM
September 20 (Illusion of Safety): Bar Matchless (Brooklyn, NY) 8:00 PM
September 21 (Illusion of Safety): Starlab (Somerville, MA) 10:00 PM
September 23 (Travis Bird): Think Coffee on Mercer (New York, NY) 8:00 PM
September 24 (Travis Bird and Daniel Burke): Maya Gallery (Greensboro, NC) 7:00 PM
September 25 (Illusion of Safety): Signal Festival, Nightlight (Chapel Hill, NC) 8:00 PM
September 26 (Illusion of Safety, Travis Bird and Daniel Burke): The Warehouse Performing Arts Center (Cornelius, NC) 8:00 PM
Daniel Burke hails from the Chicago experimental music scene, working in that area for nearly three decades. Over the course of his career, Burke has developed a distinct aesthetic that incorporates multi-media sources and other artistic crafts that fall outside of the realm of music. Burke utilizes these aspects to approach and develop music that engages the affective aspects of human experience through a self-described “need to explore the nature of sound and a desire to subvert structure.” Recent releases include a reissue of his Repairs cassette on Notice Recordings and his Probe recording with Jim O‘Rourke on Perdition Plastics, a performance with his new guitar duo (with Travis Bird) on a compilation featuring other Chicago-area experimental guitarists (entitled Offstrings; Complacency Productions), and his debut cassette with Travis Bird, Negentropy (Notice). These releases accent the depth of Burke’s career while suggesting several new directions.
On their main releases, and other live performances in Chicago, Travis Bird and Daniel Burke create eclectic, intense, flexible performances with their guitars that exploit the borders between improvisation and structured songs. Dark and foreboding timbres give way to surreal textures over the course of their releases on Notice Recordings and the Offstrings compilation.
Travis Bird is a songwriter and multi-instrumentalist working in Chicago, crafting a rich identity that engages both pop and experimental realms, showcasing his musical flexibility and songcraft. Previously working on several projects, including a pop collaboration entitled Cedar Wax Wings, Bird most recently stars alongside Daniel Burke, with Notice Recording’s Evan Lindorff-Ellery in Dense Reduction as an experimental duo, and as drummer, songwriter, and engineer in experimental pop trio The Leavitt Ours. His most recent releases include those aforementioned with Burke, as well as several with Dense Reduction (Notice Recordings), and an improvisational recording “Movement” with The Leavitt Ours.
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Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
A Vital and Joyful Memory
I often reflect on psychedelic music, and what distinguishes psychedelic music as a particular classification in music. I frequently take the position that psychedelic music depends specifically upon a manipulation of technology in order to provoke or provide a template for psychological and emotional reflection and examination. After all, the art form is not itself a genre, borrowing instead from folk, country, and rhythm and blues songwriting conventions with manipulations and templates constructed within those time frames and structures. While I do not think that such a definition of psychedelic music captures the phenomenon entirely, I do think that it explains for the eclectic development of the psychedelic tradition in rock.
One of my friends often challenges me, asking whether psychedelic music is a creative dead-end. In doing so, he often cites efforts by psychedelic bands to dive into the standard conventions of their songwriting backbones, eventually producing records that are more folk or country or rhythm and blues than psychedelic. Of course, there is also the ever-present history of non-psychedelic bands that take a voyage into technological manipulation and indulge themselves for one album, only to return to their standard convention once more. I do not have an answer for his challenges, except to note that technological manipulation cannot be a dead-end so long as technology exists and the mind develops through history with that technology, develops a relationship with it, and interacts with it. In this manner, psychedelic music is more of a challenge, an infinite subconscious beneath all intersections of technology and songwriting, simply waiting for a demigod or mad scientist to unfold developments in music that are ripe for psychological and emotional reflection.
Psychedelic music is necessarily sensual, fully immersed in that which is sensible in order to clear the terrain and barriers between affectivity and intellect.
***
Darker My Love released their third LP, Alive as You Are, in the United States yesterday. Judging from comments from the band, statements on the development of this record, and the development of their live show, I fully expected something different. My expectations were confirmed when I heard the band's two samples, "Dear Author" and "Split Minute." Upon listening to the record, I found that my expectations reached in the wrong direction, and the result was a listening experience that was completely surprising, joyful, emotionally engaging.
At every turn in the record, the band shows their flexibility, musicianship, and songcraft, showcasing their profound ability to drive your mind through rich traditions without sounding old, tired, or forced. From previous interviews with the band that I have read or watched over time, it is clear that the band fosters a certain honesty about the type of music they want to create, and it is not surprising that I find their explorations through the storied pages of rock'n'roll to be fully unpretentious and completely innocent.
The group already provided a wide pallet of sounds in their first two LPs, and this record continues a journey that does not simply run through the history of rock, but also runs through the band's own catalog. Darker My Love is a group that explores every corner of their sonic space, every implication and aspect of their musicianship and songwriting. This is where the band's flexibility comes from, and it's not a flexibility that denies them identity, but rather a flexibility that allows them to freely create without regard to identity first.
Working through the band's genealogy, the direct recording and dry production were surprising in some regard, switching the balance between vocal performance and musical performance from the previous records. However, the ringing arpeggios, shuffling rhythms, and bright timbre follow aspects of "People" and most of the latter half of the band's self-titled debut, as well as "Immediate Undertaking," "Pharaoh Sanders Tomb," and "Even in your lightest day" from 2. Within their own discography, there are several aspects to Darker My Love, and if 2 followed the path of "Helium Heels" and "Claws and Paws," this one works alongside other trends in the band's development.
Instead of emotionally reflecting against waves of fuzz and dense, layered instrumental passages, the listener is presented with immediate, earnest vocal performances that run through parables in the lyrics that invoke automatic writing, or a method of presenting images to help one to recall navigation through the world's spaces and situations.
The production and imagery of the record created an experience that was immensely enjoyable throughout; the record helped to guide me through my memories, by leading me through places that I have already visited, but perhaps could not directly recall, or failed to see from a specific aspect. This does not mean that the record looks backwards; on the contrary, an engagement in sensation and the sensible world, framing and developing memories, in turn helps us to develop our own actions and attitudes toward the world. This is perhaps the greatest psychedelic achievement of Alive as You Are; inverting the technological manipulation in favor of a direct aesthetic results in a record that sound deceptively simple and straightforward, but rewards with continual focus and reflection.
One of my friends often challenges me, asking whether psychedelic music is a creative dead-end. In doing so, he often cites efforts by psychedelic bands to dive into the standard conventions of their songwriting backbones, eventually producing records that are more folk or country or rhythm and blues than psychedelic. Of course, there is also the ever-present history of non-psychedelic bands that take a voyage into technological manipulation and indulge themselves for one album, only to return to their standard convention once more. I do not have an answer for his challenges, except to note that technological manipulation cannot be a dead-end so long as technology exists and the mind develops through history with that technology, develops a relationship with it, and interacts with it. In this manner, psychedelic music is more of a challenge, an infinite subconscious beneath all intersections of technology and songwriting, simply waiting for a demigod or mad scientist to unfold developments in music that are ripe for psychological and emotional reflection.
Psychedelic music is necessarily sensual, fully immersed in that which is sensible in order to clear the terrain and barriers between affectivity and intellect.
***
Darker My Love released their third LP, Alive as You Are, in the United States yesterday. Judging from comments from the band, statements on the development of this record, and the development of their live show, I fully expected something different. My expectations were confirmed when I heard the band's two samples, "Dear Author" and "Split Minute." Upon listening to the record, I found that my expectations reached in the wrong direction, and the result was a listening experience that was completely surprising, joyful, emotionally engaging.
At every turn in the record, the band shows their flexibility, musicianship, and songcraft, showcasing their profound ability to drive your mind through rich traditions without sounding old, tired, or forced. From previous interviews with the band that I have read or watched over time, it is clear that the band fosters a certain honesty about the type of music they want to create, and it is not surprising that I find their explorations through the storied pages of rock'n'roll to be fully unpretentious and completely innocent.
The group already provided a wide pallet of sounds in their first two LPs, and this record continues a journey that does not simply run through the history of rock, but also runs through the band's own catalog. Darker My Love is a group that explores every corner of their sonic space, every implication and aspect of their musicianship and songwriting. This is where the band's flexibility comes from, and it's not a flexibility that denies them identity, but rather a flexibility that allows them to freely create without regard to identity first.
Working through the band's genealogy, the direct recording and dry production were surprising in some regard, switching the balance between vocal performance and musical performance from the previous records. However, the ringing arpeggios, shuffling rhythms, and bright timbre follow aspects of "People" and most of the latter half of the band's self-titled debut, as well as "Immediate Undertaking," "Pharaoh Sanders Tomb," and "Even in your lightest day" from 2. Within their own discography, there are several aspects to Darker My Love, and if 2 followed the path of "Helium Heels" and "Claws and Paws," this one works alongside other trends in the band's development.
Instead of emotionally reflecting against waves of fuzz and dense, layered instrumental passages, the listener is presented with immediate, earnest vocal performances that run through parables in the lyrics that invoke automatic writing, or a method of presenting images to help one to recall navigation through the world's spaces and situations.
The production and imagery of the record created an experience that was immensely enjoyable throughout; the record helped to guide me through my memories, by leading me through places that I have already visited, but perhaps could not directly recall, or failed to see from a specific aspect. This does not mean that the record looks backwards; on the contrary, an engagement in sensation and the sensible world, framing and developing memories, in turn helps us to develop our own actions and attitudes toward the world. This is perhaps the greatest psychedelic achievement of Alive as You Are; inverting the technological manipulation in favor of a direct aesthetic results in a record that sound deceptively simple and straightforward, but rewards with continual focus and reflection.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
RELEASES!
So, we're just about set with the Sunny Muffdivers, All Half Evil. Everything is submitted, we should be able to release it by September. Comment / email if you want to order a copy.
There's an excellent bedroom pop cassette on the way, a complete album of songs by Cedar Wax Wings called Orphan Autumn. The album was completed years ago, but never released, and it's going to be the fifth 'Spective Audio release.
Also, the first official Leavitt Ours release is on the way from 'Spective. The trio is releasing a four-song EP. Recording is finished and the band is now working on preliminary mixes and mastering.
There's an excellent bedroom pop cassette on the way, a complete album of songs by Cedar Wax Wings called Orphan Autumn. The album was completed years ago, but never released, and it's going to be the fifth 'Spective Audio release.
Also, the first official Leavitt Ours release is on the way from 'Spective. The trio is releasing a four-song EP. Recording is finished and the band is now working on preliminary mixes and mastering.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
One Dandy Retrospective
In the tradition of classic rock -- and perhaps, contractual obligations -- The Dandy Warhols recently released abroad The Capitol Years, with a stateside release planned for the end of August. Featured on the release are our favorite Dandy jams and singles from their four Capitol releases, as well as one brand-new, previously unreleased song.
First and foremost, as a hardcore fan of the Dandys, I look forward to hearing the new song, and investigate the aesthetic of the release. I am interested in reading between the lines of the release -- that the band leads with "Boys Better," the ill-fated second single from ...Come Down, for which Courtney Taylor-Taylor provides the matter-of-fact note that Capitol failed to promote due to the chart performance of "Not if you were the last junkie on earth" in notorious documentary, Dig!."Holding Me Up," perhaps the most important song of the band's career in terms of linking their new wave / dance aspects to their meandering psychedelia, is the lead song from Odditorium. "Horse Pills" is absent.
As a musician and/or critic, I relish the opportunity to think about what precisely constitutes a discography, and how artistic development of a band is best captured. One of the most interesting aspects of Dig! is the simple note that upon their signing to Capitol Records, the label required the band to take a second attempt at finishing their major-label debut; the first effort is archived as The Black Album. Perhaps unknown to most fans -- myself included -- until last year was the fact that Welcome to the Monkey House featured an entirely separate, prior mix, left unreleased for nearly a decade. These artifacts remain undocumented on the The Capitol Years, which lead me to ask: how do we characterize the Dandys career? Or, what is a retrospective?
I find that one of the most endearing qualities of the Dandys is a pure independence. The band often straddles the line between meaningful free art and pure art-rock excess, but the lessons they provide often indulge in a tradition of psychedelic rock that sometimes flies beneath the surface of the Sgt. Pepper's sixties. Against the pillar of accepted psychedelia -- where Sgt. Pepper's is typically noted as the first meeting between art and pop music (why not "Say Man," by Bo Diddley?)-- we might embrace Notorious Byrd Brothers, Their Satanic Majesties Request, and S.F. Sorrows. In this tradition we will find artistic indulgence alongside the pop development of the rhythm and blues tradition, excessive effects, and meandering passages.
Equally pitted against organic psychedelic -- where subtle productive qualities explore the tradition's folk and country aspects -- and shoegaze -- which is now becoming a fully accepted tradition of focused fuzz and gloom -- meandering passages of joy or bliss provoke memories of the big, loose sounds of the 1970s as manifest throughout the Dandys catalog. My favorite analogy, as the Dandys' psychedelia meets a overt new wave tradition, is Physical Graffiti as a dance record. Often big and loud fuzz sounds are met with sassy or ironic breakdowns, heavy bass, and precise drums.
In terms of the Dandys' own catalog, this development of free art, new wave dance, big, large fuzz, and meandering bliss stands in their Capitol catalog on the structure of their ongoing covert operations. Independence presents itself in surprising ways when it is an authentic phenomenon, and this is the challenge that the Dandys' catalog presents to listeners.
How do you respond to the surprise of freedom when you listen to your favorite records? Or even records you hate? When we find our sensibilities regarding traditional rock or our expectations of a particular strand of psychedelic music to be transgressed by moments of pure freedom or excessive meandering, we might be repulsed, turning away from the potential of exploring open and vacant landscapes, in favor of scavenging familiar and comforting lands. This is the conflict we often find between the accepted, now-institutional development of psychedelic rock in critical circles, and the challenges of actually creating something new, something without bounds.
Isn't this the very tension found in the base of psychedelic rock itself? The mainstream and institutional release of progressive pop against a secret history that is diverse and free? This is the tension that I find at the very core of the Dandys' music, and this is precisely why I find myself returning to each and every one of their records -- mainstream or secret -- time and time again.
First and foremost, as a hardcore fan of the Dandys, I look forward to hearing the new song, and investigate the aesthetic of the release. I am interested in reading between the lines of the release -- that the band leads with "Boys Better," the ill-fated second single from ...Come Down, for which Courtney Taylor-Taylor provides the matter-of-fact note that Capitol failed to promote due to the chart performance of "Not if you were the last junkie on earth" in notorious documentary, Dig!."Holding Me Up," perhaps the most important song of the band's career in terms of linking their new wave / dance aspects to their meandering psychedelia, is the lead song from Odditorium. "Horse Pills" is absent.
As a musician and/or critic, I relish the opportunity to think about what precisely constitutes a discography, and how artistic development of a band is best captured. One of the most interesting aspects of Dig! is the simple note that upon their signing to Capitol Records, the label required the band to take a second attempt at finishing their major-label debut; the first effort is archived as The Black Album. Perhaps unknown to most fans -- myself included -- until last year was the fact that Welcome to the Monkey House featured an entirely separate, prior mix, left unreleased for nearly a decade. These artifacts remain undocumented on the The Capitol Years, which lead me to ask: how do we characterize the Dandys career? Or, what is a retrospective?
I find that one of the most endearing qualities of the Dandys is a pure independence. The band often straddles the line between meaningful free art and pure art-rock excess, but the lessons they provide often indulge in a tradition of psychedelic rock that sometimes flies beneath the surface of the Sgt. Pepper's sixties. Against the pillar of accepted psychedelia -- where Sgt. Pepper's is typically noted as the first meeting between art and pop music (why not "Say Man," by Bo Diddley?)-- we might embrace Notorious Byrd Brothers, Their Satanic Majesties Request, and S.F. Sorrows. In this tradition we will find artistic indulgence alongside the pop development of the rhythm and blues tradition, excessive effects, and meandering passages.
Equally pitted against organic psychedelic -- where subtle productive qualities explore the tradition's folk and country aspects -- and shoegaze -- which is now becoming a fully accepted tradition of focused fuzz and gloom -- meandering passages of joy or bliss provoke memories of the big, loose sounds of the 1970s as manifest throughout the Dandys catalog. My favorite analogy, as the Dandys' psychedelia meets a overt new wave tradition, is Physical Graffiti as a dance record. Often big and loud fuzz sounds are met with sassy or ironic breakdowns, heavy bass, and precise drums.
In terms of the Dandys' own catalog, this development of free art, new wave dance, big, large fuzz, and meandering bliss stands in their Capitol catalog on the structure of their ongoing covert operations. Independence presents itself in surprising ways when it is an authentic phenomenon, and this is the challenge that the Dandys' catalog presents to listeners.
How do you respond to the surprise of freedom when you listen to your favorite records? Or even records you hate? When we find our sensibilities regarding traditional rock or our expectations of a particular strand of psychedelic music to be transgressed by moments of pure freedom or excessive meandering, we might be repulsed, turning away from the potential of exploring open and vacant landscapes, in favor of scavenging familiar and comforting lands. This is the conflict we often find between the accepted, now-institutional development of psychedelic rock in critical circles, and the challenges of actually creating something new, something without bounds.
Isn't this the very tension found in the base of psychedelic rock itself? The mainstream and institutional release of progressive pop against a secret history that is diverse and free? This is the tension that I find at the very core of the Dandys' music, and this is precisely why I find myself returning to each and every one of their records -- mainstream or secret -- time and time again.
Monday, July 19, 2010
More releases!
It seems like forever since we spoke of releases, but we have some serious stuff on the way out of Atlanta. Pure aural assault is coming soon from Sunny Muff Divers, a primal psychedelic project by Chris Kaufmann and Cyrus Shahmir.
Contact Spectiveaudio (at) gmail (dot) com if you're interested in purchasing this one!
Hopefully there will be another new cassette LP available for the late summer season -- keep an eye out for some delightful homemade pop.
Contact Spectiveaudio (at) gmail (dot) com if you're interested in purchasing this one!
Hopefully there will be another new cassette LP available for the late summer season -- keep an eye out for some delightful homemade pop.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Independence / Fortunate Sons
This weekend I experienced the distinct pleasure of celebrating Independence Day at Quencher's Saloon with Fortunate Sons, a CCR cover band of the highest order. I last saw Fortunate Sons at the Cubby Bear, and they blew me away with their powerful pop, swamp, shuffle.
I spend most of my time thinking about music in terms of interpretations, deconstructions, etc. Most bands offer an interpretation of this concept or artistic movement, or a deconstruction of rock classics; A Place to Bury Strangers offers a first rate interpretation of Jesus and Mary Chain and 60s bubble gum pop while enacting a full scale aural attack through a distortion revival; Sleater-Kinney deconstructs classic rock on The Woods by offering rumbling drums and guitar and aggressively reclaiming feminist and feminine sexuality, resulting in one of the greatest rock records ever.
This is the basis of much of my thinking on rock and rock history: I view the genre as a comprehensive whole more and more, the more I listen to the roots of the genre and embrace the historical nuances that comprise the memory that informs our current rock artists.
What occurred to me while watching Fortunate Sons turns this entire basis for criticism on its head. A valid copy, an image of an exemplar, is a well-crafted artifact that is devoid of interpretation; or rather, interpretation and deconstruction cannot be the basis of a valid copy. Element by element, the valid copy grasps the principles of the exemplar, every salient aspect, every shadow, every hidden strand, every potential direction, trajectory of that exemplar.
It is in this copy, devoid of interpretation, that I saw rock and roll presented before my eyes. I saw righteous power pop, I saw intertwined rhythm and arpeggio, I saw loud and soft, I saw emotional abandon, and possessed rhythm. In each of their aspects, showcasing every corner of the original's repertoire, I saw CCR. Better yet, I understood that their differentiation from the original was informed by my memories, my knowledge of history, and my knowledge of music, and not necessarily in their playing. And isn't that the true differentiation of a copy from an exemplar? Where we know an original by its principles, we understand its copy through an entirely perceptual, sensual, affective, realm of memory and desire.
I have had time to reflect on a recent observation during the 4th of July weekend, celebrating our independence from England. It strikes me that our current ideology is completely opposed to the ideology of independence itself; whereas the ideology of Independence expressed by our founders was an extralegal ideology, expressed against a figurehead and state, our current celebration and enactment of independence is completely legalistic and procedural. What I find particularly strange about this development -- which occurred over centuries -- is that as we celebrate the independence of our founders, we fail to take their lessons to heart; that citizenship is a matter of deeds and not documentation, that freedom is proclaimed against and stolen from the powerful and not enforced by bureaus and departments. Against the extreme insecurities of our founders and their grand experiment, we stand as ethical frauds -- we are not valid copies to their exemplification of independence and freedom. We are forgeries. And until we realize the difference, our policies will remain extremely misguided and we will fail to execute the promise, beauty, and justice of the original declaration.
I spend most of my time thinking about music in terms of interpretations, deconstructions, etc. Most bands offer an interpretation of this concept or artistic movement, or a deconstruction of rock classics; A Place to Bury Strangers offers a first rate interpretation of Jesus and Mary Chain and 60s bubble gum pop while enacting a full scale aural attack through a distortion revival; Sleater-Kinney deconstructs classic rock on The Woods by offering rumbling drums and guitar and aggressively reclaiming feminist and feminine sexuality, resulting in one of the greatest rock records ever.
This is the basis of much of my thinking on rock and rock history: I view the genre as a comprehensive whole more and more, the more I listen to the roots of the genre and embrace the historical nuances that comprise the memory that informs our current rock artists.
What occurred to me while watching Fortunate Sons turns this entire basis for criticism on its head. A valid copy, an image of an exemplar, is a well-crafted artifact that is devoid of interpretation; or rather, interpretation and deconstruction cannot be the basis of a valid copy. Element by element, the valid copy grasps the principles of the exemplar, every salient aspect, every shadow, every hidden strand, every potential direction, trajectory of that exemplar.
It is in this copy, devoid of interpretation, that I saw rock and roll presented before my eyes. I saw righteous power pop, I saw intertwined rhythm and arpeggio, I saw loud and soft, I saw emotional abandon, and possessed rhythm. In each of their aspects, showcasing every corner of the original's repertoire, I saw CCR. Better yet, I understood that their differentiation from the original was informed by my memories, my knowledge of history, and my knowledge of music, and not necessarily in their playing. And isn't that the true differentiation of a copy from an exemplar? Where we know an original by its principles, we understand its copy through an entirely perceptual, sensual, affective, realm of memory and desire.
I have had time to reflect on a recent observation during the 4th of July weekend, celebrating our independence from England. It strikes me that our current ideology is completely opposed to the ideology of independence itself; whereas the ideology of Independence expressed by our founders was an extralegal ideology, expressed against a figurehead and state, our current celebration and enactment of independence is completely legalistic and procedural. What I find particularly strange about this development -- which occurred over centuries -- is that as we celebrate the independence of our founders, we fail to take their lessons to heart; that citizenship is a matter of deeds and not documentation, that freedom is proclaimed against and stolen from the powerful and not enforced by bureaus and departments. Against the extreme insecurities of our founders and their grand experiment, we stand as ethical frauds -- we are not valid copies to their exemplification of independence and freedom. We are forgeries. And until we realize the difference, our policies will remain extremely misguided and we will fail to execute the promise, beauty, and justice of the original declaration.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Two Thoughts on Culture
I am now a married man!
In the course of getting married, one of the gifts we received was funding help for a honeymoon to Hawaii. I was excited to check out a tropical climate -- the first of my life -- and rest after weeks and weeks of clerking in the Loop without a break. My naivete lead me to believe that I would be eating fresh fish on a nightly basis in Hawaii, supporting a local culture and local food that I could not possibly find here in Chicago.
In order to obtain a package deal, we booked through a tour agency, which ensured us a ride from the airport. Riding through Honolulu, I was struck by how rough and industrial the city looked -- the road from the airport to the resort sector wound through Honolulu's industrial burnout, with the very graffiti, abandoned warehouses, and railway shipping I see on a daily basis at our Kinzie / South Ukranian Village practice/storage space.
Once our driver reached the resort stretch, he did not hesitate to point out our landmarks to watch. "There's your Jimmy Buffett restaurant." "There's your Louis Vitton," etc. I suddenly felt as though Michigan Avenue was checked and stored in the belly of our aircraft, enduring the same nine hour flight to some strange land that did not really lead us to another culture.
Luckily, we only spent two days on the resort stretch in Honolulu, where I shamefully held my head when I could not provide the cash to the very transients I encountered while clerking in the Loop on a daily basis. If I ever felt homesick, I could surely exit the hotel lobby and pick up a Chicken McNugget meal, or check out the overpriced liquor at the neighborhood convenience store -- of which there are an astonishing number in Waikiki, a succinct statement about the demands of a culture that is composed almost entirely of tourism, with the locals hiding in spaces that are completely, totally off-limits to Continental travelers.
Maui was an entirely different story -- rural, full of natural discoveries I had not ever imagined (much less viewed with my own eyes). And here I stood, in a rural town that consisted of two whole streets, looking for the local fish place, looking for a deal on that Hawaiian coffee that not even my local importer/distributer will sell to me -- too expensive. Of course, even in Maui -- which features local coffee farming collectives -- the local coffee approaches $20 per pound. That's a price I simply cannot afford to pay, even if I am transporting the beans myself. The mahi mahi is pretty much the only fish I found on menus around town -- much like rural Wisconsin, or Milwaukee, or Door County, the places that formed my youth, every place on the street is a diner or sandwich shop, almost abiding by some strange mathematical equation that only deviates as the needs of those transplanted from the continent demand.
The fish isn't any cheaper. The hamburgers are $14. I suddenly dream about home while sitting in paradise, walking to my importer, picking up a pound of Tanzanian Peaberry beans and then grabbing two deep dish spinach slices on the way home. That's usually where my $14 land when I spend that amount of money (or, of course, records).
And then I heard the music. Maui's local rock station -- which features two positions on the dial depending upon which side of the mountains and which side of the island you are currently driving -- is eclectic, independent, and comprehensive. A guide to the entire history of rock. While driving the road to Hana, we listened to deep cuts by Buffalo Springfield and Status Quo, next to singles by Dave Matthews Band, Stone Temple Pilots, The Decemberists, and Pink Floyd.
Suddenly, my senses overflow with a completely unexpected taste of local culture: rock music, unnecessary in a place where seasons do not exist and there is no tension whatsoever with the rhythms of nature, is relegated to one simple statement, approximately 40 years in the making, while cookie-cutter reggae beats dominate all other local stations, providing a true taste of Hawaiian culture.
Local culture, I found, is almost never what you expect it to be, no matter how many opinions you read prior to traveling, no matter how many tips you receive.
Culture is repetitive consumption in many cases -- a thought that I have had numerous times at Permanent Records and Reckless Records, where I often realize that even though I am supporting independent music, I am buying exactly what they say I should buy and exactly what everyone else tells me to buy through a convoluted path of local shows and rock criticism. This fact was drilled home as we spent one particular night walking up the resort stretch looking for a place to eat after one particular restaurant we scouted in hip guides was closed.
In a land far away, farther than I have ever traveled, I found all of the tones of home transported in ways sometimes unique, sometimes stale. The place I expected to visit never existed. Which leads me to appreciate the minute semblance of home-grown Chicago culture even more than I used to -- we enjoy heavy psychedelic rock because we have seasons here. The weather changes. That changes everything -- there isn't any need to actively stimulate the senses with hard, abrasive guitar sounds and reverb drenched, dark production when your only view is the ocean (on all sides) and you can predict the weather within minutes.
And yet I cannot escape the summary of rock n roll that I was provided in Maui. A gift wrapped for me in the most unexpected fashion, presented to my ears immediately: all those genres we hold dear, all those divisions we find on the Continent, they are narrow, they are superficial, they are simply surface battles, family struggles, between parties that have more in common than not.
I wonder how I missed this fact, this interpretation of rock n roll, when I have trumpeted this point about American politics for years. When one looks through the lens of liberal political theory from Hobbes through Gauthier, from Kant and Rousseau through Rawls, one finds that the divisions between American Democratic and Republican parties to be terribly small -- in fact, I'd wager that in the last century, no other "democratic" nation that elects its leaders features two parties that share as many ideological boundaries as the Democrats and Republicans.
And to think, I used to think that Pink Floyd and The Decemberists did not even meet at any point in my appreciation of my music catalog.
In the course of getting married, one of the gifts we received was funding help for a honeymoon to Hawaii. I was excited to check out a tropical climate -- the first of my life -- and rest after weeks and weeks of clerking in the Loop without a break. My naivete lead me to believe that I would be eating fresh fish on a nightly basis in Hawaii, supporting a local culture and local food that I could not possibly find here in Chicago.
In order to obtain a package deal, we booked through a tour agency, which ensured us a ride from the airport. Riding through Honolulu, I was struck by how rough and industrial the city looked -- the road from the airport to the resort sector wound through Honolulu's industrial burnout, with the very graffiti, abandoned warehouses, and railway shipping I see on a daily basis at our Kinzie / South Ukranian Village practice/storage space.
Once our driver reached the resort stretch, he did not hesitate to point out our landmarks to watch. "There's your Jimmy Buffett restaurant." "There's your Louis Vitton," etc. I suddenly felt as though Michigan Avenue was checked and stored in the belly of our aircraft, enduring the same nine hour flight to some strange land that did not really lead us to another culture.
Luckily, we only spent two days on the resort stretch in Honolulu, where I shamefully held my head when I could not provide the cash to the very transients I encountered while clerking in the Loop on a daily basis. If I ever felt homesick, I could surely exit the hotel lobby and pick up a Chicken McNugget meal, or check out the overpriced liquor at the neighborhood convenience store -- of which there are an astonishing number in Waikiki, a succinct statement about the demands of a culture that is composed almost entirely of tourism, with the locals hiding in spaces that are completely, totally off-limits to Continental travelers.
Maui was an entirely different story -- rural, full of natural discoveries I had not ever imagined (much less viewed with my own eyes). And here I stood, in a rural town that consisted of two whole streets, looking for the local fish place, looking for a deal on that Hawaiian coffee that not even my local importer/distributer will sell to me -- too expensive. Of course, even in Maui -- which features local coffee farming collectives -- the local coffee approaches $20 per pound. That's a price I simply cannot afford to pay, even if I am transporting the beans myself. The mahi mahi is pretty much the only fish I found on menus around town -- much like rural Wisconsin, or Milwaukee, or Door County, the places that formed my youth, every place on the street is a diner or sandwich shop, almost abiding by some strange mathematical equation that only deviates as the needs of those transplanted from the continent demand.
The fish isn't any cheaper. The hamburgers are $14. I suddenly dream about home while sitting in paradise, walking to my importer, picking up a pound of Tanzanian Peaberry beans and then grabbing two deep dish spinach slices on the way home. That's usually where my $14 land when I spend that amount of money (or, of course, records).
And then I heard the music. Maui's local rock station -- which features two positions on the dial depending upon which side of the mountains and which side of the island you are currently driving -- is eclectic, independent, and comprehensive. A guide to the entire history of rock. While driving the road to Hana, we listened to deep cuts by Buffalo Springfield and Status Quo, next to singles by Dave Matthews Band, Stone Temple Pilots, The Decemberists, and Pink Floyd.
Suddenly, my senses overflow with a completely unexpected taste of local culture: rock music, unnecessary in a place where seasons do not exist and there is no tension whatsoever with the rhythms of nature, is relegated to one simple statement, approximately 40 years in the making, while cookie-cutter reggae beats dominate all other local stations, providing a true taste of Hawaiian culture.
Local culture, I found, is almost never what you expect it to be, no matter how many opinions you read prior to traveling, no matter how many tips you receive.
Culture is repetitive consumption in many cases -- a thought that I have had numerous times at Permanent Records and Reckless Records, where I often realize that even though I am supporting independent music, I am buying exactly what they say I should buy and exactly what everyone else tells me to buy through a convoluted path of local shows and rock criticism. This fact was drilled home as we spent one particular night walking up the resort stretch looking for a place to eat after one particular restaurant we scouted in hip guides was closed.
In a land far away, farther than I have ever traveled, I found all of the tones of home transported in ways sometimes unique, sometimes stale. The place I expected to visit never existed. Which leads me to appreciate the minute semblance of home-grown Chicago culture even more than I used to -- we enjoy heavy psychedelic rock because we have seasons here. The weather changes. That changes everything -- there isn't any need to actively stimulate the senses with hard, abrasive guitar sounds and reverb drenched, dark production when your only view is the ocean (on all sides) and you can predict the weather within minutes.
And yet I cannot escape the summary of rock n roll that I was provided in Maui. A gift wrapped for me in the most unexpected fashion, presented to my ears immediately: all those genres we hold dear, all those divisions we find on the Continent, they are narrow, they are superficial, they are simply surface battles, family struggles, between parties that have more in common than not.
I wonder how I missed this fact, this interpretation of rock n roll, when I have trumpeted this point about American politics for years. When one looks through the lens of liberal political theory from Hobbes through Gauthier, from Kant and Rousseau through Rawls, one finds that the divisions between American Democratic and Republican parties to be terribly small -- in fact, I'd wager that in the last century, no other "democratic" nation that elects its leaders features two parties that share as many ideological boundaries as the Democrats and Republicans.
And to think, I used to think that Pink Floyd and The Decemberists did not even meet at any point in my appreciation of my music catalog.
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