It's not every day that Jack White releases his solo album on your birthday. Just downloaded it, am listening to it now. The man whose White Stripes provided the unofficial soundtrack of my college education is officially moving on, and helping me do the same. Good vibe, good sign, I think this will be a good year.
In other gifts: remember the part in Wizard of Oz where Dorothy opens the door and everything switches from black-and-white to technicolor, just in time for Side 2 of Dark Side of the Moon? That's about what the experience of listening Dark Side of the Moon remastered is like. Oh my mercy, it's like hearing for the first time an album I've over-listened to a hundred times over! It nigh brought a tear to my eye, for something old became new.
Also got the new Andrew Bird album Break it Yourself. He could fart into a microphone, and it would be the purest, most melodious and nuanced fart you'd have ever heard in your life; he would run that fart through a tape loop, overlay it with perfectly synchronized classical violin, his trademark whistling, and idiosyncratic lyrics about nature and lost lovers or something, and you would want him to just keep farting all day long. Why this man isn't the most beloved musician on earth is itself a damning indictment of our world's fallen state.
My brother also kindly bought me a UK/USA plug adapter. London will be wicked.
My Dad visited me a month ago, and bought me an early birthday gift in Hugh Nibley's An Approach to the Book of Abraham, which I just finished the other day. It reads like the necessary preliminary work to The Message of the Joseph Smith Papyri: An Egyptian Endowment, which I got for Christmas.
The book's impetus was the renewed assaults upon the Mormon Book of Abraham in 1968, which in turn called to attention the previous assault in 1912. Nibley's dismantling of his opponents' arguments is such a thorough, virtuoso performance, that my one problem with it is that I'm not sure I could properly summarize Nibley's argument if I were to actually encounter a real-life Abraham critic. I'd probably just hand them the book to read.
Which leads me to Nibley's other reason for writing this book--to take the Mormons to task for criminally neglecting our own scripture. We've had literally decades to master Egyptian, anticipate criticisms, and even just learn and profit from these texts, yet we're repeatedly caught with our britches down when others express their in-credulousness. Thus, if I'm unable to summarize Nibley's salient counter-points, that speaks less to hiss erudition than it does to my own lack of scholarly rigor.
Ironically, I wonder if the existence of scholars like Nibley have exasperated our complacency, in that it enables Church members to just assume dem folks down at the BYU are handling all these concerns, and thus we never study these texts for ourselves, which is contrary to both the principles of LDS doctrine and of honest scholarship in general.
My roommates also prank-gifted me with copies of "Twilight" and Sarah Pallin's autobiography. Both tomes are now safely ensconced in my bathroom next to the spare toilet paper.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Sittin' in the Tab like a Boss
I teach English over at LDSBC, so last Friday I participated in graduation exercises there.
This was the second year in a row they held graduation in the Tabernacle on Temple Square. I got to sit up in the front stands facing the audience like an old-school GA, feeling like a boss. I even got to wear my Masters robes for a second time in my life!
The downside of sitting on the stand was that I was suddenly keenly aware that, if I decided to text or read a book when bored, the entire audience could see me. This made me a little self-conscious, especially when the ceremonies started to drag (as they inevitably do).
But then, by the low-standards of graduations, this was actually a pretty good ceremony--it was in a cool historic building, the graduating class was small enough to keep the diploma-process expedited, and an actual apostle (D. Todd Christofferson) gave the commencement address.
By contrast, I can't even remember who spoke when I got my AA; when I got my BA, the General Young Women's President spoke on memorization, like it was some sort of crappy mid-semester devotional (now, Elder Christofferson was clearly reusing a parts of a Conference talk for his remarks, but he at least gets points for acknowledging that people were graduating from college); and when I got my MA, 3,000-odd people got their diplomas, which took for frickin' ever.
Jefferey R. Holland was even there! His wife was receiving a distinguished-alumnus award, and he sat up in the stands with her. He didn't speak or anything, but for some reason I thrilled to glimpse him more than to see Elder Christofferson, even though they're both apostles. Serious, this is the man who can put the fear of God into you just by shaking his jowls. When he briefly glanced back at the faculty behind him, I got chills.
So yeah, LDSBC--small college, but they got cool graduations.
This was the second year in a row they held graduation in the Tabernacle on Temple Square. I got to sit up in the front stands facing the audience like an old-school GA, feeling like a boss. I even got to wear my Masters robes for a second time in my life!
The downside of sitting on the stand was that I was suddenly keenly aware that, if I decided to text or read a book when bored, the entire audience could see me. This made me a little self-conscious, especially when the ceremonies started to drag (as they inevitably do).
But then, by the low-standards of graduations, this was actually a pretty good ceremony--it was in a cool historic building, the graduating class was small enough to keep the diploma-process expedited, and an actual apostle (D. Todd Christofferson) gave the commencement address.
By contrast, I can't even remember who spoke when I got my AA; when I got my BA, the General Young Women's President spoke on memorization, like it was some sort of crappy mid-semester devotional (now, Elder Christofferson was clearly reusing a parts of a Conference talk for his remarks, but he at least gets points for acknowledging that people were graduating from college); and when I got my MA, 3,000-odd people got their diplomas, which took for frickin' ever.
Jefferey R. Holland was even there! His wife was receiving a distinguished-alumnus award, and he sat up in the stands with her. He didn't speak or anything, but for some reason I thrilled to glimpse him more than to see Elder Christofferson, even though they're both apostles. Serious, this is the man who can put the fear of God into you just by shaking his jowls. When he briefly glanced back at the faculty behind him, I got chills.
So yeah, LDSBC--small college, but they got cool graduations.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Retribution Gospel Choir
"Life is short, art is long," said Hippocrates (presumably with a sigh). I ponder this quotation each time I get frustrated thinking of all the art museums I can't fit into my London jaunt this May; likewise, I could spend a lifetime reading nothing but the classics and still never be done; and I'm often positively intimidated by the wealth of music both new and old to get into.
In fact, when it comes to older music acts, I will, with rare exception, restrict myself to Greatest Hits collections--not because I'm a casual music fan, no, far from it--but rather, going too far in depth with one artist takes precious time and money away from encountering other worthy artists, and I have jobs and responsibilities and a social life.
All that's a round-about way of saying that I never get into artist's side-projects--there simply isn't time, you see. Hence, when I learned that Alan Sparhawk of Low had a side-project called Retribution Gospel Choir, I didn't go exploring--at least initially.
Now, I love Low, I spent most of last year on a huge Low kick, and that was just it--why dive into side-projects when I still had so much Low left to explore? Besides, RGC was billed as "Alan Sparhawk turns up the volume" and "rocks out," and one most definitely does not get into Low to rock-out--Low is minimalistic, hushed, moody, dreamy, sublime. You get into Low to calm down, get introspective, give full expression to your melancholy. When I want to rock out I turn to Led Zeppelin, not Alan Sparhawk.
But that changed when (in an admittedly shrewd marketing move) RGC proffered their latest EP, the revolution, for free on-line. The price was right, so away I downloaded. Turns out the descriptions of RGC were correct--it is indeed Alan Sparhawk rocking out, backed by an actual drumset, his guitar turned all the way up, channeling his inner-80s-"rock-god" (I put "rock-god" in quotes because everything about this EP's rock-star posturing seems to be in gleeful self-aware quotes, as shown by this cheeky video where Sparhawk rocks out on a flute).
Nevertheless, no matter the quotes, it was impossible to deny that the ever-morose Alan Sparhawk was actually having fun! And because he was having fun, I was too (funny how that works). No, RGC isn't Low, but what is? Here, at last, was a man who in his middle-age remembered what too many kids these days have forgotten--that rock music is supposed to be fun. Intrigued, I checked Amazon and found RGC's two albums on-sale for under a buck. Again, the price was right, so I dove in.
So how is Retribution Gospel Choir's total oeuvre? Their first album, quite frankly, sounds a lot like Low, just minus Mimi Parker. Shoot, two of the songs there also appear in remixed form on Low's Drums and Guns. The standard Sparhawk moodiness, minimalism, and harmonies are all here on full display, un-tweaked.
Are the guitars turned up? They were turned up on Low's own "Great Destroyer" CD, too (and that often louder). In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd wonder if RGC was a sign of a break-down in Alan and Mimi's marriage, as he attempted to carry on "Great Destroyer"-era Low without her. (Given Sparhawks infamous mental breakdown during the Great Destroyer tour that drove away their bassist, such a speculation of strained relations would not be a stretch).
Now, this isn't to imply that RGC's first album is in any way bad--any Sparhawk is better than no Sparhawk, and Retribution Gospel Choir features Sparhawk in his typical-top form. Nonetheless, one could wonder from their first album if RGC is just a delivery system for merely-average Low throw-aways.
It's on the second album, then, that RGC finally fully justifies their existence. The drummer lets loose his inner-Keith-Moon and goes wild. Sparhawk once and for all demonstrates that his minimalism in Low was a deliberate choice, and not an expediency enforced from any lack of guitar-chops--the man can frickin' wail when he wants to, and does just that on Retribution Gospel Choir 2. There are slow-build-up songs in Low's catalog, but not like the sheer, ecstatic jams performed here by RGC. These guys know how to rock in a way that Low simply can't.
The moodiness is still there, though, and RGC 2 still has songs that would not sound out of place on a Low CD, or with Mimi Parker's gorgeous vocals. So, the revolution is an outlier; Sparhawk has only very recently learned how to have fun with his guitar.
Actually, that's not quite fair--I've been to a couple Low shows, and so I know from first-hand observation that Alan Sparhawk is experiencing full-on, balls-out, passionate joy when he plays music--even (maybe especially) in his more morose songs. My goodness, I once watched the man belt-out a distortion-heavy rendition of "Little Drummer Boy" (my least favorite Christmas song) with such conviction that it near brought tears to my eyes. He merely calls attention to that joyous conviction in Retribution Gospel Choir.
In fact, when it comes to older music acts, I will, with rare exception, restrict myself to Greatest Hits collections--not because I'm a casual music fan, no, far from it--but rather, going too far in depth with one artist takes precious time and money away from encountering other worthy artists, and I have jobs and responsibilities and a social life.
All that's a round-about way of saying that I never get into artist's side-projects--there simply isn't time, you see. Hence, when I learned that Alan Sparhawk of Low had a side-project called Retribution Gospel Choir, I didn't go exploring--at least initially.
Now, I love Low, I spent most of last year on a huge Low kick, and that was just it--why dive into side-projects when I still had so much Low left to explore? Besides, RGC was billed as "Alan Sparhawk turns up the volume" and "rocks out," and one most definitely does not get into Low to rock-out--Low is minimalistic, hushed, moody, dreamy, sublime. You get into Low to calm down, get introspective, give full expression to your melancholy. When I want to rock out I turn to Led Zeppelin, not Alan Sparhawk.
But that changed when (in an admittedly shrewd marketing move) RGC proffered their latest EP, the revolution, for free on-line. The price was right, so away I downloaded. Turns out the descriptions of RGC were correct--it is indeed Alan Sparhawk rocking out, backed by an actual drumset, his guitar turned all the way up, channeling his inner-80s-"rock-god" (I put "rock-god" in quotes because everything about this EP's rock-star posturing seems to be in gleeful self-aware quotes, as shown by this cheeky video where Sparhawk rocks out on a flute).
Nevertheless, no matter the quotes, it was impossible to deny that the ever-morose Alan Sparhawk was actually having fun! And because he was having fun, I was too (funny how that works). No, RGC isn't Low, but what is? Here, at last, was a man who in his middle-age remembered what too many kids these days have forgotten--that rock music is supposed to be fun. Intrigued, I checked Amazon and found RGC's two albums on-sale for under a buck. Again, the price was right, so I dove in.
So how is Retribution Gospel Choir's total oeuvre? Their first album, quite frankly, sounds a lot like Low, just minus Mimi Parker. Shoot, two of the songs there also appear in remixed form on Low's Drums and Guns. The standard Sparhawk moodiness, minimalism, and harmonies are all here on full display, un-tweaked.
Are the guitars turned up? They were turned up on Low's own "Great Destroyer" CD, too (and that often louder). In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd wonder if RGC was a sign of a break-down in Alan and Mimi's marriage, as he attempted to carry on "Great Destroyer"-era Low without her. (Given Sparhawks infamous mental breakdown during the Great Destroyer tour that drove away their bassist, such a speculation of strained relations would not be a stretch).
Now, this isn't to imply that RGC's first album is in any way bad--any Sparhawk is better than no Sparhawk, and Retribution Gospel Choir features Sparhawk in his typical-top form. Nonetheless, one could wonder from their first album if RGC is just a delivery system for merely-average Low throw-aways.
It's on the second album, then, that RGC finally fully justifies their existence. The drummer lets loose his inner-Keith-Moon and goes wild. Sparhawk once and for all demonstrates that his minimalism in Low was a deliberate choice, and not an expediency enforced from any lack of guitar-chops--the man can frickin' wail when he wants to, and does just that on Retribution Gospel Choir 2. There are slow-build-up songs in Low's catalog, but not like the sheer, ecstatic jams performed here by RGC. These guys know how to rock in a way that Low simply can't.
The moodiness is still there, though, and RGC 2 still has songs that would not sound out of place on a Low CD, or with Mimi Parker's gorgeous vocals. So, the revolution is an outlier; Sparhawk has only very recently learned how to have fun with his guitar.
Actually, that's not quite fair--I've been to a couple Low shows, and so I know from first-hand observation that Alan Sparhawk is experiencing full-on, balls-out, passionate joy when he plays music--even (maybe especially) in his more morose songs. My goodness, I once watched the man belt-out a distortion-heavy rendition of "Little Drummer Boy" (my least favorite Christmas song) with such conviction that it near brought tears to my eyes. He merely calls attention to that joyous conviction in Retribution Gospel Choir.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Is This What Getting Older Feels Like?
Last week at LDSBC, one of my students facebook-stalked me and asked if I knew Nina Shurtleff. I said yes, she and I were classmates when I was a recent RM and she a college freshman. He replied that she was his MTC Teacher.
Oh my. That made me feel old on so many levels.
Related Example: A common ice-breaker activity I use starts of semesters is to ask students who their favorite musical act is. This semester I started getting "Skrillex." Confessing my ignorance, I youtubed him. I couldn't finish a song. It was the first time in my life I listened to new music and not only didn't like it, but didn't even understand why anyone else could like it.
"It's just a bunch of noise!" I exclaimed, "It makes no sense at all, it's stupid, it's terrible, why do kids listen to this, why do I suddenly sound like my parents?! Get off my lawn!"
Even just a few years ago, when I finally weened myself off pop radio, I could flaunt my love of Arcade Fire and TV on the Radio and so forth as clear evidence that I was avaunt-guard, that I'd deprogrammed myself of corporate brain-washing, that I was hip, I was cool, that I was a boundary-pushing artist and connoisseur of the sublime. If kids 3 years my younger were still into Emo, I'd just coolly smile at their needy immaturity. But with Skrillex, I now wonder if I'm just plain old out of touch.
It's easy to hate on contemporary pop when you're 16, you see--it was in High School that I first began hunting the Classic Rock stations, and getting into Radiohead and White Stripes, all to avoid the pop-radio-saturation of the Britney Spears and N'Sync I couldn't stand.
But if you hate teen pop at 28, you start to wonder if you're instead becoming a cranky ol' close-minded curmudgeon, forever annoying young people with tales of how much better Frank Sinatra and The Beatles and Led Zeppelin and Nirvana was than whatever kids these days are into, and get off my lawn and etc--even if there's every possibility that if I was 16 today, I'd still hate Skrillex.
I suddenly, sadly, understand why old people get so defensive against new music--they feel threatened. We all want to feel that we don't like something because we have good taste, not because we've lost the ability to acquire new tastes, that our minds have finished expanding, that we can no longer grow up but only older. We're threatened by the haunting specter of death, you see. Hence, we must loudly and repeatedly declare that the music of our generation is better because it's best, and not just cause it's familiar.
Perhaps this fear of age and death is also why some middle-aged persons overcompensate in the other direction, following youth fashions and music trends with a fervor approaching desperation (a phenomenon I noticed while wandering City Creek Mall last week), ironically alienating the youth they worship, all to stave off the awareness of their mortality just a tad longer.
Try as I might though, I still hate Skrillex.
Of course, I'm at that strange age where the inverse occurs, too. I've taught a number of students old enough for me to have gone to High School Prom with--shoot, I've taught students old enough to be my parents.
I generally avoid revealing my age to these students when they inevitably ask--not for my sake you see, but for theirs, cause I don't want to come off as some brash young whippersnapper with an MA too big for his britches, presupposin' to give 'em some college educatin' while they're just starting their AA, even though they're the one's with real life learnin'.
And they do know things I don't know, all my students do. I just don't want to look like a jerk, for I'm still a child in many of their eyes.
Meanwhile, just tonight, my Dad and Aunt were talking about how "60 is the new 40," how my Aunt now considers folks in their 60s to be youngins'. It appears that the definitions of "old" and "young" will remain fluid, slippery, and purely relative for the rest of my life. That is, I may always be at "that strange age."
Oh my. That made me feel old on so many levels.
Related Example: A common ice-breaker activity I use starts of semesters is to ask students who their favorite musical act is. This semester I started getting "Skrillex." Confessing my ignorance, I youtubed him. I couldn't finish a song. It was the first time in my life I listened to new music and not only didn't like it, but didn't even understand why anyone else could like it.
"It's just a bunch of noise!" I exclaimed, "It makes no sense at all, it's stupid, it's terrible, why do kids listen to this, why do I suddenly sound like my parents?! Get off my lawn!"
Even just a few years ago, when I finally weened myself off pop radio, I could flaunt my love of Arcade Fire and TV on the Radio and so forth as clear evidence that I was avaunt-guard, that I'd deprogrammed myself of corporate brain-washing, that I was hip, I was cool, that I was a boundary-pushing artist and connoisseur of the sublime. If kids 3 years my younger were still into Emo, I'd just coolly smile at their needy immaturity. But with Skrillex, I now wonder if I'm just plain old out of touch.
It's easy to hate on contemporary pop when you're 16, you see--it was in High School that I first began hunting the Classic Rock stations, and getting into Radiohead and White Stripes, all to avoid the pop-radio-saturation of the Britney Spears and N'Sync I couldn't stand.
But if you hate teen pop at 28, you start to wonder if you're instead becoming a cranky ol' close-minded curmudgeon, forever annoying young people with tales of how much better Frank Sinatra and The Beatles and Led Zeppelin and Nirvana was than whatever kids these days are into, and get off my lawn and etc--even if there's every possibility that if I was 16 today, I'd still hate Skrillex.
I suddenly, sadly, understand why old people get so defensive against new music--they feel threatened. We all want to feel that we don't like something because we have good taste, not because we've lost the ability to acquire new tastes, that our minds have finished expanding, that we can no longer grow up but only older. We're threatened by the haunting specter of death, you see. Hence, we must loudly and repeatedly declare that the music of our generation is better because it's best, and not just cause it's familiar.
Perhaps this fear of age and death is also why some middle-aged persons overcompensate in the other direction, following youth fashions and music trends with a fervor approaching desperation (a phenomenon I noticed while wandering City Creek Mall last week), ironically alienating the youth they worship, all to stave off the awareness of their mortality just a tad longer.
Try as I might though, I still hate Skrillex.
Of course, I'm at that strange age where the inverse occurs, too. I've taught a number of students old enough for me to have gone to High School Prom with--shoot, I've taught students old enough to be my parents.
I generally avoid revealing my age to these students when they inevitably ask--not for my sake you see, but for theirs, cause I don't want to come off as some brash young whippersnapper with an MA too big for his britches, presupposin' to give 'em some college educatin' while they're just starting their AA, even though they're the one's with real life learnin'.
And they do know things I don't know, all my students do. I just don't want to look like a jerk, for I'm still a child in many of their eyes.
Meanwhile, just tonight, my Dad and Aunt were talking about how "60 is the new 40," how my Aunt now considers folks in their 60s to be youngins'. It appears that the definitions of "old" and "young" will remain fluid, slippery, and purely relative for the rest of my life. That is, I may always be at "that strange age."
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