I wrote this as a little response to an article made by blogger Debbie Sclussel. Take it with a grain of salt - but I stand by it.
DISCLOSURE: I was born around the time the Beatles broke.
I took their music for granted because it was there.
I never thought they were ever great because of their talent - only George Harrison (bless his soul) appeared to me the most professional of the lot - but because of the marketing savvy of Brian Epstein.
(BTW - He was to Lennon what Mr. Herbert was to Chris Griffin in the "Family Guy". Think about it, eh?)
All of Lennon's songs in his solo carreer sucked except for "Whatever Gets You Through The Night" (muchas gracias, Elton).
I (figuratively) shed more tears for George Harrison, the 9-11 victims, my ex's mom and my father (Of Blessed Memory. Amen) than I did for Lennon (to whom I shed a couple as a sign of respect).
Mark David Chapman now represents more of a threat to himself than to anyone with a pulse and synapses. Back then I thought he should fry - murder is murder, anyway - but then I don't care.
I wouldn't blame Lennon for destroying Western Civilization as We Know It - the post-WWII/-"Cold" War complacency of the constantly satiated masses took care of that - but he deserves neither beatification nor deification.
Lennon was just a man with a guitar, attitude and ideals, chained to a wife with Lady MacBeth ambitions, who managed to make a lot of money for what he did and what he became.
Nothing special. Nothing terrible. The rest of us will just keep living.
Rest In Peace, Eggman.
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Thursday, December 09, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
The Occasional Rant:
Sorry, Prince. The Internet is All Over.
Adapt or die. Go with the flow. Sink or swim.
These are some of the examples explaining the basic tenets of evolution.
When I first got online way back in the early 90s, I was convinced that this invention was going to be big. As early as 1986, I had a feeling that eventually everything that we need for communication and entertainment will be reduced to 1 box, 1 screen, 1 user.
I'm quite sure that everyone would want to have this 1 box to talk to others, order some chow mein, take in a concert or a movie, get an education and simply frag some poor sucker to kingdom come in WOW.
Not to mention having a box to groove to some tunes.
So I am quite surprised that Prince (the artist formally known as Prince Rogers Nelson) would reject the internet that he once embraced as a medium for his insane creativity.
In an "exclusive" interview by Mirror journo Peter Miller, Prince proclaimed...
Whether Price had a point or was simply shooting from the lip at the time is irrelevant. What started me to think was the revolution that started at around the same time I discovered the internet.
This revolution is called streaming media.
To reiterate the basics of the internet, information in forms of pictures and words get broken down to bits - ones and zeroes - then get reconstituted at the end-user's machine of choice. Back in the 80s, the compact disk format was starting to take off, and my assumption at that time was that sooner or later television, radio and stand-alone music players would be rendered redundant, if not obsolete, by this new medium. All this thanks to a roomie's Commodore 64.
Fast-forward to the here-and-now and we see iTunes, Hulu and YouTube getting into the public consciousness. We have media players such as the granddaddies of them all, RealPlayer and Quicktime, and it's bastard offspring Winamp, Windows Media Player and the iTunes player. Kids - and adults run amok with their iPads and its rivals and variants. And don't get me started with the iPhone, the iPad, smartphones, laptops and netbooks. I suspect that my vision is slowly coming true, that for some reason the proliferation of the web into the public consciousness is starting to worry Prince.
Understandably so, since the availability of more bandwidth, affordable computers and more user-friendly software and hardware has made the once wild, wild web into something more mundane, more accessible, more democratised.
We've seen various iterations of peer-to-peer file-sharing software come and gone: Napster, Gnutella, LimeWire, Kazaa, BitTorrent, etc. The traditional media, stuck in the quagmire of their own paradigms, struggle to comprehend why they are losing their shirts while at the same time working to apprehend, stifle and even eliminate what they see as the threat to their survival and relevance. Metallica's Lars Ulrich may have crippled Napster, but those who have the access to better bandwidth and software will always barter files ripped from the medium that was legally bought, And the video streaming sites that started up as simple entities have become monsters.
We the masses have the capability to share ideas with a larger audience, Social networking sites have forced the world to shrink. Independent, unsigned artists now have an audience of millions to receive the fruits of their labours, whether in form of movies or music. If you want the news that fit your views, there's bound to be a site somewhere. People are making the web into the image that they want to see in any way necessary, at any time as required, even if it means writing silly blog posts or doing the Numa Numa tune to death.
And then there's Prince.
With all respect to someone who has proven himself to be prolific, rebellious, talented and so prosperous that he could write his own paycheques, Prince may have been felling a little threatened by the scores of upstarts taking advantage of the web's democratisation. Maybe he's become aware that all that technology that was once solely belonged to studios like Paramount, MGM, Abbey Road and Paisley Park have now fallen into the hands of the great unwashed proletariat determined to unseat the aristocracy of the Old Guard from their collective throne. The monoliths and conglomerates are no longer alone as content providers: those of us with talent, tool and bandwidth have hopped into their electronic, digitised hot-tub.
So what is left for the Purple Prince to do to be considered a revolutionary, an iconoclast, an individual?
He simply shut down all his websites, packed up his bags and started to give away his new cd for free. Through the Mirror, no less.
Back to basics. Back to the streets. Back to plastic hardcopy. Whatever floats the Purple boat is fine. He has already made his mark, regardless of medium and is entitled to his opinions and work ethic. Blood sweat and tears indeed.
And life goes on.
For Prince, the internet may be over. For many, it's here to stay.
For me, it's just evolution.
Go with the flow.
These are some of the examples explaining the basic tenets of evolution.
When I first got online way back in the early 90s, I was convinced that this invention was going to be big. As early as 1986, I had a feeling that eventually everything that we need for communication and entertainment will be reduced to 1 box, 1 screen, 1 user.
I'm quite sure that everyone would want to have this 1 box to talk to others, order some chow mein, take in a concert or a movie, get an education and simply frag some poor sucker to kingdom come in WOW.
Not to mention having a box to groove to some tunes.
So I am quite surprised that Prince (the artist formally known as Prince Rogers Nelson) would reject the internet that he once embraced as a medium for his insane creativity.
In an "exclusive" interview by Mirror journo Peter Miller, Prince proclaimed...
"The internet's completely over. I don't see why I should give my new music to iTunes or anyone else. They won't pay me an advance for it and then they get angry when they can't get it.The Mirror article was mainly about Prince's upcoming release "20TEN", his views on his current life and his eccentric creative processes, but it was this one quote that caused this storm of controversy throughout the web and the traditional media - you do remember newspapers, tv and radio, right?
"The internet's like MTV. At one time MTV was hip and suddenly it became outdated. Anyway, all these computers and digital gadgets are no good.
"They just fill your head with numbers and that can't be good for you."
Whether Price had a point or was simply shooting from the lip at the time is irrelevant. What started me to think was the revolution that started at around the same time I discovered the internet.
This revolution is called streaming media.
To reiterate the basics of the internet, information in forms of pictures and words get broken down to bits - ones and zeroes - then get reconstituted at the end-user's machine of choice. Back in the 80s, the compact disk format was starting to take off, and my assumption at that time was that sooner or later television, radio and stand-alone music players would be rendered redundant, if not obsolete, by this new medium. All this thanks to a roomie's Commodore 64.
Fast-forward to the here-and-now and we see iTunes, Hulu and YouTube getting into the public consciousness. We have media players such as the granddaddies of them all, RealPlayer and Quicktime, and it's bastard offspring Winamp, Windows Media Player and the iTunes player. Kids - and adults run amok with their iPads and its rivals and variants. And don't get me started with the iPhone, the iPad, smartphones, laptops and netbooks. I suspect that my vision is slowly coming true, that for some reason the proliferation of the web into the public consciousness is starting to worry Prince.
Understandably so, since the availability of more bandwidth, affordable computers and more user-friendly software and hardware has made the once wild, wild web into something more mundane, more accessible, more democratised.
We've seen various iterations of peer-to-peer file-sharing software come and gone: Napster, Gnutella, LimeWire, Kazaa, BitTorrent, etc. The traditional media, stuck in the quagmire of their own paradigms, struggle to comprehend why they are losing their shirts while at the same time working to apprehend, stifle and even eliminate what they see as the threat to their survival and relevance. Metallica's Lars Ulrich may have crippled Napster, but those who have the access to better bandwidth and software will always barter files ripped from the medium that was legally bought, And the video streaming sites that started up as simple entities have become monsters.
We the masses have the capability to share ideas with a larger audience, Social networking sites have forced the world to shrink. Independent, unsigned artists now have an audience of millions to receive the fruits of their labours, whether in form of movies or music. If you want the news that fit your views, there's bound to be a site somewhere. People are making the web into the image that they want to see in any way necessary, at any time as required, even if it means writing silly blog posts or doing the Numa Numa tune to death.
And then there's Prince.
With all respect to someone who has proven himself to be prolific, rebellious, talented and so prosperous that he could write his own paycheques, Prince may have been felling a little threatened by the scores of upstarts taking advantage of the web's democratisation. Maybe he's become aware that all that technology that was once solely belonged to studios like Paramount, MGM, Abbey Road and Paisley Park have now fallen into the hands of the great unwashed proletariat determined to unseat the aristocracy of the Old Guard from their collective throne. The monoliths and conglomerates are no longer alone as content providers: those of us with talent, tool and bandwidth have hopped into their electronic, digitised hot-tub.
So what is left for the Purple Prince to do to be considered a revolutionary, an iconoclast, an individual?
He simply shut down all his websites, packed up his bags and started to give away his new cd for free. Through the Mirror, no less.
Back to basics. Back to the streets. Back to plastic hardcopy. Whatever floats the Purple boat is fine. He has already made his mark, regardless of medium and is entitled to his opinions and work ethic. Blood sweat and tears indeed.
And life goes on.
For Prince, the internet may be over. For many, it's here to stay.
For me, it's just evolution.
Go with the flow.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
OKAY... SO I LIED.
JUST ONE MORE POST, OKAY?
Right about now, I'm watching the 2009 MuchMusic Video Awards via muchmusic.com. The fangrrlz and fanboyz have invaded the chat line inundating it with Jonas and GaGa.
Poor kids... they don't know that this is just another video awards show.
And I remembered when the awards featured Canadian artists.
Why did much choose the Jonases to co-host? Did we run out of talent?
I can think of quite a few people who could co-host this shit better than the JoBros.
Whoever is charge of this year's show ought to get 10-to-life.
BTW - since when is Perez Hilton considered CanCon? Any answers? Just wondering.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
The shortest distance between 2 points is not always connected by a straight line.
Two years sober and counting.
Two years without gambling... okay - so I relapsed a couple of times but I'm doing fine.
Two years without a hangup, sexual, social, political or otherwise.
The problem about living post-addiction is that there always seem to be a tempting aftertaste of the drug of choice taken.
I miss the sharp sweetness of a double vodka and diet coke, the way it would hit the back of the throat and burn its way down the esophagus to the stomach. I miss the eventual buzz that it would induce, and the loosening of inhibitions and morals at any given party.
I miss the rush obtained by rolling two dice at the craps table at Casino Nova Scotia. The noise, the chaos, the anticipation that the right number would come up at the right time - would it be a deuce, double deuce or midnight? I miss the ritual and suspense involved with the roll, the many eyes of fellow desperate beings staring at me, praying that I wouldn't seven-out them of whatever hard-earned money that they would put on the table.
I miss all the orgasms that I have obtained, regardless of means, both legit and illicit. The adventure, the danger, the thrill of witnessing, ravishing and obtaining human flesh so that for one fleeting moment, the pain of reality would go away.
It takes but one taste to get you hooked. And that taste will never leave you.
The taste can redefine the way you look at the world, treat the people, spend the money and even read these worlds.
People would lie, cheat, steal and kill for its effects, its rush, its power and the illusion of empowerment.
I lived for the taste. I wanted more of it. I wanted to re-live the feeling of the initial rush every time I took it.
I spent a lot of money pursuing that first rush. I wanted that high to be more intense, more empowering.
Yet with every high, there is a crash, each one being worse, bloodier and more costly than the last.
In pursuit of the taste I had dug a hole so deep that the only way to get out is to keep digging in the faint hope that I could see light at the other end.
Even though I am enjoying sobriety, the reality of my life and the things surrounding it is no less easier. All the things that I had put off due to my drinking, gambling and whoring ways have returned to haunt me. Negligence has its price. Looking back becomes a habit, a sick perverse obsession. A part of me wants to reinvent the wheel when it comes to taking stock of what led me to my current situation.
I thought I could save the world. I thought I could change it. I thought I could be king in a short time.
But after years of living like a god, I started to realise that soon, I'll die like a man and be buried like everyone else, because I am no longer the wild and crazy kid that I thought I was - at least in my own fevered mind. With all the excesses and the resulting mayhem, in the wake of what seemed to be an endless storm fueled by want of immediate gratification, I emerged battered, bloodied, naked and in pain.
But I am not dead.
Not that I really wanted to live forever - I'm just too scared to die before achieving my full potential. There are too many things to do and accomplish for me to toss in the proverbial towel and cash out of this mortal coil.
Life is full of unexpected experiences, both good and bad. No matter what could happen on any given day, I am still standing.
Because of my sobriety and my willingness to pursue and healthier, more fulfilling life, I consider every day to be a birthday.
I don't miss the stupidity, silliness and hangovers.
I don't miss the losses and disappointments.
I don't miss the guilt and embarrassment and shame of the morning-after and the ensuing ruination of lives.
But most of all, I don't miss the taste, even though it will in my body, mind and soul until I take my final breath.
I have done enough sinning in my life. I have gorged enough forbidden fruit to make the vilest of men sick. I have bitten off more that I could chew and burnt so many bridges that I might as well take a deep breath and move forward.
My name is Jacques. I was, I am and always will be an addict, pervert, scoundrel, jealous bastard, wanton lover and romantic hater.
And I am still alive.
And these days, I never could have felt this great.
Thank G-d for the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.
Oh... and by the way - I still love to create.
Two years without gambling... okay - so I relapsed a couple of times but I'm doing fine.
Two years without a hangup, sexual, social, political or otherwise.
The problem about living post-addiction is that there always seem to be a tempting aftertaste of the drug of choice taken.
I miss the sharp sweetness of a double vodka and diet coke, the way it would hit the back of the throat and burn its way down the esophagus to the stomach. I miss the eventual buzz that it would induce, and the loosening of inhibitions and morals at any given party.
I miss the rush obtained by rolling two dice at the craps table at Casino Nova Scotia. The noise, the chaos, the anticipation that the right number would come up at the right time - would it be a deuce, double deuce or midnight? I miss the ritual and suspense involved with the roll, the many eyes of fellow desperate beings staring at me, praying that I wouldn't seven-out them of whatever hard-earned money that they would put on the table.
I miss all the orgasms that I have obtained, regardless of means, both legit and illicit. The adventure, the danger, the thrill of witnessing, ravishing and obtaining human flesh so that for one fleeting moment, the pain of reality would go away.
It takes but one taste to get you hooked. And that taste will never leave you.
The taste can redefine the way you look at the world, treat the people, spend the money and even read these worlds.
People would lie, cheat, steal and kill for its effects, its rush, its power and the illusion of empowerment.
I lived for the taste. I wanted more of it. I wanted to re-live the feeling of the initial rush every time I took it.
I spent a lot of money pursuing that first rush. I wanted that high to be more intense, more empowering.
Yet with every high, there is a crash, each one being worse, bloodier and more costly than the last.
In pursuit of the taste I had dug a hole so deep that the only way to get out is to keep digging in the faint hope that I could see light at the other end.
Even though I am enjoying sobriety, the reality of my life and the things surrounding it is no less easier. All the things that I had put off due to my drinking, gambling and whoring ways have returned to haunt me. Negligence has its price. Looking back becomes a habit, a sick perverse obsession. A part of me wants to reinvent the wheel when it comes to taking stock of what led me to my current situation.
I thought I could save the world. I thought I could change it. I thought I could be king in a short time.
But after years of living like a god, I started to realise that soon, I'll die like a man and be buried like everyone else, because I am no longer the wild and crazy kid that I thought I was - at least in my own fevered mind. With all the excesses and the resulting mayhem, in the wake of what seemed to be an endless storm fueled by want of immediate gratification, I emerged battered, bloodied, naked and in pain.
But I am not dead.
Not that I really wanted to live forever - I'm just too scared to die before achieving my full potential. There are too many things to do and accomplish for me to toss in the proverbial towel and cash out of this mortal coil.
Life is full of unexpected experiences, both good and bad. No matter what could happen on any given day, I am still standing.
Because of my sobriety and my willingness to pursue and healthier, more fulfilling life, I consider every day to be a birthday.
I don't miss the stupidity, silliness and hangovers.
I don't miss the losses and disappointments.
I don't miss the guilt and embarrassment and shame of the morning-after and the ensuing ruination of lives.
But most of all, I don't miss the taste, even though it will in my body, mind and soul until I take my final breath.
I have done enough sinning in my life. I have gorged enough forbidden fruit to make the vilest of men sick. I have bitten off more that I could chew and burnt so many bridges that I might as well take a deep breath and move forward.
My name is Jacques. I was, I am and always will be an addict, pervert, scoundrel, jealous bastard, wanton lover and romantic hater.
And I am still alive.
And these days, I never could have felt this great.
Thank G-d for the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.
Oh... and by the way - I still love to create.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
RIP - Bo Diddley...
Blues Rockin' OG
Heaven's old-school groove has gotten heavier.
The Godfather of Soul, the King of Rock and Roll, the Man in Black, the Quiet Beatle, the Loon, the Crazy Diamond, the Samurai Blues Brother and all the blues, hip-hop and r'n'b OGs from Leadbelly, Robert Johnson, Otis Redding, Muddy Waters, Easy E, 2-Pac and B.I.G. on down, are all on notice.
Bo Diddley's in town, and for the Lord he's ready to get down.
Give the man all the love and props. If you don't know Diddley, get to know.
The Godfather of Soul, the King of Rock and Roll, the Man in Black, the Quiet Beatle, the Loon, the Crazy Diamond, the Samurai Blues Brother and all the blues, hip-hop and r'n'b OGs from Leadbelly, Robert Johnson, Otis Redding, Muddy Waters, Easy E, 2-Pac and B.I.G. on down, are all on notice.
Bo Diddley's in town, and for the Lord he's ready to get down.
Give the man all the love and props. If you don't know Diddley, get to know.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
The Occasional Rant - Jeff Healy / I stand corrected on Ellen Page / A tale of 2 Steve-O's
My work sucked donkeys Monday night.
Maybe because it was the first Monday of the month, where the mundane became weird and the weird became completely obnoxious.
If I had a dollar for every single company store cock-up, I wouldn't be blogging: I'd be banking, partying and sit around in South Beach sipping vodka sours and watching the thongs pass by.
The suck-ass weather didn't help matters much either. My sinuses went Jihadi and forced me to knock back the last sinus care caplet with my morning tea.
It was one of the worst of times to be on my best behaviour. And even that it getting tested beyond its breaking point.
Enough of my life. Here we go...
Maybe because it was the first Monday of the month, where the mundane became weird and the weird became completely obnoxious.
If I had a dollar for every single company store cock-up, I wouldn't be blogging: I'd be banking, partying and sit around in South Beach sipping vodka sours and watching the thongs pass by.
The suck-ass weather didn't help matters much either. My sinuses went Jihadi and forced me to knock back the last sinus care caplet with my morning tea.
It was one of the worst of times to be on my best behaviour. And even that it getting tested beyond its breaking point.
Enough of my life. Here we go...
- Angel eyes on Jeff. Back in the day, Jeff Healy could rock the blues and funk the jazz out of his Strat. Like the other Jeff (Jeff Beck), he could bend the fuck out of his notes while the single coils transmit the sonic fire to the masses.
Most of all, Jeff Healy was a gentleman, a Mensch, a sonic entrepreneur who parleyed his talents to different avenues such as his own hot jazz/blues club in the T-dot.
But, for those who know better, Jeff was a fighter and a survivor. The cancer that stole his eyes didn't steal his love of music, nor did it still the hands that wrenched it out of any Fender that was lying around at any time.
Last Sunday night, Jeff went down fighting.
Charlie was too tenacious, too fast, too ingrained.
Charlie didn't care who he took. Be it man, woman, child, Charlie was a glutton for flesh, tissue, organs and cells.
But Charlie can never take souls. He failed to still Jeff's hunger for the perfect sound and stifle his dream of doing good for the love of music.
Love. Music. Life. The God-blessed trinity that keep me alive fueled Jeff's life, right to the end.
Our existence on this planet is always transient, yet the works and legacies that we create will outlive us for better, for worse, and for those willing to follow in our steps.
Jeff was but one of many. Yet, at 41, he had lived and loved more than people twice his age, if only because his life, like ours, was transient.
For me, 41 is too damn young. My sister's 41. I was once 41. And yet we all felt that there was more work to be done, more sights to see, more mountains to climb.
We'll see you on the other side, Jeff Healy.
My condolences, love and respect to those who loved him. - Gauging Page again. I swear that this will be the last time I take Ellen Page's name in vain again.
A few posts ago, I've mentioned that Ellen may be this generation's Molly Ringwald.
Then, while I was at work, something really hit me.
Ellen is not- repeat, not - Molly.
She's our Christina Ricci.
Or maybe Winona Ryder.
In fact, after watching "Juno" and "Hard Candy", I believe that Ellen has the versatility possessed by these 2 stars.
Having said that, I should just go and get a life instead.
Ellen is simply... Ellen. And I'll leave it at that. - A tale of 2 Steve-O's. As I'm getting next to comatose, I'll keep these 2 items short.
a) Steve-O busted.
b) Steve-O busted.
Discuss amongst yourselves. Which one is more Jackass than the other?
Can you see the difference?
Maybe it's because one of them beat up something while the other one is getting beaten up from all sides.
Who will survive? Stay tuned.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)