a coherent collection of random statements regarding God, words and tunes

Black and White of a Different Color

     No specific album featured today (although I linger on one in particular toward the end). Just a couple artists I've re-discovering -- or probably more to the point, discovering in a brand-new way -- that are worth passing on. Besides building careers on envelope-pushing, there's not that much they have in common, but if you want to broaden yr musical horizons you could do far worse than to start with these two guys. Let's start with the happier one first:

Adrian Belew.

     You've probably heard him even if you don't know it. Even if you've missed his work with the latter-day King Crimson, the boy OWNED both David Bowie's Lodger and Talking Heads' Remain in Light, as well as made his presence known on Frank Zappa's "hit" album Sheik Yerbouti. Add to that his own angular-to-downright Beatle-esque solo work and with The Bears (i.e., his other, more homegrown pop band), and you've got quite the body of work to dig into. At turns poppy, hairy, catchy and funny -- all of which is VERY contingent upon which piece of the body of work you pursue.

     As is with his spiritual perspective, which seems equally at home with the Eastern esotericism of  Crimson's Robert Fripp, the lyrical positivism of his solo albums (especially in his '90s material) that you could picture Joyce Meyer slapping on her headset and digging on him (come AWN, now!), to his considerable production credits that include a whole claque of disparate Christian artists ranging from the decidedly mainstream and blllphh-hy Jars of Clay & DC Talk to the truly spiffy and totally unnoticed Rick Altizer (to whom he also devotes a healthy amount of guitar work as well).

     And let's be honest: It's damn near impossible to NOT like a guy who can come up with a couplet like: "I'm a lone rhinoceros/There's ain't one hell of a lots of us...." (Come to think of it, he's really into the animal analogies -- witness also two of his better Crimson songs, "Elephant Talk" and "Dinosaur.")

  Anyway, my first real experience with Belew as front man (and last for quite some time, for that matter) came with Crimson's Discipline album -- a dizzying, near-perfect transportational device. (And for those unfamiliar with the Simmons Scale of Album Ratings, "transportational" = an album that picks you up, then drops you off somewhere completely different by the time it's over -- rates just below "life-changing." ) Went to see Crimson on a whim at the Asbury Park (N.J.) Boardwalk and was blown away -- one of only of a handful of times where a live performance exceeded my expectations. (For that matter, Bill Bruford's percussion solo was the most impressive thing I've seen by a drummer ever, by a LONG shot.)

     The next couple Crimson albums, Beat and Three of a Perfect Pair, were (and are) good but nowhere near the level of Discipline, and so it was on to other things.... But as of late, I've discovered a bunch of Belew's solo stuff and (so far) the first of the "double-triad" (i.e., two guitars, two drums, two bass) Crimson albums, Thrak. Not quite Discipline but a nice return to form. Haven't gotten to Side One/Side Two/Side Three (his recent sets of solo releases) yet, but I shan't be long.

 Anyway, to keep this simple: If you like the heavier stuff, find his Crimson albums, especially Discipline. If you like the angular stuff that marked his Bowie/Heads work, with a healthy yet twisted sense of humor to boot, track down Lone Rhino or Twang Bar King (his first two solo albums), or one of the Bears albums. If you like your stuff more personal and/or earnest and/or the want to hear the most unabashed Beatle ripoffs this side of Phil Keaggy (let alone Badfinger), Inner Revolution and Here would be your tickets. (The Acoustic Adrian Belew, if you can find it, is a really nice sampler as well, bearing in mind there's not a Frippertronic to be seen anywhere.) Just track SOMEthing down, and thank me in the morning.

Peter Hammill

     First, the caveat: Not only have I not gotten to his 21st-Century work yet, but I have yet to get to any of his work with Van der Graaf Generator. That said, there's 25-plus years of work in between that I HAVE been able to immerse myself in as of late.

     For the uninitiated -- which is near anyone who reads this -- the best parallel I can suggest is Peter Gabriel right down to both Genesis and VdGG/Hammill being on The Famous Charisma Label early in their careers (remember the Mad Hatter dude on the label?). (Or perhaps better yet, his weird and shriekier little sister Kate Bush, who after all was Tori Amos 15 years earlier and knows a heck of a lot more about artistic longevity than The Oversexed One, who nosedove right after the wonderful Under the Pink). Anyway, there ARE huge differences.

     While Gabriel trumpeted the virtues of DIY, Hammill embodied them. As Gabriel embraced the spiritual in whatever form it arrived in, Hammill dissected the iconoclastic heck out of it. And as Gabriel created increasing popular world music, Hammill dove deeper into his inner world and still managed to locate yet more guts to shred apart there, commercialism be damned along with everything else. This is kickin'-it-old-school Gothic -- it's no coincidence that one of his side projects of the '90s was an opera based on Poe's "Fall of the House of Usher" (performed by his daughters, no less).

     Now mind you, The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway and Peter Gabriel (3/"Biko") trumps anything in Hammill's deck. Nonetheless, you've got to admire the guy's sustained relentlessness. The guy has pretty much embodied the phrase "tortured artist," but refuses to give up digging OR hoping. And let's face it, how many prog-rock artists are cited as an influence by Johnny Rotten???? (Note to self: Track down Nadir's Last Chance ASAP, to find out what the good Mr. Lydon actually DOES like.)

 Working backward (with good cause): His '90s stuff, by and large, isn't nearly as compelling, with one notable exception: Sonix: Hybrid Experiments, 1994-1996. This one is ambient music at its most aggressive. While it makes great background music, it pretty much DARES you to leave it in the background. If that sounds even remotely interesting to you, you owe to yourself to find it.

     His early/mid '80s stuff is about as close to the mainstream as he ever got, and if the Gabriel analogy works for you this is the era where it works best. Track down the eery, last-train-out-of-Progsville A Black Box or the direct, pointed, just-this-side-of-commercial Sitting Targets ("Stranger Still," a 1st-person account of middle-class alienation, is worth the price of admission by itself).

     Back to the '70s. Starting where I once did 25 years ago, The Future Now is Hammill at his most lighthearted and stripped-down. Not always easy listening, by any stretch, but unlike a lot of his other stuff is able to poke some fun in the process. And sometimes a little bit of both. Check out his ditty, "A Motor-Bike in Afrika," as one example. Starting with the puttering rhythm of a mock-motorbike, Hammill builds from amusingly quirky to downright scary as the chant "Afrika-Afrika-motor-bike in Afrika" gets closer and closer and the anti-apartheid rant likewise gets progressively closer to the bone (this is 1979, mind you), finally wrapping up with the spoken prophecy, "Come in Rhodesia, South Africa, your time is up / No protection on a motor-bike / Sooner or later the normal traffic's gonna GET you."

     And then there's the REALLY early solo stuff, which is dramatic as all get-out. Seems to me there's a handful of singers out there credited with four/five-octave range, and not the people you'd automatically guess at, but if you think about it (i.e., octaves go DOWN too), it makes sense -- Tom Waits and Terry Taylor (who doesn't sound like he gargles gravel, but nonetheless can find a lower register) are two such. I'm pretty sure Peter Hammill's another, and probably should be submitted for consideration in any case. Really, go ahead and pick any of them up -- his first, Fool's Mate, often gets the most credit; The Silent Corner and the Empty Stage and Chameleon in the Shadow of Night are two other worthy ones.

     I'm gonna sign off today by giving special props to one that's been largely overlooked (or perhaps was just run away from, in stark terror): In Camera. Check out the lyrics on your own time, and tell me I'm wrong: http://www.leyline.com.br/InCamLyr.html.

 Bottom line: This is one harrowing album. It's the sound of one stretched to the breaking point, whose head keeps him from belief and whose heart won't give him peace in unbelief, and the psychic disturbance therein is painfully obvious for all to hear. For just a couple examples: From "Faint-Heart and the Sermon":

I'd gladly succumb to the wave,
if I thought the water taught a way to light;
I'd gladly succumb - I'm not brave,
and it's easy to believe what the preacher says
except for the conflict raging between my head
and my brain....
still, I am at least
holding all the doors open.

     Or from "The Comet, the Course, the Tail":

They say we are endowed with Free Will 
at least that justifies our need for indecision....
Channeling aggressive energies,
the Death Wish and the Will to survive
into finding and preserving enemies,
is that the only way we know that we're alive?...

And the knowledge that we gain in part
always leads us closer to the very start,
and to the founding questions:
How can I tell that the road signed to hell
doesn't lead up to heaven?
What can I say when, in some obscure way,
I am my own direction? 

     And then there's "Gog/Magog (in Bromine Chambers)," an 18-minute exercise in aural fire and brimstone which, in a career filled with experimentation and self-flagellation, remains in a league by itself. This is the REAL "Sympathy for the Devil," and there's nothing cute, catchy or pleasant about it. Forget those Rolling Posers -- this is John Milton territory, baby, if not Jonathan Edwards. Over a pipe-organ background that'd have Vincent Price cowering for an extra bowl of Kraft macaroni and cheese, Hammill strains, screams, and screeches:

My words are 'Too late', 'Never', 'Impossible', and 'Gone';
my home is in the sunset and the dawn.
My Name is locked in silence,
sometimes it's whispered out of spite.
All gates are locked, all doors are barred and bolted,
There is no place for flight.
Will you not come to me
and love me for one more night?....

All wells are dry,
all bread is masked in fungus
and now disease is rife.
Will you not run from this
and love me for one more life? 

      After seven minutes of, well, hellish beration, the song gives way to the "Magog" section -- another 10-plus minutes of electronic "lostness," with the brief Dantean epitaph buried within:

In Bromine Chambers
there can be no mercy,
no bitter flagellation for your sins;
no forgiveness and no sackcloth
can cease the dance
of ashes on the wind.

Too late now for a wish
to change all wishing;
too late to change, to breathe, to grow.
Too late to smother out the tell-tale footprints
which mark your passage through the greying snow.

     The ultimate in uneasy listening. And yes, I've heard Yoko Ono do "Don't Worry Kyoko (Mummy's Only Looking for a Hand in the Snow)," trust me. Except this one's got a point. Even as he wrestles with his own answers to the big questions, he delivers a performance worthy of the best moments in prophecy. Don't play this one for your friends unless they're built this way, but see if you can discover this one for yourself first.

     Ta-ta, for now, and pleasant dreams....

Posted by: burninglight at 21:41 | link | comments (2)

How to Make Tragedy Personal for Fun, Profit & Props

     Wasn't sure whether to post anything about it or not, but since I more or less did already elsewhere I guess it's appropriate:

     Was rather weird yesterday when our church (who normally isn't given to this, and to their credit didn't make it a political thing) highlighted the five-year anniversary 9/11 yesterday. But while the focus went squarely on Todd Beemer and this one chaplain being featured in an upcoming Christian flick, all I could think of were the two guys from West Milford, New Jersey (my hometown of the eight years prior to this past one) who WEREN'T highlighted, specifically Jeremy Glick (by all accounts the #2 guy in taking down Flight 93) and Fr. Michal Judge, who was chaplain for the NYFD.

     And that the weather yesterday morning in Loveland, Colorado was exactly like it was on 9/11/01 in New York -- cool, crisp, and still. (I worked maybe 15 miles from Ground Zero, bear in mind, and could see the smoldering hole quite clearly even from one of our "mountains" in West Milford.) 

     Needless to say, I've been noticing an awful lot of people elsewhere to be full of crap on this subject over the last several days. It's interesting to see that 9/11 posts on other boards have basically been falling squarely into one of two categories: Sloganeering jingoism (you can almost hear the Lee Greenwood CD being cued up), and "f*** the dead and the Bush I say they rode in on"....  and that I'm more than sick of both at this point.

     That's about it, I guess. Maybe back to some music next week, finally.

Posted by: burninglight at 16:21 | link | comments (1)

Ramblings, Parts Whatever to Whatever Else

     Basically, a response to the first ramblings, post-retreat:

     1) Starting with the most "frivolous," broke 10,000 feet above sea level for the first time on a hike. Considering I was in Jersey 15 months ago (where the highest "mountain" is 1,800 feet), that ought to impress SOMEbody.

     2) Retreat was nice. More one of those mid-level "good to get some of the junk out" retreats than earth-shattering, but I still needed it. Worked through Watchman Nee's Changed into His Likeness (my personal compulsive re-read) yet again, and yet again came away with some new thoughts. What seemed to come up most (and more on this later) was this unholy trinity, if you will, of stuff that all too often drives me -- namely, fear, anger, and distrust.

     If I came away with one positive message it was this: God brought me out here, into all these new challenges AND blessings. Therefore, it's still His problem and not mine. If you had told me two years ago that I'd have a job where all I am is fully engaged, a home 2 1/2x the size of the one we were in (for less money), and for the first time in my life didn't have to sweat every single expense we had, I'd've laughed myself silly. Throw in being well-connected and active in a thriving art community and you could get my artist wife laughing along, if she wasn't already.

     The thing is, in this brand-new paradigm hundreds of miles from the place I lived my entire life, you find yourself trying to hang onto those things, only for different reasons. In a large sense, being stressed over what you don't have isn't all that much different from stressing over losing what you do have. It's still stressing over stuff. But what I prayed 15 months ago remains the same: "God, this is Your gig." That doesn't change because I'm now in the gig rather than hoping for it. So, that was helpful.

     3) Church.... we'll see. In two months I'll know a lot more, and that's that for now. All I can do is stay in the locked and upright position.

     4) The mom stuff: Can't say the basic position has changed (aside from us receiving the release bond over the weekend, officially declaring the "active" estate closed), but trying to dig into that provided the most insight into #2 above. A few years back, when I was preparing for whatever ministry it was God was preparing me for (which was "officially" heading toward pastorship, but even then Marion & I suspected I was better suited for something more "para-church" -- and I guess so did God, given where I wound up), I worked through a 12-step recovery program, including the whole inventory thing -- I didn't want anything to hold me back when the time came, so I got pro-active about it. Since I used the same 5-subject notebook to write down my thoughts this weekend, I spent some time Saturday night re-reading it, as I thought it might provide a key to any unresolved issues with my mother that might still be out there. Can't say I found anything new in that sense.

     What did really hit me was this sequence of events between ages 6 and 7, where I went from this skinny kid with lots of friends to this overweight one that'd get beat up a LOT in the next 6-7 years (and whose A's and B's were often offset by D's and F's in handwriting and self-control -- yes, you actually got grades for that back then). During that time my parents were splitting up, and I was regularly put in positions where I was either being "protected from the truth" or having to choose myself between either lying or hurting someone (let's just say I was witness to some things I should never have seen as a 7-year-old in the first place) and usually would just lose it instead.

     Goes a long way toward explaining both my compulsive need for honesty (not that that's a bad thing, but....) and why I usually end up taking 500 words to say what 10 might have accomplished (or 10 to make some pithy remark that really requires 500 to explain). And/or why I use humor/wisecracks instead of confrontation or bluntness to deal with the really lousy things in front of me. And maybe why the person I most need to let off the hook in all this is myself. Basically, I still have a load to unlearn/re-learn.

     Besides, after meeting Marion for lunch before heading out on Friday (it's really nice to work two miles away and have a nice cafe at work, BTW), it occured to me that if I DO have any grieving to do, it's gonna happen when my dad comes out end of next week. (I didn't get to know my dad again until I was 21 -- whole 'nother story, but a much better ending.) Calling him in Michigan on February 6 to tell him that his first wife -- the person he'd conceived me with -- was dead, had to be one of the most surreal moments I've ever experienced. Anyway, he's gonna want to talk. And with his second wife of 35 years here as well... well yeah, it could get weird. Those of the praying persuasion may feel free to do so.

     5) I should have clarified in the last entry by saying "no new music." Worked on my set(s) up there, and made two changes. Out are the Dogs' "Come Down Here" and Mark Heard's "Another Good Lie." In their place are Mr. Heard's "I Just Wanna Get Warm" (which is my favorite song of his, anyway), and this one from Bruce Cockburn, which got to me repeatedly this weekend to the point I could barely get through it, so I'm pretty sure that means I should go with it:

Something jewelled slips away
Round the next bend with a splash
Laughing at the hands I hold out
Only air within their grasp
All you can do is praise the razor
For the fineness of the slash

'Til the Rose above the sky -- opens
And the light behind the sun -- takes all

Gutless arrogance and rage
Burn apart the best of tries
You carry the weight of inherited sorrow
From your first day till you die
Toward that hilltop where the road
Forever becomes one with the sky

'Til the Rose above the sky -- opens
And the light behind the sun -- takes all

Ozone on the midnight wind
Got me thinking of the sea
And the mercies of the currents that brought
Me to you and you to me
And in the silence at the heart of things
Where all true meetings come to be

I see the Rose above the sky -- open
And the light behind the sun -- take all...

     Peace, out. Until next time.

Posted by: burninglight at 17:48 | link | comments