By Jesseca Bagherpour

During my grade school days, I freaked out when other people discovered the music I loved. It was my music and I didn’t want anyone to steal it from me. I first experienced this reaction while listening to Weezer’s Blue album with my family on a road trip. They all liked it! I was all right with my older brother liking it, because he was close to my age and therefore cool. But my parents? No way. I asked them to remove the cassette (remember cassettes?) from the tape deck and I promptly put it back into my Walkman. As the years progressed, I briefly hated (or was “over”) The Strokes, Yeah Yeah Yeah’s, The White Stripes and a slew of other artists who rose from relative obscurity to become “the next big thing.”

But I’ve changed. I share music with my mom and we even go to concerts together. When an artist I like gets popular, signs on with a major record label or has a song featured in a commercial, I’m happy for them. That could come from having lived in an area teeming with musicians, many of whom are friends and acquaintances (some of whom have sold their songs for commercial use in foreign markets, but I won’t name anyone). Or it could come from being an adult. Either way, I’d rather my favorite artists be able to make a living (by selling their songs, not mine, no matter how personal they may feel). There’s nothing noble in starving and/or cleaning toilets in the name of your “art”. And I want as many people as possible to be exposed to good music. When the masses accept it, it gives me a little hope for mankind.

This is a list of 10 artists I still love, even though they’ve “sold their souls” (specifically to take part in major ad campaigns):

Iggy Pop (Royal Carribean)

I decided to kick it off with the man who is probably the most famous of all “sellouts”. When Iggy Pop’s “Lust for Life” was first used in a Royal Carribean commercial in 2005, people couldn’t believe their ears. A song about drinking, drugs and other debauchery used in an ad promoting a cruise line, of all things? But Iggy wasn’t bothered by the criticism.

Bob Dylan (too many to list)

The godfather of punk may have sold one of his greatest songs to sell cruises (and to buy a second Rolls Royce), but Bob Dylan, a seminal figure in the counterculture for 50 years, has helped many a company sell its wares.

I couldn’t decide which was more jarring–Dylan selling iPods, Dylan selling bras (in an insanely creepy Victoria’s Secret ad which made me long for the comparatively less upsetting Joanna Newsom version), Dylan selling Cadillacs (while Smog plays in the background)?

Then I happened upon this one, which I must have blocked from my memory over the past several months–Bob Dylan and Will I Am selling Pepsis. Despite all the ads, and allowing a member of the Black Eyed Peas to butcher one of his songs, I still love Bob Dylan. He’s Bob Dylan, for crying out loud.

The Apples in Stereo (Pepsi)

The Apples in Stereo also contributed to a Pepsi ad this year (and it wasn’t their first brush with “selling out”, having sold a few songs for ads, movies and TV shows earlier in the decade). I’ve been listening to New Magnetic Wonder a lot lately, and their song “Energy” gave me the idea for this list.

Jack White (Coca Cola)

I wasn’t aware of this one until I started doing my research, but the song and commercial are honestly good. I am a sucker for a good pop song and the commercial looks like a White Stripes video. I wonder if The Apples and The White Stripes are contractually obligated to hate each other since they’ve advertised for rival soft drink companies.

Karen O (Adidas)

Spike Jonze directed this commercial which, like the Jack White Coke commercial, could stand alone as a brilliant music video. The title song in the ad, “Hello Tomorrow”, was written by Jonze’s brother. The commercial won several advertising awards as well. There’s no way I’m calling Karen O a sellout for this one, and I’m definitely not criticizing Jonze, whose commercials are as inventive as his videos and films. I’m also pretty sure this initial collaboration inspired Jonze’s picking O to create the soundtrack to Where the Wild Things Are. If that doesn’t convince you, then your heart is made of stone.

The Flaming Lips (Land Rover)

I liked “Do You Realize?” more before its excessive usage in films and ads, not the least of which is this commercial for a gas-guzzling, overpriced yuppie-mobile. But I adore the Lips (especially Wayne), and it’s a lovely song.

Wilco (Volkswagen)

Speaking of car commercials, Jeff Tweedy and company got a lot of guff from fans for this one. Some choice words were spoken … er … typed … in their fan forum. I, for one, was excite for the band when I saw the ads. They were well-made and, again, exposed new people to their music. Even if it is music from my least favorite Wilco record (which is why I posted their B-side, “The Thanks I Get”).

Spoon (Jaguar)

The Jaguar XK is stylish, its commercial is stylish, the song is stylish. Spoon got exposure and money for selling a song. No moral quandaries here. I’m not just saying that because Britt Daniel is easily one of the sexiest front men of the past 10 years. They’re a talented who put consistently stellar records and always put on a terrific live show. There’s no reason to turn on them for selling a song to a car company (or to emusic, who featured their song “Sister Jack” … but they support independent artists, making that ad even more innocuous).

Guided By Voices (Nissan)

I scoured the internet for a Canadian Nissan commercial featuring “Quality of Armor”, but to no avail (I guess to many other music nerds posted it to their blogs and Nissan removed it. I did, however, post the song … so you can visualize someone driving a Nissan while listening to it. Pollard was nonchalant about the ad and even had a few others in the works, including a reworked version of “Non-Absorbing” for Budweiser (GBV and their fans LOVE beer, after all) and an original jingle for Krispy Kreme (he didn’t have a deal for that one … he just loves their doughnuts). The man is possibly a musical genius, but he’s not about posturing so I wouldn’t care if he decided to turn to a life of writing jingles. He would be the most prolific jingle writer alive and commercials would be a lot cooler.

The New Pornographers (The University of Phoenix)

Speaking of Canada, this commercial comes from mostly-Canadian band The New Pornographers. I don’t know who could talk smack about this one. Maybe the New Pornographers wanted to help promote online education. It’s kind of a cheesy concept, but I’m sure it’s helped a lot of people. And “Bleeding Heart Show” is one of my favorite songs. Good choice, University of Phoenix. I’m pretty sure there were a lot of fans at their last Dallas show who heard them for the first time because of this commercial. But that’s kind of the point, right?

As Iggy told David Fricke of Rolling Stone: “So am I happy to hear my music anywhere? Yeah. I don’t like the art ghetto. I want a wider culture..”

“We didn’t know the world or life was good like this. Now we know!”

Women, men, girls and boys chanted in a local language Mano as they marched through the town of Saclepea.

“16 days of Activism against Gender Violence” campaign began on November 25^th and goes to December 10^th.  This is an IRC international campaign  with the theme “Commit- Act- Demand: We can end violence against women and girls”.   In Liberia, the theme is “Men as agents of change in ending violence against women and girls” and there have been many marches, and celebrations across the country.

On Friday I went up with the GBV Staff for one such event in Saclepea.  The event started with a march through town.  Almost everyone was wearing a hat with sayings like “Women rights are human rights”, “Control your emotions, stop wife beating”, “Stop child abuse and sexual exploitation”, “Respect for women brings peace” and marched across town singing songs in both English and Mano.  It was great to see young boys and girls marching, and watch others join along the way.   After the march, there was a planned program, with a couple of speeches, but mostly songs, dance and dramas to portray gender based violence and sexual abuse as wrong.

A couple of days ago, someone mentioned a “tradition” in Liberia, that when a younger sister goes to live with her older sister and husband,  some husbands will want the younger sister to act as his wife, and expect sexual favors from her.   If the younger sister complains, her own sister and society will probably blame her. We need to break this cycle of “traditions”, and that occurs when you educate people, especially boys/youth since then we bring change to a whole new generation of men and women.

“Women today, women tomorrow, women yesterday – we are special people!”

One of our projects at Tides, Women’s Rights International (WRI), works with women in conflict situations to document human rights violations.  The director, Shana Swiss lived in Monrovia for many years during the 90’s and worked closely with Rosana Schaack (“Rosie”).  I spoke to Shana before I left and she put me in touch with Rosie.  I had a chance to meet Rosie on Monday.

With WRI, Rosie worked with Shana and others to document the war experiences of women from 1990 – 1994 in the greater Monrovia area.  In 1996, Rosie moved to Cote d’Ivoire where she surveyed Liberian refugees from other counties.  Last year, more than 15 years after the first civil war, Shana, Rosie and others presented their findings at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission(TRC) in Liberia. The TRC was mandated by the government to report on the human rights violations that occurred in Liberia from 1979 to 2003.

Currently Rosie is the Executive Director of THINK (Touching Humanity In Need of Kindness) Home, a rehabilitation center for women/girls (I think of them as girls because they vary in age from 15 to 24) who are victims of sexual assault and abuse.  The program is for 9 months, and provides food, education and shelter for these students (and their children).  In the morning, the women learn English, math science and in the afternoon they can learn either tailoring, cosmetology, or baking.  To date, 212 women have graduated.

The first few groups of women were either child soldiers in the war, or were rape victims of the war.  Many of the female combatants were victimized sexually and used as sex slaves. Of the current set of women, 8 are from trafficking, 10 are survivors of sexual assault, and 4 come from a safe home. Some of them were taken from their home with a promise for a better life, and sold into trafficking.  THINK also operates a safe house for survivors and victims of sexual and gender-based violence.

On Tuesday, I had the chance to visit the THINK Rehabilitation Home and spend some time with the students, teachers and counselors. I arrived at THINK Home a little after 4.  Rosie had told me she would not be there but she let them know I was coming.  Everyone was very warm and welcoming.  All the students were in one of the three vocational skills classes and the little kids were playing.  I took a tour of the home, saw where the women slept, the child care center while the women were in school, the kitchen, etc.

I visited all three of the classes. The pastry class was baking banana bread and offered me some when it was done – delicious! I spent most of my time in the cosmetology class since it was being held outside.  The students were learning what was needed to do someone’s hair (hair spray, styling gel).  They asked if they could work with my hair.  The students stood around and watched as the teacher worked on my hair.

There are counselors who are on site during the day as well, and one stays with them every night. They rotate every 3 days.  I cannot even imagine or relate to what these women have been through.  In addition to being victims of physical and sexual abuse, they are blamed and stigmatized for what has happened to them. I watched them laugh with each other, smile, learn and study and in between take care of their baby or child if necessary.   I admire their courage, strength and determination and am so glad that they found a place like THINK Home.  The women who teach and counsel are very loving and together with Rosie have made a home for these women and for their children, and have provided them hope.

This subject is raised time and again, yet progress is virtually non-existent.

As a woman whose final weeks in Jordan were marred by a similar incident, I cannot support such a call for action enough:

Despite the ratification of CEDAW, it is evident that the Jordanian government continues to fail to take this convention seriously.

Researchers should focus on analyzing: the notion of GBV and the dynamics of acts of SV in the Jordanian society, with the aim of providing feedback for a comprehensive action program on this issue.

Also, they should refine the concept of SV through workshops, which would prepare the ground for qualitative field research in Jordan that could help examine the link between cultural norms of gender, ethnicity, and age. [Source]

CEDAW is not just a box to tick – it requires action on the ground.

How many more women must endure the degradation and trauma?

How many more must be afraid to walk to the kiosk under the cover of darkness, just because a man cannot control his lusty urges?

And for how much longer can such men pray on a Friday before committing the same act the very next night?

As with honor killings, it seems the safety of women is of scant importance to the authorities.

How far does this have to go before it is deemed unacceptable?

“if we wait for our time we’ll all be dead.”

Every time I sit down to write about my life, the blank page overwhelms me.  I’ve let so much of my life pass undocumented that I can never decide where to begin.  I think that it’s best for me to start with the recent past and go from there.

By now, everyone who has ever used the term “indie rock” in a sentence knows that Pavement, one of my all-time favorite bands, announced last Wednesday that they’re doing a reunion tour next year.  I’m almost embarrassed to say that the announcement compelled me to finally shake off the depression that has plagued me for the last three years…but, then again, when hasn’t the power of music been enough to save my life?  I’ve already written about the roles that the Beatles, Hendrix, Prince and Guided by Voices played in my development as both a musician and a human being, but for some inexplicable reason I’ve never written about Pavement.  Now is the perfect time for me to do so.

I discovered Pavement at around the same time I did GBV.  I was a 13-year-old kid just learning to play guitar, immersing myself in the music of every band that MTV’s 120 Minutes program and Spin magazine could possibly clue me into.  Hearing their song “Cut Your Hair” for the first time was a revelation: there were “lots of details to discern” (to quote a later song of theirs), paradoxical quirks that confused and intrigued me.  The intro, a brief snippet of studio chatter (“Stop it!”), felt like a small window into the band’s life: what tomfoolery took place in the studio seconds before the first chord?  The song’s wordless, off-key chorus was catchier than the common cold, and the singers’ imperfect pitch was more charming than annoying.  Front man Stephen Malkmus began the song singing about a haircut, only to drop the subject and rant about the music industry instead.  The high-pitched, frantically strummed guitar solo stood in stark contrast with the rest of the song’s lackadaisical jangle.  Even after that climax, Malkmus seemed unsure of whether to speak, sing or shout at any given point. 

All the musicians I love most are (at least partially) driven by a desire to reflect their authentic selves to others through their music, and in turn enable others to see themselves in it.  I could listen to the Beatles’ discography and see how their views on women, drugs and spirituality changed over the years; I could feel Hendrix’s and Prince’s yearning for freedom from societal constraints; I could step into the surreal world that GBV’s Bob Pollard constructed to both transcend the daily grind of his domestic life.  It has always been easy to explain why I see a bit of myself in those artists.  However, I didn’t truly understand my relationship with Pavement until the last year or so. 

After experiencing communication breakdowns with various loved ones that made me feel as if Mercury was permanently in retrograde, I realized why I love Pavement’s music so much.  To me, it’s a reflection of the struggle to communicate, a soundtrack to those moments when I have something to say, don’t know quite how to say it, but feel compelled to say it anyway, regardless of whether or not I choose the right words.

Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, the album on which “Cut Your Hair” appears, is one of rock’s most gorgeous monuments to ambivalence, ambiguity and imperfection.  The album begins with a fumbled solo and ends with an incomplete sentence; the songs are full of missed cues, dropped tempos, voice cracks and bum notes.  There are songs with multiple titles (“Elevate Me Later/Ell Ess Two”) and multiple subjects (“Stop Breathin’” is about tennis AND the Korean War); songs that veer back and forth from sloppy jamming to anthemic riffing; and songs that make little, if any, linear sense. 

Yet, despite the album’s occasionally frustrating nature, it rewards patient listeners with beautiful melodies, strong hooks, clever wordplay and creative interplay.  Eventually, the mistakes and nonsense become integral to the listening experience.  Malkmus’ fumbled solo during the intro of “Silence Kit” ends up making the riff he plays when the rest of the band kicks in sound even cooler.  When the musicians slip out of sync with each other on “Fillmore Jive,” it underscores the weariness in Malkmus’ voice as he sings of sleep deprivation and emptiness.  The songs have a buoyancy and spontaneity that would be absent if they were played entirely in time and in tune (a hard lesson I learned from Terror Twilight, the band’s worthy yet divisive swan song).    

As I gave the lyrics more attention, certain lines began to stand out and supply context.  These lines often appeared in the middle or toward the end of a song, like theses read long after the average professor would give up on making sense of the paper.  When I was 13, I didn’t really understand what Malkmus meant when he sang “Songs mean a lot when songs are bought/and so are you” on “Cut Your Hair.” “What the hell does that have to do with a haircut?” I thought to myself. After a while, though, I realized that the haircut is a symbol of many musicians’ futile desire to contort their images to suit the marketplace (“Darling, don’t you go and cut your hair/Do you think it’s gonna make him change?”).  Just because Malkmus didn’t elaborate on the metaphor didn’t mean that he wasn’t making sense.

Of course, there are many Pavement songs in which Malkmus merely sings whatever comes out of his head at the moment.  Sometimes it’s hilarious (“I’ve got all this Harvard LSD/Why won’t anybody fuck me?”); other times it’s just awkward (“One of us is a cigar stand/and one of us is a lovely blue incandescent guillotine”).  However, slivers of pensive imagery (“You’ve been chosen as an extra in the movie adaptation of the sequel to your life”) and hard-won wisdom (“It’s alright to shake, to fight, to feel”) are always around the corner.  Even when I can’t get a handle on what a Pavement song is actually about, it elicits an emotional response from me.  Their songs make me laugh and cry in ways that more lyrically direct bands often fail to do.

Likewise, there are many Pavement songs on which the musicianship stretches serendipity to its limit, toeing the line between imperfection and lameness.  Even after being accustomed to the band’s modus operandi, it took years for me to get past the bad drumming on “AT&T,” the cracked vocals on “Type Slowly,” and the clumsy soloing on “Fin” in order to appreciate the greatness of the songs themselves.  However, Pavement’s knack for melodies and hooks eventually saved the day: even their sloppiest and most abrasive songs are easy to sing and/or shout along with.  If the listener ends up bettering the band, it merely reinforces the humanizing, democratizing, empowering effect that all punk-infused music should have.

Pavement’s music permeated my adolescence so thoroughly that even some of my friends and relatives became Slanted and Enchanted with me.  My little brother was born in 1994, the year Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain was released; three years later “Stereo” (from Brighten the Corners) became the first song he memorized in its entirety.  He made me play it for him daily for a year, and would get sad if our mother and I didn’t sing it along with him.  None of us got sick of it, though.  My mother even developed a small crush on Malkmus after seeing the song’s video, calling him “the cute white boy” whenever any of us would mention him.  That same year, I put “No Tan Lines” (my favorite Pavement B-side) on a mix tape for my friend Niema, the only person I truly confided in at the time.  She too fell under the band’s spell, and two years later we saw what, unbeknownst to us, would be the band’s final Austin show.

The nearly sold-out show, which took place on the outdoor stage of Stubb’s, exceeded our expectations.  As Terror Twilight proved, Pavement had become, for better or worse, a well-oiled touring machine, such that what few mistakes they made on stage became glaringly noticeable, instead of merely being par for the course.  When Malkmus bungled the central guitar riff to “Frontwards,” he dramatized his failure by throwing up his hands and sulking into the microphone.  For Niema and me, it was a confirmation of the slightly bratty nature that many journalists alluded to when writing about him.  It was refreshing to know that the band was still capable of making mistakes.  In retrospect, though, Malkmus’ tantrum was an expression of the built-up frustrations that caused him to dissolve the band later that year.

Pavement’s absence has left a gaping void in music over the last decade.  Many bands have mimicked Pavement’s loose musicianship and cryptic lyrics, but very few of them possessed their melodic gifts and unexpected profundity.  Malkmus’ subsequent records with his current band the Jicks boasted increasingly proficient musicianship, but they also veered closer to jam-band territory than Pavement ever could.  Preston School of Industry, the band that Malkmus’ foil Scott Kannberg (also known as “Spiral Stairs”) formed, squandered its post-Pavement goodwill on dire stabs at alt-country.  Rumors of a reunion circulated for years, slightly stoked by Kannberg only to be shrugged off by Malkmus.  As far as I was concerned, though, the writing had been on the wall ever since the Matador label’s deluxe double-disc reissues of Pavement’s albums started generating more interest than either front man’s solo work.

As inevitable and unsurprising as this reunion may be, I still can’t overstate how much joy it gives me.  I think of every time I struggled to sing something just slightly out of my range, or to play something just slightly above my skill level, only to discover after mastering it that it sounded cooler with the mistakes left in.  I think of the bonding moments I had with my mother, my little brother, and my old friend.  I think of how genuinely flattered I was when a British reviewer said that my music was “the black version of Pavement.”  Last but not least, I think of every single time over the last few years in which I was too tired, confused, and scared to locate the exact words for my feelings, yet too emotionally constipated to remain silent.  I simply drowned my sorrows in Pavement’s music until I felt happy (or at least okay) again.  I lacked the courage to simply let the words spill out of my mouth, on to the page, and let sense arise from nonsense on its own. 

I can’t afford a ticket to any of the shows they’ve announced in New York, but if they come anywhere near Austin, it will be on like Donkey Kong in my life.

How is it that out of the blue an amazing track appears in my midst? The other day, one of my friends tweeted this track and claimed it to be the greatest recording ever recorded. I just had to check this out, first because I had never heard of this track before, and secondly because I live by the assumption that he has a good taste in music. He plays guitar, and although I’ve never met he resembles Bob Dylan.

How is it that I’ve never heard this track, or anything by this band? Could it be that growing up in the U.K. and being surrounded and blasted by 90’s Britpop (thanks, Jarvis) isolated me from what was really happening in the world? Could there be musical talent beyond Britains green and pleasant land – but… but.. I thought our 60’s invasion took care of the fact that British music will never be matched? What happened is that the British invasion sowed the seed, then took root in the American Heartland and has born fruit many times over.

“The Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory” is really something – the quality of the record is poor, but it is intentionally so. Guided By Voices went very lo-fi on this recording and gained much praise from their contemporaries by doing so. The lyrics are surreal – and my guess is that the only the author of those words knows what they mean. It’s as if they were pulled from a dreamlike state, one that is very haunting. Does this mountain spirit away his old friends, transforming them into different people, rendering them unrecognizable from their former-selfs? Does the mountain hold a promise of wealth, but once taken in by it, gives you back only evil and desolation ?

She runs through the night as if nobody cares
She screams and she hides and ignores all their stares
She wants me to come, but I’m never going there

The goldheart mountain top queen directory

Two very important people were born on August 27th. My baby sister Jennifer, and my sons father, Steve.  It’s hard to believe that Jennifer will be 31 today,  and even harder to believe that Steve will be 49. Cliche, but time really does fly. I hope they both have an incredible day, and that neither one ever forgets just how much they mean to me and Sam. Here is something both will absolutely hate, seeing as neither ever quite understood my commitment to GBV, which makes Forever Since Breakfast  the most perfect record to play in honour of their birthdays. Every cd I play in the car, gets a snotty, “what’s this, that Guided By Voices?”, from Jennifer. “No, Jennifer, this is the new Ty Segall.” Um, I’m not even sure when the last time Jennifer listened to a record or cd or the radio or anything remotely musical other than sam singing. Steve would always ask me to turn the car cd player off when he recognized the vocals of Pollard coming through the speakers. “But Steve, this is goooood.” “No Ingrid, this is not good.” HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Something else neither will be too enthusiastic about but will receive regardless are some peach biscuits I made tonight. My parents have a peach tree in their backyard and this year it has produced a phenominal amount of fruit. I was given an entire bag full earlier in the week. They aren’t really very sweet, but not really tart either, sort of the perfect baking peach if you ask me. A pie will have to wait for when I have a day off  work, which won’t be until Monday. For now, biscuits!

PEACH BISCUITS

-3 cups flour
-2 tbsp brown sugar
-1 tbsp baking powder
-1/2 tsp salt
-1/4 butter
-1 heaping tbsp honey
-4 plum size peached, peeled and sliced
-cream
-oats
-eggwash

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. I ran out of regular flour, and had to use cake and pastry flour, which worked fine, but needed sifting. Once all the dry ingredients are combined and the butter has been worked in and a course texture is achieved, add the honey and peaches and just enough cream to make the dough stick together.

my new old bread box #1

my new old bread box #2

Divide dough into two. I scattered rolled oats onto my work surface and patted each dough half flat into the oats so that each wheel had a coating of them.

Cut into 6 triangular biscuits, or whatever rocks your boat, and place  biscuits on  baking sheet. brush with an egg wash and bake 13-15 minutes. enjoy! and just because it fits, due to the song peach cobbler, and an array of other wonderful and delicious song titles, here is the new marmoset record to check out.  BUY  it HERE.

Unter diesem Motto lädt der Gemeinsame Bibliotheksverbund zur diesjährigen Verbundkonferenz an die Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Carl von Ossietzky nach Hamburg ein. Mal sehn was der GBV so neues zu bieten hat. Die erste Keynote kommt ja auch aus Potsdam, Dr. Harald Sack vom Hasso-Plattner-Institut für Softwaresystemtechnik der Universität Potsdam wird uns was über den Paradigmenwechsel in der Informationssuche “Wie Sie schon immer finden wollten, was Sie noch nie gesucht haben” erzählen. Und natürlich nicht zu vergessen der Festabend im Lichthof der SUB Hamburg.

Bei Musik und einem schönen Büffet freuen wir uns auf regen fachlichen Austausch, gute Gespräche und interessante neue Kontakte

LICHTHOF im Altbau der Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Hamburg

Der ist übrigens einem italienischen Palast nachempfunden.

Auf nach Hamburg, in den hohen Norden, wo eine steife Briese weht, die Dickschiffe auf der Elbe entlangschippern und die neue Elbphilharmonie gebaut wird.

Landeswappen HH

Der offizielle Tag lautet: gbvvk09

1. baked blueberry tea biscuits!

After yesterdays tea biscuit success, I got inspired. I’m going  to  try my hand at coming up with  a new version of the basic recipe each and everyday for the next few weeks. If nothing else, it will create some excitement in my soon to be samless house. The child heads off for PEI on Friday. Plus, Johnny will soon be in town, and he loves biscuits nearly as much as I do, and is always a willing and eager taste tester. I’m sort of eager to get this project underway.

I used the same biscuit recipe as yesterday, only I added an extra tablespoon of sugar (could have used three extra though), and instead of raisins, I added blueberries, and finished them with eggwash instead of a coating of milk. They came out a bit denser than yesterdays version, but tasted as good. I will admit that the blueberry flavour wasn't as intense as it should have been had I added more sugar, but overall, the basic flavours were there.

2. unsubscribed from Postal Blowfish!

There is a time and place for everything. This ship has sailed.

horray! my email is finally free of a million cosmos debates. There is only so much a person has time for.

“hold your tongue”  enjoy!

she's knocking around, she's always up to knocking around, she's always up to knocking around, she's knocking around, she's knocking around.

3. listened to the  noisey little record King Of The Arcade!

A Postal Blowfish tie in, as Gavin off the list mentioned Sludgefeast  once or twice, enticing me to listen and enjoy. Thanks to the list for countless wasted hours and a few moments of enlightenment.

"I've been spinning right out of control since the rocket blast!"

60-year-old white dude is straight William Blake (w some addt’l modern day raunch), though publisher Christian Peet asserts Gordon Massman has “firmly positioned himself outside of any known school of poetics [and] organized network of writers, be it established, academic, small press, micropress, underground or otherwise…”  Massman writes and offends accordingly.  Or so you may assess upon first reading his recent Tarpaulin Sky offering found here.

However, if you get past the sordid shock value and into his recent interview (with us, among others), you’ll find he’s trying to lay out a map the actual size of everything he is / encounters / has been / will be.  Well, it’s messier than that, though Massman claims a system of his own anarchic design (that pays no reverence to grammar and other rigid conformities society demands).  Which is why he doesn’t care if you read his work or not.    Despite Peet’s denial of Massman’s lack of adherence (and implied irreverence), this quote from said interview calls up Blake sitting naked on his lawn, “I believe the great nerve-work and fiery forge within each one of us almost godly in its omniscience and powers of perception. I believe you, Blake Butler, are murderer, industrialist, mendicant, spiritualist, rapist, whore, misogynist, and lover. I believe you are all human permutations from Hitler to Gandhi. When a man is nailed to a tree for his sexuality or ethnicity, I believe you are both the nailer and the appalled. You both refuse slavery and smoke crack alone in dingy rooms. You are God and The Devil.”  And so on.  Blakean through and through.

Anyway, I wouldn’t sit down with Massman’s Essential Numbers for the sake of comfort or even for its artistry, though the book is serious and determined, as well as apropos the current state of the world were you to engage more of that empathy bone Rowling asks us to use more often, else we ignore the monsters under our own beds. I mean, Massman implies that we choose to live with rose-colored specs much of the time, so color me blindly optimistic (or shades of) but I just can’t deal too much without a little temperance, a lot of editing (for we all edit, even Massman, despite his claims of inclusivity and the poems’ feel of free writing — he even says he closes his eyes and channels the poems — Dada automatic writing much?), and the elegance of structure in poems.  Of course, I do get that there is structure in chaos and all that, but my little brain simply takes only so much in before circuits start to challenge even the simplest of tasks like getting around and knowing up from down.

So take in Massman’s Numbers in tiny bits is what I did and do:  there’s much much raging against the dying of the light and many details to make it lively, stuff that reminds me of Dan Hoy’s work in tone here and there, which I would classify as the dark side of light, as well as other folks like Blake Butler (not coincidentally one of the interviewers) and Daniel Borzutky — all gents who share a love of the low brow, crass stuff of the daily with a hint of ‘I wanna startle and shock you from your apathy’, to put it too generically, most likely.  I’m sure there are some women out there, likely a few “Flarfists”, who write with similar noxious details, but I don’t think they share the earnest anger-play these former men touch.  And now that I’ve gotten into the terrority of assumption, I’ll let it ride and let the commentators clarify what I merely hint at.  That plus you can read Massman’s responses to some of my and Ana Bozicevic’s questions like:

If you can’t adore a woman and you can’t hate her, what can you do with her? I really want to know.

Is the lasting flaccidity of an executed idea really something to aspire to—turning boner into bone?

Are you the Sam Kinison of poetry?

Read the answers at Trickhouse now.

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Chicago Poetry’s official poetry calendar is covering the killer Printers’ Ball in Chicago, IL next weekend.  I somehow managed to get Gertrude Stein and Guided by Voices to mention the recent debacle on their blogs (actually, they agreed to merely note CJ Laity’s ad hominem attacks on Kristy Bowen based — or rather, debased — on her appearance, having little time to bother writing about it themselves).  Moreoever, ChicagoPoetryCalendar.org will be the official Printers’ Ball blog with tons of poets and events and the like in Chicago next weekend, enough for any other city to be envious of such camraderie and energy over poetry.  If you dislike men who call attention to women’s appearance as a “method” of argumentation, or if you simply approve of good coverage of Chicago events, why not give ChicagoPoetryCalendar.org a link this week?

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p.s. Come August 1st, we’ll be blowing the roof off Goodbye Blue Monday.  Will you be with we too?

I used to pump RAW coke R.A.W./ Big Daddy Kane used to keep in my bubble goose/

Brother Menelik (Av) and T.O.D. (Touch Of Death) are Cocaine Robots. Today I present you with a sneak peak off the Hot Dogs and Coke (Coney Island Shit) Mixtape, the track is called Into your eyes produced by T.O.D. HHTT APPROVED Cocaine Robots – Into Your Eyes

Esse novo Podcast Emissão 12 – Miseráveis do Ritmo, vem com artistas bem interessantes que colocam a alma em cada canção começando com GLB (Grant Lee Buffalo)- do figura Grant Lee Phillips e a incrível “Lone Star Song”.

O primeiro bloco chega com o saudoso Jeff Buckley – mártir do rock dos anos 90 não tão celebrado mas essêncial com a inglória “Eternal Life”, continuando a seleção com Jon Spencer Blues Explosion mandando bala com “Money Rock n´Roll” e Smashing Pumpkins bem sombrio e pesado com “Ava Adore”.

A segunda parte já chega mais psicodélica com som novo direto do Twitter dos Raveonettes e a versão demo de “In and out of control” combinando com o cover de Tom Waits por Scatlett Johansson D+ com “I dont want to grow up”, e tudo fica mais estranho com Man or Astro Man direto das mais profundas partes do universo com “10 years after world war”.

O Emissão 12 encerra com um trio de bandas que valem o quanto pesam, primeiro Guided by Voices e o som engajado de “I am a Tree”, seguido de Faith no More e pauleira da primeira fase “We care a lot”, fechando tudo com SOD – System of a Down e todos os ritmos de “Radio Video”.

CURTE O SOM GALERA

Glow worms stuffed full of coke/ Trapper keeper full of cash/ GT Chrome Spokes/ Dope. -AvThe movement continues! HHTT Productions is in full effect and T.O.D. has just signed on, is Da Leg back?? Yes and No, Most of you know me as Brother Menelik but I also go by my MC name Av. Over the last couple of months my brothers at HHTT have been pushing me to pursue music harder, so I got up with my old partner T and started writing. When you a true MC you never drop the pen so it wasn’t hard, Hip Hop has never left me and I never left her. The last couple years a lot has changed, I found the purpose of why I want to do this shit, I thought I did in the past but now I truly know. I want kids to sell drugs, get gold chains and watch Ducktales! Growing up, these are the things I idolized because they were relevant, I would race home through mainsouth past the dealers hoping to catch the last 10 minutes of M.A.S.K. If that doesn’t make sense I really don’t give a fuck, this is for my city, this is for my niggas still on the block and this is for my niggas who love books like the Watchmen and love shows like Alf, this is for ya’ll. Peep the session in preparation for the June 20^th Show, HHTT gets up at Worcester public library and do the damn thing.  This is only the beginning, should’ve killed us when you had the chance.

June 20^th HHTT gonna show you how to cook dope.

Start On The Street: Worcester

Hip hop is something that resides deep in our soul, the culture is beautiful its self expression in its rawest form. Growing up hip hop was more than music, it was my life. Certain songs bring back certain memories, certain memories bring back songs, its funny. HHTT has a deep love for where we grew up and always love to put on for our city. Chilling on Park Ave we noticed the art on the Leitrim Pub wall and decided to post up, seeing the art made me think of how much I still love hip hop and love being from the City of Wor. HHTT City Of Wor

Check the rest of the pics HHTT on Park Ave/ Leitrim Pub Wall Graffiti (Worcester)

Visit Leitrim’s to get a good drink on

Annual arts and culture festival taking place in Worcester, MA the 3rd Sunday in September. This event is planned by the Central Massachusetts Arts Assembly.

http://www.startonthestreet.org

November 2008, 10″ x 10″, acrylic on hardboard

Same view of the alley as Alley #1, but using only Mars Black and Titanium White.  There is a lot more detail in this one and I sketched things out beforehand.  At this size, painting this scene with this much detail is time consuming.  One of the major things I am trying to avoid is taking too much time.  Working on paintings or charcoal drawings in the past, it could easily take me 20 hours or more to complete.  Doing smaller and much quicker paintings with much less emphasis on detail is the key for me, so I can build momentum and keep my motivation high.

Robert Pollard is the role model to follow here.  Keep it short and simple.  Sometimes the song sucks, but its done in under 2 minutes.

I never thought I would be here reminiscing with ya’ll about my youth and where I came from, but damn I never thought I would see 21. Lex and I grew up on 91 Murray Ave in Worcester, Ma, the main south area. We didn’t live in the worst conditions but damn shit wasn’t sweet, drug dealers, prostitutes, feens etc all could be found on our block. We both lived in the Buckingham building on Murray Ave, I on the 5th Floor and Lex on the 1st.  This is my hood and I love where I grew up, when I speak of the “pissy” hallways and broke elevators its all love to my hood. Worcester is a funny place, you got ya gritty spots then beautiful, crack dealers on one side doctors on the other. This is where I’m from and I wouldn’t want it any different. Peace to GBV, Grafton, Plum, Lakeside, Mainsouth, Lincoln Vill, Moutain Vill, Eastern Ave, Upland Gardens, Washington Heights, North High, Burncoat, South, Doherty, Forest Grove, Downtown, Chandler, Newbury, Wellington, Hooper, Belmont, Vernon, Green Hill and any spots I left out.

RIP Rob V, we will never forget you.

Kim is studying to become a pastry chef.  She’s a  part-timer at the banquet hall I work at, and every Friday she usually brings in some  goodies she has  baked during that particular week at school. Back in December she brought in some stollen, and I was instantly reminded of being a kid, standing in my aunts delicatessen, eating sandwiches and slices of  stollen that had been snagged from the store inventory. At the time, I hated marzipan, or thought I hated martzipan and cared little for the selected dessert choices my aunt made.  The stollen Kim baked looked gorgeous, rustic in shape, snowy white from being dunked in butter and then coated by three different kinds of sugar , and once sliced, the inside revealed a mishmash of flavours ready to take my tongue hostage  -  sugars, nuts, dried fruit, marzipan. I can still remember that first bite, akin to hearing Bee Thousand for the first time,  familiar yet otherworldly, heavenly. Each subsequential bite melted in my mouth, and as I stood hunched over my work station that afternoon, overtaken by the deliciousness of the stollen, I decided stollen was my new favorite food. Last week Kim brought in some more, this time made by her fellow classmates. The one I took home  wasn’t half as good as the one Kim made back in December, but still,  it was buttery, and bursting with flavour, and sweet, but not overly so, and better than anything else I had eaten that day, or even that month. I will attempt to make this at some point in my life. I am predicting christmas 2009.

When I was 19, my cousin Tammy and I embarked on a six week road trip that led us through the States, our main destination was Texas, and I can’t really remember what it was about Texas inparticular that had us intrigued. While in Austin we came across a store that sold all sorts of movie paraphernalia, old and new, and when I spotted this Paramount publicity photo, and  press release for Face To Face, I nearly fainted and knew I had to have it. Not long before I had gone months without speaking to my siblings over something or other, well, actually something very specific, and I found solace in a television program that ran for six weeks focusing on the religious themes that seem to define Bergman films. Twice a week a movie would run and twice a week I would loose myself in the world of Bergman, a world where it was not only  okay to question and cry, but a requirement.  It was my first exposure to Bergman. A  few years later I took a course at St. Michaels University that focused on religion in film, and when Cinemateque Ontario held a massive Bergman marathon I went to every single showing. For a while  I was convinced I had learned to speak Swedish. Two years ago  when Max Von Sydow came to Toronto to present The Virgin Spring at TIFF, I was overcome with the same sense of excitement I had experienced at least 15 years prior when I first watched the film and deamed it a  favorite . It is magical.  Back in Austin though, the sales clerk ran after me and Tammy for at least half a block before giving up and returning back to the store. The prized  possession hangs  in the hallway leading to my bedroom, and the look on Ullmanns face is a constant reminder of  the anxiety related to aquiring the photo. So worth it.

I use to go to the huge HMV downtown to find things I’d read about in zines or heard about on Brave New Waves. Often, my eyes did the shopping while my wallet hid in my back pocket. I had needs, and I also had issues, the two seemed a perfect team on several excursions to the record store where I found myself  biting off more than I could chew. I only knew of Grifters because of their constant association with GBV, so when I came across this ep I thought it was important to have, but not so essential that I should dish out $22 for it. I recall getting home and listening to it and dismissing it as nothing other than forgettable. I never bothered getting another Grifters cd, and to this day Eureka e.p.  is the only one I own. I have recently realized how great this 7 song ep is. Maybe it seems so good because it reminds me of a time when my curiosity about music was at a high, when I was still young enough that my enthusiasm wasn’t foolishly mistaken for middle aged boredom. Whatever the case,  the songs may not hit me over the head, but the subtleties they carry speak volumes.  The opening of Eureka I.V sounds like a church hymn to me, and the entire song sounds like a sermon on life. I can’t listen to it and not feel depressed, “time’s been froze, way down broken….”, in the best way possible though.  Yeah.

steal it here.  Be good and  buy it here.