When I started Coal we brainstormed what the name could mean. I gave my reasons for using it, some readers gave theirs. They were exclusively positive, if I remember.
With time, I’ve come up with a couple more, less positive. ‘Just coal in the furnace’ signaled a modest contribution to some kind of intelligent discussion, considered much larger than the people involved or anything they had to say. Under pressure, coal’s main ingredient (carbon), turns to diamond, something truly valuable. But coal itself is only valuable for other, less aesthetic reasons. At the same time, take a look at unprocessed Coal and you’ll find a strange, dark beauty there. A dirty beauty. If beatniks had a gemstone, I’d put my money on Coal.
What struck me recently are a few related facts: in the modern world, coal is still used but it’s somewhat outdated, and used primarily because it’s cheap. But it’s less efficient than modern fuels, and more importantly, it doesn’t burn clean. Coal is a hazard for its environment.
Metaphorically speaking, you can go a couple of ways with that. One way is positive. Mostly, I’m thinking that coal’s messy, damaging, and by comparison to modern alternatives, a waste of resources. It’s mostly used in developing countries (namely, China and India), who don’t give a damn at the moment about any harm they might do, so long as they make it where they’re going economically. You can’t blame them: the first world already did the same thing.
I still think the name is a good one. I should write an in depth exploration. Word explorations in general are a riot.
There’s no conclusion to read here other than the literary one. I just found these thoughts, in part, interestingly applicable.
[8]
It’s been a long, dry spell, but the big story of early 2008 is not apocalyptic climate change or third world political meltdown, as perhaps you thought. No, it’s the return of Coal and it’s skittish author.
I’m going to ease into things today by posting, not my words, but as in many previous posts, the words of Vatican media correspondent John Allen. He offers some badly needed observations in a speech delivered on “Cathedrals and the Media”.
More
[2]
Oh geez. Now I’m using this space as a bulletin board.
But, it’s for a very noble cause. I’m asking if there’s anyone who wants to go to the Bright Eyes concert in Minneapolis with me. The date is April 25th, and tickets are $28.50US, plus trip expenses (gas, food). If you say ‘yes’, there won’t be any guarantees that we’re going until the tickets are bought. But think about it. And think fast.
Here’s a little taste of the kind of things you’d be missing, should you choose to refuse.
Four Winds video (also available on YouTube).
Waste of Paint lyrics.
I may record my thoughts and reactions to this magnificant group, and Oberst in particular, in the near future. I also may not.
I have seriously considered axing Coal this past while. I no longer have the will to bother updating with the frequency that I used to. What I desire, though also am incapable of facilitating at the moment (I believe the situation will improve in a couple months’ time), is profound, stimulating, exploratory conversation. The kind of “fiendish allday-allnight-talk” enjoyed by burgeoning intellectual groups in every time and age. The kind of talk enjoyed by the itinerate students of life, language, the arts, relationships, God, and everything. I crave the collisions, tensions, and exuberant intercourse of ideas spurred by minds different yet alike.
We need students who are teachers and teachers who are students. Or, eager students who are humble but exacting and enthusiastic teachers.
I have also considered starting something entirely new, webwise. It could be that Coal is fulfilled and now exhausted. I was thinking of starting something of a more poetic / linguistic vein to better reflect my current disposition. This site was begun primarily, though not solely, as a place for discussion and debate, a purpose that I began to deviate significantly from about half a year ago. But now friends are far away and because we do not all study and meet at the same places points of overlap are fewer and further between. Or maybe I’m just too focused on other things to put the required energy into fruitful online conversational pursuits. There is probably a lot of truth in that as well.
Do not mistake my meaning. This isn’t intended to be read as a soliloquey of death. They are simply self-destructive contemplations, which may well be overcome with the changing of the seasons and accompanying renewal of mind and spirit. We shall see.
[9]
Bill Leeb and Rhys Fulber have been making music for a long long time. With Delerium, for almost 20 years. With Front Line Assembly and Skinny Puppy, longer. And there have been a myriad of other projects along the way. They provided me personally with several years of great music. That said, I think they’re finished. They did some groundbreaking things once, but they’re out of tricks. They’re not pushing the musical envelope any further, and while Nuages de Mondes was probably the best album since Karma, the progressions were the same as always, the arrangements, the soaring vocals and synthetic beats were unsurprising. Nothing significant has changed since Karma. It will be interesting to see if Leah Nash can offer a spark with their joint project, Foliage, but my expectations aren’t extremely high.
E.S. Posthumus, however, is relatively new to the musical scene, yet have a musical maturity that Delerium of late lacks. Each song on the 2001 album Unearthed offers something new and interesting. The first track could almost be a Delerium song, with it’s synthetic vocalist and choral crescendos. But the second features a pounding analog rhythm that Delerium just couldn’t do. Some songs sound strongly Celtic, others Indian or African, all have power and beauty to back them.
Their stated philosophy on the front page of the website is that “music is the harmonization of opposites; the conciliations of warring elements” (Pythagorus). That Delerium has forgotten this concept in their music strikes me as evident from what I always perceived as a misuse of silence. A remember a musician I know once telling me that the emotion is in the silence as much as the notes. We were talking about the Metallica solo in Unforgiven, of all songs. That’s always stuck with me, and ever since Karma I’ve found myself lamenting the lack of appropriate silence in Delerium. The music almost fanatically tries to push it’s listeners towards some ethereal emotional catharsis, but the result is a disengagement due to a lack of real depth. It’s like someone who tells a funny story and immediately afterwards begins asking, “Isn’t it funny? Isn’t it funny? ‘Artemus Binx!’ Haha. Hilarious!” and so on. There’s no room for the listerner to think, or for the sounds to settle in. All instruments are always madly playing their parts, with little variation in arrangement and instrumentation. Every song is the same build, build, build, drop out for a moment, build more for soaring ending.
E.S. Posthumus is a different story. Check them out if you’re looking for beautiful music with emotional and compositional integrity.
~~
Still no release date for Your Face is a Website. Keep posted.
[4]
Isn’t it weird how some people never cry in the thick of life’s troubles, but will shed a tear in a movie? For some, though certainly not all, there’s some impulse to suppress emotions exactly when they’re strongest. I guess I’m one of those people.
I’ve been more susceptible to the shed-a-tear at the movie phenomenon lately, possibly as an outlet to real life emotions. Or maybe I’m just watching sappy movies. Who knows?
I thought it would be interesting to find out what tugs tears out of other peoples’ eyes in the theatres. I’ll go first:
The other day I was watching Memoirs of a Geisha. It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen it, but every time, if memory serves, the part when the man talks to little Chiyo on the bridge makes me cry a bit. He tells her there isn’t enough kindness in the world, and buys her a cherry ice cone. Little Chiyo brightens up and she’s adorable and somehow the whole setting just pierces me to my core.
I don’t think I shed any tears, but a while ago I saw The Mission for the first time, and I was close when the Portugese burned down the mission above the falls and all the children were singing and stuff.
The other one that gets me is in The Passion, when Simon of Cyrene’s son appears right before Simon takes the cross. I don’t even remember exactly what happens. I just remember that I tear up at that part for some reason.
I think I only get more susceptible to these things as I get older. When I was younger I was more cynical, more likely to put on some kind of that’s-the-way-the-world-is-and-it-sucks-but-there’s-no-point crying face. I think the ability to cry, when appropriate, is a good thing. So anyway, when do you cry?
The Scene from Geisha
[16]
When Charles Bukowski was 16, his father lost his job but still pretended to go to work every day.
It seems like someone ought to write a poem about Bukowski where roughly 2/3 of the lines begin with the word “Bukowski”, like Allen Ginsberg’s America.
Bukowski your father was a pill that walked and talked
and did nothing to relieve the headaches.
Bukowski he got lodged in your throat and grew arms and threw you out.
Bukowski will you ever write a publishable poem?
Bukowski you give all of us hope.
You deliver letters and bleed out your ulcer.
You lost your virginity to a 300 pound woman when you were 23 years old.
Bukowski, you had a choice: deliver these letters or starve.
You must be starving, but at least your beer gut keeps you warm.
Bukowski, you are old and creepy looking but your mother smiled, so maybe we understand your smile.
Bukowski, we thank you for your fine poems, and excuse the other ones.
Bukowski don’t you know? You died in 1994, not 1955 or 1992 or any time in between.
Enough of that nonsense. Just to be clear it was written on the fly and I make no pretensions of having achieved anything remotely poetic. I just really wanted to pretend, even if only for a moment, that I’d come up with the voice Ginsberg used when he wrote America. Of course, that poem is self-reflexive (the word is intentional) and has real content. This is just tripe.
Hopefully it inspires you to navigate away from this page and check out some Bukowski.
~~
Speaking of Allen Ginsberg, you ought to be told that what this post is really about is me putting off a much more substantial post (including words that actually mean something!) about the Beats. I’ve been meaning to write it for over a month now. Hopefully that’s up soon.
~~
A Fun FYI: Buck65 cites Bukowski as not only a source of inspiration, but the person he’d most like to sit down for coffee and chocolate bars with. The song The Floor, which appears on Secret House Against the World is an adaptation of Bukowski’s poem, “a smile to remember” (see link above).
Buck (Richard Terfry) also says that Mikail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita is his favourite book, and Vladimir Nabakov his favourite author. Meaning he has an uncommon palatte but good taste nonetheless, which is reflected in his music.
~~
Recommended Reading: Three Oranges.
Tokyo Police Club
“Citizens Of Tommorow”
I have a microchip
Implanted in my heart
So if I try to escape
The robots will blow me apart
And my limbs will go flying
And land before the ones that I love
Who would wail and would weep
But the robots would keep them at bay
While I shut my eyes
For the very last time
Citizens of tomorrow be forewarned
Complete Lyrics
Unforgettable Greats. This category is filled with great Canadian bands that can’t be ignored but either aren’t in my personal top 10, or are simply legendary beyond that sort of comparison. I’m excluding from all these lists typical rock bands that don’t contribute anything particularly unique to world music (i.e. – Finger Eleven). There is no rhyme or reason regarding the writeups. I did one if I felt like it.
Neil Young. Southern Man, Old Man, Heart of Gold, A Man Needs a Maid, Down by the River, and Ohio (to list the cream). What more needs to be said?
Sarah McLaughlan. She is the Mother-Goddess of contemporary folk music. All that is, and is good, is because of her.
Tragically Hip. Is there a more Canadian band than the Hip? I doubt it. Their aesthetic has been burrowing through my skin over the years, but my personal admiration for them has grown only slowly. Hence, while for many they would be #1, on Coal they get only an honourable mention.
Great Big Sea. Another band that couldn’t not be on the list, yet doesn’t quite do it for me.
The Tea Party. Some might not agree with the choice to put The Tea Party with the unforgettable greats. I understand their reasoning, but this is my list, and here they are. My reasoning is that they manage to somehow sound uniquely Canadian and contribute something to the world music scene without actually sounding like they’re drawing from especially Canadian sources. It’s a paradox that lands them a spot with Coal’s unforgettables.
OLP. They belong here, but I have nothing to say.
Additions. Bruce Cockburn, Leonard Cohen...
Honourable Mentions. These are lesser bands that may be great but whom I haven’t had time to explore properly yet.
Six String Nation. Definitely makes the top of the list despite not really being a set group of people or even a band per se. Thanks to Mike for pointing out the Justin Rutledge song, “Don’t Be So Mean, Jellybean,” on the Six String Nation guitar available on CBC Radio Podcast 63 (for those of you who are interested). For more information, go here.
Delerium / Conjure One. I have no idea where to put them, but the music of Bill Leeb and Rhys Fulber have provided me with endless hours of atmospheric beauty, for contemplation, for background noise, for grooving, for whatever was necessary at the time.
Broken Social Scene. They’re Canadian, but I wouldn’t pay for an album.
The Tokyo Police Club. A recent intense interest.
Matt Good. I just can’t justify him making the great list, I can’t quite leave him out with the common fare, so I guess I’ll put him here.
Don Ross. Who I believe is Canadian, and whom I list, despite doubts.
Wolf Parade
Meligrove Band
Raised by Swans
Sarah Harmer
Tegan Sara
Addition. Hawskley Workman. Who I don’t know well enough to rate, but will look into soon.
I could probably go on here if I looked through all the old episodes of CBC Radio 3 with Grant Lawrence, but these are the ones that stand out at the moment.
My Current Top 9. To be honest, the numbering is misleading. It’s hardly reasonable to put Death From Above 1979 and Feist in the same list. Nevertheless, here’s a rough guide to my current top 9 Reasons to Love Canadian Music, based on a combination of my knowledge of the music, repeatability based on experience, or a basically arbitrary judgment on my part. This list could very well look different by next week.
9) Billy Talent. For making punk acceptable. I really don’t listen to them anymore, but I can’t forget what they gave me. Specifically, a headache – but the build-up to that headache was a rockin’ good time.
8) Final Fantasy (as in Owen Pallet, not Squaresoft). A new interest, but at the moment I’m willing to give him 8 anyway.
7) K-os. For making hip-hop acceptable.
6) Sam Roberts. He looks Canadian. He sounds Canadian. Maybe not too bright, but his music still rocks.
5) Feist. So soothing. I’m not a big Broken Social Scene fan, but that doesn’t stop me from absolutely loving Feist.
4) Death From Above 1979. Once you love them, you love them. Too bad they’re already gone. Like a fetus torn from the womb…
3) Metric / Emily Haines. Still the voice of sexy. Still the great Canadian alternative.
2) Elliott Brood. Death country and a damn good show. I’ve seen them twice and I’d see them again. And again. And again.
1) The Arcade Fire. They make me proud to have Quebec, and proud of Canadian music. Funeral is one of the greatest innovative rock albums of all time.
Then there are the reasons to despair. I only thought to place two. They are:
Nickelback
and (gasp!)
Burton Cummings
~~
I’m sure the names of the forgotten are legion. These lists could suffer some heavy revisions. But it’s late and I’m tired. Help me out.
[11]
It really is strange how popstars seem to crystallize their characters during youth. Most of them just don’ t grow up. Even stranger is the way the rest of the world goes along with it. I mean, seriously, a member of the Duma? What would the Trotsky have said? What would Nicholas II have said? What would Krushev have hit?
[3]
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