Read:My:Back

Truth to power, Carl Sagan style

We kill each other, or threaten to kill each other, in part, I think, because we are afraid we might not ourselves know the truth, that someone with a different doctrine might have a closer approximation to the truth. Our history is in part a battle to the death of inadequate myths. If I can't convince you, I must kill you. That will change your mind. You are a threat to my version of the truth, especially the truth about who I am and what my nature is. The thought that I may have dedicated my life to a lie, that I might have accepted a conventional wisdom that no longer, if it ever did, corresponds to the external reality, that is a very painful realization. I will tend to resist it to the last. I will go to almost any lengths to prevent myself from seeing that the worldview that I have dedicated my life to is inadequate.

-Carl Sagan, from The Varieties of Scientific Experience

Logorama

Since almost everyone I know A) doesn't care about the Oscars, and B) already reads Dangerous Minds, it's probably silly for me to bother posting this here. But I'm happy to make exceptions for awe-inspiring works of genius like François Alaux, Hervé de Crécy, and Ludovic Houplain's astounding short film, Logorama.

Logorama from Marc Altshuler - Human Music on Vimeo.

Baby Loves Boards of Canada

My cable television package includes a certain number of free-on-demand offerings, mostly in the form of D-list movies, TV shows, and music videos. I won't lie and say that I never take advantage of it -- I'm grateful for any chance to watch BBC shows like Top Gear and Dr. Who, and I'll also admit that Caprica is starting to sink its hooks into me. But in the Hulu-like realm of on-demand cable, such quality content is definitely the exception to the freebies, not the rule.

There is an entire area of the music video section that is programmed by a network called Havoc. At risk of implying some pathetic need for pedestrian punk/metal videos in my life (or worse, anything having to do with "extreme" sports), I will admit to sometimes perusing Havoc's offerings in order to keep in touch with what I suspect are the interests of typical, suburban skateboard enthusiasts. (I discovered a Slipknot song which I have grown rather fond of in this manner, so never let it be said that curiosity doesn't come without social consequence.)

Yesterday, however, I was floored by the Havoc roster's beguiling inclusion of Boards of Canada's "Dayvan Cowboy" music video. The Scottish purveyors of warm electronics had recently arrived back in my listening pile anyway, thanks to their music's soothing influence upon my infant daughter. On those occasions which all new parents are familiar with -- the ones when baby becomes utterly unhinged and cries hysterically for no apparent reason, Boards of Canada is a godsend, especially when the lullaby arsenal has been exhausted and the bouncy chair's batteries drained. Nothing settles our screaming bundle of terror into a much-needed slumber like "Dayvan Cowboy" does, though truth be told, sometimes my wife and I also pass out for a few hours when under its influence... which in my mind only further punctuates the band's many talents.

The dizzying heights and vistas seen in this video also reminded me of that amazing (and weirdly under-reported) story about the guy who achieved near-space photography for a few hundred bucks worth of equipment and posted the results on his Flickr page. I find this one to be particularly head-spinning, even without a hipster-doofus soundtrack.

I Often Dream of Peter Doig Paintings When I'm Alone

That's probably not news to any of you who've clicked through every link in the right nav bar of this blog, but I'm guessing that's not a particularly large chunk of R:M:B's readership. Regardless, on the (rare) occasions in which I find myself daydreaming about what I'd do with a sudden cash windfall, it's not cars, houses, boats, or bling that seize my imagination, but the riveting paintings of Peter Doig, and how in some alternate reality to which I've yet to escape, I am the owner of one.

I accidentally blundered into Doig's work in 2005 while fooling around London for a week. My travels happened to coincide with part one of the Saatchi Gallery's "Triumph of Painting" exhibition, where I found Doig's work to be the most immediately arresting and memorable. Upon returning back to NYC, I mentioned to an artist pal of mine that Peter Doig's paintings had reminded me a bit of his own, and my remarks illuminated an expression of stunned reverence upon his face. Apparently, for an art world insider, being told that your work is reminiscent of Peter Doig's is just about the highest complement that can be paid, even if it's a neophyte like me that's saying it.

Anyhow, with Mr. Doig's work now fetching sums in the millions, I've come to reckon with the fact that I'll never own one. Besides, personal property is overrated and the ultimate expression of selfishness, right? Thank god for the internet, and the many Peter Doig paintings that can be viewed within her velvety corridors. For my own convenience as much as for your enjoyment, I offer the following assortment of P.D. related links to bios, online galleries, and other such digital stimulations. Allez!

Wikipedia

P.D. at Victoria Miro Gallery

The Saatchi Gallery's Triumph of Painting

P.D. Virtual Gallery at the Tate Britain

Streaming Fan Video

Query: Flickr

Query: YouTube

[Pictured right: "Orange Sunshine", 1995, oil on canvas.]

Rock 'n' Roll Metro

How on Earth did I miss this??! (It apparently made the rounds a couple of weeks ago.) Really thorough, exceptionally well done, and commendable for being my first reason to think about that Texas is the Reason band since an unfortunate evening at Brownies more than 15 years ago. [Click image to view full-sized Rock 'n' Roll Metro Map. Image created by Alberto Antoniazzi.]

Moodists revival now underway

Re-blogging this from Last Days of Man on Earth, and I swear, Joe's post on that fine site captures everything I would've said about the Moodists had I been first out of the gate to write about 'em. Like him, I first became acquainted with the band on the Can't Stop It! Australian Post-Punk 78-82 compilation from several years ago. As a longtime fan of the Saints, Radio Birdman, Celibate Rifles, Scientists, and the Birthday Party, I considered myself something of a svengali with regards to Australian out-sounds, but was firmly schooled to the contrary when confronted with an entire disc of vintage noise by bands I'd never heard of. The lead off track was "Gone Dead" by the Moodists (grab it here), and it effectively opened a door I hadn't even known to exist with regards to my hopelessly adored OZ rock.

Shortly thereafter, a Moodists discography called "Two Fisted Art" appeared, which is just as great and includes myriad other examples of their particular genius, including the song "Double Life". As Joe reports on LDoMoE, the discography is out of print in its physical form, but is still available in shimmering MP3 via eMusic. In the meantime, here's a great and previously unseen (by me) video of the Moodists performing "Double Life" set to various reels of live performance footage from their all-too-brief and undersung reign of greatness.

Paella on the Quick

So after recently confessing that parenthood has transported my wife and I back to the realm of single-pot dinners, we exploited a most glorious loophole in that theory by recognizing that paella falls deliciously into said category. Truth be told, I'd only ever had the succulent Spanish dish once before in my life—at El Quijote on 23rd Street when I was in my late 20s—so I'll freely admit that I'm far from expert on paella's various nuances and permutations. (For example, I incorrectly assumed that seafood was the crux ingredient of said dish, but quick research reveals that paella may appear in a number of forms and varieties.)

To be fair, this was all my wife's idea. She'd spied the recipe we used in the latest issue of Bon Appetit and stealthily snuck all of the required ingredients onto my shopping list. Clearly, she anticipated that upon my arrival at the supermarket, I'd be far too harried to question the need for things like Chorizo and sugar snap peas. It was only when I returned home and found the magazine spread open on the kitchen table to the appropriate page that my mission for the evening became clear...

And let me tells ya: It was great! And easy! And didn't take a long time! Given the insanity that anyone with a new baby in the house can understand, I have a new appreciation for recipes that are structured in such a way so as to enable the washing of cooking implements as each step is taken. Because when you get right down to it, what's better than sitting down to a sumptuous feast sans the stigma of an intimidating pile of filthy dishes to contend with upon taking that final bite? As I'm sure any good Spaniard would agree, that's the time when one simply ought to re-fill the wine glasses and reflect upon the goodness of life with the assembled diners.

The only modifications I made to this paella recipe were using snow peas (instead of sugar snap), and skinless chicken thighs (which I purchased by accident). If you go this route, just remember you will need to use some extra olive oil or butter to make up for the lack of rendered chicken fat. Also, the Bon Appetit recipe calls for roasted red peppers "from a jar", which is simply ridiculous. Roasting your own red peppers is one of the easiest things in the world to do, and no, I am not talking about holding a pepper over one of your stove's burners with a pair of metal tongs. Where I come from, there is a distinct difference between "roasting" a pepper and burning one to a black cinder. Sheesh. [Photo from the original Bon Appetit link]

There's Aliens in our Midst

Reading about the Fermi Paradox will totally make your brain smell funny for a week. Fortunately, there are related YouTube vids [1] [2] to soothe your shot nerves. And for further stimulation, may I suggest the prophetic sounds of the Twinkeyz?

Also, remember this?

Foodstalgia

Having a kid means a million changes, but perhaps the most insidious of them is no longer having the time to cook. I mean really cook--the way my wife and I did between my getting laid off and the day before our daughter was born. To do so requires strategy and research, which is a large part of the fun, mind you. But with our days and nights now being lived at a zillion miles an hour, we simply haven't been able to focus on new culinary adventures, much less try any new and ballyhooed restaurant out in remote Brooklyn or Queens. (With a two month old? Are you serious?)

So dinnertime has gotten simpler, but at the expense of adding new conquests to our repertoire. (And by extension, food-related posts to this blog.) Not that we're eating out of cans or microwaving fish sticks, but single-pot dishes have come charging back into our lives in a way not seen since the 90s. A few weeks ago, on a particularly rough night, we gave up and ordered a pizza... which then sat untouched on the counter for two hours while we fussed around with the little one. (Would-be parents, have I scared you yet?)

Having a baby also wreaks havoc with the time of day one customarily dines. In our case, breakfast does not often happen until noon, and dinner sometimes waits until well past 9 or 10 PM to make its appearance. (Lunch, if it arrives at all, is usually eaten over the sink or while walking from the parking lot to the baby section of Target.) I suppose this time shift might make us seem more sophisticated or European to some people, and we couldn't ask for a better reason to sacrifice our old ways than the baby's constant need for attention... But sometimes I do pine for the days of cruising the more dubious (looking/smelling) Chinese markets of lower Manhattan in search of some weird ingredient or another, just so the dream of an esoteric dish can finally be realized. And when that happens, I often catch myself drooling over pictures of food that we cooked... last year. (Above left.)

I've already promised not to hold this period of transition against my daughter when she's older. If anything, I'm anxiously anticipating the day she can lend a third pair of hands in the kitchen and scold me for using twice the amount of Thai basil than called for in a particular recipe. (Uhhh, also above left.) Until then, I'm uncertain as to how much grub-related content will be hitting the pages of R:M:B, but with Springtime at our doorstep, I suspect that most of our cooking will soon be moving back onto the outdoor grill. If nothing else, I shall endeavor to post as many photos and re-caps of tantalizing meats being roasted over open flames as the screaming bundle of terror will permit. Although her palate may be pretty limited, she's left us with little doubt as to who the new boss of the kitchen is.

Renewing my Love for V-3

I meant to post about this a long time ago, but as you can probably imagine, becoming a parent re-shuffles one's intentions to a comically absurd degree. It's a miracle that I even remember to put pants on when I leave the house anymore, so please take mercy on this latecoming appreciation for a recently hatched blog called Forever Lowman.

Rather than spread its appreciation across a wide spectrum of music, Forever Lowman zeroes in on a single artist, and the many creative vehicles by which he blasted his genius into the ether: The late Jim Shepard, who fronted the amazing V-3 and Vertical Slit. Shepard also released a boatload of homespun cassettes comprising 4-track and live recordings, and was a critical component of the Ohio rock supergroup (of sorts) called Ego Summit.

I got my first taste of Shepard via the many V-3 singles that passed through WPRB's stacks in the early 90s, especially the song "Negotiate Nothing", which appeared on the first Cowtown 7" comp of regional art-punk hooliganisms. For many of my programming compadres, V-3 was an extension of their interests it out sounds like the Dead C and most of the Siltbreeze catalog. Lacking the synaptic wizardry to fully process that kind of stuff at the time, I wound up mentally filing V-3's records alongside oddities like the Sun City Girls' Three Fake Female Orgasms EP, and that one really brutal 12" by Test Dept. Years later, this doesn't feel like the embarrassing misstep it may sound like now... the truth of the matter is that V-3 simply lacked obvious peers or comparisons. They were utterly unique, they had a wild pre-history waiting for me to discover (the aforementioned Vertical Slit, but also the great Nudge Squidfish solo record), and their fantastic Photograph Burns LP became an omnipresent dollar bin cutout immediately upon its release. (I used to buy copies all the time just to give away to friends.)

Jim Shepard took his own life in 1998. I remember being on the air at WPRB when the news broke (in as much as news could really "break" before the immediacy of the internet had taken hold) and instinctively reaching for V-3's searing and eerily self-referential "Another Exterminator Eaten by Bugs" to address the the tragic occasion. [Use WFMU's embedded player to hear it]

I believe the only other time I aired "Another Exterminator" was after Nikki Sudden died. In a way, it's kind of the ultimate song by which to note the passing of a beloved poet, so I'm somewhat inclined to send it out to dearly departed Alex Chilton. I don't believe the song has yet appeared on Forever Lowman, but that's no reason for you not to set your right-clicking fingers into action for the other goodies being made available. Chief among my favorites so far is a re-up of V-3 performing live on a Chicago radio station. For a taste of what lies in waiting, here's "Harry"--one of the band's more straightforward and dare-I-say garagey moments--as it was performed live on WNUR in 1995.