I had spent 3 days in L.A., upon arrival I was met by my mom's niece, Pacita and my half aunt, Naty. The trip was longer than normal. A breakdown in New Mexico, meant a longer stoppover than normal in Alburquerque. These delays were viewed with annoyance by most but served to make the trip memorable. The expanses of Eastern Californian desert seemed like another country captured in March daylight. L.A. on the other hand, was a strangely familiar smoggy, but warm metropolis. I had attended a workshop at the AFI in the hollywood hills. The instructor was a strange fellow who again had a distinct chickenhawk personality. He took a liking to some students, including me. Upon assisting me with a quicktime movie render, he let out a muffled grunt under his breath which might have been a sharp yell if he didn't suppress it with practice. He claimed it was an old "war wound."
I rented a minivan from the office in the hotel and took a nice late afternoon drive down Sunset blvd all the way to the ocean. It was a nice way to frame my trip with the west coast. My memories were punctuated by the usual touristy visits to the
hollywood bowl, farmers market, olivera street, beverly hills and of
course Universal studios but my mindset for travel was firmly pushing me
with anticipation for the next destination, San Francisco by way of the
Coast Starlight.
I left without giving my aunt the check my mom had written out. Perhaps it was for the best as the amount could have been awkwardly inappropriate. I had a melancholy view of my aunt from this trip. I had visited the street corner newsstand she worked with her husband, as a makeshift market to sell her cooked goods. She had a lucrative business back in the Philippines but had a tough time that is familiar to most immigrants yet always hurts when it hits close to home. I still recall her face of surprise when I boarded the train at Union station. It was the last time I saw her. She passed in winter of 2013.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Thursday, March 26, 2015
movies
my username is taken from a classic 1975 Antonioni film which deserves a post of praise at the very least. The Passenger or Professione: Reporter was an amazing film by the Italian director Michaelangelo Antonioni which dealt with among other things the nature of identity, self knowledge and the search for truth during long travels. Jack Nicholson plays the reporter from an English news agency sent to cover gun running rebels in Africa but soon finds himself stuck and subsequently assumes the identity of a dead man he had interviewed in his hotel. He begins carrying out the appointments and meetings of the dead man in cities across Europe (Barcelona, Munich) as an attempt to discover more about his mystery as well as escape from his own life.
The film is essential viewing for anyone who loves travel- not just to Europe or Africa but anywhere where the journey is part of the destination and the enrichment comes not from the location but how you are affected by it.
I've watched the film dozens of times in theaters as well as video and before my trip out west, the romantic ideal of travel was tempered by my habitual viewing of it. The film ends with an amazing single take shot summarizing the end of the protagonists' journey and life. Those remaining 'hardly knew him', including his wife who has been pursuing his alternate identity, searching for her husband and the truth.
In my own travels there was no awakening or self discovery made apart from the idea that you cannot ultimately escape yourself no matter how far you travel. You can leave your parents, your immediate circle of friends, the people, possessions and objects that surround you on a daily basis but your own faults, fears and doubts creep up from inside to sneak up and bite you in surprising places.
I stumbled on this revelation in the first stop of my journey , Los Angeles. Before they built the Kodak Motion Picture center near Sunset blvd, there was a Hollywood Holiday Inn where I stayed for a couple of nights. I could see the El Capitain theater from my window and I had rented a minivan for a nice trek down Sunset to the ocean. While in the lobby alone, I was looking around and saw a young teen couple cuddling on a padded bench near the stairs. I waited there for a bit just to dwell on my own loneliness and self-loathing, half expecting someone to jostle me out of my self absorbed funk while perusing my travel guide book with map.
The Passenger is significant to me for another reason; one of the earliest examples of ASMR experience for myself; The scene in the church in Munich, where Locke is confronted by the two nationals for the gun-running deal. It's part of a beautiful sequence where Antonioni flashes the past, present and fabricated future in one location, meant to echo David's frustrations and troubled history with his wife. One of the African nationals takes the carbon copy plans and diagrams of the guns meant to be shipped. The audio is of the old form of thick, coated carbon paper which has a distinct sound and weight. I must have watched that scene 10 times in one viewing , rewinding back and playing it repeatedly. The sound echoed to a memory I had of discovering papers in a briefcase my father used when he was alive in the late60s/early seventies. They were hard copy documents outlining his illness and the doctor's crude diagnoses back then. Parkinsons disease was still being researched and not completely understood , so muscular deformans and general neurological disorders were the foreign terms for a 9 year old mind. The paper was heavy and made coarse ruffling noise. The idea that sound could give me ASMR sensations would be ironic to a crude mind but the idea that it hit at a nerve which was very much a part of me and my limited knowledge of my dad was far more significant.
listening @ that time: "perfect circle" by REM
watching: Il Professione: Reporter
reading @ that time: maps
The film is essential viewing for anyone who loves travel- not just to Europe or Africa but anywhere where the journey is part of the destination and the enrichment comes not from the location but how you are affected by it.
I've watched the film dozens of times in theaters as well as video and before my trip out west, the romantic ideal of travel was tempered by my habitual viewing of it. The film ends with an amazing single take shot summarizing the end of the protagonists' journey and life. Those remaining 'hardly knew him', including his wife who has been pursuing his alternate identity, searching for her husband and the truth.
In my own travels there was no awakening or self discovery made apart from the idea that you cannot ultimately escape yourself no matter how far you travel. You can leave your parents, your immediate circle of friends, the people, possessions and objects that surround you on a daily basis but your own faults, fears and doubts creep up from inside to sneak up and bite you in surprising places.
I stumbled on this revelation in the first stop of my journey , Los Angeles. Before they built the Kodak Motion Picture center near Sunset blvd, there was a Hollywood Holiday Inn where I stayed for a couple of nights. I could see the El Capitain theater from my window and I had rented a minivan for a nice trek down Sunset to the ocean. While in the lobby alone, I was looking around and saw a young teen couple cuddling on a padded bench near the stairs. I waited there for a bit just to dwell on my own loneliness and self-loathing, half expecting someone to jostle me out of my self absorbed funk while perusing my travel guide book with map.
The Passenger is significant to me for another reason; one of the earliest examples of ASMR experience for myself; The scene in the church in Munich, where Locke is confronted by the two nationals for the gun-running deal. It's part of a beautiful sequence where Antonioni flashes the past, present and fabricated future in one location, meant to echo David's frustrations and troubled history with his wife. One of the African nationals takes the carbon copy plans and diagrams of the guns meant to be shipped. The audio is of the old form of thick, coated carbon paper which has a distinct sound and weight. I must have watched that scene 10 times in one viewing , rewinding back and playing it repeatedly. The sound echoed to a memory I had of discovering papers in a briefcase my father used when he was alive in the late60s/early seventies. They were hard copy documents outlining his illness and the doctor's crude diagnoses back then. Parkinsons disease was still being researched and not completely understood , so muscular deformans and general neurological disorders were the foreign terms for a 9 year old mind. The paper was heavy and made coarse ruffling noise. The idea that sound could give me ASMR sensations would be ironic to a crude mind but the idea that it hit at a nerve which was very much a part of me and my limited knowledge of my dad was far more significant.
listening @ that time: "perfect circle" by REM
watching: Il Professione: Reporter
reading @ that time: maps
Friday, March 13, 2015
22 years ago I set off on a cross country trip by train. I was going from Chicago to L.A.. Then up to San Francisco followed by Vancouver, B.C. I'd trace my way back by train returning home via the California Zephyr. There were certainly other objectives beyond self discovery and broadening my still immature early 20yo mind. I considered a month of trekking across country by train as the equivalent of roughing it, especially with hostels as my pit stops between cities and relatives' homes. 4 weeks is a good medium-to long travel period as well. In the next few posts, I'll attempt to log my trek daily, based on a few journal jottings and my own recollection.
12 March 1993 departure.
I remember boarding the Amtrak superliner coach car for the Southwest Chief on a grey Friday afternoon. Mom saw me off after checking the modest, spartan accommodations- a comfortable recliner seat which would be home for my next 40 hours. I've always loved train travel, not yet having the built in memory of the romantic qualities reserved for stars in films set in sleeper coach rooms. For me the joy of motion and the scrolling countryside passing by were enough.
The first few hours of the train ride were blissful. It was soon dark and the late winter landscape outside my window soon took an otherworldly appearance. Harsh greenish sodium or mercury vapor lamps lit the snow covered fields of the midwest. The outlines of barns, threshers and fences were barely visible. There was desolation, but the quality and color of the light felt strangely comforting. I had the two coach seats in my row to myself (a benefit of long distance train travel?) and seated in front of me were a little 7yo Vietnamese girl traveling with her uncle. There was an NIU basketball athlete, Reggie seated across from me. A few rows in front of him was an auburn haired girl who resembled Guin, whom I had a strong crush on for the past couple of years. Next to her a midshipman sailor on leave had the good luck of seating privilege. The traincar conductor was a mid-40s, slight-statured, mustachioed man whom back then could be referred to as a 'chickenhawk.' He took great interest in the 13 year old country boy traveling solo, seated two rows in front of me.
The trek across the Mississippi river was a familiar one which I remembered as a kid when I visited my cousin & his family in Columbia. The first stop with a significant layover of 2 hours was Kansas City, MO. The train had to take on fuel at 3 am. The car got very cold and the blankets were barely adequate. I was young enough not to be too uncomfortable. The restarting of the engine was audible and more than welcome.
13 March 1993
The wide stretching plains of Kansas caused Reggie to quip how he would transform the landscape if he had the resources. "I look at all this empty land and I think how it should be filled with buildings, gyms, basketball courts, man" Never mind the short-sightedness of needing the demand to offset the cost. Reg was an alright character whom was the closest in age and standing to myself in the area immediately around me. He remarked "you look like someone who can fit in and adapt to any situation....just fit in normally like a regular guy." I took it as a compliment but thought to myself the same could be said of many a psychotic serial killer. We spotted the flamboyant hawkish tendencies of the train conductor right away. It brought about the clichéd mocking laughter and voice mimicking from Reg which placed him on poor standing with the official. The conductor quipped once loudly, "they don't pay me enough for what I have to do and put up with" referring no doubt to the cleaning duties for the 3 cubicle bathrooms on the first level. He took a liking to the young boy passenger seated 2 rows in front and would often be seated right next to him in country-twanged conversation. This was something that would be deemed wildly inappropriate by today's standards but in the permissive atmosphere of the early 90s , homosexuals were getting a more assertive voice in the media if not acceptance in the mainstream.
There was a young 20-something couple in the coachcar in front of us who would frequently pass by on the way to the lounge. On one occasion Reg intentionally partially blocked the aisle and joked with his seat partner "Ouwaw!" to make fun of the voice of the guy passing in front of his girlfriend. The guy actually stood in the doorway after his gf went ahead, waiting as if to confront Reg on it. Nothing happened. That is the reality of long distance train travel. No real drama but a lot of posturing. The plains gave way to the reddish rock & dirt of Colorado & New Mexico. Albuquerque would be up next filled with breakdowns and delays.
(photos courtesy of owners, I had photos of my trek but not until the Coast Starlight, please bear with me)
Listening to (at that time): Angels Fallen by the Darling Buds
Reading (@that time): Rail Ventures by Jack Swanson
12 March 1993 departure.
I remember boarding the Amtrak superliner coach car for the Southwest Chief on a grey Friday afternoon. Mom saw me off after checking the modest, spartan accommodations- a comfortable recliner seat which would be home for my next 40 hours. I've always loved train travel, not yet having the built in memory of the romantic qualities reserved for stars in films set in sleeper coach rooms. For me the joy of motion and the scrolling countryside passing by were enough.
The first few hours of the train ride were blissful. It was soon dark and the late winter landscape outside my window soon took an otherworldly appearance. Harsh greenish sodium or mercury vapor lamps lit the snow covered fields of the midwest. The outlines of barns, threshers and fences were barely visible. There was desolation, but the quality and color of the light felt strangely comforting. I had the two coach seats in my row to myself (a benefit of long distance train travel?) and seated in front of me were a little 7yo Vietnamese girl traveling with her uncle. There was an NIU basketball athlete, Reggie seated across from me. A few rows in front of him was an auburn haired girl who resembled Guin, whom I had a strong crush on for the past couple of years. Next to her a midshipman sailor on leave had the good luck of seating privilege. The traincar conductor was a mid-40s, slight-statured, mustachioed man whom back then could be referred to as a 'chickenhawk.' He took great interest in the 13 year old country boy traveling solo, seated two rows in front of me.
The trek across the Mississippi river was a familiar one which I remembered as a kid when I visited my cousin & his family in Columbia. The first stop with a significant layover of 2 hours was Kansas City, MO. The train had to take on fuel at 3 am. The car got very cold and the blankets were barely adequate. I was young enough not to be too uncomfortable. The restarting of the engine was audible and more than welcome.
13 March 1993
The wide stretching plains of Kansas caused Reggie to quip how he would transform the landscape if he had the resources. "I look at all this empty land and I think how it should be filled with buildings, gyms, basketball courts, man" Never mind the short-sightedness of needing the demand to offset the cost. Reg was an alright character whom was the closest in age and standing to myself in the area immediately around me. He remarked "you look like someone who can fit in and adapt to any situation....just fit in normally like a regular guy." I took it as a compliment but thought to myself the same could be said of many a psychotic serial killer. We spotted the flamboyant hawkish tendencies of the train conductor right away. It brought about the clichéd mocking laughter and voice mimicking from Reg which placed him on poor standing with the official. The conductor quipped once loudly, "they don't pay me enough for what I have to do and put up with" referring no doubt to the cleaning duties for the 3 cubicle bathrooms on the first level. He took a liking to the young boy passenger seated 2 rows in front and would often be seated right next to him in country-twanged conversation. This was something that would be deemed wildly inappropriate by today's standards but in the permissive atmosphere of the early 90s , homosexuals were getting a more assertive voice in the media if not acceptance in the mainstream.
There was a young 20-something couple in the coachcar in front of us who would frequently pass by on the way to the lounge. On one occasion Reg intentionally partially blocked the aisle and joked with his seat partner "Ouwaw!" to make fun of the voice of the guy passing in front of his girlfriend. The guy actually stood in the doorway after his gf went ahead, waiting as if to confront Reg on it. Nothing happened. That is the reality of long distance train travel. No real drama but a lot of posturing. The plains gave way to the reddish rock & dirt of Colorado & New Mexico. Albuquerque would be up next filled with breakdowns and delays.
(photos courtesy of owners, I had photos of my trek but not until the Coast Starlight, please bear with me)
Listening to (at that time): Angels Fallen by the Darling Buds
Reading (@that time): Rail Ventures by Jack Swanson
I picked up the remasters of My Bloody Valentine's early work as well as the new album, mbv. I love them all. I could go into detail about the recordings- I'm no audiophile expert but I can tell the difference from the originals, instead I'll relate my personal experiences with listening to them.
My first exposure to My Bloody Valentine was after hearing Feed me with your Kiss on college radio. I've never heard anything like it, sure there were some J&M Chain allusions but MBV were much more dissonant and much harder to grasp firmly. With Jesus & Mary Chain the hooks were already there- good old fashioned surf music or Phil Spector-inspired catchy hooks. There were none of these in MBV. You could go searching for them and maybe in time find them buried beneath the dense aural wall of sound production but they weren't really 'hooks' per sé. The 'hook' in an MBV song is like a light, silk gossamer tendril dangling out amidst the thick fog, visible but tantalizingly out of reach or too slippery/fleeting to get a firm grasp of. It's funny to listen to their early jangly, poppy sounding EPs (Ecstasy & Wine) because that sounds like an entirely different band compared to the more mature work from 1988-1991. I was in university at the time and had numerous friends & co-workers who absolutely hated MBV. They just never really 'got it' in the sense that difficult music takes time to immerse yourself into it. If you're patient, you will be rewarded and I certainly was. I owned Isn't Anything on cassette and it saw heavy use in my walkman wherever I went. I gobbled up anything I could find of theirs including the flexidisc for "Sugar" from Rockpool magazine, while awaiting the release of Loveless.
Loveless didn't disappoint. I won't wax poetic about it here (there's plenty of that around) but I'll mention something that often gets overlooked in their sound; beautiful harmonized vocals. The vocal interplay between Kevin & Belinda was majestic at times. Not only soothing but often the brightest part of the melody embedded in the song. You can't listen to "what you want" without noticing this but too often people just stopped at the layered guitars. Bilinda's vocals often floated higher and higher (Don't ask Why) over Kevin's understated tone.
The latest album mbv, has been slighted by many critics & listeners but I have to say it's as good as either of the previous albums when listened on its own terms. The first 3 songs reference the first 2 albums (Isn't Anything in particular) in structure. The middle 3 showcase Bilinda's wonderful vocal melodies. There is an incredible song (In another Way) that starts out brutally but finds harmony in an almost bagpipe-wailing guitar layer that works its magic a third thru the song til the end.
I love this band, perhaps it's my affinity for ASMR videos and self-diagnosed synaesthesia that makes me find comfort and shape to their sound. If you are lucky enough to share the same feeling for them, consider it a blessing.
My first exposure to My Bloody Valentine was after hearing Feed me with your Kiss on college radio. I've never heard anything like it, sure there were some J&M Chain allusions but MBV were much more dissonant and much harder to grasp firmly. With Jesus & Mary Chain the hooks were already there- good old fashioned surf music or Phil Spector-inspired catchy hooks. There were none of these in MBV. You could go searching for them and maybe in time find them buried beneath the dense aural wall of sound production but they weren't really 'hooks' per sé. The 'hook' in an MBV song is like a light, silk gossamer tendril dangling out amidst the thick fog, visible but tantalizingly out of reach or too slippery/fleeting to get a firm grasp of. It's funny to listen to their early jangly, poppy sounding EPs (Ecstasy & Wine) because that sounds like an entirely different band compared to the more mature work from 1988-1991. I was in university at the time and had numerous friends & co-workers who absolutely hated MBV. They just never really 'got it' in the sense that difficult music takes time to immerse yourself into it. If you're patient, you will be rewarded and I certainly was. I owned Isn't Anything on cassette and it saw heavy use in my walkman wherever I went. I gobbled up anything I could find of theirs including the flexidisc for "Sugar" from Rockpool magazine, while awaiting the release of Loveless.
Loveless didn't disappoint. I won't wax poetic about it here (there's plenty of that around) but I'll mention something that often gets overlooked in their sound; beautiful harmonized vocals. The vocal interplay between Kevin & Belinda was majestic at times. Not only soothing but often the brightest part of the melody embedded in the song. You can't listen to "what you want" without noticing this but too often people just stopped at the layered guitars. Bilinda's vocals often floated higher and higher (Don't ask Why) over Kevin's understated tone.
The latest album mbv, has been slighted by many critics & listeners but I have to say it's as good as either of the previous albums when listened on its own terms. The first 3 songs reference the first 2 albums (Isn't Anything in particular) in structure. The middle 3 showcase Bilinda's wonderful vocal melodies. There is an incredible song (In another Way) that starts out brutally but finds harmony in an almost bagpipe-wailing guitar layer that works its magic a third thru the song til the end.
I love this band, perhaps it's my affinity for ASMR videos and self-diagnosed synaesthesia that makes me find comfort and shape to their sound. If you are lucky enough to share the same feeling for them, consider it a blessing.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
I've been listening and watching a lot of classic Björk and the Sugarcubes lately.
I first heard Björk's voice while working in a CD store in the late 1980s. My first reaction was "who the fuck is that screaming like a banshee?" Pretty much the same reaction as everyone in the store. I was a fan of the Boston scene back then (Throwing Muses, the Pixies, Mission of Burma etc) and considered those bands college radio, alternative but poppy sounding and not indie. The Sugarcubes were pop music on an entirely different level. Kristin & Tanya of Throwing Muses masked their lack of conventional singing voices with a quirky sense of melody and harmonizing. Björk I could tell was a classically trained voice but also so much, much more. One of the clichés you hear from musicians is the concept of "music was flowing out of them." If you were to apply that Bjork, a more accurate description would be her voice was like a primordial force of nature escaping her mouth at maximum velocity. Simultaneously ferocious, yet tender. Brutally violent and ethereal. A shipload of familiar contradictions that still can't adequately sum up her sound.
"Birthday" began my complete fascination with her / their sound. A haunting, lilting melody with Bjork's voice & lyrics floating above it, building her own crescendos and valleys but never sounding out of place. She was obviously singing about love & sex - more obviously on other tracks from Life is good (Delicious demon, Motorcrash) but still evident here. Was birthday an inappropriate love song between a 5-yr old girl and a creepy old man? Maybe. There's a very rich literary tradition from the Romantic era built on pre-sexual desire and the girl-child as an object of obsession. If I had the space to get into it here, I would, complete with images of pixies & birds taking flight (Victorian symbols of sex). Suffice it to say the Sugarcubes dealt with sex in a very upfront way, perhaps confrontational or casual depending on the listener. That was another difference you didn't get with alternative american music at the time. Sure the Pixies & Muses sang about sex but it was often guilt-ridden lyrics filled with self-loathing and/or torture. The Sugarcubes were much too positive & happy to leave it like that.
Fast forward some 25 years and they still sound as refreshing and galvanizing as they did back then. Björk's voice still has the same visceral impact on my ears today. I'll readily admit I'm not as big a fan of her later solo work which continues to innovate and utilize technology in ways beyond pop music fare. Maybe it's because the later work doesn't quite have the impact of the holy trinity of Björk songs in my mind; Hyperballad, Isobel & Joga. In retrospect (and with the current retrospective at MoMa in mind, which I haven't seen yet) I can't help but wonder how lucky we all were to have heard her music and seen her perform in our lifetimes. No exhibit can adequately sum up her unique impact on music and visual art for my generation. That's a bold statement but for the benefit of millenials, what current artist even comes close? Will there be a MoMa exhibit to honor Beyonce in 25 years? I hope not but i guess time will tell. Until then , I have the memories and the songs & videos that are testament to the moment Björk's primal voice first enthralled a teenage kid in a CD store plus millions more.
Sugarcubes Live - "Birthday"
I first heard Björk's voice while working in a CD store in the late 1980s. My first reaction was "who the fuck is that screaming like a banshee?" Pretty much the same reaction as everyone in the store. I was a fan of the Boston scene back then (Throwing Muses, the Pixies, Mission of Burma etc) and considered those bands college radio, alternative but poppy sounding and not indie. The Sugarcubes were pop music on an entirely different level. Kristin & Tanya of Throwing Muses masked their lack of conventional singing voices with a quirky sense of melody and harmonizing. Björk I could tell was a classically trained voice but also so much, much more. One of the clichés you hear from musicians is the concept of "music was flowing out of them." If you were to apply that Bjork, a more accurate description would be her voice was like a primordial force of nature escaping her mouth at maximum velocity. Simultaneously ferocious, yet tender. Brutally violent and ethereal. A shipload of familiar contradictions that still can't adequately sum up her sound.
"Birthday" began my complete fascination with her / their sound. A haunting, lilting melody with Bjork's voice & lyrics floating above it, building her own crescendos and valleys but never sounding out of place. She was obviously singing about love & sex - more obviously on other tracks from Life is good (Delicious demon, Motorcrash) but still evident here. Was birthday an inappropriate love song between a 5-yr old girl and a creepy old man? Maybe. There's a very rich literary tradition from the Romantic era built on pre-sexual desire and the girl-child as an object of obsession. If I had the space to get into it here, I would, complete with images of pixies & birds taking flight (Victorian symbols of sex). Suffice it to say the Sugarcubes dealt with sex in a very upfront way, perhaps confrontational or casual depending on the listener. That was another difference you didn't get with alternative american music at the time. Sure the Pixies & Muses sang about sex but it was often guilt-ridden lyrics filled with self-loathing and/or torture. The Sugarcubes were much too positive & happy to leave it like that.
Fast forward some 25 years and they still sound as refreshing and galvanizing as they did back then. Björk's voice still has the same visceral impact on my ears today. I'll readily admit I'm not as big a fan of her later solo work which continues to innovate and utilize technology in ways beyond pop music fare. Maybe it's because the later work doesn't quite have the impact of the holy trinity of Björk songs in my mind; Hyperballad, Isobel & Joga. In retrospect (and with the current retrospective at MoMa in mind, which I haven't seen yet) I can't help but wonder how lucky we all were to have heard her music and seen her perform in our lifetimes. No exhibit can adequately sum up her unique impact on music and visual art for my generation. That's a bold statement but for the benefit of millenials, what current artist even comes close? Will there be a MoMa exhibit to honor Beyonce in 25 years? I hope not but i guess time will tell. Until then , I have the memories and the songs & videos that are testament to the moment Björk's primal voice first enthralled a teenage kid in a CD store plus millions more.
Sugarcubes Live - "Birthday"
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