Writing late at night is the best feeling ever. Emerging from a drug induced stupor, you grasp at those last vestiges of inspiration, compelling you to quickly enunciate your thoughts on the flickering screen of your computer. My inspiration comes from a variety of sources; the magazine I was reading, Pat Methany playing in the background; the usual hubbub that happens in my house on a rainy Sunday evening.

What sparked me to electronically scribble down these thoughts was my somewhat hazy recollection of a TV5 (French channel) News broadcast. Perhaps I had stumbled across the “International” section of the show (my French comprehension is, admittedly, shaky), but for the full 10 minutes that I watched, both stories tackled international issues. AIDS and disease in Africa and the recent explosion in North Korea. Presenting the facts of the story, some analysis and some shocking footage (emaciated children and a town leveled are pretty intense images), the French program did justice to the notion that things out there are damn right scary.

It’s fitting then when I switch on CNN earlier today, that I witness a completely different approach to news. Now I was greeted with tales of human courage, of the Michael Jackson trial, of the latest on the Atkins Diet. People often have an image of an ignorant American population, unaware of world events. A sample of this “leading” news network clearly lends credence to that claim.

But I’m not saying that American airwaves are filled with shlock. OK, let me rephrase that: What little space set aside for quality programming produces an excellent array of information and entertainment. If I wanted to watch a documentary on the life of some ancient Egyptian high priest, I could.

Eventually what you have is choice (and a wide range for that matter). We are free to select either a mind-numbing piece of garbage or an intellectually stimulating broadcast. When watching the dregs of TV-shows, a sense of guilty pleasure washes over us, as we are both intrigued and revolted by whatever is enacted on our boob-tubes. When the latest live telecast of the 9/11 Commission is on every news channel, we are gripped with an intense desire to seek out the truth.

Who knows what the next generation of television programming bring us? Our children? Our children’s children?

"Hypocrite, Opportunist, don't infect me with your poison."
-Thom Yorke, from Punch up at a Wedding

In his indictment of society's collective dyslexia, Nick brings up the important topic of fallacious arguments. "Name Calling", a classic case of the Ad Hominem fallacy is perhaps the most rampant in all societies. One only needs to open a newspaper or any other form of popular media to be inundated with instances of it.

Currently, meaningless one-liners like "axis of evil" or "rogue state" seem to be particularly popular examples. Worryingly, these and other such nonsense are often propogated by what is foolishly considered to be the 'Intelligentsia'....a distinguished graduate of Harvard Business School in the above examples.

Of course, this sensationalist garbage gets lapped up by millions of undiscerning media-consumers who need only a handful of trite catch-phrases upon which to base their entire philosophies on life. Proponents of insightful writing and journalism, take heed: The seemingly endless 'spectacle' that Nick refers to is in its golden age.

As I pondered this topic last night, I came to appreciate the fact that only a minute minority have the chance to learn basic epistemology or linguistics and thereby familiarize themselves with such pitfalls of language. It would probably take a Herculean leap in global education standards even to get the average college graduate to know and understand the meanings of the two words. So, in the mean time, we should perhaps just try to teach people to be civil.

According to a body of research documented at the following website, empathy-inducing drugs would help.

http://www.biopsychiatry.com

Two nights ago, I tried to compose something coherent to be posted on this ol’ Blog. Unfortunately, what came spewing forth from my keyboard was complete and utter crap. I had no sense of direction, purpose or clarity in my writing. Not only was it unintelligible, but I was vainly attempting to criticize poor writing on the Internet. How ironic that my feeble attempts resulted in a feeble effort on my part.

Was it simply writer’s block? That, in my opinion, is much like stepping into the bright sunlight after being holed underground in a dank and dark cave. Blinded momentarily, you have a vague idea of what’s out there, some piddling idea of what you mean to write, the proverbial “on the tip of your tongue.” The best way to overcome this feeling of inadequacy is to simply step back. In my case, I turned on the television.

Expecting some sort of inspiration, I was instead struck by images of sheer stupidity. No, it wasn’t Spike TV’s “Most Extreme Elimination” (an amusing show by the way, an English-dubbed 1980’s Japanese version of American Gladiators). Rather, it was the leader of that country south of mine, George W. Bush.

Following a rare press conference, in an even rarer question and answer period, Bush stuttered numerous times as he tried to answer specifics about 9/11, Iraq, Oil and what not. (I’ll leave an analysis of WHAT he actually said to Prashant perhaps, or visit http://slate.msn.com/id/2098810/). Bush’s stumbling speech was reminiscent of Porky Pig signing off an episode of Looney Tunes.

Which brings me full circle to my original thought. If you can’t say it properly, you have 2 options: a) learn how to speak or b) don’t say it at all. The same applies for writing, and for a prime example, visit any message board or Usenet newsgroup on the Internet. You have your capable posters, who argue their point coherently. You also have your literary jackasses, often resorting to name calling, illogical sentences or just plain poor writing.

I am in full support of free speech, as that is exactly what I’m doing here. I know Bush isn’t eloquent. I know I can do little about educating the masses online. But the question still remains: how much longer must this spectacle go on?

Our readers appear to have spoken. Thanks. As for the culture industry debate, I have the following to contribute:

Those who believe that artists can and will ever be exempt from a well-defined microeconomic model are living in a fool's paradise. The heavily biased 'buffet' of mainstream music today, otherwise known as a collusive oligopoly, is just a skewed model that mostly rewards adherence to identified 'trends'. These 'trends' or 'scenes' are often artificially manufactured and may or may not have a basis in the actual existence of a localized community movement. There are notable exceptions though, as evidenced by my review of a few days ago.

Fairer distribution models that encourage originality are emerging but are still very much on the fringes. In the mean time, select parts of the buffet offer us a glimpse into what the undiscovered eclectic kitchen has on offer.

A major factor that will determine whether or not real musical movements will enter the public eye is consumer apathy. As Nick astutely points out: "The incessant need of the blind audience to be satisfied with the familiar has driven the industry to continue generating carbon copies of past acts." He then argues that it's the consumer's responsibility to make a conscious choice. But can we really expect the minimally educated public to do so? If not, has artistically integritous music been eternally condemned to exist on the fringes?

YEEARRRRGHHHH!!!

Hmm. Trying to emulate Beck's opening scream in "Lord Only Knows" doesn't seem to translate too well in the written form. However, the sound is exactly what I need to describe the current state of music, as well as the convulsions that my stomach was going through following an Indian buffet feast Sunday evening.

The music-buffet analogy works on a variety of levels. Entering a dining hall with rows upon rows of steaming dishes, salivating at the thought of sampling the roast beef, the beef vindaloo or the chicken parmesan, is akin to walking into the nearest HMV/Music World/"insert-record-store-here," on a Tuesday, eager to select from the multitude of albums: your favourite beats, tunes and riffs.

Behold, the roast beef is placed upon a separate carving board, with inviting heating lamps strategically placed to reflect the right amounts of grease and juices oozing from the block of meat. Examine the cardboard cutout of Britney Spears, immortalizing some provocative pose, enticing you with a look that says "Come hither and buy my album."
(I'm not equating beef to Britney; perhaps in a future post.)

Unfortunately, this is where the analogy stops, as the buffet challenges us to explore new tastes and expand our palates, while the music industry has left its audience "musically castrated." Much like the culinary dolt who sticks to his boring serving of meat-and-potatoes, the music industry has force-fed processed tripe down our ears. Latching on to each new fad as if its life depended on it (and in some cases it does), labels are delivering countless variations of Britney, The Strokes and Korn to our deaf ears. The incessant need of the blind audience to be satisfied with the familiar has driven the industry to continue generating carbon copies of past acts.

We have got to break free from producing the same garbage, staying within the categories imposed upon us by the music industry. Theodor Adorno said "He who integrates is lost."

When faced with choices, stand firm and make a decision.

Being a part of the audience at the downstairs concert hall of the Middle East club last night, I had a tangible sense that I was witnessing something unusually progressed. The NYC art-rock scene seems to have delivered its latest flourish of genius and it goes by the name of Stellastarr*.

Probably the most distinguishing characteristic of the show was the utterly cathartic audience response. A crowd of about 500 was able to generate arena-sized energy and the band rose to the occasion. While this can partially be credited to the city of Cambridge and its demographic cross-section, it's the members of Stellastarr* and their prodigious talent that made it happen.

The vocal styles ranged from anthemic to bubbly to shrieky and the contrast between the male lead vocalist's chaotic delivery was complemented well by the female bassist's smoother backups. The interplay of the two guitars was also worthy of mention. The mostly uptempo overdriven rhythm sounds were exquisitely tempered by ambient delay-infused melodies. Manic drumming gave way to subtle percussive fills. Few bands are able to accomplish this kind of balance.

Lyrically, they're art school kids and it shows: cryptic but fun. In 'In the Walls', the opening tune of the night, Christensen crooned "The falling chains and falling lies make pretend you're mine." Could someone please explain? In the chorus of 'Pulp Song' on the other hand, he poignantly asserts, "We're lying, we've lied to you, we've lied to make our point of view."

The greatest strength of these musicians, however, is their ability to effectively modulate the level of energy within their songs. The transition from quiet introspection to a disco-era frenzied climax in 'My Coco' had the crowd bouncing, literally.

By combining their individual talents, Stellastarr* create a picturesque soundscape that is uniquely their own.

So I'm sitting at my computer with an empty bottle of Wolf Blass 2001 Shiraz from South Australia, contemplating this task before me. Earlier on my "commute" (a 20 minute streetcar/subway ride) from work today, I came to the conclusion that my first post would focus on the concept of indecisiveness. As Prashant wrote, this idea had indeed been brewing for quite some time. I remember the exact time when this idea first exposed itself. Prashant and I were enjoying one of many pints at McKibbons in Montreal one February weekend. Even so, after countless discussions (online and in Real Life), arguments and drunken ramblings, we have decided that a Blog would be an ideal start, for wherever this endeavor will take us.

Yes, I will attempt a "deconstructionist analysis." I use quotation marks because (I will freely admit) don't exactly know the complete meaning of "deconstruction." I will however examine this title that we have decided upon.

Uncluttered: To be free of clutter - clutter (as propounded by William Zinsser in "On Writing Well"):

"Clutter is the ponderous euphemism that turns a slum into a depressed socioeconomic area, a salesman into a marketing representative and garbage collectors into waste disposal personnel."

(You may have noticed that I have incorporated various quotes in this first post. I blame it on my History training in university.)

Advocating: advocate - vt. To plead in favor of.

Evolved: developed, grown, progressed, advanced. It signifies change, from recognized historicity to (to borrow a Prashant word) "contemporary" ideas.

Thought.

My colleague has said that we might meander. I would rather argue that this blog (which I guarantee will NOT become a tool for us to pour our emotions onto our readers) is a journey. Meandering connotates an image of being lost, wandering. I say that every step contributes to our (and hopefully, your) understanding of what we are attempting here.

Aerosmith said "Life's a journey, not a destination."

I invite criticism and compliments from our readers-to-be.

This idea has been brewing for a while. After some debate over the title, content and style we've finally managed to reach a consensus.

The title was probably the greatest source of contention. We were struggling to find a compromise between brevity and accuracy. Nick's a posteriori deconstructionist analysis will follow.

As this is an idea board, the content will undoubtedly meander into the surreal. We make no apologies for that.

So fucking come on and break the door down.