I could give a repeat performance in my parents' basement

In a loft that likely was itself a relic of a previous era, one of horn-rimmed glasses and slide rules, Diane Labrosse opened an installation/performance last night called "d'Espèces en voie de disparition." The idea was not simply to dust off obsolete mechanical objects for the mere nostalgic "hey, remember this?" factor, but to use them in new ways to create a musico-theatrical event.

In the installation, cassette-playing answering machines warbled at each other in one room while dot-matrix printers chatted in another and reel-to-reel magnetic tapes spun nervously. These objects are, of course, not really that "old"; they're simply out of date by today's standards of digitized everything. With the well-placed black lights, a trip through the installation felt like a visit to a small appliance graveyard.

The performance involved human manipulation of some of these old-school machines for musical and visual effect. In one of the nine stages, three "secretaries" punched away violently on typewriters in front of a series of projected images of inky keys striking paper; in another, a "scientist" in a white lab coat and goggles pretended to observe the noisy effects of electric razors, hand stamps, coffee grinders and wooden rulers. Another movement, consisting of twenty electric coffee percolators humming and grunting and steaming in polyphony, had no human interaction at all.

It's hard to escape a certain reverence for the old forgotten tools. These were machines that felt and behaved like true machines: their metal and gears sat on your desk or counter like a miniature factory, waiting for someone to operate them with skill and a little muscle. Today's push-button, plastic, made-in-China disposible junk will likely make lousy musical instruments except in their destruction. My touchtone phone doesn't make the same satisfying jingle when I slam the receiver as a rotary would.

But while the performance was interesting for its conceptual reuse of discarded objects, much of the auditory aspect lacked musicality. It's acceptable to play these tools dryly to call attention to their cold functionality, but it seemed as though Labrosse and others were striving for a little more. The experimentation was there, but some of the improvisations (e.g., the staticky radio knob-twiddling and the mic feedback on a swinging vacuum hose) didn't seem to add much to the set-up. Still, the show is worth checking out.

When a shitty band quotes a philosopher, it's the meathead jackasses who swoon

Apparently there's a Linkin Park song out now with the lyric, "when the rich wage war, it's the poor who die." Now, although I personally have no taste for the band, I respect the effort to "go political" and drop a pithy observation.

I just wish they had included a footnote or a shoutout to J.P. Sartre, so that their idiot fans don't think they're that clever to come up with that all on their own.

Ach, mein Kopf!

The German language is not a friendly one to outsiders. There's that fussy syntax that places verbs in strange (but precise!) places and all those grammatical cases that depend on things like prepositions and action. "Surely," as Mark Twain pointedly and hilariously observed, "there is not another language that is so slipshod and systemless, and so slippery and elusive to the grasp."

But I do love trying to decipher those compound centisyllabic nouns and wish that English were more amenable to constructing similar ones to describe complex phenomena. A couple friends of mine were saying recently that there should be a long German word to represent something-that-seems-worthy-of-one's-support-but-that-
incites-reservations-because-its-motives-may-not-be-entirely-chaste. The example we had in mind was the Ronald McDonald House.

I also think there should be a word in German to describe a marketing idea that's so transparently stupid yet brilliant in its own way because enough rubes will make it a success. This idea came to me first when I saw an ad for squirt-bottle salad dressing; I thought of it again when I saw this promo for National Bingo Night.

Otherwise, German can keep its datives and accusatives all to itself.

Open letter to CBC Radio Two

Dear CBC:

It has now been three weeks since your primary music station underwent a re-formatting. As an avid listener at all strange hours of the day and week, I feel I should give you some feedback.

First, let me say that I support your decision to keep the steady mix of classical and et cetera music during weekday mornings and afternoons. Dropping the hourly news updates was also a good idea. And kudos for dumping the soporific “Jazz After Hours” for a livelier jazz program. I haven’t listened to Canada Live yet, but it seems like an interesting mix. I like most of the music selections on “The Signal,” but it may be a little too “adult contemporary” at times and I could definitely do with far less inane chatter in between songs. In fact, the persistent talking (after every piece?!) is my biggest complaint with most of your programs.

Now I understand that the makeover arose from a desire to target an audience that is not entirely senior citizens. That’s a commendable mission. But what I don’t get is why two great late-night pop shows for young’uns, “Brave New Waves” and Radio Three, had to get the boot. They will be sorely missed for all the interesting new stuff that they regularly expose me to. It’s bad enough that they just vanished – well, I guess Radio Three is still online and on Sirius – but “Nightstream” is a pretty sorry replacement.

Last night something lamentable happened. I had on “Nightstream” in the background and didn’t really notice what was happening until I recognized a lot of syrupy synthesizers and ambient wave noises and layers upon layers of new age-y vocal reverb. Then I recognized it was Enya. On CBC. Without irony.

I live in an Enya-free household, and I aim to keep it that way. So please, CBC, please bring back some late-night programs that aren’t afraid to use the medium to keep listeners awake.

If you need help in your programming department, I am still available to put my musicology degree to good use for your organization.

Teach me, o enlightened one...

Unemployed Man Getting Really Good At Unemployment

"And don't burden others with your sad reality," Higby continued. "I used to complain to my friends that I was bored, but I quickly realized that, after busting their asses at work all week, they don't want to hear it. Now, I talk about 'working hard on my portfolio.'"
--The Onion

I have so much to learn.

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I'm also starting to wonder whether or not I just start lying on my CV and saying that my degree was in communications or cultural studies or just "the humanities." Since I'm applying for non-music-related jobs (out of necessity, not necessarily desire), I already feel untouchable because of some scarlet 'M' that musicology has branded on me.

Or maybe I should just go in the opposite direction and promote my esoteric knowledge. I could print business cards that say, "musicologist for every occasion."

Heiaha! Heiho! Hoiha heiho!

(I'm attempting to recreate the phonetic shoutings of some of Wagner's characters, but I don't think I can quite match their rancor.)

Quick updates:

-Anyway, after much delay, my musicological friends and I finished watching the Ring cycle. Götterdämmerung certainly had its powerful moments, and the Met's production was very well done, but good lord it was long. There's no reason for any spectacle to last four and a half hours. It took a lot of endurance just to sit and make it to the end. (A cadence! How novel!) At least now I can check one more thing off the list of Cultural Things That Are Probably Edifying but Demand An Awful Lot of Attention.

-My second go at "Where's the Beat?" was also a success. My co-host found these cheesy old ambient LPs of recorded nature sounds like thunderstorms and animal noises and heartbeats that we used underneath us when we came on mic.

-I finished Life of Pi a few days ago. It was highly recommended by a couple friends, so I was expecting a little more out of it, but it was only slightly above average. It must have been a lean year for Man Booker Prize nominees.

-R.I.P., Jean Baudrillard. May your soul be transported to the great Disneyland in the sky.

The Look usually starts in the eyes. Until she -- it's usually a 'she', though not always; most men don't ask so many questions -- has heard this particular answer of mine, she has had a social smile and a look of understanding. But then all of a sudden her eyes stop smiling; they recoil; they look distant. The brow starts to wrinkle. The lips stick together. The head cocks slightly to one side.

There's a slightly uncomfortable pause.

I brace for the inevitable follow-up question (or worse, an abrupt "Oh."). It's usually one or more of the following:

a) "What's that?"
b) "Do you play an instrument?"

Or, the most squirm-inducing and most tiresome:

c) "So what are you going to do with that?"

These queries, however well-intentioned, translate respectively to:

a) "I've never heard of that."
b) "There must be some practical part to it, right?"
c) "Seriously -- is there really a demand for that?"

Knowing that the first question will lead to others in which I'll have to justify my existence, I am tempted to lie. I want to say that I got my degree in engineering, business or law, but if there's any further questions, I know I'll crack.


I don't feel ashamed to having studied musicology, but sometimes I feel like I ought to. The world doesn't know how to respond to liberal arts majors.

Sigh...

Looks like I really bet on the wrong horse.