In 1975 the Dutch conceptual artist Bas Jan Ader set sail from Cape Cod on a single-handed crossing of the Atlantic as part of what would be his final work, entitled In Search of the Miraculous. His vessel, the thirteen foot long Ocean Wave, was the smallest craft in which such a feat had been attempted. Three weeks into the voyage radio contact was lost, and ten weeks later the Ocean Wave was found partially submerged West-Southwest of the coast of Ireland, Ader’s intended destination. He, however, was never seen again. Read the rest of this entry »
Archive for the ‘Indie and Sadness’ Category
June 15th, 2010
Don DeLillo’s White Noise was published in 1985, went on to win the National Book Award, and thrust him into the forefront of a vague movement called ‘postmodern literature’. I have never truly understood what this label means. Postmodernism in literature and art, in architecture and criticism has certain elements in common, but nothing binding, nothing constant, and maybe that is the point. At its core, postmodernism highlights the recursive, fractured thoughts that plague us as members of advanced capitalist societies: truth is relative to the observer, we are alone in a crowd, and the devices we use to create a sense of community or identity only serve to drive us further apart. We buy things that in turn try to sell us a semblance of self parceled out in neat monthly payments of 19.95. Read the rest of this entry »
March 30th, 2010
On such a series of rainy days it’s hard to be patient for the inevitable promised spring flowers or the long, drowsy days of summer. This is the difficult transitional phase, the growing pains of a season that just isn’t quite ready to step up to the plate.
For some reason, days like this make me think of northern France. Directly south of the English cliffs at Plymouth there is a town called Brest. It was almost entirely destroyed during World War II, left with only three buildings standing. In 1945, the poet Jacques Prévert published his poem Barbara, which I think is a fitting complement to such a day as this. If you are feeling a little wistful, a little longing for a rainy sea and a French day that smells of brine and wet wood, on a beach where the horizon melts into the earth– this is the mix for you. Read the rest of this entry »
October 17th, 2009
Fall is a funny season. For me, it has the dual connotation of innocence– new school books and pencils, and of decay, the inevitable end of the warm season, and the yearly celebrations surrounding the reminder of mortality. Heavy? Kind of. Read the rest of this entry »
June 9th, 2009
Really, Rimbaud said it best, so I won’t compete. This year and every year, summer makes us all feel young again, at least for a little while. At least until Monday.
A mix for a Sunday rooftop, waiting for next week’s weekend, laughing, playing cards… Read the rest of this entry »
February 20th, 2009
Sometimes it is difficult to say what you mean, more difficult to do what you intend– intentions are slippery creatures, constantly shifting with context and emotion. I intended to be productive this winter, to come up with a sort of road map for the next few years, but I find myself at the tail end of it having done almost none of my own work, though I have so far managed not to become a casualty of the economic downturn (yet). So, instead of a road map for the next few years, I made a mix for the next few months– something that reminds me of the coming changes, something somewhat wistful, somewhat quiet. What I really want is to record it onto an old cassette tape and take off somewhere in a beat-up car, but we can’t have everything, I guess. Read the rest of this entry »
December 23rd, 2008
So, this is the end of the year, yet again. I am currently back in the Southlands, which make me alternately Very Happy (the excellent comforts of good food and general moody ambiance) and Very Unhappy (needing to drive everywhere and not owning my own vehicle, being held to other people’s schedules, lack of the internet). It’s strange not to have visited in an entire year. Contrary to what we may think, towns and cities are very much alive, constantly shifting and changing whether we observe them or no. Geographies are not fixed, but are a matter of pure context, rather like time. Read the rest of this entry »
November 30th, 2008
Sometimes, we all get homesick. This feeling, which can be triggered by the most mundane objects or situations, leaves me feeling somewhat transparent at the extremities– literally as if I were in a place of transport between ‘here’ and ‘there’. Though I absolutely do not long to be under any other roof than my own, there is something magical, magnetic about the place I grew up– the deep South. Read the rest of this entry »
November 7th, 2008
At a certain point in getting to know people, we all tend to pull out the ‘once upon a time’ stories. Once, when I was really drunk, once when I ate too much rank Texican food, once before I had heard of GWAR…you know. All of these temporal framings are supposed to imply that now, after we’ve gotten some perspective, we can look back at these times and laugh, or at least snort derisively.
Well, once upon a time, I was Goth. Read the rest of this entry »
