For what purposes, and under which circumstances, might a captain choose to utilize the Fireship as an offensive weapon?
A brief exploration of some possible motives:
1. Fireship used as the ultimate terror weapon on the high seas. The temerity of a captain who chooses to torch a perfectly good sailing vessel is frightening in its own right. Some would deem such a captain insane. Not unlike the suicide bombers of today, the captain who chooses to utilize a Fireship must believe in the righteousness of the mission and in addition, must be willing to succeed in this mission despite the high personal and material costs. To instill the maximum terror upon the enemy, the Fireship captain must be willing to do the unthinkable. This ability to place completion of the mission above a variety personal motivations seems the hallmark of one willing to unleash Fireships against an enemy.
2. Fireship used as distraction or feint. This motive seems possible, but weak. A captain could choose to utilize the Fireship to distract an opponent, to occupy an opponent's forces in order to reposition or maneuver other craft into position. Destroying one's ship seems a costly choice, especially to perform a feint maneuver. A captain with relatively vast resources may choose this option, although the more frugal among us may call such a move "foolhardy". A well-disguised Fireship feint-attack, however, can increase confusion among the opponent's forces.
3. Fireship used as harbor clearing weapon. In order to drive an opponent from their moorings, the Fireship can be unleashed within a harbor. Utilizing the Fireship in this manner increases the terror-value of the attacking raid: the opponent will likely be unprepared for such attack while comfortably at anchorage. The close proximity of opposing forces within the harbor increases the effectiveness of the Fireship attack: many vessels can be damaged or destroyed simultaneously.
4. Fireship used as "weapon-of-last-resort". This motive seems most plausible (and dramatic). A captain would choose to sacrifice the Fireship in order to overcome the power of a superior opponent. Being the "weapon-of-last-resort", the Fireship would be prepared and deployed with great precision and care. As the last-chance weapon, the Fireship's value to achieving the mission goals would necessarily be inestimable.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Monday, October 18, 2004
Fireship soundtrack music
a couple of cool instrumental bands that might just change your life:
the Blue Hawaiians
the Bitch Boys
LISTEN: the Blue Hawaiians play Mancini's "Charade"
LISTEN: the Bitch Boys play "Blejski Venck"
the Blue Hawaiians
the Bitch Boys
LISTEN: the Blue Hawaiians play Mancini's "Charade"
LISTEN: the Bitch Boys play "Blejski Venck"
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
The Fireship: an introduction to a metaphor
Fire has, since the beginning of time, been utilized as an effective nautical weapon: simply put, wood ships burn. The Greeks and Phonecians may have originated the technology of the Fireship: a specially modified craft jam-packed with incendiaries, explosives and flammables which is ignited and then sent careening into a target vessel. The effect of this weapon was terrifying. A demonic-ship-of-fire that sacrifices herself in order to destroy another. During the days of tall-masted wood and canvas ships, no other weapon struck as much terror into the hearts of seamen as did the Fireship. In a sense, the Fireship was an early terrorist weapon, and to the sailor, definitely a weapon of mass destruction. What worse fate than to be incinerated while afloat?
Typically, Fireships were outfitted with their infernal cargoes well hidden. The idea was to fully disguise a Fireship in order to avoid drawing undue attention. The ship was outfitted in a secret port, and then maneuvered into the battle area by a skeleton crew. Typically, this skeleton crew would raise sail and banners and pretend to be just another "ship-of-the-line". In a highly synchronized maneuver, the crew would light smoldering punks below decks and ready the lifeboats abaft. At the last possible moment, the sails would be tacked and the wheel would be blocked. As the Fireship quickly changed course, she was headed straight towards her target. Meanwhile, the skeleton crew would quickly abandon ship. The Fireship then completed her malevolent mission unguided.
Rigging lines and woodbeam crossarms would intertwine in a fiery dance of death. The flames ignite, the terror comlete. "Thems that die be the lucky ones!"
Typically, Fireships were outfitted with their infernal cargoes well hidden. The idea was to fully disguise a Fireship in order to avoid drawing undue attention. The ship was outfitted in a secret port, and then maneuvered into the battle area by a skeleton crew. Typically, this skeleton crew would raise sail and banners and pretend to be just another "ship-of-the-line". In a highly synchronized maneuver, the crew would light smoldering punks below decks and ready the lifeboats abaft. At the last possible moment, the sails would be tacked and the wheel would be blocked. As the Fireship quickly changed course, she was headed straight towards her target. Meanwhile, the skeleton crew would quickly abandon ship. The Fireship then completed her malevolent mission unguided.
Rigging lines and woodbeam crossarms would intertwine in a fiery dance of death. The flames ignite, the terror comlete. "Thems that die be the lucky ones!"
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
NEWS FLASH: Secular Humanism pervades public educational institutions
File this dispatch under: RANT.
Today, I received a tongue lashing from a parent because I classified humans as "Animals" during a Junior High science lecture. The lecture was an attempt to explain the various sub-fields of scientific inquiry: physical science, life science, earth science and applied science. My attempt was to distinguish between the realms of physical science (inanimate science) and life science (animate science). Life science, I explained, has many sub-specialties: biology, botany, zoology, medicine, ecology, etceteras. Biology, I continued, is usually divided into animal biology and plant biology, and additionally, single-cell biology. Needless to say, the student was surprised to find out that scientifically, humans are classified as animals. Unlike plants, humans eat, digest and defecate and are highly mobile. Humans possess specialized animal organs and tissues. Humans do not normally photosynthesize. A straight-forward classification, so I thought.
Little did I know, that since the mid-14th century, secular humanism has been running rampant in our public education system. Of course I knew about Thomas Hobbs, John Locke, Niccolo Machiavelli and Adam Smith...and of course I knew about the tumultuous period known as the Elightenment...but, I obviously I was unaware of the rampant secular humanist conspiracy to take over the minds of our youth. Perhaps I was wrong to suggest that of course, since our US Constitution was prefaced and based upon these heretical secular humanist philosophies, than it only made sense that our entire public education system was nothing more than a shady humanistic sham intended to sway unsuspecting young minds into the satanic fold of the Evolutionary Darwinists. As Huxley once said: "you pays your money, and you takes your chances."
Perhaps our publicly funded education systems should teach church doctrine. The confusing part for me will be deciding which church I'm supposed represent. I like what the Catholic doctrine has to offer, maybe I should teach that. No wait, perhaps the shamanistic Native American religions have a more invigorating viewpoint, I'll try that. Or, better yet, perhaps the State can guide my decision, the State could definitely decide which doctrine would be best for me to teach. I mean, heck, they already decided that I should teach the secular humanist heresy, right?
The point is, that perhaps our Constitution represents something more than a simple piece of paper I use to justify my personal positions and philosophies in life. Perhaps it serves as a sort of criterion intended to governs the machinations of a "free" nation. Then again, perhaps the founding father's were nothing more than money-grubbing-secular-humanist-proto-Darwinists-lying-in wait-to-devour-our-God-fearing-Cotton-Mather-Puritan-souls.
Today, I received a tongue lashing from a parent because I classified humans as "Animals" during a Junior High science lecture. The lecture was an attempt to explain the various sub-fields of scientific inquiry: physical science, life science, earth science and applied science. My attempt was to distinguish between the realms of physical science (inanimate science) and life science (animate science). Life science, I explained, has many sub-specialties: biology, botany, zoology, medicine, ecology, etceteras. Biology, I continued, is usually divided into animal biology and plant biology, and additionally, single-cell biology. Needless to say, the student was surprised to find out that scientifically, humans are classified as animals. Unlike plants, humans eat, digest and defecate and are highly mobile. Humans possess specialized animal organs and tissues. Humans do not normally photosynthesize. A straight-forward classification, so I thought.
Little did I know, that since the mid-14th century, secular humanism has been running rampant in our public education system. Of course I knew about Thomas Hobbs, John Locke, Niccolo Machiavelli and Adam Smith...and of course I knew about the tumultuous period known as the Elightenment...but, I obviously I was unaware of the rampant secular humanist conspiracy to take over the minds of our youth. Perhaps I was wrong to suggest that of course, since our US Constitution was prefaced and based upon these heretical secular humanist philosophies, than it only made sense that our entire public education system was nothing more than a shady humanistic sham intended to sway unsuspecting young minds into the satanic fold of the Evolutionary Darwinists. As Huxley once said: "you pays your money, and you takes your chances."
Perhaps our publicly funded education systems should teach church doctrine. The confusing part for me will be deciding which church I'm supposed represent. I like what the Catholic doctrine has to offer, maybe I should teach that. No wait, perhaps the shamanistic Native American religions have a more invigorating viewpoint, I'll try that. Or, better yet, perhaps the State can guide my decision, the State could definitely decide which doctrine would be best for me to teach. I mean, heck, they already decided that I should teach the secular humanist heresy, right?
The point is, that perhaps our Constitution represents something more than a simple piece of paper I use to justify my personal positions and philosophies in life. Perhaps it serves as a sort of criterion intended to governs the machinations of a "free" nation. Then again, perhaps the founding father's were nothing more than money-grubbing-secular-humanist-proto-Darwinists-lying-in wait-to-devour-our-God-fearing-Cotton-Mather-Puritan-souls.
Monday, September 27, 2004
Ruminations on the Class of '83
backwards into the tube
closed inside the tunnel
falls onwards and outwards
the tunnel-pipe we peep through
away from today
charcoal eyes searching
connect with some
remembrance of another
looking to reconnect
make contact
and be touched
that way again
the clouds appear
and blocking the sun
and blocking the moon
and blocking the stars
they block the memories
of known things forgotten
charcoal eyes
remind
sullen acceptance
of clocks ticking
cars driving
planes flying
doors closing
goodbyes never said
heartbreak never accepted
dreams never acknowledged
tunnels never closing
the pipe inside the tunnel-cave
we peep through
and see today
closed inside the tunnel
falls onwards and outwards
the tunnel-pipe we peep through
away from today
charcoal eyes searching
connect with some
remembrance of another
looking to reconnect
make contact
and be touched
that way again
the clouds appear
and blocking the sun
and blocking the moon
and blocking the stars
they block the memories
of known things forgotten
charcoal eyes
remind
sullen acceptance
of clocks ticking
cars driving
planes flying
doors closing
goodbyes never said
heartbreak never accepted
dreams never acknowledged
tunnels never closing
the pipe inside the tunnel-cave
we peep through
and see today
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
dick dale desert sunset
high on a quiet desert plain,
lonesome staccato guitar
in hand
Dick Dale
rules this joshua tree empire
like a Machiavellian prince
of old
come to life
in the
here and now
in order to
totally kick your ass
lonesome staccato guitar:
ostinato crying
like the desert winds
in a black leather jacket;
the Dick Dale desert
stretches out
as far as the human eye
can see
quiet on the high desert plain
Dick Dale ostinato
lonesome staccato guitar
reverberates
through
sand rock canyons:
tube riders
on longboards,
horses hooves
beating ceaselessly
on Pacific Beach
desert sand
waves
lonesome staccato guitar
in the Dick Dale desert:
reverberation screaming
louder than
adobe
women giving birth
to adobe sons
riding longboards,
endless summer
setting on
Pacific Beach
desert sand
waves
Dick Dale desert sunset
cries Miserlou
"hup ho- Miiis-er-loooooo-"
quietly
alone
again
lonesome staccato guitar
in hand
Dick Dale
rules this joshua tree empire
like a Machiavellian prince
of old
come to life
in the
here and now
in order to
totally kick your ass
lonesome staccato guitar:
ostinato crying
like the desert winds
in a black leather jacket;
the Dick Dale desert
stretches out
as far as the human eye
can see
quiet on the high desert plain
Dick Dale ostinato
lonesome staccato guitar
reverberates
through
sand rock canyons:
tube riders
on longboards,
horses hooves
beating ceaselessly
on Pacific Beach
desert sand
waves
lonesome staccato guitar
in the Dick Dale desert:
reverberation screaming
louder than
adobe
women giving birth
to adobe sons
riding longboards,
endless summer
setting on
Pacific Beach
desert sand
waves
Dick Dale desert sunset
cries Miserlou
"hup ho- Miiis-er-loooooo-"
quietly
alone
again
Monday, September 20, 2004
plastic surgery reconsidered
Plastic surgery is often touted as a safe and harmless (as well as glamorous) method to "correct" or "enhance" percieved imperfections or flaws in one's appearance. To some, it is the ultimate luxury item: conspicuous consumption and a status symbol that accents the Cadillac nicely. To others, it is the fulfillment of a lifetime's dream: correcting the flaws and the imperfections that have annoyed and frustrated, sometimes to tears.
Unfortunately, like any surgical procedure there are hidden costs, risks and possible complications:
1. encapsulation: the body can produce scar tissue which surrounds foreign material. These scars (aka encapsulations) can distort one's visage in unexpected ways.
2. infection: like any surgery, elective plastic surgery entails the risk of infection. Five weeks of Cipro, accompanied with foul sanguineous discharge is not a pleasant prospect.
3. pain: if you enjoy sleeping in odd positions and popping Vicadin, elective plastic surgery might be for you.
4. financial cost: well, you know this one: $$$
5. emotional cost: pain, suffering, frustration, self-doubt...and, hopefully in the end, if everything goes as planned, satisfaction.
Many who have been under the knife would caution those contemplating elective plastic surgery: heed this warning.
Unfortunately, like any surgical procedure there are hidden costs, risks and possible complications:
1. encapsulation: the body can produce scar tissue which surrounds foreign material. These scars (aka encapsulations) can distort one's visage in unexpected ways.
2. infection: like any surgery, elective plastic surgery entails the risk of infection. Five weeks of Cipro, accompanied with foul sanguineous discharge is not a pleasant prospect.
3. pain: if you enjoy sleeping in odd positions and popping Vicadin, elective plastic surgery might be for you.
4. financial cost: well, you know this one: $$$
5. emotional cost: pain, suffering, frustration, self-doubt...and, hopefully in the end, if everything goes as planned, satisfaction.
Many who have been under the knife would caution those contemplating elective plastic surgery: heed this warning.
Universal Resource Locator for Sector Seven
Reverand Krogar's (aka Frank G) awesomely interesting experimental website: Universal Resource Locator for Sector Seven
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Lonesome Magic Vice Harvest
Like many in America, I am often enchanted by some new thing I see (or hear) on the television set.
One new thing that always makes me stop and take notice these days is a commercial for car insurance. In this commercial, different dogs are riding around as passengers in different cars. The dogs all seem to be exhibiting different emotions. The aspect of this commercial that catches my attention is not the visual canine imagery, but rather the soundtrack. The music behind the commercial is of a acoustic guitar and some dude whistling.
For weeks I have thought: "Man, I must remember to find out the title of that tune...it's a cool tune..."
So, after some diligent Internet researching, I now know.
The title of this catchy whistle-guitar tune is "Lonesome Magic Vice Harvest" by Alexandre Geindre.
This tune is found on a various artists compilation CD entitled : Fashion Week #1
One new thing that always makes me stop and take notice these days is a commercial for car insurance. In this commercial, different dogs are riding around as passengers in different cars. The dogs all seem to be exhibiting different emotions. The aspect of this commercial that catches my attention is not the visual canine imagery, but rather the soundtrack. The music behind the commercial is of a acoustic guitar and some dude whistling.
For weeks I have thought: "Man, I must remember to find out the title of that tune...it's a cool tune..."
So, after some diligent Internet researching, I now know.
The title of this catchy whistle-guitar tune is "Lonesome Magic Vice Harvest" by Alexandre Geindre.
This tune is found on a various artists compilation CD entitled : Fashion Week #1
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
return to the desert: September 2000
By September, I had been in Missouri for seven months. Mount Vernon, Missouri is located approximately 60 miles south east of Springfield, Missouri. I had my Missouri driver's license. I had worked a bunch of odd jobs. Looking for an answer, finding firefly front porch cigarettes so lonely. I was living with a misguided spirit again. The Midwest rains fell and tornado lightening shattered summer into fall.
Missouri wasn't right anymore. Living with an actress wasn't right anymore. Looking at a life so far from the Pacific Ocean wasn't right anymore. The movie called "My Life in Missouri" needed an ending.
I borrowed $500 dollars and Lesa's brother helped me build a box on the back of the Jeep pick-up so that I could pack up all my crap and leave. It was a sturdy frame thing that I covered with a blue water-proof tarp. Would it hold up to 1800 miles of American Highway in September 2000? My Fender amplifier would tell the tale.
The day I pulled out, it was raining. I was the foil in a front-porch heatbreak scene. Was I even there? Storm clouds rumbled in their rumbling Missouri way. Ciccada's buzz in the treetops. She says she feels like an old hat on a thrift store shelf: who will ever want her again? Melodramatic drama as her role in the show ends permanently: she finds herself written out of the script. Drunken recriminations in the arms of a Missouri State Trooper's hottub will ease the pain again (until his wife discovers the secret). Be careful, (especially if they own a Missouri car wash.)... Be careful, my friend.
By the time I hit Joplin, Missouri, the rain was over. Oklahoma Waffle House morning gasoline diesel driving. New Mexico has finally-decent Mexican food. Arizona egg-breakfast satisfies with cactus and Chollula sauce. Flagstaff afternoon is refreshingly cool and pine tree shades me over.
Joplin, Missouri...it was all over, all over, all over...
California Colorado crossing, then on to Needles. Midnight drive, overloaded, 98 degrees Farenheight at two in the morning.
The storms of Joplin, Missouri...no longer matter.
Barstow route 66 and Victorville...Boulder Road and Bell Mountain: headlights shine as semi-truck roars onward towards the Pacific.
Silhouette moon: all is quiet. Joshua tree silence moonlight blankets all. Streetlight glimmers.
Mojave desert, again.
Missouri wasn't right anymore. Living with an actress wasn't right anymore. Looking at a life so far from the Pacific Ocean wasn't right anymore. The movie called "My Life in Missouri" needed an ending.
I borrowed $500 dollars and Lesa's brother helped me build a box on the back of the Jeep pick-up so that I could pack up all my crap and leave. It was a sturdy frame thing that I covered with a blue water-proof tarp. Would it hold up to 1800 miles of American Highway in September 2000? My Fender amplifier would tell the tale.
The day I pulled out, it was raining. I was the foil in a front-porch heatbreak scene. Was I even there? Storm clouds rumbled in their rumbling Missouri way. Ciccada's buzz in the treetops. She says she feels like an old hat on a thrift store shelf: who will ever want her again? Melodramatic drama as her role in the show ends permanently: she finds herself written out of the script. Drunken recriminations in the arms of a Missouri State Trooper's hottub will ease the pain again (until his wife discovers the secret). Be careful, (especially if they own a Missouri car wash.)... Be careful, my friend.
By the time I hit Joplin, Missouri, the rain was over. Oklahoma Waffle House morning gasoline diesel driving. New Mexico has finally-decent Mexican food. Arizona egg-breakfast satisfies with cactus and Chollula sauce. Flagstaff afternoon is refreshingly cool and pine tree shades me over.
Joplin, Missouri...it was all over, all over, all over...
California Colorado crossing, then on to Needles. Midnight drive, overloaded, 98 degrees Farenheight at two in the morning.
The storms of Joplin, Missouri...no longer matter.
Barstow route 66 and Victorville...Boulder Road and Bell Mountain: headlights shine as semi-truck roars onward towards the Pacific.
Silhouette moon: all is quiet. Joshua tree silence moonlight blankets all. Streetlight glimmers.
Mojave desert, again.
Monday, September 13, 2004
return to the desert: 1995
In the mid- 1990s, it seemed like a good idea to move north and join a band. So I did. I loaded up the Jeep pickup, and moved to Emeryville, California. Back then, Emeryville was still a seedy low-budget warehousing district. My buddy said I could stay in the practice warehouse...a fantastic huge room with one wall of glass panes that overlooked the harbour and container ship loading/unloading area. The place had no heating or cooling...and just a refrigerator, toilet and two-burner hotplate. My pal, the drummer, hooked me up with a cool job working across the Richmond Bridge at the Birkenstock Warehouse. The place was awesome, an early 1960s Jet Age/New Frontier/ International Style/ LeCorbusier/Buckminister Fulleresque inspired warehouse of the future. I believe it was originally the Rand McNally Publishing House distribution center back in the olden days. Lots of bio-inspired hanging trusses, open space, cantilevered weight distribution etceteras. Anyway, I ended up working there as a re-soler for people's old beat up Birks. After about 6 weeks, I couldn't take that job so I quit, and then I decided that the city of San Francisco was not really the place for a poor dude like me. I was going totally broke every two seconds, it costs $10 just to take a crap in San Fran, let alone finding a decent commode...it was all, like, impossible.
Driving down highway 99 through the heart of Central California is a blessing. Twisting through the dry Tehachapis in September is a joyful adventure. Stopping in Mojave to fill up the gas tank again...the Union Pacific roars by, heat and desert dust accompaning the noise of steel wheels on steel rails. Lightning flashes above, the smell of creosote and rain welcomes you home.
Driving down highway 99 through the heart of Central California is a blessing. Twisting through the dry Tehachapis in September is a joyful adventure. Stopping in Mojave to fill up the gas tank again...the Union Pacific roars by, heat and desert dust accompaning the noise of steel wheels on steel rails. Lightning flashes above, the smell of creosote and rain welcomes you home.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
The Glass: half full or half empty?
Most considering this phrase would focus on the contents of the glass: the final judgment of the liquid's state being the psychological barometer of attitude adoption. The pessimist, of course, undoubtedly chooses the solid "half empty" stance; the optimist most assuredly opts for the unwavering "half full" mode.
Why do we not consider the vessel itself: The Glass?
The role of the glass is purely functional: its mode of being is unquestionably utilitarian.
It simply is. It functions as it is. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Being filled is satiation, being not-filled is emptiness.
Does not the glass serve the simple master of filling and un-filling? Perhaps the process is the key to the enigma?
Why question the ever-changing fluid contents, when perhaps the simple vessel itself reveals the ultimate answer?
Why do we not consider the vessel itself: The Glass?
The role of the glass is purely functional: its mode of being is unquestionably utilitarian.
It simply is. It functions as it is. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Being filled is satiation, being not-filled is emptiness.
Does not the glass serve the simple master of filling and un-filling? Perhaps the process is the key to the enigma?
Why question the ever-changing fluid contents, when perhaps the simple vessel itself reveals the ultimate answer?
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
The Who Live at The Hollywood Bowl: 09 August 2004
Frank and Dawn and I attended The Who show at the Hollywood Bowl.
My reactions? Read on:
1. A guy behind me had a great comment:"Man, last time I saw the Who, everybody in the audience was a lot younger..." yeah, and they didn't bring their kids with 'em either.
2. Pete's guitar playing was darn good. It's cool that he finally learned how to play onstage and actually takes off on sonic-jazz-chord-adventures-that don't-lead-anywhere. The Who sounded great at this show, super-musical.
3. Pino Palladino needs to TURN HIS BASS UP! An eerie silence permeated the bowl as the solo to "My Generation" approached...the ghost of John Entwistle floated effortlessly by, Pino tried, and the Who carried on....
4. Roger experimented with his lyrics/vocal arrangements. Not as exciting as Pete's experiments, but Roger was never really that exciting anyway...
5. Zak Starkey played very "Who-like" drums...he needs a few more drums and cymbals though...that way he can try playing "forward" more...maybe a big giant gong would be cool...
6. I particularly enjoyed Pete's acoustic rendition of "Drowned"...similar to the "Secret Policeman's Ball" version. Man, that Pete can tear it up on acoustic Takamamine...
7. The Who pulled off an extended "Won't Get Fooled Again" jam...very reminiscent of John Lee Hooker's "Boogie Chillun"...memorable stuff...
8. The two new Who tunes worked out okay live, even though they sucked terribly on the new Who greatest hits package.
9. The Who still seems to express sincerity...it seems like they still think they are a viable "rock" band. (Even though, in all truthfulness, rock is now totally DEAD)
10. Context... from the Who's old-fart standpoint, I think that they provide a needed service to aging baby boomers and their kids...namely, they allow them a space to smoke weed and reminisce about their past. Baby boomer kids can go to a Who concert and pretend that they are actually seeing a real rock show. Old mods and gen-x punks can go to a Who show and get totally pissed off at the absolute commercialisation/consumerization of the Who. Hey, they are simply the loudest commercial in the history of commercials ever, right?
11. No moshing allowed at a Who concert...just weird Jerry-Garcia-follower-interpretive-weed-dancing...that's okay though, because now that rock is DEAD, moshing and slamming should finally be dead too.
12. The Who can still jam, but only for 15 second intervals.
13. The Who is not the loudest band in the world anymore...Dick Dale now holds that prestigious spot. Rock on DD!
14. Nothing got smashed or even broken, although at one point it looked as if Pete might have hurt his hand banging his fist into the face of his Stratocaster. That sounded the best...banging Stratocaster feedback noise...a Townshend trademark.
15. Pete's red Stratocaster #2 sounded better than his white Stratocaster...and way better than red Stratocaster #1.
Piercing clearly stated tone... Now, if we can only convince him to leave that damn tremolo bar alone...man, it's like he thinks he's Eddie Van Halen, or something.
16. I wonder if I will ever hear anyone really rock again?
My reactions? Read on:
1. A guy behind me had a great comment:"Man, last time I saw the Who, everybody in the audience was a lot younger..." yeah, and they didn't bring their kids with 'em either.
2. Pete's guitar playing was darn good. It's cool that he finally learned how to play onstage and actually takes off on sonic-jazz-chord-adventures-that don't-lead-anywhere. The Who sounded great at this show, super-musical.
3. Pino Palladino needs to TURN HIS BASS UP! An eerie silence permeated the bowl as the solo to "My Generation" approached...the ghost of John Entwistle floated effortlessly by, Pino tried, and the Who carried on....
4. Roger experimented with his lyrics/vocal arrangements. Not as exciting as Pete's experiments, but Roger was never really that exciting anyway...
5. Zak Starkey played very "Who-like" drums...he needs a few more drums and cymbals though...that way he can try playing "forward" more...maybe a big giant gong would be cool...
6. I particularly enjoyed Pete's acoustic rendition of "Drowned"...similar to the "Secret Policeman's Ball" version. Man, that Pete can tear it up on acoustic Takamamine...
7. The Who pulled off an extended "Won't Get Fooled Again" jam...very reminiscent of John Lee Hooker's "Boogie Chillun"...memorable stuff...
8. The two new Who tunes worked out okay live, even though they sucked terribly on the new Who greatest hits package.
9. The Who still seems to express sincerity...it seems like they still think they are a viable "rock" band. (Even though, in all truthfulness, rock is now totally DEAD)
10. Context... from the Who's old-fart standpoint, I think that they provide a needed service to aging baby boomers and their kids...namely, they allow them a space to smoke weed and reminisce about their past. Baby boomer kids can go to a Who concert and pretend that they are actually seeing a real rock show. Old mods and gen-x punks can go to a Who show and get totally pissed off at the absolute commercialisation/consumerization of the Who. Hey, they are simply the loudest commercial in the history of commercials ever, right?
11. No moshing allowed at a Who concert...just weird Jerry-Garcia-follower-interpretive-weed-dancing...that's okay though, because now that rock is DEAD, moshing and slamming should finally be dead too.
12. The Who can still jam, but only for 15 second intervals.
13. The Who is not the loudest band in the world anymore...Dick Dale now holds that prestigious spot. Rock on DD!
14. Nothing got smashed or even broken, although at one point it looked as if Pete might have hurt his hand banging his fist into the face of his Stratocaster. That sounded the best...banging Stratocaster feedback noise...a Townshend trademark.
15. Pete's red Stratocaster #2 sounded better than his white Stratocaster...and way better than red Stratocaster #1.
Piercing clearly stated tone... Now, if we can only convince him to leave that damn tremolo bar alone...man, it's like he thinks he's Eddie Van Halen, or something.
16. I wonder if I will ever hear anyone really rock again?
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
The Who: Pacific Tour
The Who is currently touring the Pacific (Japan, Australia, Hawaii,California)
Here's their set list from Melbourne 31 July 2004:
I Can't Explain
Substitute
Anyway Anyhow Anywhere
Baba O'Riley
Behind Blue Eyes
Real Good Looking Boy
Who Are You
Drowned
Punk And The Godfather
Love Reign O'er Me
Eminence Front
You Better You Bet
The Kids Are Alright
My Generation / Old Red Wine
Won't Get Fooled Again
Encore:
Pinball Wizard
Amazing Journey / Sparks
See Me Feel Me
Listening To You
The Who will be playing the Hollywood Bowl, Los Angeles, California on 6 August 2004
Here's their set list from Melbourne 31 July 2004:
I Can't Explain
Substitute
Anyway Anyhow Anywhere
Baba O'Riley
Behind Blue Eyes
Real Good Looking Boy
Who Are You
Drowned
Punk And The Godfather
Love Reign O'er Me
Eminence Front
You Better You Bet
The Kids Are Alright
My Generation / Old Red Wine
Won't Get Fooled Again
Encore:
Pinball Wizard
Amazing Journey / Sparks
See Me Feel Me
Listening To You
The Who will be playing the Hollywood Bowl, Los Angeles, California on 6 August 2004
Guantanamo Time Share
exclusive gated resort community
24-hour security
stay a month, stay a year
no clock, no calendar
no cel phones
meditative retreat
tropical scenery
ocean vistas
semi-private accomodations
duty-free store
room + board
all gratuities included
space still available
no passport needed
act now
24-hour security
stay a month, stay a year
no clock, no calendar
no cel phones
meditative retreat
tropical scenery
ocean vistas
semi-private accomodations
duty-free store
room + board
all gratuities included
space still available
no passport needed
act now
Friday, July 30, 2004
the geography of nowhere
A looming 21-year High School reunion has led me to ponder the past, especially the town I grew up in. I have been reading The Geography of Nowhere by James Howard Kuntsler, a book which explores the rise of suburbia and automobile culture in America. Kuntsler explores the effects of modernist design philosophy (Le Corbusier, Gropius, Bauhaus etc. ) . Although Kunstler's book is by no means a complete history, his insights are provocative. His basic thesis is that the rise of the automobile has led to the development of a banal and meaningless "geography of nowhere". In other words, since the 1920s, Americans have pursued a single-minded vision when it comes to urban development: namely treating our built surroundings as disposable commodities to be bought and sold.
Growing up in a suburb, I experienced this sort of fake-non-reality-bubble of what a city should be, or what it should do for its residents. There was always nothing to do, nowhere to go. Fortunately, in those days, creative people created their own "scene", no matter how lame it was. Such a naive scene based on our libertine tastes and overbearing ignorance. Of course, conformity was the rule.
And we all nearly shit ourselves when we got behind the wheel of our first car. It was almost like and 5-year-old's first trip to Disneyland. It was like that first sexual experience. It was an epiphany, of sorts.
Little did we realize that our addiction to auto travel would bring such a high cost to our lonely empty souls. Who ever thought that being so cheap would cost us so much?
Growing up in a suburb, I experienced this sort of fake-non-reality-bubble of what a city should be, or what it should do for its residents. There was always nothing to do, nowhere to go. Fortunately, in those days, creative people created their own "scene", no matter how lame it was. Such a naive scene based on our libertine tastes and overbearing ignorance. Of course, conformity was the rule.
And we all nearly shit ourselves when we got behind the wheel of our first car. It was almost like and 5-year-old's first trip to Disneyland. It was like that first sexual experience. It was an epiphany, of sorts.
Little did we realize that our addiction to auto travel would bring such a high cost to our lonely empty souls. Who ever thought that being so cheap would cost us so much?
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
the Funk Brothers
"The Funk Brothers are the greatest hit machine of all time."
So proclaims the liner notes of Motown's latest 20th Century Masters series release The Best of The Funk Brothers...and I wholeheartedly agree with this assessment....to a point. When one says "greatest" it usually implies some sort of competition, and I don't think that sentiment personifies the Funk Brothers at all. These guys are great in the once-in-a-lifetime-greatness way.
So who are The Funk Brothers?
simply stated: they are the various members of Motowns in-house studio band(s) circa 1960-1972.
James Jamerson-bass
Bob Babbitt-bass
Earl Van Dyke- keyboards
Johnny Griffith-keyboards
Joe Messina-guitar
Robert White-guitar
Eddie Willis-guitar
Benny Benjamin-drums
Richard Allen-drums
Uriel Jones-drums
Eddie "Bongo" Brown-congas
Jack Ashford-vibes
These guys made their living playing music, a fact which is abundantly evident on this CD. The musicianship is first-rate high-calibre honest-to-goodness killer jamming! But, if these guys didn't produce hits, then...well, then they simply didn't work for Motown anymore. In other words, the had to kick-butt or else hit the road, Jack.
This collection presents the instrumental backing tracks to a plethora of Motown's big (and not-so-big) radio hits.
If you'd like to hear a first-rate rhythm section in action without all that annoying singing, then this CD is for you.
My personal favourites are:
"6 by 6"
"Runaway Child, Running Wild"
"What's Going On"
"Papa was a Rolling Stone"
If you see this CD, by all means drop the $10 and pick it up. Worth every penny.
So proclaims the liner notes of Motown's latest 20th Century Masters series release The Best of The Funk Brothers...and I wholeheartedly agree with this assessment....to a point. When one says "greatest" it usually implies some sort of competition, and I don't think that sentiment personifies the Funk Brothers at all. These guys are great in the once-in-a-lifetime-greatness way.
So who are The Funk Brothers?
simply stated: they are the various members of Motowns in-house studio band(s) circa 1960-1972.
James Jamerson-bass
Bob Babbitt-bass
Earl Van Dyke- keyboards
Johnny Griffith-keyboards
Joe Messina-guitar
Robert White-guitar
Eddie Willis-guitar
Benny Benjamin-drums
Richard Allen-drums
Uriel Jones-drums
Eddie "Bongo" Brown-congas
Jack Ashford-vibes
These guys made their living playing music, a fact which is abundantly evident on this CD. The musicianship is first-rate high-calibre honest-to-goodness killer jamming! But, if these guys didn't produce hits, then...well, then they simply didn't work for Motown anymore. In other words, the had to kick-butt or else hit the road, Jack.
This collection presents the instrumental backing tracks to a plethora of Motown's big (and not-so-big) radio hits.
If you'd like to hear a first-rate rhythm section in action without all that annoying singing, then this CD is for you.
My personal favourites are:
"6 by 6"
"Runaway Child, Running Wild"
"What's Going On"
"Papa was a Rolling Stone"
If you see this CD, by all means drop the $10 and pick it up. Worth every penny.
South of the Border
awoke this morning dreaming
of a Baja surf session
south of the border
(down Mexico way)
get the good friends together
load up the cruiser
driving south, south and further south
Clemente, Onofre, Encinitas, Oceanside, Windandsea
south, south of the border
(down Mexico way)
wind and sea
sand blows across coastal highway
coastal eddy
cool as cool can be under southern skies
south of the border
(down Mexico way)
as the sun came up
I was already at sunset
the day had past before it began
there's no-time
south of the border
(down Mexico way)
the longboard hangs mournfully indoors on the patio
it mocks me
as I eat my Cheerios
getting ready for work
my wetsuit hangs dejected in the closet
among the other clothing I won't wear today
south, southwest
(down Mexico way)
of a Baja surf session
south of the border
(down Mexico way)
get the good friends together
load up the cruiser
driving south, south and further south
Clemente, Onofre, Encinitas, Oceanside, Windandsea
south, south of the border
(down Mexico way)
wind and sea
sand blows across coastal highway
coastal eddy
cool as cool can be under southern skies
south of the border
(down Mexico way)
as the sun came up
I was already at sunset
the day had past before it began
there's no-time
south of the border
(down Mexico way)
the longboard hangs mournfully indoors on the patio
it mocks me
as I eat my Cheerios
getting ready for work
my wetsuit hangs dejected in the closet
among the other clothing I won't wear today
south, southwest
(down Mexico way)
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)