It's the Beat, Stoopid...If You Are a Guy

Open My Eyes - The Nazz

Underneath your gaze I was found in
The haze I'm wandering around in
I am lost in the dark of my own room
And I can't see a thing but the fire in your eyes

Clear my eyes, make me wise
Or is all I believe in lies
I don't know when or where to go
And I can't see a thing 'til you open my eyes

I've been told by some you'll forget me
The thought doesn't upset me
I am blind to whatever they're saying
And all I can see is the fire in your eyes

Clear my eyes, make me wise
Or is all I believe in lies
I really don't know when or where to go
And I can't see a thing 'til you open my eyes
Can't see a thing 'til you open my eyes
Can't see a thing 'til you open my eyes
Can't see a thing 'til you open my eyes

Can't believe that it's on your mind
To leave me behind

Clear my eyes, make me wise
Or is all I believe in lies
I really don't know when or where to go
And I can't see a thing 'til you open my eyes
Can't see a thing 'til you open my eyes
Can't see a thing 'til you open my eyes
Can't see a thing 'til you open my eyes
Can't see a thing 'til you open my eyes

Oh my eyes
Oh my eyes
Oh my eyes

Not what I'd consider a happy tune. Rather dark and a bit disturbing.

And yet to me, it is a dance tune?

There is a driving bass line and the drums are just pushing me forward. I cannot help but smile.

I find I am drawn by the window dressing to the message and completely ignoring the lyrics. This happens all the time.

Is it a male thing? To ignore content and stare at the package?

My female friends, I am guessing would probably rate lyrical content higher than the music itself. Would allow for a less than perfect composition if the words had deep, personal meaning.

Males are said to be shallow...is this proof?

Obviously it does not ring as truth 100% of the time. There are many songs in which the words have far more for me than the music.

Some of those songs are for me anchors to memories and not deep lyrics at all.
'Jesus Just Left Chicago' is a perfect example. I think of my father.

Or the Stones 'Wild Horses.'

Just as often the lyrics do resonate deeply within me.

'Southern Cross' can make me weep. The music is not all that great. But the harmonies with Stills and Nash are chill inspiring. 

And the words - how I fooled myself for a long, long time and gave up what was important to me for someone that didn't see the gesture.

Since I am 51% or more male (the aftermath of midlife?) I can see how each side of me reacts in a different way.

I do suspect a sexual component in our listening. Perhaps it is only a part of humanity and the isolation we have to live with. To be able to share anything with another is a blessing and a joy, no matter why.

We're Doing It Wrong

I know how to defeat ISL.
You gotta be the Borg and assimilate them. There is no winning of hearts and minds. There is the currency of Rome, the habits of Rome, gee...we are Romans.
Let them have a generation as a conquered people; and install all the institutions of the conquering nations.
Set up the currency, the dollar, naturally.
Make the most radical, violent fundamentalists the heads of the armed forces.
Make them recite the Pledge of Allegiance everyday.
Make consumer goods available to everyone. Make free and easy credit a feature, not a bug.
If you make them one of us, what reason would they have to revolt? If you give them things, they will have something to lose.

I wonder to whom I am speaking?

What do You Hear?

Put your hand on your heart and what do you hear?
Touch your soul to another and what sound do you hear?

When the wind howls and the nips are biting. When the cold is tolerable.
When the stars shine a bit brighter.

But what do you hear?

Do you hear the grasshopper at your feet?
The typing as you write?
The desk lamp singing to you?

A symphony in the noise.
Music

Spy Party

We all love a good party, right?
How about a good party in which the hosts pull out games for the party goers to play?
Chenga or Pictionary...

How about a Spy Party?

"SpyParty is a tense competitive spy game set at a high society party. It's about subtle behavior, perception, and deception, instead of guns, car chases, and explosions. One player is the Spy, trying to accomplish missions while blending into the crowd. The other player is the Sniper, who has one bullet with which to find and terminate the Spy!"

That is the game in a nutshell. It is asymmetrical in that the two players are doing very different things with differing loads to bear. The Sniper has to process a lot of information - there are a lot of party goers...and the tells to which is the AI and which is the other human player can be extremely subtle.

The Spy is trying to carry out a series of tasks without being spotted as the human player.

Beyond the gameplay itself there is a wonderful, nurturing community the developer, Chris Hecker (Checker) has grown along with his code baby.

When playing, one is almost expected to share insights and thoughts. The veterans of the community will mentor and teach those with fewer games. The regulars stream their games, chatting with online people who question moves and strategies.

An easy game to pick up but insanely sophisticated to master. The level of games within a games can be infinite.

So as a noob I was asked to be on the community podcast sharing what concerns or needs the newer players encounter. I had a blast.

Natch.

the AfterParty episode 9, featuring AngryHatter

Good Night Little Blackout

the feral cat was a little thing
its heart didn't match

it was alone and then not and then again

five years of the little girl
no ballerina
a tomcat and feral

but the heart didn't match

Success or Remaining True to Your Art

Sometimes it is and either or. But why not strive to make an "and" out of it?

I was talking to an old friend about artistic purity.
What I told him was at fifteen years of age I had a huge dose of purity along with a portion of amazing ego. I would never belittle my craft by donning makeup and a persona, ala KISS. Or condescend to play "easy stuff" like the Blues.

But at almost sixty I would don the makeup in a heartbeat.
Name it...C&W, Classical, Jazz, Cover, doesn't matter.

With makeup or without. Making a statement or being The Turtles.

I also learned to master any portion of this craft is not, "easy stuff." The Blues is hard shit to play with a passion and real feel.

A tight band gets me more excited than the genre they play. A hot flame of energy and passion between audience and band goes twice as far as playing for my soul.

So if I can play in a metal band and be successful at it, and feed from the energy playing provides, where is the loss?

Happy Hanukkah
Merry Christmas

Play with your dreidels, kids!

Cream, Blues, Jack Bruce

I have been, to use the vernacular, bingeing on the blues, Cream, Clapton, Bruce, Baker, Guy, Terry, gawd the list goes on for about an hour.

Mississippi Fred McDowell was my introduction, circa the summer of 1969.

How this led me to Steve Miller, God only knows.

Actually I do. My mother's teachings...I saw a sampler album from Capitol for a whopping ninety nine cents.

Besides the universal message the blues can help us convey, the beat in a good boogie woogie makes me mental. That was gift from my father. At six he taught me to play the boogie on the piano. I could only handle one hands worth at the time but I felt it in my bones.

Which is my main point.
Rhythm is the key to music. There are only 12 or so notes, so every combination has already been played, when it comes to melodic stuff.

But the rhythms we can make are infinite.
It was rhythm that first reached me musically.
That walking bass makes me squirm...I am dancing. I cannot help myself.

Is it mom's heartbeat in the womb that begins this?
Was she dancing when I was in there? Was dad playing Fats Waller...loudly?

I am giggling now that I see my own musical genesis laid out so.
My hands are too small to play the bass. At least that is what I told myself since I think there are no limitations, just mental barriers. If Jimi could play with those huge paws what is stopping me and my teeny ones?

Al DiMeola started playing the drums at age eight.
This makes a lot of sense to me.