Geeked

Tiger is coming!

I never thought I'd see the day that the release of a new operating system would have me all excited and anticipatory and everything. But that day's come. The new Mac OS is on the way and I'm actually really looking forward to it. It'll change a lot, and I'm planning to complement it with a new external hard drive and a boost in RAM. This'll be just like a brand new machine. And even though it's a lowly G3 iBook, it still purrs like a kitten and does everything I ask it to. Though I need more space for music. Hence the new hard drive.

Anyway.

Dork.

Moving to Radio

I've been working quite a bit, ever since I got back from traveling in December, as a volunteer for the Boise Community Radio Project. I heard about it last year but didn't do anything about it until I got an e-mail forwarded to me by David Varner about a volunteer meeting. I showed up, and months later, I seem to have found myself another Diverse Arts.

Speaking of whom: They had a fire. DiverseArts is a non-profit arts organization in Austin where I worked for about 7 or 8 years. I worked mainly on their magazine, as writer and editor and Managing Editor and in any other capacity I could or would. I helped with Jazz Fest a little, with smaller shows a bit, and generally did whatever I could for Harold, the founder. Harold's got vision, and like many people with vision who try to turn that vision into a functioning reality, he's had a hard time of it. Things go well, things go not so well, and the tide of money available to arts organizations involved in the finer but less lucrative forms becomes ever harder to stick your feet into. But he persevered, put on good shows, did his thing his way and earned the respect of any who knew or worked with him. He's passionate, and I learned a lot from the years I spent working for him.

The office building where they kept their office and gallery space, up on Guadalupe around 17th St., burned in late January, and they sustained quite a bit of damage--they and many of the other artists and art groups who kept space there. I don't know any details beyond that, but I hope to get together with Harold when I get to Austin next weekend.

So, BCRP. Today Jeff Abrams, the guy running the show, offered me the position of Music Director. Pretty exciting, though I don't really know what that means. But I got to admit, I like the sound of it. This could be the thing I've been looking to get involved in, to sink my teeth into and live for music again, in a way that I never have but have always wanted to. I always wanted to be a DJ (who doesn't?), and for some reason I never pursued it beyond DJing in a rock club on off weekend nights in college. That was fun, but the radio is where I wanted to be.

Things have changed a lot for the medium, but I think it's more an exciting time and season to thrive than it is any sort of death knell for radio. Radio and the internet work together beautifully, and with a solid plan we could be viable and alive and an important component in improving the cultural life of this city.

I haven't officially accepted the offer yet, pending a conversation about what all I'd be doing in that spot, but I have a feeling I've already decided. Time to get into it. Time to make it happen and start an entire new phase of life.

5 Mile Creek

Today I took the mutts on a hike up 5 Mile Creek, as I do many weekends. It's a great hike in a little used section of the foothills here, and more days than not I don't see anyone else the whole time I'm out there. Today, with storm clouds rolling over the hilltops and the look of rain in the air, would be no different.

I set out with some fairly firm time limits, but I didn't have to pay attention to them, really. I ended up taking the trail farther than I ever had before, and I ended up all the way up on Boise Ridge Road, right at the junction with trail 4, Hull's Ridge Trail. A spot I'd never been to. It was fantastic having walked all the way there.

I made it to the top in just over an hour and a half, and after a short food rest break, was down in a little over an hour. Granted, I was moving at a good clip, but it's good to know a hike like that is possible without a huge time commitment.

Up at the top of the ridge, sheltered in the pine trees and looking over the other side into the Boise Mountains and on toward the Sawtooths, it's a whole different world than the lower foothills. And it's trips up to that area, like today, that I need to remind me of the fairly endless possibilities for hiking right out my back door.

M83 Sucks?

Times like this I wish someone actually read this blog.

I'm slogging my way through the new M83 album, Before the Dawn Heals Us, for the 3rd of 4th time, and I just don't get it. I was really excited to buy this thing, having read a bunch about them and heard a few tracks on internet radio. Hell, even Pitchfork liked it. (Shows what they know.) But this isn't what I signed up for--at least not that I remember.

This, simply put, is a French rock band. Read: sucky. It's all grandiose drum and guitar flourishes, pseudo-operatic keyboard tones and vocal constructs, just too gigantic-posturing musical movements full of nothing but glittery noise and fields full of fairies.

Funny thing is, when I heard some songs off it, they ALWAYS caught my attention and made me want to rush out and buy this. And now that I have it I'm nothing but disappointed.

Anyone? A little help?

I'll keep trying with this one, but hope is diminishing.

Earth Day Is Not Just for Hippies

Dirt-worn fields full of patchouli-stinkin kids kicking bean bags in the air.

Ratty dreads on white people, bad songs that last way too long.

Self-righteous lip service from SUV-driving new-bohemian-wannabes (bobos?).

Earth Day is a good thing. Unfortunately, this is what most people think of when they think of Earth Day. Instead of thinking of it as some sort of lifestyle-confirming all-day jam-band festival, think of Earth Day as a chance to examine your life and your daily actions and routines and consider in a fresh light how your moving through this life impacts your planet. And before you get all new-agey on me: Your planet is your house, your yard, your neighborhood, the streets you travel to get to work and back, the trails you run or ride or walk, the landfill where all your trash goes--all the physical spaces your living impacts.

Of course, everyone impacts everything. We're all connected to everyone and everything else. And that's the truth. But as this concept is so big that it is meaningless to many people, the best approach is to look closely at your own life and change what you can. Recycle that cardboard instead of smashing it in the trash bin. Ride your bike to the store instead of driving. Take walks in your neighborhood instead of driving to the greenbelt. Shop locally instead of driving to big box land. Water your lawn deeply once a week instead of 3 or 4 times a week. Mow that lawn early or late instead of in the heat of the day. Buy food and other products with less packaging. Buy organic. And on and on.

It's the little changes, piled on top of each other, that can make a true difference, because these are the things that can become a permanent part of your life.

You don't have to be a hippie to be responsible for your world. Just be smart.

TV on the Radio

Every so often, I come across music that seizes my attention and gets inside me for reasons I don't quite understand. The frequency with which this occurs depends almost entirely on how engaged I am with seeking out new music--as opposed to cruising through back catalogs and revisiting the old stuff. Or just being a lazy ass and not paying attention. Right now, I'm in full-on seeker mode, and I've returned to TV on the Radio to find out what it is about these guys that grabs me so hard.

I've sort of come at this band from the backdoor, so to speak. My attention was first caught with New Health Rock, off their latest EP. I'd hear it on KEXP, turned fairly low on not so horrible computer speakers at work, and would shut my door and turn it up as loud as I could get away with. The beat haunted me, seeking out my fingertips and toes and tapping itself out at any still moment, and the vocals were freaky streaming hip-hop prose like I'd never heard it.

I sought out other tunes, but for whatever reason I didn't dig deeper than just a quick listen.

Finally, last night, I bought Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes, their first full-length record, off iTunes. For the first few minutes I thought "What have I done?" It was a lot like the feeling I had after buying the new M83 album (more on that another time). But, the more I listen, especially this morning in headphones while doing some mechanical work, I realize that this stuff is fantastic.

There's something weirdly mesmerizing about the vocals of Tunde Adebimpe, not to mention that effect jumping to another level entirely when both he and Kyp Malone harmonize, low and droll mixed with a falsetto that makes Beck look even more foolish doing it than he did on his own. This is real singing, not tongue-in-cheek-mockery for the sake of a slow jam, and every tune is so tight, so uniquely itself, that I just sit and listen, mouth agape, a slow grin forming.

Poppy rocks, and Wear You Out is an amazing tune, a meditation in the moment of an impending sexing-up of some anonymous lady. Staring at the Sun is really the only song I'd heard before on this record--it doesn't really lend itself to singledom--and it stacks up nicely to the rest. I'm still digesting this record, but I wanted to get some words out to try and capture the wonder and bafflement and joy I'm experiencing in trying to figure it out. (That's a big benefit blogs have over published criticism--you can flesh it out in print.)

Further, after work today, after a meeting tonight, I came home and bought the Young Liars EP, which caused such a shitstorm of attention when it came out. Now, at this moment, I sit here listening to this for the first time, and I am impressed. It's like the other one but, maybe, better. So far at least. The title track is pulsing through my headphones right now, part of a continuum of somehow soulfully mechanical music, any organic parts repeated and buried as to be a part of the larger tonal shift that is the melody. And the vocals--that's the thing, the music is so droning, so consistent and simple and gorgeous and monotonous, because the focus is the vocals.

This record's vocals are all Adebimpe, layers of his voice piled on top of each other, to amazing effect. Especially now--his treatment of the Pixies' Mr. Grieves is just knocking me out. Snapping fingers behind 3-part harmonies with a couple lead lines over that. Just brilliant. Amazing.

Mostly, there's nothing in my mind to compare this to. I'm ill-prepared for what this is doing to my brain. Which is a good thing. In this my year of rediscovering music, it's very appropriate to be thrown for a loop like this.

Also, if you're interested, check out the band's blog. There's some crazy shit going on in these brains.

Spring Weekends

I'm dwelling on spring. Changes in temperature, lengthening days, dry trails, and everything blooming have me all swept up in the change of seasons. Every year since moving back northward from TX I spend a lot of time thinking and talking and writing about how much I missed a true change of seasons over the decade I spent in Austin, and here I am doing it again.

I love spring!

Took a long, crazy, stupid mountain bike ride with Will on Saturday, up and over Lucky Peak from the Council Springs access. It was a huge ride, clearing about a 3000+ foot gain over the course of about 6.5 miles. That's more drastic than the climb to Columbine Mine on the Leadville course. It hurt, badly, and I had to stop once because the dirt road tilted up a bit too roughly for me. Even rockin the new 24T granny I just ran out of push to get the pedal over the top.

It took a couple hours of steady trudging (counting a 4-mile slog on the greenbelt against a STIFF headwind just to get to the trailhead), but after some big pain and some mild cursing, we topped out. I tagged the antenna on top of the peak (TAG motherfucker!) before we headed back down the other side.

From there we descended trails 9 and E, connecting to the West Highland Summit trail, which I hadn't been on since riding it my first summer here with Bob and Leslie. Great, hard ride that knackered both of us. Good to be killing myself on the IF again.

The rest of the weekend was split between lounging and yard work. In those ratios I actually enjoy the labor (with a good fuel-base of my own Texas Two Step to keep me going all day, of course). The yard's looking good, the bikes are running smooth, the house is in order (except for that goddam bathroom fan).

So. Nothing to report, but sometimes just acknowledging that things are fine just fine is enough. Yes?

Stars Descending, Stars Staying Strong

Last night at the Big Easy here in Boise, ID, a double bill right out of my Texas past offered too much to miss. The Reverend Horton Heat headlined, with the opening slot filled by none other than the Supersuckers. 10 years ago, these bands were right near the top of my list of rock shows that make a weekend great. I've seen each of them at least a dozen times in my life, likely more than that, and they constitute a big part of a memorable and important step in my own development as a music freak.

(Note: Portland act I Can Lick Any Son of a Bitch in the House opened the evening, but as I could give a flying fuck about them, I missed them. I've seen them a few times here in Boise, and while the first experience was enjoyable enough, the novelty wore off quickly, and the music came into focus as the boring and uninspired batch of basic cowshitpunk that it is.)

So, with all that history aboard, I made my way to this show--ticket price a mere $7.50, due to advance purchase by a friend--wondering if I'd be horribly let down or re-connected to a big part of my past. In a way, neither of these things happened, but it was revelatory in other ways.

The Supersuckers started slow, haltingly almost. It was loud, and they were into it--sort of--but there was something missing. They all looked a little fatter and slower than in years past, but aren't we all? That wasn't it. Different drummer, but he proved more than capable as the night wore on. And that's the thing--the night wore on, the beers went down, and the band rose to the occasion. Eddie Spaghetti rallied the crowd with all the charm and charisma I've ever seen out of him. I was reminded how, the first time I saw them, at Emo's around 94 or so, I thought he had to be THE coolest motherfucker ever to strap on a bass guitar. Last night, he was that guy again. The Supersuckers keep tongue in cheek without turning to parody and without losing the edge in their music. A few new tunes seemed not quite up to snuff, but it's difficult to say whether that's because they took time to warm up or because the songs just aren't very good. Likely it's a little of both. But whatever--by the time they stormed through Creepy Jackalope Eye at the end of the set, and then especially during encore Born With a Tail, I was convinced. These guys SHOULD still be doing this thing. They are still, in many ways, the greatest rock band in the world.

The RevHo, however, was a different story. He's a showman to be sure. He's gone through some less-than-impressive attempts at change in his music and his live show, but what it comes down to is showmanship in the shtickiest sense. It's all routine by now, and it's been wearing thin for a while. Every song sounded as familiar as if it were stuck in my carousel shuffle for years, and this applied even to songs I knew were new. Martini Time grated as ever, and when he got to the lengthy introduction of band members, which now includes The Jimbo Song complete with audience participation, I knew it was time to go. The Rev is stuck in a velvet rut--he packs houses with his shtick, but the crowds are not the same as they used to be. The people there were not so demanding as I. The new was not important. The people wanted the same show they saw last time. And they got it.