I used to be a stereotype
Half alive with half open eyes
With a one track mind
And a flawed design
Feeling like I was lost at sea
At only the age of 19
Floating around in alcohol and apathy
Taking in too much caffeine and nicotine
If we make it outta here alive
Just say you won't look back to see
Just who we left behind (there might not be a next time)
With all the ups and downs and turn arounds
To the breaking up to breaking down
Yeah we were the ones to say (there might not be a next time)
I used to be a stereotype
Someone you'd never recognize
With fingers so yellow
That they matched the yellow skies
And there was a few things I memorized
From all those blurry times
Like bottles clinking under blinking signs
And a few last words from long lost friends of mine
If we make it out of here alive
Just say you won't look back to see
Just who we left behind (there might not be a next time)
With all the ups and downs and turn arounds
To the breaking up to breaking down
Yeah we were the ones to say (there might not be a next time)
After all the fuck ups and fallouts
With all the ups and downs and turn arounds
Through all the breaking up to breaking down
Yeah we were the ones to say
There might not be a next time (might not be a next time)
Words to live by:
we're all doing just fine
---AND---
i might as well just sleep it off
wishful thinking's got my wires crossed
when i am desperate and alone
i know i know i know how low i go
so i'll drive and disappear
and maybe if i'm luck by this time next year
no one i know will know my name
it's either change or go or i'll explode today
i'll leave a note on my machine
unplug the phone and finish packing all my things
i found a photograph of me
its been such a slow decay
day to day i don't even recognize my own face
i had another breakdown
and i'm floating face down
i might as well just sleep it off
wishful thinking's got my wires crossed
when i am desperate and alone
i know i know i know how low i go
i'm going to sleep it off
this sinking feeling of always feeling lost
hasn't been that long
six years worth of always being wrong
i met an old friend out on the street
trade stories and out of date memories
and she has a photograph of me it's been such a slow decay day to day
did we seem much happier in those days
its been a slow decay
day to day i don't even recognize my face
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Multicultural Education
Of course Western thought and teachings is what dominates American schools. This is the Western hemisphere, we were founded on a Western philosophy, and we have been growing as a Western nation for centuries. But now we have a global community and borders are fading. Students have rapid access to ideas and materials that would have taken years to obtain in the past. So, should we teach non-Western ideas in schools?
My first response is yes, absolutely. By teaching students about different philosophies, governments, literature, and histories you create a more well-rounded person. The counter-argument is the basis for our entire educational system: What's the point? Why? Will students need to know about Genghis Kahn's conquest and unification of Asia? When will they ever use such information? This viewing lens is called "Essentialism", and is how we dictate what is and isn't taught in public schools. The problem with this is it creates unfinished machines, not an educated populace. In Essentialism, there is no need for art, music, dance, or physical education - and guess where those school programs have gone?
And now look at what we have in our schools: hours upon hours devoted to cramming English, Math, History (whose?), and Science into kids' often uncaring skulls. Schools are not about obtaining an education anymore, they have become institutions that promote the status quo. In the deformed spirit of Essentialism, which prunes down school work to just what students will need to survive in the real world, a huge piece of humanity is missing: the creative, the desire for self-directed learning, the growth of the inner self, the ability to understand the world in different ways and experience different points of view.
The other side of the coin is, where's the time? There is only so much learning that can occur, or that students will be able to sit through, in a day, week, month, and year. Also there is the whole state testing thing, but I'm going to leave that clusterfuck alone. The most tangible benefit of teaching a wide spectrum of ideas and cultures is the creation of an intrinsic motivation to learn. I feel that once students see the breadth of the world's knowledge consists not of the tripe mandated by government officials, they will desire to know about the world on their own terms. This is what Mr. Jefferson refers to when he desires an educated population, the only kind that can support a true democracy. Otherwise you have a nation of people who will simply believe whatever they are told, because that's how they've been taught their whole lives.
My first response is yes, absolutely. By teaching students about different philosophies, governments, literature, and histories you create a more well-rounded person. The counter-argument is the basis for our entire educational system: What's the point? Why? Will students need to know about Genghis Kahn's conquest and unification of Asia? When will they ever use such information? This viewing lens is called "Essentialism", and is how we dictate what is and isn't taught in public schools. The problem with this is it creates unfinished machines, not an educated populace. In Essentialism, there is no need for art, music, dance, or physical education - and guess where those school programs have gone?
And now look at what we have in our schools: hours upon hours devoted to cramming English, Math, History (whose?), and Science into kids' often uncaring skulls. Schools are not about obtaining an education anymore, they have become institutions that promote the status quo. In the deformed spirit of Essentialism, which prunes down school work to just what students will need to survive in the real world, a huge piece of humanity is missing: the creative, the desire for self-directed learning, the growth of the inner self, the ability to understand the world in different ways and experience different points of view.
The other side of the coin is, where's the time? There is only so much learning that can occur, or that students will be able to sit through, in a day, week, month, and year. Also there is the whole state testing thing, but I'm going to leave that clusterfuck alone. The most tangible benefit of teaching a wide spectrum of ideas and cultures is the creation of an intrinsic motivation to learn. I feel that once students see the breadth of the world's knowledge consists not of the tripe mandated by government officials, they will desire to know about the world on their own terms. This is what Mr. Jefferson refers to when he desires an educated population, the only kind that can support a true democracy. Otherwise you have a nation of people who will simply believe whatever they are told, because that's how they've been taught their whole lives.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Short Post
I was writing a much longer post, but stopped and saved it because I ran into a mental brick wall. So in brief:
Shark Week is starting at the end of July with the story of the "worst shark attack ever", which apparently occur ed when the U.S.S. Indianapolis sunk, leaving the survivors to the mercy of the sea. That scares the shit out of me. Imagine floating in the middle of the ocean, hundreds of miles from any coast, suspended miles above the ocean floor by an infinite amount of cold water and miles below the infinite blackness of cold space. Jesus, that sends chills down my spine.
I had back surgery, sort of. In the never-ending quest to stop my lower back/hip/leg from hurting, I've tried physical therapy, stretching, yoga, prescription anti-inflammatory medications, MRIs, X-rays, and now injections. It all started on New Years 2004/05, when Jeff accidentally broke my left leg. Being stubborn, I refused to use the campus handicap vans and still drove to campus, rode the bus, and hopped everywhere on crutches. Now I have all sorts of problems with my right leg - the MRI seems to have ruled out a slipped disk, so they're telling me it's a ligament problem. Anyway, they shot me full of steroids Thursday and so far I think I feel a little improvement. Luckily I'm in the middle of three straight night shifts at work, giving my back no time whatsoever to recover. Go me!
Hmm... got turned down by another high school - that makes four! I have to be hired by a school as a teacher before the Fall Quarter starts, as per my retarded-as-fuck university requirements (retardation stems from many, many different points; this requirement is in fact one of the least retarded things about the program). I've been called to interview by four high schools, so I don't think it's a problem with how I look on paper. I just may be giving really crap interviews, which seems unlikely since that's usually where I excel. But maybe I'm not saying the right things, or don't know how to say them. It's all very regimented. Every school asks me more or less the same questions off a printout that I'm sure comes standardized by the board of education. If I don't get hired as a teacher, chances are I'm going to stop wasting my time and money with the fucking UC system and drop out, work full time and save enough to get the fuck out of this shithole state.
In other news, I hate southern california. Peace love toast crunch!
Shark Week is starting at the end of July with the story of the "worst shark attack ever", which apparently occur ed when the U.S.S. Indianapolis sunk, leaving the survivors to the mercy of the sea. That scares the shit out of me. Imagine floating in the middle of the ocean, hundreds of miles from any coast, suspended miles above the ocean floor by an infinite amount of cold water and miles below the infinite blackness of cold space. Jesus, that sends chills down my spine.
I had back surgery, sort of. In the never-ending quest to stop my lower back/hip/leg from hurting, I've tried physical therapy, stretching, yoga, prescription anti-inflammatory medications, MRIs, X-rays, and now injections. It all started on New Years 2004/05, when Jeff accidentally broke my left leg. Being stubborn, I refused to use the campus handicap vans and still drove to campus, rode the bus, and hopped everywhere on crutches. Now I have all sorts of problems with my right leg - the MRI seems to have ruled out a slipped disk, so they're telling me it's a ligament problem. Anyway, they shot me full of steroids Thursday and so far I think I feel a little improvement. Luckily I'm in the middle of three straight night shifts at work, giving my back no time whatsoever to recover. Go me!
Hmm... got turned down by another high school - that makes four! I have to be hired by a school as a teacher before the Fall Quarter starts, as per my retarded-as-fuck university requirements (retardation stems from many, many different points; this requirement is in fact one of the least retarded things about the program). I've been called to interview by four high schools, so I don't think it's a problem with how I look on paper. I just may be giving really crap interviews, which seems unlikely since that's usually where I excel. But maybe I'm not saying the right things, or don't know how to say them. It's all very regimented. Every school asks me more or less the same questions off a printout that I'm sure comes standardized by the board of education. If I don't get hired as a teacher, chances are I'm going to stop wasting my time and money with the fucking UC system and drop out, work full time and save enough to get the fuck out of this shithole state.
In other news, I hate southern california. Peace love toast crunch!
Monday, June 25, 2007
Farting in the Desert
Man it is hot as a bastard round these parts. I start a month's worth of summer classes today. Judging from the current academic rigor of the FREAKING UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, THE PEOPLE IN CHARGE OF THE NATION'S NUCLEAR WEAPONRY, this should be even more of a joke than the regular term. I felt like I had enrolled at Auburn during the Spring quarter. How much lower can you get? Maybe if I just call in to each class from bed they'll give me an A for demonstrating my ability to both remember what day it is and accurately use a phone. Jeez. I had an interview this morning at a high school of 4,200 students - holy crap. Bit different from personal experience of a high school of about 350 students.
Not much else is going on - working a lot and staying inside during daytime. Freaking desert. I miss the East Coast. God, people here are such gigantic douchebags! Every single day I am confronted with some new way to be a douchebag that simply astounds me. Here's something awesome that happened yesterday: Tiffany was sitting on the porch watching a bunch of kids jumping into the pool. There were a few parents, including the star of this story: a 300-pound hambeast in an orange one-piece. She looked like an English lad and his talking insect friends were going to bust out of her any minute. Well someone must have been drunker than the entire Irish nation a few years back because she had a four-year-old kid. Like most Californians, the kid cannot swim, so he is bouncing around the shallow end with floaties on his arms. Because he isn't old enough to have absorbed fully the douchebag culture, the child wishes to play with his mother-creature, flapping his little arms and trying to grab ahold of mommy. Mommy/giant inflatable gorilla responds thusly: "WHY DO YOU KEEP HITTING ME?!?!" and then shoves her fat palm into the kids face, giving her four-year-old son a bloody nose. The dad/zookeeper takes the kid to the shower and washes him and off staunches his nose until the bleeding stops. And what does the mother/fairy-tale pumpkin coach do? Stays in the pool and stares at Tiffany, as if daring my girlfriend to call her out for bludgeoning her own child. I came out at this point, and the woman/overstuffed sofa is giving us the evil eye as hard as she can, but it came out like a potato winking at us.
That's the sort of mindset every single worthless sack of shit around here carries. Each person, no matter who they are, what they do, and how they look, believe themself to be the end-all be-all of human achievement. I'm sorry, that's not how that works. Life here is a fashion statement, and there is so little substance involved it makes me sick. It shows in every facet, from co-workers complaining because they have to work more than a five hour shift, to the complete lack of effort put forth by the university, to the total lack of pride in one's own work found in business owners (including the apartment management, which hasn't fixed out hot water in six months!). Here, actually doing something doesn't win you any respect. It's how well you act like you did something that gets you by. When I meet people from the East who have moved to California, I ask them how they like it. When they respond that they do like living here, I think to myself: Great! One less asshole to deal with when I move back. Where did this sense of privilege come from? Dear Californians: Fuck off.
On a positive note, check out Jim's awesome band Le Loup. They were just signed to a record label, Hardly Art, and are working out an East Coast tour. Congratulations Jim!
Not much else is going on - working a lot and staying inside during daytime. Freaking desert. I miss the East Coast. God, people here are such gigantic douchebags! Every single day I am confronted with some new way to be a douchebag that simply astounds me. Here's something awesome that happened yesterday: Tiffany was sitting on the porch watching a bunch of kids jumping into the pool. There were a few parents, including the star of this story: a 300-pound hambeast in an orange one-piece. She looked like an English lad and his talking insect friends were going to bust out of her any minute. Well someone must have been drunker than the entire Irish nation a few years back because she had a four-year-old kid. Like most Californians, the kid cannot swim, so he is bouncing around the shallow end with floaties on his arms. Because he isn't old enough to have absorbed fully the douchebag culture, the child wishes to play with his mother-creature, flapping his little arms and trying to grab ahold of mommy. Mommy/giant inflatable gorilla responds thusly: "WHY DO YOU KEEP HITTING ME?!?!" and then shoves her fat palm into the kids face, giving her four-year-old son a bloody nose. The dad/zookeeper takes the kid to the shower and washes him and off staunches his nose until the bleeding stops. And what does the mother/fairy-tale pumpkin coach do? Stays in the pool and stares at Tiffany, as if daring my girlfriend to call her out for bludgeoning her own child. I came out at this point, and the woman/overstuffed sofa is giving us the evil eye as hard as she can, but it came out like a potato winking at us.
That's the sort of mindset every single worthless sack of shit around here carries. Each person, no matter who they are, what they do, and how they look, believe themself to be the end-all be-all of human achievement. I'm sorry, that's not how that works. Life here is a fashion statement, and there is so little substance involved it makes me sick. It shows in every facet, from co-workers complaining because they have to work more than a five hour shift, to the complete lack of effort put forth by the university, to the total lack of pride in one's own work found in business owners (including the apartment management, which hasn't fixed out hot water in six months!). Here, actually doing something doesn't win you any respect. It's how well you act like you did something that gets you by. When I meet people from the East who have moved to California, I ask them how they like it. When they respond that they do like living here, I think to myself: Great! One less asshole to deal with when I move back. Where did this sense of privilege come from? Dear Californians: Fuck off.
On a positive note, check out Jim's awesome band Le Loup. They were just signed to a record label, Hardly Art, and are working out an East Coast tour. Congratulations Jim!
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Rules of the Road
1. Thou shalt not tailgate while driving 80 mph
This bugs the shit out of me. You're driving a 1500-pound block of steel filled with explosive liquid, and some people feel that they have superhuman reaction times and are able to stop on a dime. This occurs at least five times on the way to and from work. I know this is southern California and everything is at least 20 miles away, but holy crap, what the hell is wrong with you? The "thing" out here is to drive a jacked up, gigantic truck (despite nonexistent gas mileage and the highest prices in the contiguous United States) and on top of that you're going to run others off the road? And how is tailgating going to get you to your destination any faster? Just relax, keep at least a car length off my ass.
2. Thou shalt pay attention to the traffic light.
Huge truck + cell phone + cd player + dvd player = total lack of awareness. In this same vein, please try and understand how traffic signals work. If the cross street is turning right/left on a green arrow, and you're waiting to turn right at a red light, then for fuck's sake get on with it. Obviously the turning traffic is "blocking" the straight-ahead traffic, so you're in the clear to turn.
3. Thou shalt be aware of others.
If you're driving 60 mph on the freeway side-by-side with another slow car, you're blocking any and all traffic from bypassing you. Not everyone wishes to take in the lovely desert scenery. Try and understand that, no, you are not the only person with a car and in fact the world does not revolve around you, although many people are fat enough for it to. Same applies to sitting in the left lane and going slow. The signs/driving manual/driving test/law states SLOWER TRAFFIC KEEP RIGHT. This means you, minivans.
4. Red doth mean red.
This hasn't changed since 1917 and the installation of the first traffic light. A red light does not mean "one or two more cars may pass; three if you're in a hurry." That's what yellow lights are for. Red = stop. Not stopping at red = death by own arrogance.
5. When thou mergest on thy mighty interstate, geteth on with it in a timely fashion!
This is what totaled my car. When you're merging, then FUCKING MERGE! You do NOT slow down to get onto an interstate! You do NOT wait until the last possible second to do so! You do NOT try and get in front of as many cars as possible by riding the merging lane into oblivion and merging from the shoulder! I see this last one occur daily.
5a. One when lane hath been shut, enter the open lane ere the first doth end.
This ties into the last rule - when signs are posted MILES in advance, with flashing lights, flares, cones, and a guy waving a big flag at you, go ahead and get the fuck over! By waiting until the last possible second to move into the open lane, you are creating a bottleneck that has a much larger effect on traffic flow then you may think. Think about it like this: what moves quicker, sand pouring through a single spout (like an hourglass) or sand pouring through a dozen spouts (like a sifter used for panning riverbeds)? It's just common sense! The best example of this is in Georgia, where 316 West merges with I-85. The two-lane road becomes one, with signs posted literally two miles before the merge. Yet nobody feels the need to get into the continuing lane until the last possible second, backing up traffic for 45 minutes. I'll even coast down the continuing lane leaving four or five car lengths of open space in front of me, yet not a single person will move over. Traffic in this case is caused by the bottleneck; wouldn't you rather be speeding along with no delay? Then no bottleneck!
6. Witnessing other's misfortunes is not tolerated on the road.
Rubbernecking: retarded. Someone changing their tire on the side of the road does not merit slowing to 10 mph and staring like you've just seen the holy grail. Even worse, an accident (that has been cleared from the road): would you want someone staring at your wrecked car, bloody nose, and/or dead friend? Yeah, me either you voyeurs, so put your blinders on and get a move on!
This bugs the shit out of me. You're driving a 1500-pound block of steel filled with explosive liquid, and some people feel that they have superhuman reaction times and are able to stop on a dime. This occurs at least five times on the way to and from work. I know this is southern California and everything is at least 20 miles away, but holy crap, what the hell is wrong with you? The "thing" out here is to drive a jacked up, gigantic truck (despite nonexistent gas mileage and the highest prices in the contiguous United States) and on top of that you're going to run others off the road? And how is tailgating going to get you to your destination any faster? Just relax, keep at least a car length off my ass.
2. Thou shalt pay attention to the traffic light.
Huge truck + cell phone + cd player + dvd player = total lack of awareness. In this same vein, please try and understand how traffic signals work. If the cross street is turning right/left on a green arrow, and you're waiting to turn right at a red light, then for fuck's sake get on with it. Obviously the turning traffic is "blocking" the straight-ahead traffic, so you're in the clear to turn.
3. Thou shalt be aware of others.
If you're driving 60 mph on the freeway side-by-side with another slow car, you're blocking any and all traffic from bypassing you. Not everyone wishes to take in the lovely desert scenery. Try and understand that, no, you are not the only person with a car and in fact the world does not revolve around you, although many people are fat enough for it to. Same applies to sitting in the left lane and going slow. The signs/driving manual/driving test/law states SLOWER TRAFFIC KEEP RIGHT. This means you, minivans.
4. Red doth mean red.
This hasn't changed since 1917 and the installation of the first traffic light. A red light does not mean "one or two more cars may pass; three if you're in a hurry." That's what yellow lights are for. Red = stop. Not stopping at red = death by own arrogance.
5. When thou mergest on thy mighty interstate, geteth on with it in a timely fashion!
This is what totaled my car. When you're merging, then FUCKING MERGE! You do NOT slow down to get onto an interstate! You do NOT wait until the last possible second to do so! You do NOT try and get in front of as many cars as possible by riding the merging lane into oblivion and merging from the shoulder! I see this last one occur daily.
5a. One when lane hath been shut, enter the open lane ere the first doth end.
This ties into the last rule - when signs are posted MILES in advance, with flashing lights, flares, cones, and a guy waving a big flag at you, go ahead and get the fuck over! By waiting until the last possible second to move into the open lane, you are creating a bottleneck that has a much larger effect on traffic flow then you may think. Think about it like this: what moves quicker, sand pouring through a single spout (like an hourglass) or sand pouring through a dozen spouts (like a sifter used for panning riverbeds)? It's just common sense! The best example of this is in Georgia, where 316 West merges with I-85. The two-lane road becomes one, with signs posted literally two miles before the merge. Yet nobody feels the need to get into the continuing lane until the last possible second, backing up traffic for 45 minutes. I'll even coast down the continuing lane leaving four or five car lengths of open space in front of me, yet not a single person will move over. Traffic in this case is caused by the bottleneck; wouldn't you rather be speeding along with no delay? Then no bottleneck!
6. Witnessing other's misfortunes is not tolerated on the road.
Rubbernecking: retarded. Someone changing their tire on the side of the road does not merit slowing to 10 mph and staring like you've just seen the holy grail. Even worse, an accident (that has been cleared from the road): would you want someone staring at your wrecked car, bloody nose, and/or dead friend? Yeah, me either you voyeurs, so put your blinders on and get a move on!
Monday, June 11, 2007
Definition
A buddy and I were discussing the differences in our musical tastes, and we boiled the whole thing down to this: what's more important, lyrics or music? What they are saying or how they're saying it? For him it's the latter; jam bands fill out the majority of his top ten favorite bands. Myself, I prefer a story to go with the music. Lyrical content plays a large role in whether or not I like a band. For example, my friend would enjoy a band like Phish, a band that may be musically competent but lyrically are on the same level as Koko the Magic Gorilla. I do not enjoy a band like Phish because songs that last longer than six minutes bore the shit out of me, and I don't enjoy spending my time listening to some bearded dude twiddle around the twelfth fret for half an hour. So I've decided to share a few bands who I feel are particularly excellent at writing lyrically-based songs. I've also decided to share a few choice lyrics from bands at the other end of the spectrum, and I'm not talking about just jam bands! So let's get this adventure started!
Ted Leo & the Pharmacists
We make our days as they make us,
As I must, as Odysseus,
Make myself my own Telemachus.
"Bous Stephanos, Stephanoumenos Dedalus!"
And if it hasn't been a bust,
Then "land-ho, Ulysseus!"
And all of us like Dedalus:
Dead, dead all of us.
-"My Vein Ilin"
If you didn't catch all the references in these two verses, it's the literary equivalent of stopping a Mike Tyson uppercut with your groin. Often you see the sacrifice of musicianship for lyrical content: a band may write fantastic lyrics but the music is very simple and plain. Ted Leo is a guitar virtuoso and incorporates some serious punk and rock influences into his songs. He graduated Notre Dame with an English major, and can turn a phrase into a catchy lyric better than anyone else. He's also a very liberal, renegade songwriter and can write some very combative lyrics. Here's a quick example:
And when the crying starts, you won't have to see their bloodshot eyes turn red.
And when the dying starts, you won't have to know a thing about who's dead.
This is your mission - like television - where the good guys always win.
-"Bomb.Repeat.Bomb"
Combative lyrics are one thing, and they can be very impressive, but they really lack any impact without a strong voice behind them. If you've seen Eddie Izzard's "Dress to Kill" you know exactly how important the right voice is (...yeah, a small pony). Ted Leo can push a lot of passion through the microphone, but this often tempers the anger with pure emotion. A more directed, focused voice can be found in the throat of Zach de la Rocha, lead singer of
Rage Against the Machine
revolutionary rhetoric. But the combination of There doesn't need to be a lot of introduction here, as almost everyone is familiar with RATM'sde la Rocha's screaming/rapping and Tom Morello's heavy metal fiddling can overshadow the actual lyrics
The present curriculum, I put my fist in 'em
Eurocentric every last one of 'em
See right through the red white and blue disguise
With lecture I puncture the structure of lies
-"Take the Power Back"
That last line is just fun to say, the way your lips have to clip out each syllable. Of course the idea behind the lyric is valid as well: American history and social studies focus almost exclusively on Europe, ignoring African, Latin American, and Asian ideas. That's a whole other debate however. Let's switch gears and look at what sort of lyrical contribution Phish makes.
Phish
Welcome this is a farmhouse, we have cluster flies alas
And this time of year is bad, we are so very sorry
There is little we can do but swat them
-"Farmhouse"
This is just a fantastic example of the interplay between metaphor and alliteration. Notice how the writer conveys the crushing depression of enclosure, surrounded by the biting "flies", which are a clear reference to the structure of American government and wait, no it's not, it's something he wrote on the back of his hand while waiting for the mushrooms to take effect. I don't expect too much from these guys, but I'm not going to pay money and listen to cross-dressers tell me about their fucking insect problems because they're too stoned and forgot to close the door last night. Now, I know that no one goes to a Phish concert for the lyrics. They go because the music is funky and they can smoke metric tons of marijuana for hours. But you shouldn't have to sacrifice lyrical content for groovy riffs! Here, take some of this and call me in the morning:
Mos Def
Wear those pretty clothes, drive them pretty cars
You a super hero, you a super star
You a super man, go head fly yo cape
Blowin' in the wind, let them touch the hem
Stand and fight and win, snatch the crown again
Wit' yo mighty swing, and yo flashy smile
Let them see the light
You so black and bright
You so bright you black
Shinin' you cryin' to fight them back.
-"Blue Black Jack"
This is part of a six-and-a-half minute blues/rock song during which Mos Def works his way along an ex-Parliament Funkadelic guitarist's trippy version of an old blues standard. The song slowly loses form throughout, ending up in a loud howling, chant of "yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah" as the guitarist goes to town. Added bonus: the song is about Jack Johnson, the first black heavyweight boxing champion, who won the title in 1910 after going fifteen rounds with the previously undefeated, white champion. Race riots followed. But now we can delve into the world of hip-hop without mentioning
Talib Kweli
People thinkin MC is short hand for Mis Conception
Let me meditate, set it straight, came to the conclusion
that most of these cats is featherweight, let me demonstrate
Walkin the streets is like battlin, be careful with your body
You must know karate or think your soul is bulletproof like Sade
Stop actin like a bitch already, be a visionary
And maybe you can see your name in the column of obituary
-"Definition"
Talib Kweli and Mos Def both spring forth from a place where rap isn't about ho's and ho-related things like benjamins and yachts. They actually have something to say in their songs and express it creatively in a way that most cannot hold a candle to. Lastly, let's look at two more artists, one who sucks at writing lyrics and the other who doesn't.
Jason Mraz
I’m just a curbside prophet
with my hand in my pocket
and I’m waiting for my rocket y'all
-"Curbside Prophet"
Jesus Christ shut the fuck up.
Bruce Springsteen
Now Tom said, 'Mom, wherever there's a cop beatin' a guy
Wherever a hungry newborn baby cries
Where there's a fight against the blood and hatred in the air
Look for me Ma, I'll be there.
Wherever there's somebody fightin' for a place to stand
Or a decent job or a helpin' hand
Wherever somebody's strugglin' to be free
Look in their eyes Mom - you'll see me'
-"The Ghost of Tom Joad"
I mean, come on, it's no contest.
Now don't think I don't enjoy lyrical nonsense. I mean, I have a song about a guy throwing an awesome pool party in my regular rotation. Anyway, I've been doing this for an hour and a half now so I'm leaving for dinner. Welcome back to me!
Ted Leo & the Pharmacists
We make our days as they make us,
As I must, as Odysseus,
Make myself my own Telemachus.
"Bous Stephanos, Stephanoumenos Dedalus!"
And if it hasn't been a bust,
Then "land-ho, Ulysseus!"
And all of us like Dedalus:
Dead, dead all of us.
-"My Vein Ilin"
If you didn't catch all the references in these two verses, it's the literary equivalent of stopping a Mike Tyson uppercut with your groin. Often you see the sacrifice of musicianship for lyrical content: a band may write fantastic lyrics but the music is very simple and plain. Ted Leo is a guitar virtuoso and incorporates some serious punk and rock influences into his songs. He graduated Notre Dame with an English major, and can turn a phrase into a catchy lyric better than anyone else. He's also a very liberal, renegade songwriter and can write some very combative lyrics. Here's a quick example:
And when the crying starts, you won't have to see their bloodshot eyes turn red.
And when the dying starts, you won't have to know a thing about who's dead.
This is your mission - like television - where the good guys always win.
-"Bomb.Repeat.Bomb"
Combative lyrics are one thing, and they can be very impressive, but they really lack any impact without a strong voice behind them. If you've seen Eddie Izzard's "Dress to Kill" you know exactly how important the right voice is (...yeah, a small pony). Ted Leo can push a lot of passion through the microphone, but this often tempers the anger with pure emotion. A more directed, focused voice can be found in the throat of Zach de la Rocha, lead singer of
Rage Against the Machine
revolutionary rhetoric. But the combination of There doesn't need to be a lot of introduction here, as almost everyone is familiar with RATM'sde la Rocha's screaming/rapping and Tom Morello's heavy metal fiddling can overshadow the actual lyrics
The present curriculum, I put my fist in 'em
Eurocentric every last one of 'em
See right through the red white and blue disguise
With lecture I puncture the structure of lies
-"Take the Power Back"
That last line is just fun to say, the way your lips have to clip out each syllable. Of course the idea behind the lyric is valid as well: American history and social studies focus almost exclusively on Europe, ignoring African, Latin American, and Asian ideas. That's a whole other debate however. Let's switch gears and look at what sort of lyrical contribution Phish makes.
Phish
Welcome this is a farmhouse, we have cluster flies alas
And this time of year is bad, we are so very sorry
There is little we can do but swat them
-"Farmhouse"
This is just a fantastic example of the interplay between metaphor and alliteration. Notice how the writer conveys the crushing depression of enclosure, surrounded by the biting "flies", which are a clear reference to the structure of American government and wait, no it's not, it's something he wrote on the back of his hand while waiting for the mushrooms to take effect. I don't expect too much from these guys, but I'm not going to pay money and listen to cross-dressers tell me about their fucking insect problems because they're too stoned and forgot to close the door last night. Now, I know that no one goes to a Phish concert for the lyrics. They go because the music is funky and they can smoke metric tons of marijuana for hours. But you shouldn't have to sacrifice lyrical content for groovy riffs! Here, take some of this and call me in the morning:
Mos Def
Wear those pretty clothes, drive them pretty cars
You a super hero, you a super star
You a super man, go head fly yo cape
Blowin' in the wind, let them touch the hem
Stand and fight and win, snatch the crown again
Wit' yo mighty swing, and yo flashy smile
Let them see the light
You so black and bright
You so bright you black
Shinin' you cryin' to fight them back.
-"Blue Black Jack"
This is part of a six-and-a-half minute blues/rock song during which Mos Def works his way along an ex-Parliament Funkadelic guitarist's trippy version of an old blues standard. The song slowly loses form throughout, ending up in a loud howling, chant of "yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah" as the guitarist goes to town. Added bonus: the song is about Jack Johnson, the first black heavyweight boxing champion, who won the title in 1910 after going fifteen rounds with the previously undefeated, white champion. Race riots followed. But now we can delve into the world of hip-hop without mentioning
Talib Kweli
People thinkin MC is short hand for Mis Conception
Let me meditate, set it straight, came to the conclusion
that most of these cats is featherweight, let me demonstrate
Walkin the streets is like battlin, be careful with your body
You must know karate or think your soul is bulletproof like Sade
Stop actin like a bitch already, be a visionary
And maybe you can see your name in the column of obituary
-"Definition"
Talib Kweli and Mos Def both spring forth from a place where rap isn't about ho's and ho-related things like benjamins and yachts. They actually have something to say in their songs and express it creatively in a way that most cannot hold a candle to. Lastly, let's look at two more artists, one who sucks at writing lyrics and the other who doesn't.
Jason Mraz
I’m just a curbside prophet
with my hand in my pocket
and I’m waiting for my rocket y'all
-"Curbside Prophet"
Jesus Christ shut the fuck up.
Bruce Springsteen
Now Tom said, 'Mom, wherever there's a cop beatin' a guy
Wherever a hungry newborn baby cries
Where there's a fight against the blood and hatred in the air
Look for me Ma, I'll be there.
Wherever there's somebody fightin' for a place to stand
Or a decent job or a helpin' hand
Wherever somebody's strugglin' to be free
Look in their eyes Mom - you'll see me'
-"The Ghost of Tom Joad"
I mean, come on, it's no contest.
Now don't think I don't enjoy lyrical nonsense. I mean, I have a song about a guy throwing an awesome pool party in my regular rotation. Anyway, I've been doing this for an hour and a half now so I'm leaving for dinner. Welcome back to me!
Monday, May 21, 2007
Sorry
It's been a pretty intense last few weeks, hence the lack of awesome writing for your face. I've had two interviews with schools, a full week of training in addition to an MRI, five days of teaching class in the morning, an appointment to determine where I'll receive an epidural, and something else I'm sure I'm forgetting. So, briefly:
Finally got a job. Sports bar 30 miles south of my apartment. Good money though, $7.50/hour plus tips. Take that, Georgia and your low cost of living. Made $100 in three hours, bank.
There's a stupid, wannabe punk-poser half-assed revolutionary bitch in my biology class. She's an 11th grader (by default, not academically) taking a 9th grade class. She's Hispanic. And she draws swastikas on everything. Of course she has a crappy jacket that she safety-pins different patches on advertising punk bands that haven't played together since before she was born. Swastikas on her notes, on her stupid jacket... I'm wondering when I get to say something to her. I doubt it's racially or religiously motivated, I don't think she's smart enough to hate effectively. Most likely someone "underground" from Spin magazine or MTV told her to do it.
I'm about to kill everyone in the education department/school district. How did all these stupid people come into being? I think they spawn from that faceless beast known as Bureaucracy, or as some ancient texts refer to it, The Uglyness of Man.
Speaking of half-assed revolutions, if my riot were going to have a soundtrack, it would have to be Rage Against the Machine. There is no other option. Witness Exhibits A- :
Sleep Now in the Fire music video
Testify music video
And lastly, ask yourself this - what exactly are the benchmarks everyone keeps bitching about?
http://www.afterdowningstreet.org/node/22389
Read the five benchmarks. These are Fearless Leader's own benchmarks, but he will not approve them if Congress passes the bill. First, the benchmarks are pretty sick - giving foreign corporations first call on Iraqi oil contracts, for starters. Anyway I gotta run and pretend like a give a shit about this class. It's costing me thousands of dollars, I might as well.
Finally got a job. Sports bar 30 miles south of my apartment. Good money though, $7.50/hour plus tips. Take that, Georgia and your low cost of living. Made $100 in three hours, bank.
There's a stupid, wannabe punk-poser half-assed revolutionary bitch in my biology class. She's an 11th grader (by default, not academically) taking a 9th grade class. She's Hispanic. And she draws swastikas on everything. Of course she has a crappy jacket that she safety-pins different patches on advertising punk bands that haven't played together since before she was born. Swastikas on her notes, on her stupid jacket... I'm wondering when I get to say something to her. I doubt it's racially or religiously motivated, I don't think she's smart enough to hate effectively. Most likely someone "underground" from Spin magazine or MTV told her to do it.
I'm about to kill everyone in the education department/school district. How did all these stupid people come into being? I think they spawn from that faceless beast known as Bureaucracy, or as some ancient texts refer to it, The Uglyness of Man.
Speaking of half-assed revolutions, if my riot were going to have a soundtrack, it would have to be Rage Against the Machine. There is no other option. Witness Exhibits A- :
Sleep Now in the Fire music video
Testify music video
And lastly, ask yourself this - what exactly are the benchmarks everyone keeps bitching about?
http://www.afterdowningstreet.org/node/22389
Read the five benchmarks. These are Fearless Leader's own benchmarks, but he will not approve them if Congress passes the bill. First, the benchmarks are pretty sick - giving foreign corporations first call on Iraqi oil contracts, for starters. Anyway I gotta run and pretend like a give a shit about this class. It's costing me thousands of dollars, I might as well.
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