Read:My:Back

Correction of the Year

 

 Via Josh Goldfein.

Do or DIY! The Battlecry of People Like Us

My only business at this year's WFMU Record Fair was to catch up with Vicki Bennett, whom radio listeners and patrons of avant media know as the supremely talented People Like Us. In the midst of all the vinyl which the Fair aggregates on an annual basis, Vicki and her pal Irene Moon helmed a stall festooned with trinkets, baubles, plastic grapes, and the pair's many independent and self-released audio/video projects.

Vicki's immense catalog of work includes the Story Without End DVD, which is a wonderful collection of her inventive and forward thinking media manipulations. Using found footage, impossibly obscure audio, and relics of both mediums that have fallen into the public domain, Vicki weaves disparate themes into an all new narrative which is light years away from anything the original creators could have imagined. A recurring theme in her work is a breathless anticipation for an orderly, technologically advanced near-future that would improve our lives while simultaneously bringing us closer to one another. But with those eagerly foretold years now behind us and their promises unfulfilled, there is a poignant subtext which stands in stark contrast to the bright eyed characters who populate her universe.

"Resemblage", which is included on the DVD and which was created with materials from the Lux collection of moving images has an unusually sinister tone to it, but it is one that works to brilliant effect. Beginning with some undeniably Gilliam-esque paper collage, the film quickly moves into foreboding territory through the colliding images of burning landscapes, failing powergrids, and digital static. Although it clocks in at only slightly north of four minutes, I've found it to be among her most compelling works to date.

The true magic of People Like Us is Vicki's unique model of promotion and distribution. By operating so far outside of the mainstream, she has freed herself of the baggage that customarily inhibits artistic growth, and her lengthy career and incredible prolificity bear testament to that truth. In the past, she has said:

"I believe that through the internet, people can experiment and distribute their work for free, or very cheap, and become famous through their idea, rather than through having financial backing. I see the value of working below the radar because I believe all things float to the surface eventually. And so I reinterpret the media through my work."

Here's a recent interview with Vicki in which she further expounds upon these themes, her source material, the Story Without End DVD, and other aspects of her very inspiring career.

Finally, here's one of my favorite People Like Us MP3s, originally from the All Together Now CD. (Download the whole album, and lots more great PLU sounds in WFMU's Free Music Archive).

People Like Us - Green, Green Grass [MP3]

Related links:

PLU Homepage | Do or DIY on WFMU | Buy PLU Music and DVD

The Phanton Phone Hacker

I'd forgotten all about this, but just came across the MP3 buried in the depths of WFMU's website. I should never have lost track of it, especially since I'm the one who put it there in 2004.

From my original WFMU post:

Throughout the mid and late 80s, the APRC (Alternative Press & Radio Council) ran a 24 hour concert info hotline (212-OPEC-SID) that would give bridge and tunnelers without easy access to resources like The Village Voice a pre-recorded rundown of all the punky rock shows going on for the week. Someone who is remembered only as "The Phantom Phone Hacker" would sometimes dial into the system (really just a primitive cassette-based answering machine) and change the outgoing message to feature some pretty unlikely lineups...

[Download MP3]

These recordings were originally gathered on one of the old Jersey Beat cassette comps, but this MP3 was spliced together and edited for radio airplay. Yes, it's stupid, but it's also a funny relic from an era of primitive technology.

[Photo by Flickr user C@rljones. Licensed for re-use via Creative Commons]

College and Community Radio Jukebox

Via MTS and the HerJazz Media Empire comes word of this basic but very cool college and community radio jukebox. Aside from the retro-clickable interface that allows you to dial up a boatload of non-commercial media providers, there's also a map that allows you to sort stations with filters like "college", "pirate", "internet", and "NPR-ish". Rounding out the excellence is a user-maintained database with basic information on each station. The general vibe is vastly more personable than iTunes radio, and is highly recommended for fans of independent and alternative media.

Check it out here.

Half-Cocked Site Redesign

So there I was, playing with the new banner image I'd thrown together, shuffling through different color schemes, margin widths, and rudimentary CSS hooey. I wasn't particularly satisfied with anything I'd come up with, but at least I was experimenting in a way that would perhaps get me to finally move R:M:B off that light-text-on-a-black-background motif.

Then I got distracted for a second and hit "save" instead of "preview"—in a single keystroke committing my e-foolery to published status.

Then, there was cursing. Lots of cursing.

It was late, I was tired, and I couldn't bring myself to re-create the old design since I have a rule about never referring to HEX color charts after 10 PM. So there it sat, and here it continues to sit, at least until I get back from what is sure to be a humiliating experience at the dentist's office this morning. Keep in mind, I am woefully colorblind, and therefore worry a great deal about foisting color combos upon the world that are potential puking hazards. Or just really ugly. But considered through the corrupted vision afforded by my own two eyes, I think I'm rather fond of the yellow banner image against the purple backdrop. I'm somewhat indifferent on the background/text interplay in the main content column, but I know I want a light background with dark text, and going full white/black seemed a little too harsh, if not a bit pedestrian.

The right nav column is crap. Gotta do something about that later. Thoughts? Advice? Feel free to email me.

On the upside, I'm proud to have finally installed a working search box! 

Edith Frost, Thee Oh Sees

And a pair of first-rate songs about cars.

Edith Frost - "Cars and Parties" [MP3 | Info]

Thee Oh Sees - "Kids in Cars" [MP3 | Info]

These tracks are licensed for free and legal distribution via Creative Commons and the Free Music Archive. The FMA "is directed by WFMU, the most renowned freeform radio station in America. Radio has always offered the public free access to new music. The Free Music Archive is a continuation of that purpose, designed for the age of the internet."

So I guess you'd agree that it's finally time to buy that external hard drive you've been eyeballing at J&R, eh?

On Resuming Broadcast Activities at WFMU

I'm floored to announce that I'll be firing the opening volley of WFMU's summer programming schedule, which goes into effect on June 22nd. Forthwith, my show will air every Monday morning at the ungodly time of 6-9 AM and will comprise three hours of freeform music and chatter which will be heard only on the web—not over the FM band. (At that hour, JM in the AM broadcasts on the station's 91.1 frequency.) Various life changes and my unpredictable schedule made it impossible for me to commit to any other timeslots, so rather than continue my self-imposed hiatus from WFMU, I'm opting to put my faith in the station's enormous web listenership. (Kim from Louisville and Pete in L.A., I'm lookin' at you!)

Although the difference for most web and archive listeners will be utterly transparent, a few critical points should be made. First of all, I'll be getting up at the asscrack of dawn on Monday mornings this summer, so I regret having to decline any Sunday dinner invitations up through mid-October. Secondly, as the FCC does NOT have the power to foist their priggish standards upon the internet, I'll be freed from the crippling fear that a song with fleeting expletives could rack up huge fines for the cash-strapped station. That doesn't mean I'm planning to air the entire Frogs discography, or open each week's show with "Saturday Night at the Bookstore" by the Dicks (still one of the filthiest songs I know), but I'll definitely enjoy the freedom to relax as opposed to being on constant nanny patrol for words and themes that some people find saucy. In any case, I hope my enthusiasm for this summer program translates accordingly to the deskbound Europeans and bleary-eyed New Yorkers who make up much of the realtime listenership at that hour of the day. My podcast will go on hiatus after the July 1st edition, but content from the Monday morning freeform program will be archived on my FMU index page. I also plan to re-post the playlists with graphics, notes, and embedded player right here on R:M:B. I'm anxious to resume regular programming, especially in an environment of creative collaboration like WFMU, so here's to hoping you can tune in as you brew that pot of coffee, tackle your morning grooming rituals, or survey the day's grim economic news. As always, I am humbled by your support, and will try really hard not to play anything that'll get you fired.

Something Sinister Stirs in the Suburbs

Pictured: The battered husk of a telecom junction box that I came across somewhere in suburban New Jersey. Is this an example of poorly directed populist rage? A random act of artistic protest? Maybe it's just local cable technicians pulling a McNulty and getting wasted on the job. Whatever the logic, it's a good reminder of just how fragile the technology is that keeps entire suburban neighborhoods wired up to Bravo, Turner Classic Movies, and the Playboy Channel.

It's an idea worth pondering, as one of the most striking observations to be made when visiting the 'burbs is the apparent lack of people who spend time outdoors, even on nice days. It can be downright jarring to see someone out for a walk, or smoking a cigarette on their front stoop, or doing any of the other things I see people doing (and do myself) on a regular basis in New York. And then weirder still, when you do see someone on a suburban street who's lacking an apparent destination, they often seem suspicious and alien and make you wonder if maybe the police ought to be summoned.

Granted, this is a common remark made by arrogant city folk all the time, so I know I'm not blazing any new trails with this discussion. But I do believe the reasoning behind it goes deeper than mere lifestyle or cultural differences. In the suburbs, there is a designated place for every desired activity. (You drive to the park to walk your dog, or you drive to the gym to run on a treadmill.) City life is more hastily thrown together, and the structures and spaces are constantly being re-purposed to suit the changing needs of the population. (We live in apartments that used to be warehouses, and we eat in restaurants that were formerly banks or brothels.) All of this has convinced me there must be something that hinders suburbanites from using the ample space they've left between themselves and their neighbors. Yards, parks, baseball diamonds—They'll brag endlessly about the enviable amenities of their environment, yet they rarely seem to use them. So what is it? What's inside their homes that's got their rapt attention? Money? Drugs? Video games? Since the behavioral line of demarcation is so apparent when crossing from a city to a suburb, I think it's got to be something that city people either don't know about, or wouldn't care about in the first place. Something like the Playboy Channel.

I don't believe I've ever seen the Playboy Channel, even back when I was 12 and had friends whose fathers kept dirty magazines and unmarked VHS tapes stacked away in secluded cabinets. For all I know, the Playboy Channel may not even exist anymore, what with adult entertainment now being more commonly sought on the internet. But something about the mere idea of the Playboy Channel—that one can tune it in and possibly see something naughty—just seems more wholesome and suburban than the porn-packed internet, which I'd argue is used more deliberately by those seeking to quell their prurient urges. Even saying the words "The Playboy Channel" out loud just sounds silly and like a thing that only very mild people would find risqué—much like the magazine itself, I suppose.

Anyway, the next time you're driving through empty suburban streets and notice that the houses on most every block have only a faint blue glow emanating from behind the drawn curtains, I recommend giving this theory a moment of consideration. The vacant backyards, empty swimming pools, and abandoned basketball courts may be symptomatic of something even more peculiar than we ever imagined.

The photograph in this post is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Snow Day!

Although as of this writing, it's changing over to the less historically celebrated "Ice Pellet Day", which will gradually slide into "I Should Probably Go Shovel Again Anyway Day", "Damnit, Now it's Just Cold and Crappy Out Day", "I Believe the Puddle I Stepped in Just Soaked Through to my Sock Day", and finally culminating with "Now I Have to Wade through Three Inches of Slush to go Grocery Shopping Day".

Hey, the joys in this life are fleeting. So any chance to wheel out my favorite mic-in track of all time is worth a hastily tossed off blog post, right?

For those who don't know, Stark Effect defines a mic-in track thusly:

a recording made on a PC using MusicMatch Jukebox, a music utility packaged with many new PC's that allows the user to record from the microphone input of the PC's sound card and save the recording in mp3 format. The default filename is "mic in track" followed by a number.

The real fun, however, starts when the following detail is revealed (Also from Stark Effect):

If that user also happens to be running a file-sharing program (WinMX, Audiognome, Kazaa, etc.), and shares the directory in which the mic in track is stored, then these personal recordings can be easily downloaded from the user's computer. The vast majority of them are either silent or uninteresting, but many are like Christmas presents giftwrapped in nondescript serial numbers. They represent unique examples of audio vérité.

Thanks as always to the Evolution Control Committee for first revealing the incidental art of mic-in tracks. Download a bunch and read more about them here.

Q: Are we not Ladies with Appliances? A: We are Men with Machines!

Even though there are two people under this roof, we are a one-computer household, and I've recently discovered that relegates us to total freak status among our peers. Before Alex and I were married, each of us struggled with hopelessly outdated computers (a fishbowl shaped iMac on my side of the river, an ancient PC with foot pedals and a broken floppy drive on hers). Fortunately for us, we tied the knot well before the economy tanked, and so were able to unload a few fistfuls of wedding lucre on the sort of things we decided married people ought to own. The three-year-old Mac laptop I'm typing this on was among the first of such purchases, and like any other shared expense, we discussed all the possible angles at length before filling out one of those new checks emblazoned with both of our names.

While deciding what kind of computer to buy, we talked about the abstract concepts related to such devices, as well as more pressing matters like how we'd go about gathering enough MP3s to make my fellow WFMU DJs blush. As cool looking as the shiny black Macbook may have been, we couldn't reconcile paying the extra money for it. Ditto for the oversized flatscreen edition. Ultimately, I like to compare our Mac's eventual purchase to that of a costly but laboriously-researched toaster that did everything we wanted it to. Just as my affinity for bagels need not preclude my wife's love of whole wheat toast, my desire for an iTunes alternative could certainly share space with her fondness for the Fug Girls.

Never once did it occur to us that we should each get our own computers, which I later found out is what every other couple our age seems to do. On several occasions over the last few years, married people with whom we are friendly reported on how they'd just come back from the Apple Store with "a pair of new laptops". It sounded to me like they'd been out shopping for ferrets or something, and I suddenly worried that Alex and I were either woefully behind the technology curve, or had left out some critical vow in our nuptials. "Who the hell gets two computers?", I wondered. Was one pink and the other blue? The idea of friends and their partners sitting together on distant sofas took on a peculiar accent when I further imagined them clacking away independently, lost in their respective e-dentities in spite of the physical closeness. I eventually dismissed these ideas after thinking long and hard on the matter and decided that the only way an extra computer would come in handy around here would be to have one in our kitchen. And a year or two from now, when a complete hardware upgrade is finally in order, I hope that's where this one's going to end up.

When I was a child, I was transfixed by TV game show segments in which an invariably blonde woman would present an array of gleaming appliances by running her hand across their luxurious curves and elegant chrome moldings. I routinely begged for (and was repeatedly denied) one of those kid-sized kitchen sets with the fake refrigerator and stove top. A few years later, my attentions wandered to the Holly Hobby-like cupcake ovens that were advertised on afternoon television. Unfortunately, with expected gender roles and societal norms now lurking around every corner, the threat of a gang-style beating on the playground of my elementary school was palpable, so I wisely kept my mouth shut. I made a brief pest of myself by hanging around the kitchen with my mother whenever she was cooking, but that usually ended with my being sequestered to the garage, where I took up with sexy distractions like tools, matches, and gasoline. (The concurrent availability of cigarettes and the rise in popularity of bands like Iron Maiden made this an easy transition, and it is one that I keep waiting for someone like Anthony Bourdain to validate on TV.) What I didn't realize at the time is that I hadn't dismissed my kitchen envy so much as I'd stuffed it into a part of my brain that many don't use until after turning thirty. The kitchen is often identified as the most important room in any household, and in acknowledging this truism, I've suffered the related agonies of ours lacking the counter space, proper lighting, and appropriate cabinets that I now desire. I sometimes think back to those game show segments and imagine all the pukey 70s extravagance morphing into a more enviably modern reality.

Then I think about my own kitchen, which is when the mental olympics really get going.

Don't get me wrong -- As long as you keep in mind that we're city people who live in a building that's over 100 years old, our current kitchen is bloody magnificent in comparison to some of the others I've reckoned with as an adult who enjoys cooking. However, that's not to say it wouldn't be vastly improved with more counter space, better lighting, more appropriate cabinets, and by way of bringing the discussion full circle, a dedicated computer terminal.

Mixing kitchens and computers is not a new cocktail by any stretch of the imagination. They've enjoyed a shared mythology for as long as science fiction movies have been made, if not longer. The most commonly touted features of any kind of robotic culinary assistant are a reduction in prep work, cooking time, or all around effort. If I didn't know better, I could almost imagine the phrase "with just the touch of a button" being first used in 1969 when the Honeywell Corporation introduced the H316 Pedestal Model Kitchen Computer (pictured above left). This vexing device looks like a cross between, well... two things that should never be crossed with one another except during times of great social and political unrest. Carrying a price tag of $10,000, the H316 was essentially a three ring recipe binder that weighed 100 pounds and which could only be programmed by an experienced technician. In spite of the futuristic looks (and built in cutting board!), this technological gateway to the kitchen of tomorrow was a commercial flop and according to Wikipedia, "there is no evidence that any Honeywell Kitchen Computers were ever sold."

In this case, what history tells us is that a particular device would not be the harbinger of a full-on culinary revolution. Blenders and microwaves are all well and good, but they're really just updated versions of the tools we've already been using for eons. A searchable network of content is what ultimately forces a giant leap forward, and access to it is what truly changed the way that I now address the dinnertime dilemma. (OK, unemployment also helped a lot.) It's a sentiment that I suspect rings true for many others who reached that critical point where they could no longer reconcile the despondent life of pastas, salads, and takeout that haunts so many zillions of my peers. No doubt, we're all better people for making the extra effort.

Clearly, cookbooks are an irreplaceable asset in our kitchen, and they will remain as such even if I someday get my wish for a digital culinary workstation with twenty godzillabytes of memory. But more and more often, I'm using blogs and websites to get cooking ideas, as well as for performing basic food research. ("What the hell is Chinese black vinegar? Does it matter what third world country my vanilla beans came from?") The cookbook shelf comes into play when I want an in-depth explanation of a particular culinary technique, though it's doubtless that I could head to the internet for that information as well. With the arrival of podcasting, streaming video, and user-generated content for every imaginable cooking conundrum, the PC's presence in the kitchen is no longer the gimmick that 20th century advertising executives first conjured. It's the logical next-step for an industry that tantalized housewives with spaceage gizmos bearing names like Whirl-o-Matic, and I am more than ready to embrace it. Offer it up with the counter space necessary for me to dismember an entire pig (I'm sure there's a tutorial on YouTube), and you may not hear from me until the promise of jetpacks and flying cars is finally realized. Until then, it'll be the blessed intersection where technology mingles with dirty dishes that fixes our attention on the days and meals to come.

Get inspired: Dow Jones & the Industrials perform "Ladies With Appliances". I challenge any and all to come up with a finer example of sautéed musical microchips. Originally from the Devo-damaged and wholly excellent Red Snerts compilation. [Buy it here]